Title: A Murder of Crows 14/?
Author: Rhion
Rating: M
Summary: F!Surana and Zevran each have their secrets. Some are stranger than others. The trouble with secrets is that they are best kept by only one person. But there's always someone else who knows the hidden things.
AN: I'm in Germany. That's awesome. What's not awesome is the fact that if you count hills, I'm about 2miles from the nearest public transport. Considering my physical health and pain disorder, that makes getting out and about a tad...difficult. And I won't have my car until Sept. 6. And I hate driving when public transport is available, particularly public transport on par with Germany's. It makes me feel like an evil person. I'm not all big into the whole "green" thing, but I do like to reduce where I can, when I can. What I might do is drive up to the barracks that's next to the bus stop, park there, and then walk to the bus terminal. That would be more than manageable. It's the hills plus these knees, that goes on for miles that I can't handle without being utterly wrecked. Oh, and I won't have a bed until the 26th of this month, that's 20 more days where I have to sleep either in the tub or on the floor. Since the bathroom has little airflow, and it's summer, tonight, I'll take the floor. One of the few times I've been so happy to have so many clothes. When layered and piled just so, they almost make a decent mattress.

Reviews make me happy and feed my ego. I love them, and am always grateful.

Beta'd by janniferwho is all 'round awesome. And makin' me a shawl of teh prettiness. Her messengers aren't worrkin' properly at the mo' and that makes me a sad Rhion.

Warning: There is mention of child abuse, and it isn't detailed, but it might be triggery. Please use your own discretion. Some of Lahar's memories are very harsh.

XXX
Murder 14
XXX

"Look, when he ripped me apart for the...the other night, I can understand. But...but this?" a finger was jabbed in Zevran's direction, as the Templar railed. "This is going too far! He poisoned Wynne! Not by accident, he's not even denying it - admittingwhat he did! Like it was completely normal!"

Zevran sat beside the fire, Morrigan right next to him, and Ser Prize providing his hefty back as a rest. The party was mostly trying to pretend nothing was going on, with Leliana somewhere fussing over Wynne, and Sten pacing the perimeter with his usual stoicism. But the Crow, knowing he was the center of dispute, was not about to up and leave the chance for a good show. Entertainment is hard to come by out here in the wilds...Tchk, best not waste it.

Lahar was calmly - as always - standing in that relaxed, overly patient method she used with people, "He is a Crow. He is Antivan. Poison goes hand in hand with life, the way kisses go with flowers."

The Templar would have none of that and was gearing up for a grander tirade.

Leaning towards the Chasind, "Would you care to make a wager, lovely Morrigan?"

"I care not for what spoils you would offer up," the witch crossed her arms, the many necklaces and bangles that Zevran had found out were gifts from Lahar chiming dully with the motion.

"Not even if it is something that would aggravate the Chantry boy?" Zevran put his folded hands behind his head and stretched his legs out before him, crossed at the ankles.

That was an offer he knew Morrigan wouldn't be able to resist, "I'm listening, elf. 'Twould be good if your wager were truly worthwhile."

"I propose as my spoils, and in this you win as well, that I make dinner this evening," knowing how much Flemeth's daughter hated the nights when that was her duty.

"And should I win?" arching a brow at him.

Shrugging, "Anything you wish. Ah, I know, I shall cook dinner for your next seven turns."

"So either way you would still be doing the cooking," nose and brow crinkling. "Fine, as you wish it, 'tis your choice. Tell me of this gamble you propose."

"I say, that before a clear winner is proven, this entire argument will be moot," not revealing the fact that in the distance he could hear the clopping of hooves and the occasional swear, urging some pack animal along.

Morrigan took only a moment before nodding sharply, "I accept your wager."

"-and yet you defend him! She is a sweet, little old lady. What has she ever done to hurt anyone? And he...he...he!" Alistair was stomping back and forth gesticulating.

"I am not defending him, Alistair, I am only stating fact." Lahar was watching the Templar with veiled annoyance, annoyance that only Zevran picked up on from knowing her so well. "I highly doubt his actions were without some provocation."

Alistair swung towards the diminutive mage, "We only have his word about that!"

"Actually, we don't. He never said so," Lahar shrugged.

Zevran stopped Ser Prize from barking by patting the Mabari in a soothing manner. The cart was getting closer, and he could tell it was just about to enter their little encampment. No one other than Ser Prize and himself had noticed as yet.

"Andraste's soiled knickers, you stupid, long-eared ass, quit your dragging!" rang out.

Everyone lept to their feet, except Zevran, who smiled to himself and went to their campfire to begin making the night's meal.

"Who are you?" Lahar's voice was even and clear.

A shemlenperched atop his little cart, tugging at the reins, commanding his donkey to stop. "Levi's the name, Levi Dryden. And you're a hard person to find, Warden. Been looking for you all over."

What followed was of little interest to the Antivan; some tale spun about dishonored names and rebellion, mixed with Wardens. It would have interested him at almost any other time, but the Crow simply hummed to himself a little sea shanty, checking the food from time to time.

Placing some on one of the wooden plates the party used, he toted it over to Alistair a 'friendly' smile on his face, "Ah, our repast is finished."

With obvious wariness, the young man accepted the food, "It looks weird. Like always."

"Tchk, such hurtful words, Alistair. They are unbecoming of such a good Andrastian as yourself," shaking his head mournfully. Waiting just long enough for the Templar to have begun eating it, "It is proper Antivan food, and while true much of what I have access to is not so varied as I am used to, I did use what was available. My own special blend as it were."

Alistair paused, choking on the food, "What?"

"Oh, nothing, just my own personal Antivan Crow touch," clapping him on the shoulder and gesturing towards Lahar who was going for a second helping. "It always goes down well with my fairest Bonded mage."

Ah, such pleasures you give me Alistair, so wonderful to watch you squirm. After all, a Crow who wastes not, wants not.

XXX

"I take it we go north, to this...Soldier's Peak in the morning?" braiding Lahar's hair now that it was well brushed into a soft gloss.

His mage wiggled around on their pallet, playing with the laces at the neck of the shirt she wore, "Well, it would be a good base of operations. A place to regroup from time to time. And it would be defensible. Why? Do you think it's a bad idea?"

Zevran shook his head, plaiting the gentle waves tightly, "Not at all, amante. It is a fine idea, but we will be going through inhabited land, and we may come across groups of refugees. I only wish to warn you about them, that is all."

Lahar rose to her knees after he tied off the braid, turning towards him and wrapping her arms around his waist, laying her cheek on his chest. Slim fingers ran up and down his spine, reveling in her gentle manner in the small embrace. He could do nothing but return it, allowing himself to admit that yes, it was nice, this uncomplicated thing, this undemanding touch.

"Your heart beat is so strong," her ear pressed over his breast. "It's like a war drum. I think it could drown out the roar of the Archdemon."

Using the knuckles of one hand he stroked a cheek, "You hear it more now?"

"We're too close to Ostagar still," sighing before she pulled away to scoot under the covers and hold them open for him. "All I want is to make the wicked little whispers that sometimes almost make sense go away."

Slipping his hands under the hem of the shirt, he began kneading her hips, "Every step takes us farther away, hermosa pequena, but let me help you forget those voices tonight." Leaning in to nuzzle her face, lips sought his as he murmured, "This is our time and will not be interrupted by those who seek to pluck at us."

One of his Bonded's hands smoothed over his shoulder and down his side, tucking in close after the soothing kiss they shared, "May I...do anything for you?"

Rubbing his chin over her temple, the Crow mulled over his choices. Lahar asking if she could do anything for him was new, and he wanted to encourage it. Yet, he also did not want to push her too far, too fast. These times are ours, mi encantadora. In our flimsy tent we stay for a few hours, banishing the things we must do in the morning, and the miles we walked in day's light. A short period to recuperate and do nothing but exist as ourselves. And this meant that their brief minutes awake and alone with one another must be savored, like fine caféor wine.

Pulling aside the blankets with a few tugs of his legs, Zevran cupped her cheek, "You have not had much chance to explore me, mi vida. And I wish you to be as familiar with me as I am with you."

Lavender light filled the tent, augmenting the fire's glow that seeped through the canvas walls. Lahar's gaze raked across his body, almost like a soft physical touch, and he watched as she licked her lips, uncertain. Yet she reached out, all the same, and laid her hand across his stomach, tracing the lines of the scars there with her fingertips.

"I...haven't really...paid much attention, I'm sorry," the look she cast him was half-shy, half-curious. That strange mix that she would give him when she was unsure how to proceed when it came to their forays into the sexual territory of the bed. "I'm so used to you without clothing that I sometimes...don't notice."

Quoting what she had once told him, "'Skin is skin, everyone has it', amante. I am comfortable in mine, and I have forgone clothing with you as much as possible so that you are used to me." Reaching out and taking a wayward curl behind her ear between thumb and forefinger, "Myself and my nudity went from something that simply existed to something that might be threatening and changed into something that would be pleasurable." Playing with the bit of hair gently, "And then you became so comfortable with it that you no longer saw it and were unable to do things with me."

Her expression turned guilty, her palm pressing on his stomach, radiating the chill that had at some point become soothing to him, "I'm sorry you know. I seem to bungle things rather badly when it comes to you. And, I worry sometimes."

"Come, mi tierra, tell me what you worry over," sliding his hand down to cup her jaw, thumb rubbing her bottom lip, before slipping his palm along the side of her neck, massaging the column tenderly.

"It's difficult to put into words," scooting over to him, her fingers unconsciously tracing the planes of his abdomen and hip. "You're always so steady, rock solid. Unshakable. It is so very easy to forget that you may need things, and since you never complain or tell me...I could easily take advantage of you, Zev. I worry that I do."

Zevran pursed his lips, "Lahar, mi amante, you worry for no reason on this. When have you taken advantage of me? You have leaned on me when necessary, and not one iota more."

Frosty, tundra colored eyes deepened in a soft swirl in the fey witchlight, "Can I trust you to tell me if I am?"

Leaning up to her, the Antivan pulled his mage into his arms, "I shall give you my oath if you will do me the courtesy of leaning on me when you should."

"When should I lean on you? I've...never really had anyone tolean on, and it's a heady experience to have that. Please promise me you'll tell me if I put too much burden on you," pleading with him. "I want you to have the chance to lean on someone too. But I don't know what it is you need or want from me."

Plucking her long braid, he flipped the tail so that he could use the end to tickle her nose, "Until the Crows make themselves known, what I gain from you is something slightly more nebulous than physical support."

The tip of Lahar's nose scrunched and unscrunched, "So long as you know I'm here for you too, Zevran, then I swear I'll lean on you too."

"Perfecto! That settles the matter then," glad she had not asked him what he gained from her presence. These frequent and strange moments of utter consideration she turned his way, the trust she imparted when she arched and called his name in completion or the smile she turned on him sometimes when no one was paying attention were far more potent than any spell could ever be. "Then what I wish now is for you to indulge your curiosity. The only prying eyes in this tent are mine, and you should be used to those by now."

Releasing Lahar, he flopped back, tucking his hands behind his head. I have never seen snow but from a distance, or when you summon it, watching as the Warden bit her lip in concentration, obviously having to exercise her will power to look below his neck. Zevran was sure that she kept her gaze so firmly fixed to his face out of respect and consideration, not fear of him or intimidation. Yet there is such a frozen wasteland that you wear like a cloak, blanketing you, mi vida. Protecting you from everyone else. Even from me.Locking his fingers in his own hair, the Antivan kept his bearing outwardly relaxed, while inside he was in a tumult.

There was no callus on the finger that touched his collarbone, feather light, gentle as a baby's breath. It was hard to imagine this young woman hurting a fly, let alone unleashing forces of nature and pure destruction, like some avenging Spirit. Inside, Zevran wondered what sort of fields and orchards she had. Would there be sunshine? Birdsong and buzzing bees? That was the sort of place she belonged. Dancing over the ground like a flitting butterfly, laughing and smiling, her eyes wide and child-like. Experiencing joy and spreading it from one place to the next.

The smile that always tugged at her lips when she allowed herself to indulge in the little things that others took for granted was like a treasure chest filled with valuables that he had stumbled upon utterly by accident. He couldn't explain why it was he wanted to see Lahar smiling and happy, but he couldn't lie to himself and say that he was entirely unaffected by those reactions that she shared with him. For some reason, he had found the hidden valley in that wasteland, fed by some hot spring that welled up from the ground.

"The skin feels different here," her voice was soft, as she stroked the right side of his ribcage. "But not like the other tattooed skin - that just feels like skin. But this," laying her palm flat on the symbols for fire and wind that wrapped around his side, down to his hip, like a partial shirt, bits of bare skin creating a design out of negative space, "feels strange."

"Boiling soup," having to dredge up the memory. "It has...a tendency to burn when someone throws it at you. I escaped the worst of it. But there is only so much poultices can do to repair the look of burnt flesh. So I covered it. A burn like that would have been too distinctive."

Her lips made a little 'o', and she quickly leaned down and pressed her lips against each ridge of his ribs. When she straightened back up, she lay both hands over the tattooed flesh, barely covering any of the large design, "But it's such a big tattoo. Wouldn't that be distinctive too?"

Smirking, "One would think, yes? But no, not particularly. Anyone over the age of twelve tends to have their bodies...modified to one degree or another."

"You have so many," the delicate touch was careful, brushing over the puckered, star shaped scar under his left nipple. "This isn't from a blade, is it?"

Hooding his eyes, the Crow took in the intent expression on his lover's face, "Arrow. Through the lung. There should be a matching scar on my back."

Another kiss was pressed to him, and then the way her hoarfrost eyes went soft, near glowing with something he supposed was tenderness, "I'm sorry. I really shouldn't keep asking. You probably meant something else by exploring."

Truly, mi tierra, I was not sure what I wished you to do, refraining from saying that. Instead, he slowly unwound a hand from his hair so he could touch her chin, biding her to come closer, using the same care in that small contact as she had with him. "Hermosa pequña diosa mia, I said for you to satisfy your curiosity, did I not?"

"You did," she agreed easily. "That doesn't mean I should just...poke at you."

Unable to hold back the chuckle, "Your idea of a poke is interesting indeed. I wonder how much softer your tender touches would be if you were giving what you considered a caress?"

"Zev...?" Lahar was leaning down over him, close enough for the material from his too large shirt to brush over him. "I want to give you something, but I don't know what. I want to make you laugh more like that. Or to smile."

"You need not give me anything to make me smile, but your own," feeling just a touch silly saying something that amounted to the sorts of words he gave most people. Perhaps it was the intent, and that he actually found himself meaning it. "Life is not all grimness and hard work. One of the measures of life is the ability to live. And the living are able to smile." Laying his fingers at the corner of her mouth, "It is good when I see you amongst the living."

Lahar dipped in closer still and paused, "You make it safe for me to smile."

Tugging Lahar to lay beside him as he rolled onto his side, "You have said this, or similar before." Propping on his elbow, tracing her brows, nose and lips with his eyes, "Have you truly given no thought to the fact that as a mage and Warden, you are fully capable of defending yourself against unwanted things? That you are a force unto yourself, and that..."

His mage shook her head vehemently, "That isn't the kind of safety I'm talking about. I know I could stop just about anyone."

Zevran licked his lips, cocking his head in surprisingly intense confusion, "I do not understand."

"I'm not good with words," she shrugged, burrowing into his chest. "I don't know how to explain it, so maybe you should just...take it for fact. You make it safe to smile. You make it safe to sleep. You...let me drop my own walls, and step between me and the things that make the walls necessary. So...so I don't have to work so hard to keep them up, because I know you'll be there to keep them distant if I slip up for a moment or two."

This dependency was frightening, even as it was the very thing he had worked hard to cultivate. He couldn't pretend he would be able to simply walk away after Lahar had served his needs, because for the first time he was truly responsible for another's well-being. If, for whatever reason, he did leave Lahar, she would be...Forever ruined. Fortuna, why must you put such in my path? What have I done to anger you? He was a Crow, a Master Crow, one who had survived his Culminacíonand had every ounce of emotion scrubbed from him, every sense of self and individuality replaced by an outline handed down from outside. Zevran had no loyalties beyond the Guild.

At least he shouldn't.

And yet I fought the Guild. I came here with an intent other than to fulfill my contract, staring down at the tattooed neck that peeked between her coiled braid and the collar of his shirt. Closing his eyes, Zevran pressed his face into the crown of Lahar's head, giving her a firm squeeze, uncertain. Once upon a time he would have thought there was something here more than the obvious. The piece that had lived before he became uhalamlin, the one that found meaning in little joys. A piece that could actually feelthose joys, those precious seconds.

And disgustingly enough, when he could feel most intensely was when Lahar was nearby. When she was laughing, when she was fighting, annoyed, happy or in ecstasy. When she was confused - all of those things. It was like there was some strange cord that hung between them that he didn't understand. The disgust was a trained response, that much the Antivan knew for sure. One that was ingrained over and over through years, that taught one to view any attachments as not only unnecessary, but repugnant. It was a tactic that was effective, particularly amongst the younger members of the Guild. Yet he was an adult, one who was years past his Culminacíon, past the time when he would be allowedto form some masking attachments.

Zevran had always rejected those choices, content to stay in a small townhouse with Rinna and Taliesen with no one but each other for company when it was desired. Frequently it wasn't, and the Antivan would spend his free time on the roof, staring at the stars. Rinna or Taliesin would join him, but both tended to leave him to his own devices. Thirty years spent amongst the Crows. Twenty years and more with Rinna and Taliesin. Attachments. Bah! No escaping them.

Repressing a sigh, he tightened his embrace further. Foolish man that I am, I go and swear an oath. One as binding as any the Guild lays into us. To protect her, until she releases me of it. Pfah! Imbecile! Zevran could only guess at whether he was unsure if he was an imbecile for having sworn the oath, or because he hoped she wouldn't release him of it. She does not need much physical protection, not any more. Not beyond nagging her to eat, as though I am some nursemaid. But she needs someone to shield her interior valleys from invasion, so that she can have moments of peace.

So very simple.

So very enticing.

So very, very easy to betray.

Shuddering once, Zevran kissed Lahar's forehead, "Whatever demons may come, I shall protect you from them, as long as it is your will."

Fortuna, I am a cursed man, her will is my desire, swallowing in aggravation and the sick twisting of years of training in his stomach, and damn me to the Pit for it.

XXX

It was different here. There was no barren sepia and decayed yellow, nor the image of a monastery. It wasn't a place from anything real, not that Zevran could tell. At least, not in his experience at all.

Crow appeared beside him, and Zevran spared him a glance, "So, what tortures do you wish to visit upon me this evening?"

"You ask her questions, ones she never quite answers," giving the impression of a smirk. "She is wily enough to have been a Crow, with her ability to deflect even the Great Zevran."

Sinking to his haunches, the Antivan scooped up some of the hardpacked ice and dirt. This was the Fade, and he could do nothing but feel a shadow of what the materials would truly be like, as he didn't have anything to compare it to in his own memories. Dusting his hands off, he scanned landscape. It was flat, bleak, icy-gray white.

Monotonous. Utterly devoid. Unending broken emptiness.

But for all that, not entirely barren as there was a certain stark beauty to it.

Shifting around on one foot, the Crow gnawed his lip, "I shall not push her farther than she can go. What concern is it of yours?"

"I have direct access to you," the admission making Zevran's hackles rise, no matter that he repressed the urge to attack. "Mages have the ability to become aware in the Fade rather easily. And because of that they're unpredictable. Alistair is a Templar, and I'd rather not deal with him meddling in the Fade. He has too many desires that are hidden and would be easily taken advantage of. We don't need any demons having their attentions drawn to such an idealistic youth."

Remembering the lesson of not looking directly up, Zevran flicked another glance to Crow. "So, you come to me. I am neither idealistic, nor do I have desires that are so easily fulfilled by demons. And I am not powerful the way a mage would be. A safe bet, then."

Zevran didn't think to ask why not the bard or the Sten. Either was too alien or too idealistic. Between the two of them it didn't particularly matter. Zevran was the only 'real' choice. In the Fade he was virtually defenseless beyond his willpower. And he was far too logical to be tempted by easy pleasures.

"What will you do when she releases you from your oath?" Crow asked, neither denying or acknowledging the hypothesis.

Resting his weight forward on his knees, the Antivan tilted his head, eyes closed, giving himself a moment to think. "I do not know. I think it a mostly moot point as we will all die in this Blight in all likelihood."

"Then why stay?" Crow seemed taken aback by his answer.

"Because dying is dying, yet it would be more interesting to go out with some real flare rather than simply throwing myself at a sword," bouncing up to stretch. "Perhaps I like the facsimile of actual freedom. The illusion of something worthwhile can be as meaningful as having the actual thing. The difference is that there won't be someone singing glorious happily ever afters, and they rode off into the sunset togethers. It will be more real because it was cut short and no one has to think on the eventuality of aging and dealing with each other day to day for decades." Crossing his arms, Zevran turned to look at Crow. "Perhaps it is a penance of sorts, to show myself what I am supposed to know and to feel as a person, when I do not feel things in the natural way."

"Master Crows break training all the time," Crow pointed out. "You, Taliesen, Rinna - every day together past your

Culminacíones were a study in bucking the rules. Every day together before then was such a thing as well."

Zevran inclined his head, admitting that openly, "Of course. But it was tacitly sanctioned. Mama Lumia being who she was, she ensured that her baby didn't wind up like his older brothers. If that meant breaking some rules, well that was her prerogative."

She was being picked up in strong arms, tucked in close to the warmth, while fingers plucked at her wild hair. "Aiesh, my little Lahar. How did you get so dirty? Look at you, picking up things everywhere you go."

Ducking her head, she didn't look up at her papa, only huddled against him. Parts of her hurt very badly. Parts she had been told were dirty. All she wanted was to curl up and stay with him right here, to not have to go out into the courtyard where the other children were. The ones who yelled and screamed at her, threw things, while the big men and women ignored everything going on. Her only escapes were her papa, when she could risk running to him, or hiding behind the shrubs.

"Come now, can you give me a smile?" soothing and cleansing her papa's voice was. As was the hand he smoothed over her rebelliously snarled dark hair. "My little one, will you not tell me what ails you?"

Darting a tiny glance up at him, she could only burrow in closer. If she told him, he would think her dirty too. And she couldn't bear that. He was the only clean thing here.

Zevran gasped, doubling over at the shadowy agony of feeling what a far, far too small little girl's body had felt years ago. Lahar could have been barely more than a toddler, the hands that had been his in the memory were tiny, chubby digited things, that would have a hard time wrapping around three of his adult fingers. On hands and knees he gasped, hands made into fists, alternating between scrabbling at the wasteland and pounding it in frustration and other emotions. It had been years since he had felt the urge to scream in anguish. To cry out and vent pain in guttural noises that had no meaning but their primal nature.

"How many more are like that?" struggling to keep his voice level, even when it cracked distressingly. Was there no safety or even the illusion of it?

"No, there wasn't," Crow said, sitting beside him. "Are you ready for someone else's, your own, or another of hers?"

Slamming a fist into the ground, "Why do you show me these things? What do you

gain from this sick circus?"

Heaving a sigh, "A familiar pain then..."

"No," gritting his teeth, Zevran rocked back, flopping onto his ass, head buried in his hands. "Another of hers then."

The library was at least quiet. Or, well, somewhat quiet. Selecting a slim tome, she walked normally as though she were going to one of the usual reading sections. But there was a small place where the always watching Templars could not see, a bend in the corner, a place that only a child or someone as skinny as she was could slip into. Sucking in a deep breath, she wriggled between the bookcases. This would soon be a place she could no longer seek refuge, as her breasts were growing, however they were barely there at the moment.

So for the time being, she could escape to this place. Finding a dark corner, Lahar dug out the small fragment of lightening rock Jowan had given her two years ago. It cast enough light for her to read by if she hunched in close to her book, but not so much that any would notice it. No one but her knew of this place, not even the small children, for they were too closely watched, and the ones in her own age range were too big to ever think this a viable place to sneak into. And the Templars wouldn't look here either, which was the main reason for hiding here.

Finding her place in the book, she began to read, absorbing the information at what seemed a natural pace to her. Later, in the Fade, she knew she would be going over every single bit of information and knowledge she had picked up for the day, and practicing it. She had never mentioned that this is what happened when she went to bed at night, as she thought that that was how everyone was, until Jowan had said something one day.

His words had only driven home the fact that there was no escape and that there was no use in ever drawing attention to herself, in any way. And revealing the fact that she was able to learn so quickly because she had tons of practice in the dream realm would set her very clearly apart. It would make the Templars watch her even more closely, which was a thought that made her skin crawl and her thighs twitch in disgust. She shoved that memory away, just like many others. Ones that held blue sky, fruit on the wind, warmth, and someone who cared about her for no other reason than that she was his. Her only defense against anything was blankness. Those other things were for someone else.

"Numb," shuddering as he wiped his hands over his face. "Numb, so numb. No idea of what 'normal' is. Maker, how can anyone live that way?"

"What the spirit can endure sometimes is a wonder," Crow murmured. "Just as often it's a curse. She only survived by ensuring nothing got near her center."

Hugging himself, as though for warmth or comfort, Zevran was unsure and uncaring of it. "How does she even have one? Even my life...my childhood. It was...it was better than that."

"She had her papa," Crow shrugged. "He is the thing that kept her going through the night. The knowledge that one person found value in her. That one person wanted her to be safe, that one person found her to be precious."

In agony, an agony he didn't understand, Zevran shook. "We're in her land, aren't we."

He already knew the answer, but he still said it anyway.

Crow craned his head this way and that, patting the ground once, "Yes. Somewhere out here is a valley. That secret paradise is where Lahar is safe and able to be a person rather than simply a thing with power and logic."

Drawing a deep breath, Zevran stood up, half ready to go and search for it, "And I'm supposed to find it, like this is some vast quest?"

"No," Crow shook his head, the unnerving swirling mask flickering into something familiar before it too was gone in a blink. "But you are supposed to protect it I suppose. It's your choice if you do."

Licking his lips, Zevran made himself ask, "Did the man who raised her ever do anything about what those...monsters did to her?"

Crow went still, "No. He didn't know. And if he had, what would he have been able to do? Kill children who were taught to be monsters as soon as they could walk, simply because one of their number wasn't human?"

"She was the only elf?" unsurprised. Orphanages didn't like taking in elven babies, unless it was located in a slave compound or an alienage.

Or near someplace with many blood mages.

"The only one who had lasted more than a few days past her arrival into the Maker's world," Crow agreed readily. "Her infantile memories are buried deep, and she cannot remember the fact that even when she was carried within her mother's body, she was well loved. Perhaps it is the fact that those memories are there anyway that has enabled her to have that valley deep somewhere out here."

Asking the question unbidden, "And mine? What of my memories from before my birth?"

"Boy, you do not want those for the most part," grunting. "I cannot delve into the mind of your mother, only into your memory of what was going on outside and around you. If it is any consolation, she wanted to bring you into this world, even if you came about because someone threw down a few pieces of silver."

Staggering back, Zevran clutched at his chest, "Enough. Send me to the next or to dreamlessness. But do not dangle these things before me."

The Templar tried to take her hand, but Lahar simply stared straight ahead, not bothering to respond. She didn't truly see anything she looked at; she had become good at that. Everything seemed not quite real, distant. Everyone had strands that connected them to each other, paths that needed to be travelled to gain an optimum, logical outcome. Even as she looked at them, she would see these unfurling things, the way their actions were influenced and how they influenced others' actions in turn.

Their actions towards her were a void, though, holding no meaning or significance.

Everyone's actions but her papa's.

"This one's a bit spooky," one of the three, the one who had not tried to take her hand, radiated anxiety. "It's like she's looking right through me."

The first Templar, the one who had tried to touch her, shot the second a dark look, "The child's just fledged. Of course she looks through things. Poor child probably doesn't even really understand what's happened to her."

It was the third one, the last one, that reminded Lahar that she needed to ignore them all. He reminded her of that fact the entire way to the Tower, across the Sea and on. She saw it in his eyes and knew that he would ensure she never forgot. So when night fell she stayed quiet when he took her out to the jakes, made not a sound or whimper, merely closed her eyes and went still.

Neither of the other two suspected, why would they? Or maybe the older one had. He would disappear later in the night right before they reached their boat. The chatty one could easily believe it was her fault, that some demon had stalked the night, called forth by her. The silent one would later convince him this was so.

Lahar said nothing of any of this to the trio.

The only thing she did change was that when it was time for the kind Templar to disappear, she threw a fit feigning a loss of control. Spontaneous healing and the small glowing balls that whipped around her made for good shows. It kept them all focused on her. As for the silent Templar, he backed off afterwards. Lahar was satisfied that the kind one and the chatty one would be left alone.

And still she saw death coming for them anyway.

"Oh, little girl, have you gotten lost?" Morrigan looked up from the ball she was curled in. Nearby a large, hulking man with a soft smile on his face stood, having removed his helmet, tucked it under his arm, and then squatted far enough away to be non-threatening. "Look at you, little thing, you're just skin and bones. It's alright, I'm not going to hurt you."

Morrigan feigned the large eyes that always made the stupid ones drop their guards even further, making her lip tremble, "Lost Mama..."

"Hush now, I'm Meecham, and I can help you find your mama," he held out an arm, inviting her to come closer.

Appearing to consider the embrace, the little girl waited a moment longer, drawing it out, before going to the big man. He was warm and solid and hoisted her up high on his shoulders, where she wound her hands over his forehead for balance. These were the ones that always chased after her first in the night when she would scamper off; they were the ones Mother always took longest to kill. These weak ones, so easily swayed by a small child in need.

She hated this Meecham and the others just like him. They made her want to tell them to turn the other way. To change direction. To not go to their deaths screaming as they were peeled apart and devoured, bit by bit. And she would have to watch all of it. Ones like Meecham would fight long and hard, trying to get free, and trying to take her with them, even after they found out she was no more than bait.

How she hated them all for making her care.

His head pounded with the memories, foreign bodies and shapes, the knowledge of what it was like to have magic course through veins... Zevran was not meant to know those feelings. He was born male, not female, nor had he ever had an urge to be the other sex. And he was supposed to be numb to mana, to maybe be able to detect it if trained properly...but no. There was a moment where his fingertips felt scorched and his spine was a crackling pole of ice while his vision swam this way and that. His tongue struggled to snap out a stream of words that he locked behind his lips, blanking his thoughts to absolute vacancy.

Zevran

remembered what Lahar had said about mana, spells, and accidents.

"Relax, you don't have any Talent to rip the Veil," Crow said, clapping him on the back. "If you stayed out amongst the

Ga'hals Iunimasilsh you would be able to throw a little weight around, even here in the Fade. But you didn't, and so you may be more receptive than others, but you'll never be a threat without large amounts of blood and someone else's Power behind you."

"What are you?" turning to face Crow full on, catching the Spirit's arms above the elbows. "What are you really?"

"I am what I am. I am a fragment of existence, a piece of will," Crow did not fight his hold, standing there easily and comfortably. "A thought on the wind that made it through the Veil. Or maybe I was something in the Fade that heard that thought and became it. Does it really matter? To you, I am Crow. There need be nothing more to it than that." A hand with too many joints passed over Zevran's face, "Go to your rest, boy. You have earned some."

XXX

mi encantadora - my enchantress
mi vida - my life
amante - lover
Mi tierra - my earth/world
perfecto - perfect
Hermosa pequña diosa mia - my precious beautiful little goddess
uhalamlin - one without blood/family. Forsworn, exiled, anethma