Author's Note: …hi. Sorry for the long silence. But, the more I write, the more things I want to pack in, and then it gets to the point that I didn't even get to the part I wanted to. But, as promised, there is a different style, a "unique" perspective of things, and a bunch of angst. I am hoping (fingers crossed) that the next chapter will include the actual "unique" scene, but, alas, we shall have to see! Please, read and enjoy, and if you have any suggestions or just want to review what's up so far, send me a review! Thanks!
Act XIV: Dalish Camp
Revan
"Stop fussing!" Revan heard Rose cry, followed by Alistair's gentle fussing. Revan twisted her neck from her place on her own cot to catch a glimpse of the couple. Alistair was trying to change the bandages around Rose's werewolf bite, which he had changed a mere ten minutes earlier. Then, hooking a hand around his neck, she drew him down for a kiss. Revan watched, feeling both happy for the couple, yet also wistful. Less than a year ago, she had been the happy woman, playfully teasing her lover and making everyone else sick.
"Ah, young love," a voice said from beside her. She twisted the other way to find Zevran sitting beside her, also staring at the Wardens.
"It's good to see that some of us have found happiness in these dark times," Revan smiled sadly.
Zevran's face darkened. "Indeed."
She studied his features. Obviously, he was having conflicting feelings. About Rose? In sympathy, she laid a hand on his arm, and his eyes darted to hers. He put on his charming smile, trying to assure her that he was all right, but Revan knew better. Now that she knew about his past, she knew he was far from okay. He was broken, much like Revan once had been.
"So, how are you feeling after a good night's sleep, eh, General?" Zevran asked cheerfully, having also adopted Alistair's nickname for her.
She guffawed. "Back to normal. When my strength returned, I stitched the wounds closed myself. No use waiting around for them to heal. I offered to do the same for Rose, but I think she thought it would offend 'Mother' Alistair."
Zevran laughed, forgetting about his pain for a moment. Revan smiled along with him. He helped her sit up, and they chatted for a bit. Zevran relayed what he had learned about what had happened to the others in the forest: Wynne had found one of her old apprentices, one that she thought had been murdered by Templars, and she found peace with her past. Leliana had been ambushed by Orlesian mercenaries sent by her old master to kill her. And, of course, they had been attacked by werewolves multiple times, where Rose was bitten. He also mentioned that hunters had been dispatched to retrieve Zathrian's body, meaning the burial would be in the next few days. Revan hoped they would stay long enough to attend. Zathrian had been, after all, the first person she had told of her childhood. She had a bond to him, even if she despised what he had done.
She rose from the cot. There were things she had to attend to. Zevran walked next to her silently, loyal despite everything she had done and said. Sten, sitting nearby, soon joined them, the large, looming presence Revan had become accustomed to.
Revan made her way to the Keeper's aravel, where Lanaya was preparing to undergo the ritual to make her the official Keeper. The ceremony was planned for that night, where, as her first order as Keeper, she would pledge help to the Wardens. They had discussed this as soon as they had returned from the ruins. It was unusual to appoint a new Keeper before the funeral of the old, but Lanaya realized that time was of the essence for them.
Lanaya bowed to her, having been told of her position in the clans. "Aneth ara, Mi'harel. I see you are feeling better."
"Indeed," Revan bowed back, followed by Zevran and Sten. They had gained enough respect for the Dalish over the day they had spent in the camp to show manners. "I must thank you for your kind treatment of my companions and me, Keeper Lanaya."
"Of course," she smiled. "You are Lethallan, a member of the clans, as your actions have proved. Your friends are our friends. But…it will take time getting used to being called 'Keeper'."
"You will be a great Keeper, I can tell," Revan laid a hand on her shoulder. "You are wise beyond your years, and Zathrian was a good teacher. However, there is another matter I wished to discuss."
"Yes?" Lanaya waited.
Revan took the necklace Zathrian had given her from around her neck and presented it to her. There had not been time earlier to give it to his First, and she was sure that it would be better to give it to her in a more private setting, especially since Revan did not know its meaning.
Lanaya took it, examined it, obviously perturbed by its significance. "He…gave this to you?"
"To give to you, yes," Revan explained. "He said you would know what it meant."
Her eyes darted from the necklace to Revan and back again. "I…this can't really be…I can't believe…"
"Believe what?" the Jedi politely interrupted Lanaya's mental confusion.
The Keeper took a deep breath. "Zathrian once told me…that this was given to him by his old master, as a token to always remember her lessons. And, when the time came, his old master would give it to me."
Revan looked at her in confusion. "How can I be Zathrian's old master? Zathrian was centuries old!"
"I know," Lanaya sighed. "That's what doesn't make sense."
They stared at each other for a moment, seeing if perhaps there was some hint of meaning in the other. But, there was none. Revan bid Lanaya goodbye, wishing her luck in the ceremony, and proceeded to find her next target. Her face puckered in bewildered confusion. Behind her, she could tell Sten and Zevran were exchanging puzzled expressions.
They found Morrigan by the pen holding the hallas, the deer-like beasts that pulled the aravels. She was assisting the keeper of the hallas with tending a wound on one of the beasts. The werewolves, it seemed, had not just bitten the elves. Morrigan was soothing the beast, while the keeper treated the bite to prevent any more natural infection from taking root. Revan and the two males waited a respectful distance away, in case their presence, and more notably Revan's presence, frightened it.
When the halla was properly bandaged, Morrigan approached them. Her face, normally scrunched in an agitated glare, was more peaceful after having been with the beasts. She glanced at the party with a cursory look before asking, "Yes, General? Is there something I can assist you with?"
A little frown formed on Revan's face at the continued use of her nickname, but she decidedly ignored it. "Actually, there was something I wanted to give you." She gave Zevran and Sten a look to let them know that this was a private conversation, and they backed off a ways. Revan led Morrigan a safe distance away, where no one would see the object, before presenting the witch with a cloth-covered item. "I should have given it to you earlier, but, as you can imagine, I was curious myself. I discovered it in the Circle Tower. It belonged to your mother."
Morrigan took the cloth and folded it back to reveal the leather surface of the spell tome. "Flemeth's grimoire! But…you had it? And you read it, without my knowledge?"
"I had to make sure there was nothing in it that was too…" she searched for the words, "…dangerous. Too risky for you to know. Your mother knows things that are best forgotten."
The witch flung open the grimoire in haste. "Tis indeed her secret language…and her handwriting. But how did you read it?"
"It's not that secret; it is written in my tongue."
Morrigan spared the Jedi an angry glare before translating the first page. "You should have given it to me immediately. It is rightfully mine."
"But its secrets are not," Revan insisted. "There are things that she knows that she doesn't even understand. And as much as you want to be able to combat her, to be her equal, it is too dangerous for anyone else to know them. Look at what happened to me. And besides, that is not her real grimoire."
"It's not?" she looked up in surprise.
"No; it deals with a different topic. That is why I needed to give it to you. You do have the right to this secret."
The raven girl examined the older woman's serious expression for a moment before the anger vanished, replaced by worry. "All right. And…thank you. I should assume that you have a good reason for your actions…much as I may not agree with them."
Revan gave her a small nod before returning to camp, the two boys eventually joining her again. There was still much work to be done.
Zevran
Zevran had never realized how much a grown man could look like a baby. Not until Alistair almost broke down in the slums of Denerim. But he shouldn't have been surprised; Alistair was not exactly the manliest of men.
After the incredibly solemn and depressing funeral for the villain that all the hoodwinked Dalish still viewed as their blessed Keeper, the party had managed to tear Revan away from the Dalish camp. They had then progressed onwards to Denerim, the capital of the marvelous state of Ferelden. The journey from the forest to the city was blissfully uneventful, the roads being well-paved and well-traversed enough by soldiers to discourage bandits, though that made the going a bit more difficult, considering that they were technically fugitives. Though, considering that he, a trained Crow assassin, had failed to kill these Wardens, he doubted that a simple patrol could do much damage.
The city, however, was another matter. Antiva City, his home, though not exactly clean, had sparkled with its own radiance. Nestled in the crown of Antiva, its residents took pleasure in bedazzling their humble abodes with at least a decent coat of paint and a few flowers here and there. Even the shacks in the slums were tended, if poorly, by their tenants. The main roads, and most of the side roads, were paved with stone, and the back streets were often swept regularly. There were sewers and drainage ditches and perfumes that tried to mask the scent of shit and piss. In short, Antiva City at least made an effort to appear beautiful. Denerim, in contrast, was a shithole. The streets, even the main thoroughfares, were just packed dirt. Ruddy Ferelden women poured their chamber pots out onto the flat streets, sometimes straight onto the heads of unfortunate pedestrians. There were no ditches to carry the waste elsewhere, and no vague perfume from flowers to even attempt to cover up the awful scent. The houses were mere structures, with no elegance and nothing to indicate that their residents cared. All the buildings were some shade of dirt. In short, the city was ugly. Zevran could not understand why any sane person would chose to live in a cesspool like Denerim, much less a pious monk like this Brother Genitivi they were searching for.
Upon entering the city, Revan was forced to cover her face from the overpowering smells. Zevran almost laughed at her for her weak nose, but he quickly remembered that her dragon-like senses might be more sensitive than his. Rose had forced Morrigan to where something a little less suggestive than her normal attire when they entered, much to his disappointment, so her wild looks didn't attract much attention now. The party kept their heads down, and they managed to make it into the Market District, where the overwhelming lack of personal space made private conversations possible. Rose grouped them near the main pavilion, and Revan made sure they could not be overheard with some magic or Jedi trick. Rose met each of their eyes before speaking.
"Now, I realize that we have several…issues that need to be dealt with," the red-head began. Her hair was redder than even the dyed strands of the exotic whores that Zevran had known, causing him to continually stare at it while she spoke. He couldn't help it; her hair was captivating. He didn't understand how it could be so red naturally. "Leliana, I know you have some...unfinished business to attend to. And Alistair, you as well. But Brother Genitivi still needs to be found."
"I will go find this Brother Genitivi," Wynne volunteered, her exquisitely carved face announced stoically. Zevran could also not help but gaze at her. Indeed, for a woman of her years, she had aged impeccably well. Then, she turned her bright gaze on the large, imposing Qunari. "Sten, why don't you accompany me?"
The bronze-skinned giant (and the common description suited him well, for despite his lack of horns, he was still menacing) looked at her through his cold, violet eyes. He gave a quick glance to the Jedi, whom he surprisingly regarded as his superior, before resignedly nodding his assent. Revan gave him an encouraging smile in response.
"It is best I go alone," the Orlesian rogue spoke in her thick accent. Again, Zevran's eyes rested on Leliana's fair complexion, her fine Orlesian features, and her warm eyes. "Marjolaine is…dangerous. I would never forgive myself if one of you got hurt trying to help me defeat her."
Rose's eyes softened in compassion. "Leliana, any of us would be glad to accompany you. We are your friends."
At this, Revan rolled her eye discreetly. Zevran had noticed a small feud boiling between her and the rogue since his arrival, but they kept it distinctly private. They knew the stakes if they let their hatred for each other grow, and so they dealt with each other cordially in public. But, Zevran could tell Revan would have a difficult time placing her life on the line to save Leliana's.
"Oh, for pity's sake, I'll go with the girl!" Morrigan declared, obviously having been reduced in standing by her forced wardrobe. Though, despite this, she still held an aura of wild, untamed beauty. "Someone needs to be there so she doesn't get killed."
Everyone was slightly shocked at her pronouncement, but not a word was uttered against it. Rose spent a moment curiously examining the witch before continuing. "All right; that leaves the three of us to go with Alistair. Meet back here in a few hours?"
The others nodded their agreement, and went their separate ways. Zevran also thought that it was a good idea to split up; having so many strange people together in one group might seem obvious, despite being in a city. And it was prudent to have all the Wardens in one group, in order to defend each other and to spare the identities of their other compatriots. Though, perhaps, if they got captured, it was not such a good idea…
Rose staked off toward the even less sanitary slums, where supposedly Alistair had unfinished business. It seemed a bit strange that he would have business here, especially considering his status as a Templar (or almost Templar) and a Grey Warden, though Grey Wardens could come from any walk of life. But a Templar on the other hand…that was a different story. Most Templars did not grow up in slums.
"So…what exactly are we doing here?" Zevran asked from the back of the group, feeling as if he was the only one that did not understand what was going on.
Alistair sheepishly glanced back. "We're here to find…my sister."
"Sister?" Revan asked in confusion, her alien accent apparent despite her impeccable knowledge of the language. Apparently he wasn't the only one that was unaware of the situation. "What sister?"
"My mother was a maid at Redcliffe. Before me, she had a daughter. And, last I heard, that daughter was now living here in Denerim. I always meant to find her, to see if she was even still alive, but…well, now that the world is coming to an end, I thought I should do at least this."
Even though her back was turned to him, Zevran could feel Revan's scowl deepen alarmingly. He lengthened his stride to walk beside her. "And your father is…Arl Eamon?" Zevran guessed.
"Maric," Alistair corrected.
"Ah." Zevran looked at Revan's face next to him. She looked torn, as if deciding whether to speak out or not. Her scars were scrunched to a bone white, as they often were when she was agitated.
Finally, she decided to say something. "Are you sure this is a good idea? I mean, since she probably knows you're the bastard prince and all…"
Zevran could tell that Revan was concealing something, but she was trying to be tactful and surreptitious about it. He had to wonder what it was. Did she know something about his family? Was it concerning his sister? Or was it about his mother? But how would she know anything about all that, if she wasn't even from Thedas?
"But she is my sister," Alistair insisted. "I at least need to see if she's alive, and happy."
Revan wasn't satisfied with the answer, but she declined to say any more on the subject. Her brow, however, remained furrowed in a charming look of worry and concern. Zevran had the sudden impulse to laugh and rub out her creases in a teasing manner, at which point his mood turned dark from embarrassment. He turned away and focused instead on where they were heading, looking for all possible locations that assassins could hide, of which there were many. The slums were the perfect place for an ambush; Zevran hoped that their presence had not been detected or anticipated, or else they were, frankly, screwed.
Finally, they arrived at what Alistair guessed was the correct address. Alistair's face immediately contorted into a hysterical expression of nervous anxiety, one which Zevran found it difficult not to laugh at. Rose laid a comforting hand on his arm and, with a look of instruction to Revan, knocked on the door. A few moments later, screams and shouts could be heard from inside from the children and a woman, followed by the crack of the door. Alistair braced himself and entered, Rose beside him, and the door shut, leaving Revan and Zevran to guard it. Revan leaned back against the plastered wall, tilted her head back, and closed her eyes, absorbing the thin rays of sunlight that filtered down through the slits of the apartments and tenant buildings. The light lit up her white scars, making them sear across her tanned face in stern contrast. Her ebony hair was tinted red in the light, like blood, and loose strands of her lengthening hair blew about her lazily in the gentle autumn breeze, despite her having tried to tame it in a braid. Taken as a silhouette, she made quite an impression, as her languid manner was reminiscent of a panther lying in wait, basking in the sun, yet aware of all that occurred around her. Zevran had never met a woman quite like her.
For fear of seeming like he was staring, he also leaned back against the wall of the abode, took out a dagger, and began polishing it, all the while surreptitiously scanning their surroundings. Better to be useful in some way, he thought, and since assassination was his trade, his job should be preventing it. After all, that was the pretext Rose had used to save his life. Unfortunately, he hadn't had much of a chance to use those skills, as the Crows had not yet made another attempt on their lives. Considering his failure, however, Zevran was not surprised at their caution at issuing another mission; after all, he had anticipated that his mission was a suicide mission. In fact, he had banked on it. And here he was, alive. Slightly disappointing. But, Revan had helped him overcome it…mostly.
About a quarter of an hour later, the indistinct voices from inside grew to a crescendo, followed by a dramatic silence. The door opened moments later, admitting both Rose and Alistair. Rose, with an intense look of lover's anguish, was vainly trying to comfort a distraught Alistair with earnest looks and parted lips, her hands clutching his arm beseechingly, but Alistair was too absorbed in his distress to acknowledge her silent pleas. Revan immediately digested that something was wrong, and quickly managed to pull Rose away from Alistair, who failed to notice her absence, in order to determine what had just transpired inside the dirty hovel. As they spoke in earnest whispers, Zevran decided to confront the victim directly, not regarding delicacy.
"So…I take it things did not go well?" he smiled ironically at the Warden.
Alistair shot him a pained look with undisguised disgust. "No, not at all."
"Ah. Let me guess—she was mad at you for killing her mother by being born? Or did she want money?"
"Both!" the Templar sobbed, hanging his head, looking, too obviously, like a big baby. At this cry, both women turned and aimed malicious glares at him for upsetting the boy. And, in truth, he did feel guilty about worsening Alistair's mood: he'd hate for the Warden to break down into tears. It would be awkward, and not to mention embarrassing.
Sensing that Alistair was in need of some support, Revan left Rose, grabbed the younger Warden by the wrist, and commanded, "Alistair, let's talk." He let himself be pulled down an alley by her, offering no resistance. She dragged him a sufficient distance away, to where she thought they would have enough privacy, and began talking to him in that wise, authoritative tone that only those that had suffered all the world could throw at a person could adopt —that is, she spoke in the tone that only she could ever have. Unfortunately, he and Rose, who was also curious as to what was being said, were too far away to distinguish her words. So, he did what any rogue would do.
Motioning to Rose to keep silent, he jumped agilely up to the nearest roof, grabbing the thatch and hoisting himself up. Then, discreetly, he shimmied his way to the edge nearest the Jedi. Here, behind her and sufficiently hidden by the roof to avoid detection by Alistair, he could overhear their discussion. Dimly, he was aware that Rose had dared to join him, despite not being quite as acrobatic as he was. Apparently, he had again underestimated her.
He strained his ears to catch Revan's words to Alistair. "…understand that this must be incredibly difficult for you, to have come here only to find…this. It isn't fair, especially to you. After all you have been through…but such is life. People are horrible, contemptible, even. There are many—too many, really—that don't care about anyone but themselves. This Goldanna, she is one of them. Ah, do not defend her; Rose told me that all she wanted from you was money, that she was not even interested in having a brother. And that has nothing to do with you. You, in this, are faultless. In fact, your actions would be considered noble, though they were foolish.
"So, stop sulking about her; she is not worth your little finger. Take it from me, you need to stop thinking about everyone else, and start thinking about yourself. You need to start standing up for yourself and making sure you get what you need. Especially since—" she broke off, hesitant, before continuing in a low voice that Zevran could just make out, "especially since you have Rose, and since so much rests upon you two. You have to think about what is best for your future—your future together. And to do that, you need to stop letting people walk all over you. I tell you this now, so nothing worse happens later. It is for your own good, please believe me."
Alistair sighed, letting her words sink in. It was obvious from his expression that he agreed with everything she had said, however distasteful it was. "Right." He examined Revan's face, perhaps for compassion, before he rolled back his shoulders, straightened his spine, and breathed deeply, as if preparing to make a royal debut. "Let's get back to the others, then. And…thank you, General."
Zevran saw Revan tip her head in acknowledgement and imagined her kindly smile at him in response. Alistair returned a small, sad one, and started to walk back to where he and Rose were supposed to be waiting, but Revan hung back for a moment. She turned to face the building they were perched upon and gave him and Rose, whom she had known were spying, a poignant glare, causing them to smile sheepishly back. He and Rose rushed to the other side of the roof and scrambled down just as Alistair was turning the corner. Rose lay a hand on his shoulder in comfort, and Alistair, in turn, lay a hand on hers in thanks. They exchanged comforting smiles as Revan rounded the corner.
Feeling slightly responsible for Alistair's state, and also wanting some time away from the rest of the party, Zevran suddenly developed a proposal. He cleared his throat, gaining everyone's attention.
"Considering that things did not go over very well here, I propose to go somewhere…more enjoyable. Liven your spirits a bit," he said, directing his speech to Alistair. The human looked at him distrustfully. "There is a little place I know, very private, very nice, very strong alcohol…why don't we go there until we need to meet with the others?"
Revan turned her piercing eyes towards him, searching for a motive. They exchanged small glances, small facial twitches that they both shared, and the Jedi gave him an imperceptible nod of sanction. Then, much to his surprise, she smiled at his little idea. Meanwhile, Rose and Alistair were exchanging similar expressions as they silently debated what to do. Much was said in their eyes, noticeable to only those that were familiar with the two, or trained agents, or, as in his case, both. At last the couple came to a decision, and Alistair gestured to Zevran to lead the way.
So, smiling, Zevran led them through the winding back alleys of Denerim, all the way to the docks. He had never been to this area personally before, but he had heard of its reputation from several of his acquaintances. About in the middle of the port, a single storefront faced the water from between the dull walls of the warehouses. The out-of-place building was plastered and decoratively painted, and a wooden tavern sign swung in the wind above the red door, proclaiming the name of the institute as The Pearl.
A large porter stood near the entrance of The Pearl, as well as a very burly bartender. However, emerging from the entryway, the main foyer was bright, with rose silk draperies and pink, red, and yellow glass lamps and lanterns. Some tables sat in the corner for sailors to nurse their drinks, and a counter stood between the entrance and the private rooms in the back. Standing next to this counter was a matronly woman, looking to be in her forties, the last vestiges of beauty tinging her features. She looked Zevran up and down and back up again, then announced that they had whatever suited his taste.
Zevran put on his most charming smile and, putting a hand on the matron's shoulder, turned her away from the others as he described his plan to her. She nodded as he explained what he wanted. When he was done, the matron quietly told him that what he wanted was within reason and within her ability. She clapped her hands together twice, summoning a male and female attendant, both beautiful and clothed in faux finery to give the appearance of aristocracy and lend the place an air of legitimacy. After a brief command from the matron, the female led the confused Rose away to a private room, and the male a startled and indignant Alistair to a different room. Revan, meanwhile, watched in amusement, and then offered to pay the expenses of whatever Zevran had ordered. Then, they sat down at the counter as the matron rushed about her own business.
"Now that we are alone…" Revan began, "what exactly did you plan?"
Zevran gave her a mischievous smile before explaining, "It is painfully obvious that they are in love, no? Well, the camp and the road are not exactly the places to start a budding romance. I wanted to give them a little…private time together. So they can relax and become more…intimate."
Revan raised her brows in minor shock, though he was sure she had already guessed his intentions when they had exchanged glances. "You mean I just paid ten sovereigns to buy them a private room to have coitus?"
He burst out in a raucous laugh at her blatancy. "Yes, I suppose so," Zevran sputtered after his fit of laughter. "But, better than hearing it at camp, right?"
Revan was about to respond to this when her words died on her lips at the cocky threats, insults, and boisterous commotion of some drunk sailors. Both of them turned around to see a group of large males surround a curvy, olive-skinned, dark-haired beauty that looked about half the mass of one of the men. She was contemplating them calmly, almost as if she enjoyed the situation. Then, the sailors got a little too close, and one tried to grab her. With lightning speed, she unsheathed two daggers and used them to chop off the sailor's hand, then rammed it into the base of his skull. The sailor collapsed to the ground, dead. Then, she gazed calmly at the other men and said serenely in her warm, husky voice, "Anyone else?" The few that remained looked at each other in fear. They grabbed their falling comrade, laid a few silvers on a table as payment for the ill-fated spirits, and dragged the body out of the establishment.
"Isabella!" Zevran rose from his seat, approaching the pirate/smuggler/captain/duelist with open arms, having recognized his old acquaintance at once. She looked up, wiped the slight precipitation from her forehead, and smiled. "Zevran Arainai, what a surprise to see you here," she greeted him before unexpectedly kissing him on the mouth. It was brief, but he had been completely unprepared for it, even though he had assassinated her former husband for her and subsequently spent a few nights with her…
"Ah, but who is this?" Isabella looked behind him. He twisted his head to find Revan standing like a wraith in her black leathers and shadowed features. Zevran could feel the blood rushing into his face, but he quickly repressed it.
"Isabella, may I introduce my friend, Revan, or, as you might know her, Dragonheart. Revan, this is Isabella, one of my oldest…should I say friends, or business acquaintances?"
"Oh, I think we moved far beyond just business a long time ago," Isabella joked. Looking at Revan, she continued, "But, it is a pleasure to meet a legend like you, Dragonheart. It seems like little Zev has moved up in social circles."
Revan gave her an amused smile at the jib. "Or that I've moved down." Isabella chuckled at the retort. "But, how do you know each other?"
Isabella and Zevran smiled awkwardly at that question before beginning to explain how they met, and all the crazy things that had happened when they exchanged services. While talking, they had taken seats at a table, Revan sitting across from Isabella and Zevran, her eyes darting between the two as she listened to their tale. Zevran found her emotionless gaze unnerving, especially since she must have assumed that they were, or at least had been, lovers. After their tale, Isabella inquired into how they had met, which Revan took up with easy grace. She, of course, underemphasized her role in everything, to which Zevran had to interject his own observations. More conversation followed, about being a duelist, about ships (which, it seemed to Zevran's surprise, Revan knew much about), and about every other topic that arose. It seemed to him that the two strong and very independent women had hit it off quite well, much to his relief. Having them at each other's throats would be a bloody spectacle.
At last, Revan excused herself to do some errands, leaving Zevran alone with the pirate. Isabella rose and moved to across the table. She wove her fingers together and rested her chin on top before fixing her amber eyes on his olive ones. She stared at him for a full, awkward minute before he could no longer handle the silence.
"What?" he interrogated.
"She's very beautiful," Isabella began gently. "In a subtle, wild way, but it is unmistakable when you talk to her."
Zevran blinked, trying to feign ignorance of her motives. "I suppose so," he answered.
Unfortunately, Isabella knew him well enough to know that he had understood her intent. "Then why did your eyes keep darting back to her when we were talking?"
"Because…" Zevran fidgeted as he attempted to come up with some excuse, but Isabella's earnest gaze would not let him off so easily. So, taking a deep breath and exhaling in a sigh, he began again. "Because—"
And out came Rose and Alistair, smiling like idiots, and saving Zevran from any further discussion about the mysterious Jedi.
For now.
Revan
"Are you sure you don't want to stay longer? I have many more interesting theories I've been meaning to test, but alas, for an old man such as myself, the task is almost impossible," the sallow Warden mage, Avernus, pleaded with Revan. "I could use an assistant like you."
She allowed herself the brief moment to ponder the offer, though she already knew her answer. She had always been fascinated with testing the limits of power to the extremes, but this was also what had led her down the path of the Dark Side, and it was also what caused so many atrocities to occur. Avernus' research seemed no different, since he was fond of the forbidden arts. In fact, upon entering the archaic fortress of Soldier's Peak with Levi Dryden, the merchant that had begged a promise from Duncan, they had found the castle infested with abominations and a rift in the Fade, caused by the blood mage generations ago. One of these abominations happened to be Levi's great-grandmother, Sophia Dryden, whose name he was trying to restore.
Of course, seeing no way of closing the rift, and ignorant of Avernus' existence, Rose had struck a tentative deal with the abomination, much to everyone's surprise. She did not look very happy with it, but Zevran, who had wanted to come with them to see the fallen keep, had applauded her, saying how the Crows had severely underestimated her. Revan could not help remarking as she struck this deal that it was a good thing they had sent Leliana, Wynne, and Sten to scout the small village of Haven which, according to Brother Genitivi's notes, housed the Urn of Sacred Ashes. They would have been furious with Rose's decision, however necessary it might have been. And, besides, Revan knew Rose well enough to know that she would never allow the demon to leave the keep.
So, the party went to fulfill their end of the bargain, when Revan had discovered some experiments, and finally the old mage Avernus, busy in his research. He had proposed a counter deal, one which everyone was more comfortable with; after all, Revan had convinced the others to save a bloodmage more than once. Then, as usual, they had charged back into the keep, slayed Sophia Dryden for the second time, and finally, with the help of Avernus, sealed the rift. Afterwards, they decided to stay a day to recuperate from their adventures, during which Revan had spent chatting with the mage about his grisly research. He had much to share, and much to teach, though Rose had made him swear to cease his use of blood magic. He was slightly disappointed in her "narrow-minded" decision, but he understood the consequences of his actions. However, Revan had a healthy appreciation for the usefulness of blood magic, even if she did not think it entirely safe. In a way, it was like using the Dark Side of the Force: dangerous, precarious, but rewarding if a balance is struck. Thus, the two of them had quickly become friends, exchanging ideas and possible theories. And then, he had offered her a chance to stay and help him.
"I would love to —really, I would," Revan began, "but I must complete my duty as a Grey Warden, and help defeat the Archdemon."
Avernus nodded sagely. "Ah, I see. It is a shame to waste a talent such as yours to fight and be killed by darkspawn; you could achieve so much, I see it."
Revan gave him a pleased smile before reassuring him, "Perhaps afterwards, I will come back. In the meantime…do not stop using bloodmagic. I agree that it might be dangerous, but we need all the assistance we can get, and if bloodmagic will help us defeat the Blight, then sacrifices must be made."
He smiled at her in return, a strange expression on the wrinkled face of the serious man. Not questioning if she even had the authority to contradict Rose's commands, he fell back into talking of the experiments he could do with an apprentice or assistant, and how it could help a Grey Warden unlock more abilities than what they had now. He dreamed of a powerful force of Wardens, keeping the peace, stopping Blights before they even began. They were remarkable dreams for such an old, jaded man, but it just proved that he was far from giving up on his research. Finally, he paused, as if a remarkable thought had just entered his mind.
"You said that when you arrived here, everyone in your party saw…visions? Of the last siege?" he inquired.
"Yes."
"Did you just see it, or did it seem that you were actually there?"
Revan paused to think. "I…it felt like I was there."
Avernus stroked his chin. "And do you still see visions even now, after the rift was closed?"
A shiver ran down her spine as she recalled the last vision she had received earlier that day in the kitchens. She nodded gravely.
"Hmmm…how interesting," Avernus pondered. "Is it possible you…no, that's just a theory. Impossible. I should know better."
"What?" Revan asked, her curiosity piqued.
"Well, in my years of solitude, I had ample time to observe the rift and the demons that poured out of it," he began. "Well, on one subject of mine, I tried to see if I could reverse the process a demon uses; that is, I wanted to see if I could send the essence of a person into the Fade to take possession of a spirit. I wanted to have a person possess a spirit. Unfortunately, the subject was weak and had no magical ability, so the only time he could enter the Fade naturally was while he dreamt, and even then, the spirits of the Fade weren't that interested in him. So, only his consciousness entered the Fade, not his essence, his body, and consequently he found himself trapped there. Later, I redid my calculations and took more observations, only to discover that, indeed, a person with magic would be more suitable. But, they had to have more than magic; they had to have an incredibly strong attraction to the Fade, and the Fade to the person. That way, the mage would have a better chance at attracting the attention of a spirit in order to make a deal with it, and thus possess it. You, I believe, would make the perfect candidate."
Revan sat in stunned silence for a moment as she digested this information. She had always known that she was close to the Force, and if Daylen had been right in suggesting that the Force and the Fade were one, she would also be close to the Fade. The idea scared her; she already had to deal with the Archdemon, so she did not know if she could deal with a horde of demons after her if she ever entered the Fade again.
The conversation continued well past sunset, until Avernus shooed the Jedi away, telling her it was high time he began on his research and reminding her that she had her own duties to attend to: polishing and sharpening her swords, readjusting her lightsaber, cleaning her leathers, helping make dinner, and beginning the monumental task of cleaning up Soldier's Peak and shuffling through what remained of documents, books, and stores. To this end, she found herself in the company of Morrigan, who seemed to be trying to focus on something menial to distract from the horrible thoughts in her head. Revan knew it could be only one thing.
"You look perturbed," Revan remarked as she sorted through the paperwork in Sophia Dryden's desk.
Morrigan looked up at the sudden break in the silence, then pursed her lips as she contemplated the comment. "Yes, I suppose you could say so. But then again, you read Flemeth's grimoire… Who wouldn't be a bit perturbed?"
Revan's lips parted as she understood that Morrigan had finished reading the book she had found in the Circle. Then, she pursed them in concern as Morrigan took a deep breath in order to continue.
"I still don't know if you were right to read it before me," Morrigan looked down, "but I am glad you know what it says. I can't believe… Well, you know what needs to be done now, yes?"
"No," Revan sternly shook her head as she followed the girl's train of thought.
"But it must be done!"
The Jedi shook her head with pursed lips and said, "Flemeth cannot be killed, not normally. She would kill you first, or take possession of your body."
"I know," Morrigan pierced her with her yellow eyes. "That is why I wanted to ask you to kill her. I know I ask much, but you seem to be her equal in terms of strength and power."
Revan looked at the girl, and, seeing that Morrigan believed the only way to free herself of her mother was to kill her, sighed in grudging agreement. Morrigan gave her a thankful nod, and they continued working. Most of the papers were soaked through with water and blood, or rotted through. Some of the books, however, were intact, even though they were the thick academic tomes. There were a few interesting reports about troop movements, but all of it was outdated several centuries. The office took only a few hours, at which point they moved on to other parts of the keep. All the while, Revan hoped that they would discover a cache of Archdemon blood, but alas, there was no such luck. They did find some useful items, but nothing that would terribly tip the scales in their advantage. Overall, it would be a good place to train future Wardens, if and when the current Blight was over.
The next day, the group bid Levi farewell, after Revan had had a chat with him about the possibility of returning the keep to being a Warden stronghold, to which he was amenable. Rose, Alistair, Fuzzywuggins, and Morrigan were to head for the dwarven stronghold of Orzammar, while Revan and Zevran went to rejoin the rest of the group at Haven, in order to retrieve the Urn of Sacred Ashes. They would all meet again in Orzammar, where, hopefully, they would be ready to return to Redcliffe to cure the Arl. Then, afterward, they would assemble the Landsmeet in order to put, according to Revan's plans, Alistair on the throne. And, when the Archdemon made his move, they would be ready with four forces of militia, dwarves, elves, and mages. Of course, they would not be able to defeat all of the host, but the Wardens just needed enough time to get to the Archdemon and slay it. But now, the task in front of Revan was retrieving the Urn. She idealistically hoped that Leliana, Wynne, and Sten had been able to acquire it already.
Heading south from the keep, she and Zevran travelled at a steady, quick pace, wasting no extra time. However, they talked continuously on the journey there. The more they talked, the more she found she had in common with the elf assassin. They had the same type of twisted humor, the same past pains, the same life philosophy, and the same ambition: to finally find a bit of peace and happiness. And, to her surprise, he had stopped flirting with her. Zevran actually seemed afraid to engage her like that, though he had not stopped playfully flirting with Rose while they were in camp. In fact, when Revan thought about it, she realized that he flirted with everyone, including, on a dare with Alistair, Sten. She had been sitting near the Qunari at the time, readjusting the crystal in her lightsaber, when he had sauntered over, Alistair watching close by. Sten had called him out early in the conversation, too. However, the last time he had tried flirting with her was before their time in Castle Redcliffe.
When they had gotten to the crossroads—turn to head towards Haven, or continue to fulfil Morrigan's request—Revan explained to Zevran the dilemma. He chortled, then gestured straight ahead for her to lead the way, explaining as he did that he wanted to meet the legendary Flemeth, Witch of the Wilds, even if she killed them. So, she led them into the Wilds. Still, it gave her an eerie feeling of recognition the closer they came to the witch. Revan acted on her instincts, not paying any regard to markers or terrain. Despite this, within the day they came across the hut. Flemeth stood outside.
"Hello again, Dragonheart," the old woman greeted her, as a colleague would greet another.
"Flemeth," Revan halted several meters away, Zevran right behind her. He, smartly, kept his mouth shut. The tension in the air was almost palpable.
"I suppose Morrigan sent you to destroy me? Has she figured out my little secret?" her yellow eyes flashed.
"Yes."
"Ah. So, what are you going to do about it, hmm? Are you going to kill me, as she wanted you to? Or, are you going to be smart, and just tell her you slew me? I'll even give you my real grimoire, to make it more convincing."
Revan's eyes narrowed, suspecting a trap. "Why should I spare you?"
Flemeth laughed. "Do you really think you could kill me? Your efforts would be wasted."
Revan could not argue with this. It was apparent that she was no longer human, and most likely not mortal. Having known about Revan's arrival beforehand, she probably would have made arrangements in order to preserve herself. Thus, there was no point in risking her own life, and Zevran's, to kill only a part of her.
"As much as I do not like it, I cannot argue with you," Revan said bitterly.
"Ah, very wise, and very prudent." Flemeth reached in her robes and produced another tome, thicker than the other grimoire, and held it out for Revan. As the Jedi bridged the gap and grabbed the book, Flemeth pulled her close and whispered in her ear, "I am leaving here and never returning. If you come back here again, you will find nothing, not even that Force crystal you so coveted. So, I will tell you something now, in case events prevent me from visiting you in the future: you have a destiny here. You will undo something I did a long time ago and change the face of this world. There will be a time when you will be confronted with the choice of whether to do this, or to let the world take a darker, more tragic path; you must take the harder path, or it will not be just this world that will be changed. You must open the Black Gates by the Four Pillars, and you must slay the Eight twice in order to birth the One. And…" Here, Flemeth hesitated, unsure if she should say more. Revan gazed at her in confusion. "And you must take the Vessel with you."
Flemeth locked eyes with the Jedi, making sure Revan memorized her cryptic words. At length, after trying to discern more from her face, Revan gave the older woman a small nod. She then released her iron grip on Revan's hand, and she watched as the Warden walked away. But, a few paces away, Revan turned back, a thoughtful expression on her face.
"You do not have the soul of an Archdemon, do you?" she asked unexpectedly. Flemeth gave a slight start at the question. "If you did, you would not need to trade bodies; your original would last centuries, if not more, and your powers would sustain it past that."
Suddenly, Flemeth's entire face changed. Her eyes glowed with an inhuman light, and she barred her teeth in a wicked grin. "Ha ha ha, you're very observant! No, I didn't make a deal with an Archdemon, as you foolishly did. I made a deal with something far more powerful, something you couldn't understand."
"Then why did you lie to me?"
The witch laughed. "Why, to get you to trust me, of course!"
Revan felt used. In that second, if Zevran had given her one sign, one inkling, she would have fought the old hag and destroyed the part of her that was in front of them. But, Zevran remained rooted to the spot, both intrigued and terrified by the confrontation, and Revan had no excuse to attack her now. She spun on her heel and haughtily strode back down the path they had come from, crystal forgotten, Zevran following a step behind her, the real grimoire clutched by her muscular hand by her side. The thought dimly occurred to her that her eyes were probably yellow, just like Flemeth's; after all, even if they had not struck the same deal, they were still the same sort of evil. As soon as they were out of sight of the hut, Zevran jumped to her side and forced her to calm down, even jumping in front of her to prevent her from merely marching off in a direction and into a sinkhole. He did not ask her what Flemeth had said, or even what was in the book, just told her to sit down on a nearby log and breathe for a minute until her anger passed.
They left the Wilds, and as they emerged back on the road, Revan swore that she would never return there again. There was nothing there for her, and nothing worth fixing. Not even the strange mists intrigued her any longer. And, despite the time she had spent expelling her anger with Zevran's help, it was another day, a silent day, before her anger completely abated. She despised having been used by Flemeth, and she loathed being lied to even more. Zevran did not try to break her concentration and her thoughts all that day, figuring instead that she would speak when she wanted to.
And for that, she could never repay him.
Zevran
It had been over a day since the Flemeth incident, as he called it. After Revan and Flemeth had confronted each other (which was one of the most terrifying moments in his short life), Revan had retreated within herself in order to sort through her emotions—most notably, her anger. To see Revan angry was like watching a tempest approaching while on a ship at high seas: awesome and deadly. To ask her to get over it would be to sail into the center of that thunderstorm. So, after initially getting her to calm down, he let her fume as long as she needed.
In the meantime, however, he was happy. Travelling with Revan was one of the best things that had ever happened to him. She was so similar to him, and yet so different, as he had known since they first met. But, having talked with her continuously, he found that everything he had first thought he knew about her was only the surface. She was compassionate yet practical, serious yet sarcastic. He had never felt closer to anyone before, but, though this was the source of his present contentment, it scared him. As an assassin, he was trained to never have relationships, because that person could be your next target, or die on the next mission; in short, it was too dangerous to get close to anyone. So, to get close to Revan, as he could not help but do, was frightening.
That fright was what he was experiencing when, that night, he came back to the camp to see Revan atop a nearby hill, laying in the grass, staring up at the firmament. Starlight lit up the surface of her face and the tips of the grass as it gently waved in the light autumn breeze. At his silent approach, Revan eerily tilted her head in his direction, knowing that he was there, and beckoned him lazily with her hand. He immediately climbed up to her. She grabbed his hand and pulled him down to lay in the grass, and together they stared up at the incredible sky in silence.
Finally, Revan broke her reverie. "I am sorry for my mood."
"Hey, it's fine; there's nothing to be sorry for," Zevran looked across at her.
"No, that was not fair to you. I should not have taken my anger out on you; I should have dismissed it immediately."
"But anger is a natural emotion. We all feel it, and we all have to deal with it in our own time."
He saw Revan shake her head. "A Jedi should never feel anger; we are taught early on that anger leads to the Dark Side. I am not following my lessons as I should, and I fear what I might do if I forget them."
"That doesn't sound like a fun profession. 'Here, we're going to teach you how to not be a human being, and instead be a serene statue'," Zevran mocked, eliciting a snort from Revan.
"Something like that," she agreed, and then she sighed. "It seems like so long ago now, that I was a Jedi."
They lay in silence for a few more minutes. Zevran had only seen the skies this clear in the desert, miles away from life of any kind, deep within Antiva. The stars shone like diamonds on velvet, complemented by the silk belt of the firmament. The black trees towering above them framed the picture like a painting. The vast vaulted ceiling above them was more majestic than any cathedral or palace Zevran had ever seen; he wondered if Revan had ever seen anything to rival it.
Suddenly, Revan raised a marble arm and pointed upwards. "There, that star—that is the star of the planet I was raised on."
Instead of looking in the direction of her finger, Zevran turned his attention on her face, to see if she was joking. "What?"
"It was a small thing, a fraction of the size of this planet, but it was far enough away from the Core Worlds that slavery was still legitimate. It had good soil, too—or so I was told. I do not remember much. It was very close to the star. I think it was a moon…but I left it early, and I never went back."
Zevran blinked, trying to comprehend what she was saying. "You mean…you weren't born…here?"
"On this planet? No."
"But you said…once, you told me you came from across the ocean!"
Revan paused for a moment and pursed her lips, as she often did if she thought back on something. "Yes, I did. Sorry I lied; I just thought you would not believe me if I told you the truth."
Zevran guffawed, "If I didn't know you better, I wouldn't! But…I suppose it makes sense."
"You 'suppose it makes sense'? What does that mean?"
He shrugged, ruffling the grass. "You're just so…different than anyone here. And not just different as in foreign: you see past borders and languages and customs and race, unlike everyone else. I mean, not even Rose accepted Sten like you did. And I doubt that anyone that had…experienced just one world would be able to do that."
The grass rustled as Revan tilted her head to look at him, her dark eyes sparkling just like the stars above. She looked at him, and he felt a painful ache deep within his chest. For him, the brief seconds she spent regarding him was a small eternity. And, still looking at him, she uttered, "You did."
Then she looked away.
And then she pointed at another star and proclaimed, "There! That is the Telos star system, where Carth is from. I wonder if he is there now. Do you see it?"
Needless to say, Zevran didn't respond. Instead, he turned wordlessly away, staring abjectly into the shadows.