Standard Disclaimer: Bioware owns all Dragon Age characters and in game content. I own the bits that are left.
Author's Note: This is one of those chapters that earn this story its M rating. Contains male/male interactions, implied rape, slight paedophilic themes. Yeah, it's a crazy chapter. Consider yourself warned.
Chapter 16 – Losses and Discoveries
9:20 Dragon Age, Circle Tower, Lake Calenhad, Ferelden – Aneirin (17), Anders (15)
Anders smoothed down his robes, sternly suppressing his shivers, before pressing a kiss on the other apprentice's mouth. "Thank you for a… pleasant evening, my dear."
Her mouth twitched in a distinctly predatory smile. "The name is Solona, Solona Amell. I would hope that I'm not that forgettable." Azure eyes flashed with unadulterated lust. "Perhaps, another performance would help you commit it to memory."
Oh no, not with you I'm not. His smile faltered before he stepped further into the shadows to disguise his distaste. "Ah, we have to hurry back before the next patrol comes along." Anders hastily added. "Another night perhaps?"
"There are only so many dark haired female apprentices within the Tower for you to fuck. You'll soon come round to me again if you cannot even remember my name." Her sarcastic voice could have frozen the air around him.
"What makes you think I have limited my choices to only females?" Anders retorted, his tone just as frosty. "Come. Let's go before the patrol comes back around to this alcove." He exited the small nook where he and Solona had ended up having sex. Without looking to see if she followed, he hurried back in the direction of the apprentices' dormitories, keeping to the shadows as much as he could.
The only thing he knew about Solona was that she was one of those apprentices near their group's average age to enter the Circle Tower even before Neria. According to the grapevine, she was transferred here in 9:09 Dragon Age at the age of five from Kirkwall where her family were part of the nobility. Her stuck-up attitude and proficiency in Entropy magic made most shy away from her in spite of her attractiveness. Jowan had once remarked that she fit the Black Widow persona perfectly. After tonight, Anders would be quick to agree.
Nevertheless, Anders had initially been drawn to her, or more specifically to her hair, its dark brown so like black in the shadows of the Circle Tower. Surprisingly, it had not taken much of Anders' skills in charm, humour and flattery before she unbend enough to accept his offer for companionship. Thus, he had been astounded when he discovered she was a virgin. He cringed at the memory of it, him panicking at the thought that he had somehow hurt her from her hiss of pain and the blood staining their joining while with soft laughter and much unbridled lust, she had urged him to pound harder into her.
Thereafter, Anders kept running into her in the hallways, library or other common areas. She would always proposition him and, weak-willed as he was, he would always agree. He had sympathised with the brief glimpses of a damaged mind she kept hidden away from others. He felt he was helping her by giving her pleasure in a place where so little of it exists for those corralled as they were. However, tonight, when she had cast Paralysis on him before literally having her way with him, he inwardly decided that he never wanted to repeat the experience. If possible, he never wanted to see her again. There has to be a way to avoid one bloody apprentice in a tower filled with hundreds of them.
Anders heaved a disgusted sigh, not knowing if it was at Solona or himself. He had thought that giving in to Petra's insistence to show him a "good time" would relieve his disgusting obsession with Neria. Instead, he found himself supplied with images of what he would like to do to her in his dreams and often woke trembling, torn between warring feelings of self-repulsion and searing lust.
Petra had been a very good teacher and he was, even if he was the only one to say so, which incidentally he was not, a very enthusiastic student. However, Anders soon found his attention shifting from Petra to other apprentices. Mostly those with black or dark coloured hair as his most recent paramour so helpfully pointed out. It was revolting but Anders could as much help it as the sun rises each day. Most times, he could not even remember their names or faces as his traitorous mind would supply Neria's image instead. At least he succeeded in not calling out her name when he came. Well, only in one instance had he failed and she, Solona, had never let him forget it.
In his heart, Anders knew who he really wanted. He just had to wait for her to grow up and, hopefully, win her heart for himself before some other man could. Placing himself in close proximity to her was his only plan of action so far.
He skulked in the shadows, silently moving through the dark, avoiding the places where mage lights illuminated the corridors. Almost reaching his dormitory, Anders froze when he heard a scuffle. He peeked out and saw four templars pushing a defeated looking Aneirin towards the basement. Anders had never seen that look on his elven friend. Aneirin had always been a taciturn but proud young elf, only opening his mouth to discuss Arlathan, Elvhenan, other Dalish ways and their supposedly superior heritage. Silently, Anders followed his friend's obviously reluctant descent into the depths of the Circle Tower.
"So knife ear, I heard that you like it both ways, eh?" One of the templars sneered even as he loosened his breeches under his mauve skirt.
Aneirin sighed with resignation. "Why don't you guys just get it done and over with so that I can at least get some sleep tonight?" He huffed tiredly. "Senior Enchanter Wynne has been asking me why I am so distracted lately."
The templars faltered. The one who had spoken aloud angrily smacked Aneirin with his gauntleted fist. "Is that a threat, knife ear?"
Wiping a trail of blood from the side of his mouth, Aneirin snorted. "Hardly… Just wanted to let you know that she had started to notice and wonder at my lack of focus and mana. You may want to leave off the bashing so that I won't have to expend all my efforts to heal myself after each session."
Anders paled. He could not understand the fatality in Aneirin's voice. From his speech, this has happened more than once. Why didn't he tell anyone?
The templars laughed uproariously. "Told you this knife ear whore was biddable." The others started to loosen their breeches too.
Aneirin's eyes flashed with suppressed anger, turning his eyes to ice blue. "I am not a whore. You are not paying me anything for this." He spit out the words even as he raised his robes over his head. "Just make sure you leave the other apprentices alone as per our agreement."
Anders could not help the soft hiss of pity that escaped from his lips. Fortunately, the templars were too focused on Aneirin to hear the faint noise. Aneirin's body was marred with half healed bruises, scratches and lacerations. It is only now that Anders understood Aneirin's preference for privacy when bathing and refusal to join the weekly swimming lessons on the banks of Lake Calenhad.
"You keep us happy and we will have no need to seek others." There was more boisterous laughter from the templars. Aneirin sank, naked onto his hands and knees, offering up his hips with practised ease. He crawled to the man who did all the talking, pushed aside his skirt and started to suck on his semi erect member.
Ander's eyes widened in horror. What in the Void is happening? Why is Aneirin doing this? He wanted to run out to confront the templars but fear kept his feet from moving. Grunts, groans and moans were all Anders heard as he closed his eyes to the repulsive scene. He crept into a nearby recess to wait, silently weeping at his own cowardice in not helping his friend.
Aneirin woke to the feeling of someone casting Heal on him. He resisted the arms holding him only to hear Anders shushing him. "Aneirin… It's alright. They are gone. It's only me."
A flash of distress crossed Aneirin's eyes and rage marred his face although Anders did not see it.
"Why? Why did they do this? Why did you let them?" Anders asked in an anguished voice.
"Why?" Aneirin rasped, anger turning his eyes to ice. "Is there anything I could do while I'm trapped here?" He laughed derisively. "I believe they are as frustrated to be locked in here as us. They can only go on leave once a year. No longer even allowed to bed any mage they fancy on the threat of death. Fucking a male apprentice is easy. It does not cause unnecessary accidents."
"How can you be so… so… cavalier about this?" Anders sobbed wretchedly. "I'm sorry, I should have stopped them. I should have stood up for you. But there were four of them and I was scared. I didn't even think to get help until after they were gone."
"Anders…" Aneirin reached up to brush his hand through Ander's hair soothingly. "This is nothing that I haven't been subjected to before. I was from an Alienage, remember?"
Anders took a quivering breath and asked. "How long?"
"How long what?" Aneirin sat up and freed himself from his friend's arms. He could no longer take the pity in Anders' eyes and looked away.
"How long have you… Have they…?" Anders could not continue before tears ran down his cheeks again.
Aneirin hunched into himself before mumbling. "Shortly after I arrived here."
Anders gasped in absolute consternation. "Why didn't you tell anyone?"
Aneirin murmured sardonically. "Who would I tell? Who would care about an elven whore?"
Anders raised startled eyes at his friend. "What?"
"My family was very poor, Anders. My father could no longer work due to injury and, later, sickness. My mother had to look after him and my three much younger siblings. There was no other job profitable enough to ensure we didn't all starve to death or die from cold." Aneirin cynically snorted. "I'm just lucky that there were enough nobles who liked elven boys."
Anders closed his eyes to his friend's words, wishing to deny the truth in them. He could not even begin to imagine all that his friend had gone through in order to survive.
"You could tell Wynne. She would not stand for this. She would do something to stop this." Anders' voice grew stronger. "You are her primary apprentice now. Surely she would listen to you."
"Wynne is very dedicated in getting me to become the Spirit Healer I could be." Aneirin stated contemptuously. "And I believe that she has her own demons to defeat."
Anders shivered from the coldness in his tone. "Is there no one who can help? How about the First Enchanter or the Knight-Commander?" He continued to hope for some remedy for this ghastly state of affairs.
"They threatened to do it on the other apprentices, Anders, if I told." Cackling in a humourless way, Aneirin placed his head in his hands. "You, Veness, Jowan, even Neria. I can't let them touch you guys."
Anders' eyes widened in sudden comprehension. "Oh, Aneirin." He threw his arms around his elven friend.
"At least when Irving and Greagoir are around, they only do it about once a month." Aneirin stood unsteadily and extended a hand to Anders. "Unfortunately, when they are not, it can get as frequent as every other day. Don't be around, Anders. I never meant for you, any of you to witness this."
Anders could not stop the tremors. They came from deep inside him. He could not stop the fear for his friend, fear for the rest of his friends and ultimately fear for himself. "You could escape. You can't keep letting them do this to you. It isn't right."
Aneirin heaved a sigh. He understood Anders' trepidation. The illusion of a home and safe haven, which Anders had begun to believe the Circle Tower was, had been completely shattered. "Come, let's get back and rest. If I fall asleep in class again, Wynne will have my hide." He did not disclose to Anders that he had made plans to escape. He was just waiting for the right chance for the actual breakout.
-0-
9:20 Dragon Age, Jungles of Antiva, Antiva – Neria (10), Zevran (now 17)
Two elves, a child and a teenage boy, were lying as if asleep near a pile of grey ash while the grass around them grew with alarming speed to cover them in a green canopy, shielding them from any prying eyes.
Someone was kissing her cheek. Neria murmured. "Please, just five more minutes." Suddenly, wide awake, she clapped her hand over her mouth and stared at the person beside her with widened eyes.
It was a very handsome man with brown hair and familiar soft brown eyes. "Anders?" Neria questioned uncertainly.
"Yes, Neria, love, it's me. Time to get up, you sleepy head." The very adult Anders was smiling lovingly at Neria.
"What did you call me?" Neria was confused. She felt sure that there was a reason for her aversion to speech but it slipped away like a slippery eel when she tried to catch hold of it.
"Love?" Anders smiled rakishly and Neria had to remember to breathe at the sheer passion in his features. My goodness! When did this happen?
She sat up and placed her hands on Anders' face, gently stoking his face. Anders nuzzled into her hands and grinned. "You are not tempting me to let you stay in bed…" The rest of what Anders said was lost to her as Neria stared at her own hands. They were bigger than they had been.
"My hands! What happened to them?" Neria brought both of her hands in front of her and gawked bewilderedly at them.
"What? Did you hurt yourself with the poisons you were experimenting on again?" Anders anxiously examined them.
"They are so big? How did you get so old Anders?" Neria questioned doubtfully.
Anders rolled his eyes. "What are you talking about? Your hands are dainty compared to mine." He grasped her very adult hands in his own. "Just because I am five years older than you, darling, does not mean you get to call me old."
Neria shook her head in confusion. Everything felt jumbled in her mind. She had no idea where she was, how she got here and the reason she was so sure that Anders should not be the age he currently seemed to be. "What year is this?"
Anders raised an eyebrow. "First thing you do when waking up on Satinalia is to ask what year it is?" Chuckling, he brought out a small beribboned box. "Happy Feast Day, darling. This is to mark our fifth year together. It's 9:35 Dragon Age."
"What?" Neria moved away from Anders to the edge of the bed. Her legs were also longer than she remembered. She stood and walked to the ceiling to floor mirror on one side of the unfamiliar room. She gasped when she saw the reflection in it.
The mirror displayed a very adult if petite, female elf with short black hair. Various sections were tied haphazardly with twine as if to keep them from her face. Neria touched her face wonderingly and her reflection mirrored the action. The grown up elf in the mirror is me!
The only thing she recognised from that image was her eyes. They were the same bright hazel speckled brown that she had lived with for the past three years.
"What happened to my hair?" Neria moaned in despair. She had always been very proud of her long, luxurious ebony tresses.
"You decided that keeping long hair was not suitable for dagger work." Ander answered uncertainly. "Are you feeling alright, love?"
"Why are you calling me that?" Neria turned around to glare at Anders. There was something very wrong here that she could not for the life of her remember.
"And what else should I be calling the love of my life?" Anders wound his arms around Neria's waist and pressed a loving kiss to her neck.
That smell! Neria growled. Daggers appeared in her hands with nary a thought and she plunged them into the fake Anders.
"Never! Ever! Use my friend's face to trick me!" She roared in fury and the demon dissipated into nothingness. Moments later, the scene resolved to the undisguised Fade that Neria was so familiar with. She sighed and looked at her hands again. To her surprise, she was still very much in adult form. What is this? Why did my form in the Fade change?
A very familiar figure was standing a few feet away from her. "Beolagh?" Neria narrowed her eyes in fury. "Is this your doing?"
The Pride demon raised both hands in mock surrender. "I know better than to trick you with such parlour tricks."
"Do you have any idea why I am like this?" Neria gestured to her changed form.
"I believe the Desire demon, to which this realm belongs to, likes her victims to actually be adult enough to feel desire." Beolagh offered its theory on the mind of its fellow demon.
Neria snorted in derision and started to walk aimlessly around the desolate scenery. Beolagh followed her only to stop when she suddenly spun around. "This is going nowhere." Neria suspiciously muttered.
"Took you long enough to notice." Beolagh smirked. "You have to create a portal to reach the demon. However, you may be interested to know that a companion was brought in with you."
"Why are you helping me?" Neria tilted her head questioningly at the Pride demon.
"I'm not. I'm thwarting the demon that dared to poach my prey without first seeking my approval." Beolagh lazily drawled.
"You know. I'm starting to believe you do have feelings for me." Neria giggled at Beolagh's scornful expression before concentrating on opening a portal to Zevran. A door appeared and she opened it to find purple swirls of energy were beyond it. She shrugged, glimpsed back at Beolagh with a smile and crossed the threshold.
The scene Neria stumbled upon was of someone was tied with ropes to a contraption with two reels and a huge nautical wheel. Two others were beside it. "What in the Maker's shiny balls is that?"
"That's a rack. Torture device your mortal realm seems to be fond of using." Beolagh informed her dispassionately.
Frowning, Neria walked closer to investigate. A blond haired, bronze skinned elf with the single whorl on his face was the apparent victim. Zevran! Neria walked closer but the two elven looking demons paid Beolagh and her no heed.
"I think I saw him flinch that time." One of them smirked nastily.
"Maybe. We'll make you scream yet, apprentice." The other demon sneered while folding his arms.
"We're not going to go easy on you, trust me." The first demon continued while continuing to turn the wheel.
"No…" Zevran groaned in pain and Neria grunted in sympathy. "I wouldn't…" She saw Zevran stiffen in pain and rage started to flare within her. "want you to hold back. I'd be disappointed if you…" Neria took a huge calming breath as she saw Zevran grit his teeth to keep his moan of pain from escaping. "did."
"This one has spirit. It's a shame we have to break him." The demon retorted sardonically.
"I demand you let him go this minute." Neria stated with cold fury.
"What… what are you doing here? You're not supposed to be… here…" Zevran replied apprehensively.
"What are you talking about? I'm here to help you." Neria huffed in exasperation.
"I can't… I need to stay strong. This is my test. I am going to be a Crow… I need to show them I can tolerate… pain." Zevran answered breathlessly, clearly struggling against the inflicted pain.
"But you're already an Antivan Crow!" Neria cried in vexation. Rage at what the demons dared to do to her new friend causing her magic to fluctuate dangerously. She took another deep breath, counting to ten like Irving had taught her. If Zevran was here, his body would be close to hers. She could not afford to cause him burns by not controlling her magic.
"What? That cannot be, and yet… you speak the truth? I can feel it… Is this nothing but a bad dream? A bad memory?" Zevran raised hesitant and doubtful eyes at Neria.
"Oh, I think he's questioning us. That's a very, very bad thing to do, isn't it?" The demon snapped viciously.
The other nodded his agreement. "Yes, it is. Yes… he will be punished for that. Severely punished."
With that, the demons started to attack Neria. It was to Neria's utter shock when Beolagh transformed into a dark red twelve foot tall monster. Neria knew Beolagh was a Pride demon but it had never taken its true form around her. Its body was covered with sharp spikes and scales. Its hands were sharp, four talon claws. Neria readied a spell to incinerate it in case it wished to turn on her.
"You may wish to limit the use of your spells if you do not wish to hurt your friend." Beolagh stated calmly in a raspy growl. "These lesser demons shouldn't be too hard to dispose with physical means."
Without aplomb, Beolagh swiped at one of the said demons with his talons. Neria got a heady rush from the savagery and engaged the other lesser demon with her daggers.
Zevran was standing at the sides, watching with bewilderment and fright as a monster and beautiful elf fought against two elves who looked similar to the torturers at his last trials. When they eventually triumphed over them, he strove for an indolent act, laying his hands on the rack he had so recently been strapped to and chuckled sombrely. "Well! That was bracing! There's nothing like a good racking, is there?" The exquisite female rolled her eyes and started to speak when Zevran felt a pull in the centre of his being. "Hmm? What are you doing? Where are you going?"
Before Neria's eyes, Zevran disappeared in amidst flickers of light. Beolagh reverted to his preferred form and she heaved a heavy sigh. "Not to put too fine a point to it but you are too young to sigh like this." Beolagh observed languidly.
Neria rolled her eyes again and thought of another door. Another appeared before them. She opened it and walked through without hesitation. On a desolate platform, a female elf who looked distinctly familiar was caged within a nest of thick, thorny vines. A Desire demon, in female form, all horned and skimpily covered, was floating in mid-air just a few feet away from them, almost dead centre of the platform.
Neria nearly doubled over in laughter. "I would like to remind you that I am actually ten and very much a female."
The Desire demon narrowed her eyes and took on the adult Anders' form Neria had woke up to. Neria's eyes immediately flashed, turning obsidian black. Raising a hand upon which an ice blue fireball was forming to epic proportions, she coldly declared. "You may wish to change to a different form before I reduce you to a pile of ashes for taking my friend's one."
A thickly accented voice interrupted whatever retorts the Desire demon may have made. "How did I get here? What happened to all the luscious wood nymphs?" Neria glanced backwards with an amused smirk and Zevran cringed before shrugging airily. "While I have no idea who you are, bella signora, I will help you defeat this foul creature. No one messes with the Antivan Crows."
Neria nodded in acknowledgment before facing the Desire demon again. "Well? What have you to offer?"
"Do you not wish to know your history? Is this not the reason you have risked all to come here?" The Desire demon had morphed into the image of another vaguely familiar elven man with intricate vallaslin on his face.
"Who is that?" Neria asked impetuously before turning to the elven lady trapped in her natural prison. "Who are you?"
"Emma da'vhenan? Is that you?" The elven lady whispered softly. "Emma da'len! You came back!" Glancing fearfully at the Desire demon, she cried feebly. "No, you must leave! She cannot have you."
Neria felt the elven lady draw on the Fade to cast a Flame Blast on vines. However, even before the spell was completed, she sank to the ground grasping her head.
"Fool! You belong to me. You will never escape me unless you provide me with a substitute." The Desire demon flashed a predacious grin at Neria. "Do you wish to replace your mother as my vessel?"
"Mother?" Neria's heart raced in her chest. She moved closer to look at the elven lady. Her face was also decorated with elaborate vallaslin. She had long, shimmering black hair that Neria recognised was so like as her own. Swirling to stare at the form the Desire demon had taken, she recognised her own bright hazel eyes with chocolate specks.
These are my parents. Neria felt quite lightheaded. "How is it that she is still here?"
"She promised me her body to save you and her clan. Somehow, she lost it and I have trapped her soul here as penance." The Desire demon simpered. "So? Do you wish to take her place?"
"Don't listen to her! I am already dead. Kill her so that I may move on and finally meet up with emma lath, da'vhenan." The elven lady was grasping the thorny vines with no thoughts to the lacerations they were causing her. "Kill her so that I may be free once again."
Neria heard the sound of daggers unsheathing and knew that Zevran was preparing to strike. Beolagh had changed into his true form once again. With a thought, twin daggers appeared in her hands and she dashed towards the demon with a ferocious battlecry.
Zevran was almost distracted as his jaw dropped at the speed and viciousness of the gorgeous elf. He was taken aback when he recognised Crow training in her manoeuvres. Well hel-lo! Who are you and how do I get to know you better in real life?
Fury fuelling through her motions, Neria twirled, parried, spun and slashed brutally at the Desire demon even as Beolagh literally tore it from limb to limb. Zevran suddenly appeared behind it and finished it off with a particularly malicious back stab. He had not appreciated its manipulations of his mind.
The Desire demon curled into itself before disappearing into nothingness. The prison vanished with its conjurer's demise and the elven lady dashed out, enveloping Neria in a tight hug. "Emma da'len. You have grown so much." She smiled through her tears. "You're not so little anymore. But why are you consorting with demons?"
Neria squirmed in discomfort even as Beolagh reverted to his usual form around her. "You know, I never actually asked for his assistance. It was offered freely so I don't believe that counts as consorting with demons."
Her mother glared meaningfully at Beolagh. "They are not to be trusted."
Beolagh raised an eyebrow idly. "Just for your information: I am the only reason this realm is not falling apart right now. You may wish to impart all necessary information before my tolerance ends."
Bustling with indignation, Neria's mother turned around and glazed enquiringly between Neria and Zevran. "Is this young elf your Bonded?"
Neria blushed to the tips of her tapered ears. Zevran laughed lustily before bowing with a flourish. "Zevran Arainai at your service, mia signora. Unfortunately, I have not had the pleasure of meeting with your beautiful daughter until today."
Neria glanced amusedly at Zevran. He obviously did not recognise her as an adult.
"Ma serannas, young warrior." Neria's mother bowed her head in thanks before moving them away from both Beolagh and Zevran. "Emma da'len, you must listen carefully to what I have to say. Ours is the last true blood from the direct descendants of Arlathan when Elvhenan was still the only civilisation. We were further strengthened by the bloodline of Garahel, the great elven warrior who ended the Fourth Blight against the Old God Andoral. However, because of this, our line has been cursed by Andoral. Every fourth generation of offspring results in only one female and that female bears the cursed Gift of Enslavement. Truly it is no gift. There will be many who may seem to love you but this would be an illusion caused by the curse. Only the one who is willing to live for you will be your true love. If you chose wrongly, you may lose magic forever."
Grasping her hands in a strong grip, Neria's mother declared. "Choose wisely, da'len. Your great, great grandmother lost all her magic when she chose to bond with someone she believed was the one for her. That was not the true tragedy. Upon losing her magic, she also lost the ability to enslave him and he left her even though she was already pregnant, claiming he had no control over his mind."
"It is nearly time." Beolagh stated in an uninterested tone.
"Remember my words and heed them well, emma da'len, and dareth shiral."
The realm disintegrated with no further warning.
Zevran woke from his very strange dream feeling the aches of lying on hard ground without the benefit of a bedroll. He vaguely remembered a sensuous, lithe elven rogue with a violent streak a mile wide and a melodious, sultry voice that brought all sorts of naughty thoughts to his mind.
Beside him, Neria stirred and stretched. She yawned silently before blinking owlishly at him. For just one moment, the image of the older elven rogue from his dream interposed with the little elven girl before him. He groggily shook his head and the vision vanished.
Neria smiled brilliantly at him and Zevran returned it without a thought. Sitting up, she groped for her notebook and pencil. Do you remember why we are sleeping here?
"No, dolce bambina, I don't. Did you have any dreams?" Zevran questioned tentatively.
Neria shook her head and smiled guilelessly up at Zevran. Despite his years of training, he could not tell if she was lying or not. What reason would she have to lie to me? Besides, the bella signora could speak with that sumptuous voice while Neria is very much mute. Not to mention years younger.
Neria bounced up and gazed around. The ground around them was strewn with wild grass, the previously uniform circle of short grass nowhere to be seen. In the place of the pile of grey ash was a staff, blue black in colour with a hooked top. Neria reached for it unthinkingly but Zevran caught both her wrists in his hand instantly.
"I believe that, this time, piccola cara, we should exercise more due diligence?" Zevran raised an eyebrow and Neria giggled sheepishly, flushing to the tips of her delicate long ears. Again, Zevran was struck by an elusive memory of the dream rogue.
She freed a hand, unsheathed a dagger and prodded the staff hesitantly. When nothing happened, she sheathed her dagger again before quickly tracing a hesitant finger on it. Nothing whatsoever occurred. She tightened her hand around the staff and felt a sense of rightness speed through her. This was her mother's staff. There was no doubt in Neria's mind about it. She grinned and glanced at Zevran pleadingly.
"You wish to keep it?" Zevran asked lightly. Neria nodded her head vigorously. "I don't see why not. It would make a good present to the lady mage, yes?"
Neria shrugged and smiled secretively. Zevran kept his sense of frustration at all the little girl's secrets to himself and got to his feet. It was nearly dark even though they had reached the clearing before mid-day. He sighed. "We will camp here for tonight and start back tomorrow. Unless, of course, you wish to stay another day or two?"
Neria shook her head pensively. She had already found out all she could about her heritage. She knew that there was not much use staying here anymore. Her mother's spirit was gone. At least she now knew that she was Dalish and a descendent of the great Garahel, ender of the Fourth Blight. However, she did not understand her mother's last cryptic words and was determined to do more research on this curse. She bemoaned the fact that she would have to wait till her return to the Circle Tower for this. While the library at the Antivan Circle of Magi was well stocked, her grasp of the Antivan language was non-existent. Realising that she was famished, she signalled for Zevran to go gather firewood while she started to prepare a much needed dinner.
She ate absently, without any of her usual enthusiasm for food, rousing Zevran's protective instincts. It was a useless emotion which he never had for anyone in his life. When she did not even request for her dagger lessons but laid down all curled up with the staff on her bedroll, Zevran enquired hesitantly. "Do you not wish to further your lessons?"
Neria rubbed her eyes tiredly but sprung up from her bedroll smiling. She clumsily withdrew her daggers from their sheaths and walked towards him. She looks ready to fall asleep on her feet.
"Why don't we practise sheathing and unsheathing your daggers?" Zevran proposed gently.
Neria blinked with muted surprise before awkwardly sheathing her daggers and looking up at him, silently prompting him to begin. Zevran chuckled and grinned smugly at her. Faster than Neria could blink, Zevran had his daggers in his hands and back into their sheaths. Her mouth dropped open with astonishment.
Suddenly Neria found that she was not so tired after all. She scribbled rapidly in her notebook. How long did it take you to master it?
Stooping to read what she wrote, Zevran looked up to find his face very close to Neria's. There were only inches between them and he felt himself drowning in those warm bright hazel eyes again. Hastily drawing back, he spun away from her, composing himself, and laughed drily before speaking. "This simple action takes years of training. You need to keep doing it until it's a reflexive action, until you can do it even when more than half asleep."
Neria groaned privately. Years? I don't have years. We'll be leaving within another two weeks and with a month of travel, I'll only have one and a half months before the daggers are taken away from me. I'll just have to practise every day, all day from now on. Her lips tightened into a determined line.
She started to sheath and unsheathe her daggers as she stood facing Zevran's back. However, somehow, her motions were never as fluid as Zevran's. She glanced at Zevran again and finally noticed that the scabbards of his daggers were holstered in a crisscross behind him.
She traced her fingers over his weapons and sighed enviously. Zevran glanced backwards and frowned at the reaction his groin was having at such a simple sound. What is she is turning me into?
Neria looked up at him again and Zevran wondered if she knew the impact her eyes had on people. How do I get the daggers behind my back like you? She showed him her notebook and he pivoted to fully face the perplexing child once more.
Unbuckling the leather straps wound around her hips where her daggers' sheaths were attached to, Neria watched curiously then in awe while Zevran twisted, folded and re-buckled the hip holster into a shoulder one. Whoever made this holster must have been one of the finest craftsmen in Thedas to come up with such a flexible design. Zevran noted the cursive Wade engraved in small letters on a loose strip. He made a note to himself to visit this master should he ever accept a Fereldan contract.
"Your gear is very well made and with much foresight. Where did you purchase them?" Zevran enquired lightly, hoping to dig out more information from the reticent girl.
It was a gift. Neria wrote as short an answer as she could and assumed her normal innocent expression. Sighing again at his lack of success, Zevran squatted down to help her buckle up her new weapon holster. He flinched when Neria placed her hands on his shoulders to keep her balance. Starting to withdraw to end this confounded torment, he was stopped by delicate fingers stroking his face. Zevran swallowed against the lump that formed in his throat and peered up to see those bright hazel eyes shining with suppressed hurt. He looked away, quickly extricated himself and stood back before he could make a greater fool of himself.
Her notebook appeared before his face with the words. Why do you hate me? Why does my touch disgust you?
Guffawing wildly, Zevran wondered how to explain his reaction to a ten year old innocent. He finally decided that the direct approach may be the best.
"Dolce bambina, I do not hate you. Your touch does not disgust me. It causes reactions in me that would be more appropriate if you were older. Much, much older." Zevran found that he was as much making a statement to himself as to her. Neria tilted her head to the side, a totally confused look on her naïve face.
Sighing stoically, Zevran took the child's hand, lifted the flaps of his pteruges and placed it on his erection. He had hoped to shock the child but it was fascination that bloomed in Neria's features. With a soft smile, she started outlining the edges of his already stiff shaft and Zevran muttered a series of soft curses in Antivan before batting her hand away.
Neria was looking up at him with another baffled expression and Zevran cursed the day he had showed proficiency in languages. This is the Void he was paying for his honest hard work. Taking deep, calming breaths to cool his heated blood, he gritted out. "Do not do that to a man unless you wish to be bedded."
Secretly amused, Neria continued to act puzzled. She knew his meaning all too well in a clinical sense given that she had already completed her training as a Spirit Healer. In addition, she often created contraceptive potions for the more uninhibited residents of the Circle Tower. She had not realised that she was already starting to have this effect on men. Surely, I am too young? I don't even have breasts or hips!
Zevran pressed his forefingers to the sides of his forehead, massaging them while sparing a glimpse at the young child. As a Crow, he now had the pleasure to teach various classes for a small fee, pittance compared to what they receive for contracts, although even that was also a very small amount, but he enjoyed teaching. His favourite Seduction classes provided him with all the innocents he could ever desire to corrupt when he had spare time in between contracts. He was always the first to encourage decadence for pleasure and never had to warn anyone against the depravity of men. Quite frankly, he did not know where to start.
"Amata fanciulla, you are may be too young to understand this but men like me could hurt girls like you." Zevran began without any clear idea how he was to continue. "This reaction…" He pointed angrily to his groin. "is more suited between men and women of my age or older." Seeing that Neria was paying rapt attention, he leapt on. "You should not encourage such… erm… attentions until you are older, much, much older. Then the act would only bring you pleasure, if done with the right partner, of course." He finished in a rush of words.
Neria was trembling with the need to burst into laughter but she could not miss this chance to tease Zevran some more. She lowered her eyes to hide her amusement and scribbled feverishly on her notebook.
Why am I too young to experience pleasure? How old were you when you first had yours? Is there no other way to receive pleasure without getting hurt? If there is, I would like to try it.
She knew there were. She had seen enough of it making her way back to the dormitory after missing curfew while immersed in her books. Neria just wondered how Zevran would respond.
Zevran groaned in frustration at the images Neria's words invoked and decided enough was enough. He schooled his face into an inscrutable mask and coldly replied. "You will have to take my word for it or ask your guardian. Your other question is too personal for our current association and my needs will never be sufficiently fulfilled by a child like you."
Neria flinched at the low blow. She supposed she deserved it but it still rankled deeply. She huffed with indignation, plonked down onto her bedroll with a distinct lack of grace, laid down and turned away from him.
Thanking the Maker for small mercies, Zevran rested on his bedroll as best as he could with the knowledge that sleep would elude him for some time.
Horror filled Neria as she watched the scene of carnage unfold before her eyes. Humans in unmatched armour were slaughtering elves who appeared to be fighting for their lives. Tree roots suddenly burst from the ground snagging the hapless intruders. She spotted her mother standing at the edge of the clearing near the aravels. A part of her detachedly studied how the Fade had been manipulated to create such an interesting response.
For a very short while, it seemed like the tide was turning and the elves were starting to win with the help of her mother's magic. However, that changed with the introduction of magic with the most unpleasant feel to it that Neria had ever sensed. It was even worse than Entropy spells. Unexpectedly, the clearing exploded into flames and Neria silently screamed when she recognised who had cast it and who was within its victims. Lightning filled the air from an unknown mage, ensuring that the elves' demise.
The last gaze her father had given her mother was full of love and that seemed to aid her mother to shatter the bonds on her mind. The temperature dropped and numerous humans in front of her were encased in solid ice. A short screech and her mother fell, a dirty, bedraggled human standing over her, smiling cruelly, with a glinting dagger.
He must have fallen asleep after all for something had woken Zevran with a start. He sat up quickly, hands instinctively reaching for his daggers in defense against any assault. Looking over to Neria's bedroll, he discovered the source of the disturbance. Neria was thrashing silently, face flushed with tears and contorted in agony.
Before he even realised he had moved, Zevran was cradling the younger elf in his arms and running his hands over her hair in a soothing gesture. "Neria, piccola cara, it's just a bad dream." She did not wake but her flailing stopped. Tears continued to flow silently from her eyes and her mouth was opened in quiet anguish. "Neria, dolce bambina, wake up."
Despite his fervent requests, Neria would not wake. Zevran felt the walls around his battered and neglected heart cracking in the face of the torment this affectionate little girl displayed. None of his victims had ever stirred such foolish sentiment. In fact, he often took a rather perverse satisfaction in their torture, if required by contract, when they proved to be men or women with malicious natures. Neria could not have been further from his typical victims, even if she seemed to enjoy death a little too much for someone truly innocent.
"Tesoro, please wake up. Whatever is distressing you so is not real." Zevran pleaded, using a word that he never thought he would hear himself use. Anxiously, he sat Neria up in his arms and shook her gently, hoping this would awaken her from whatever had her in its grip. When that still garnered no response, he wrapped his arms around her and whispered soothing words in his native Antivan while rocking her like the child she was in his arms.
A sense of peace flooded through Neria despite the trepidation caused by the senseless massacre she had witnessed. She found that she had no control over it. She could not leave the Fade. It seemed that the Veil was very thin in this part of the clearing and its memory of the bloodbath was indelibly imprinted here.
She watched her mother being abused and manhandled by the thugs and ineffectual rage flooded her. Neria felt rather than heard the Desire demon's offer to her mother and her mother's agreement to it. Astonished at her mother's duplicity (had she not been so scornful of Neria's own aid from Beolagh?), she was shaken to the core when she saw her mother disintegrate to ash shortly after a little fist wrapped around her forefinger.
A litany of accusations flooded her mind. I killed my mother. I killed my own mother.
It was all Neria could do to keep the façade of being mute when all she wanted to do was scream her refusal to believe this Fade narration. She threw her arms around Zevran and sobbed unreservedly for her sin. What kind of monster am I? How could I have killed a grown woman at that age?
Soothing hands were moving up and down her back and murmured words slowly penetrated her weeping. Neria grasped her hands tighter around Zevran's neck and cried piteously. She pressed herself closer to him, unconsciously seeking external warmth from the internal cold permeating her.
She felt kisses in her hair. Stunned, she pulled back and stared dazedly at Zevran with her mouth open. Smiling cheekily, Zevran mumbled. "Glad to see that my kisses have that effect on you. I was beginning to think that I was losing my touch."
Unable to keep her mouth from twitching despite the self-repulsion she felt, Neria patted Zevran's cheek and freed herself from his arms. Finding her notebook and pencil, she leaned back against him, seeking warmth and comfort, and wrote. What kind of monster do you think would kill her own mother?
Zevran physically flinched after reading the question. He clenched his fists and was about to retort when he pulled the notebook closer to the fire and reread it. Her. Her own mother. At her age? What kind of organisation does she belong to that does not provide weapons training but makes her kill her own mother?
For the first time in his young life, Zevran could empathise and feel sorrow for another's plight. He wrapped his arms around the little elf who was still silently crying. "Tesoro, it is always a matter of survival, yes?" Neria looked up dazedly at him. Yes, I killed an abomination in the making. Not my mother.
Confessing in a soft tone, Zevran murmured. "I, myself, have killed my mother. Well, she was my foster mother but since I never knew my own, killing her was as good as killing my mother." Neria had gone still in his arms. "Sometimes, to survive, we do many things that do not make us feel good about ourselves. However, you must realise that since the matter is done and cannot be undone, there is no point in dwelling on it." Zevran smiled in relief when Neria nestled further into his arms. "We all do what we must to survive. Sometimes, that has to be reason enough for us to do what needs to be done and dwelling on morality is just a waste of time."
Neria slowly nodded. Her world righted itself once again. This was the work of those slavers. If she ever met any in the future, she will unleash this banked rage within her. Exhausted, she found herself cuddling up to Zevran. She was pleasantly surprised when he did not rebuff her. Smiling contentedly, she snuggled into his warm arms and closed her eyes.
Neria had fallen asleep in Zevran's arms and he was oddly reluctant to move. Shrugging to himself, he laid down on the bedroll, tucked Neria more securely in his arms and proceeded to slumber in the sleep of the just.
Neria woke up with a small start. For the first time in a long time, she had not been visited by Beolagh in her sleep. Perhaps the trip to the Fade yesterday afternoon had filled his daily quota. Sleepily fluttering her eyelids, she found herself gazing into warm, laughing honey coloured eyes. She smiled happily and rather thoughtlessly placed a soft kiss on Zevran's lips.
Zevran's eyes widened at the openly affectionate gesture. Brasca! To be unmanned by a little girl! The Void with it! He tightened his arms around Neria and refused to let her lips escape from under his. Maybe this will end these nonsensical effects she is having on me. Surely there will be little pleasure to be had from the lips of a babe. Neria stilled under his assault, making a soft sound of protest.
The seductor in him immediately took advantage of her slightly open mouth, dove in and exposed the lie that he had frenziedly been seeking to believe. As he plundered the sweet recesses of Neria's mouth, tingles of delightful pleasure surged from his mouth to the very tips of his toes and back up to the top of his head. He lost sight of who he was with, where he was or how he came to be in this sea of bliss. There was only this unending ecstasy.
Neria's eyes widened then closed at the sensations evoked by Zevran's kiss. Never had she imagined there could be this much enjoyment in such a simple action. She nearly moaned but caught herself in time and instead wiggled as close as she could into his arms.
Loud warning bells sounded in Zevran's mind and even though he was sorely tempted to ignore them, he had not survived this long within the Crows disregarding his instincts. He paused for a moment and that was all it took for the impact of his actions to amplify that tiny voice of conscience still remaining in him.
What the Void am I doing? He pushed Neria away and sprung away as if burned. Looking wildly around for some escape, he appreciated the ludicrousness of the situation and slowly raised his eyes to meet the hurt look in Neria's suspiciously shiny ones. When a tear escaped that normally cheerful gaze, Zevran growled with frustration and flopped back down beside Neria.
"Piccola cara, please understand. For the first time in a very long time, maybe in my entire life, I wish to do the right thing by you." Zevran groaned when Neria just continued to weep. "Believe me. Although it might not be at all wise to believe a Crow but that's neither here nor there. You are making this very difficult for me." He realised that he was babbling. He resignedly gathered her into his arms and sighed. "If you had the same training as me and are the same age… Maker forgive me, even if you were years younger than me, if you can tell me that you had even an iota of the same training as me or are not the innocent I know you to be, you would be undressed now and I would show you the symphony of pleasure two bodies could create."
Tenderly wiping tears from Neria's eyes, he declared gently. "You, amata fanciulla, may very well have spoilt all kisses for me." He affectionately caressed her cheek. "That kiss we just shared was the most incredible I have ever had. Trust me when I tell you I have had a lot of experience in this even if I am only seventeen."
Neria blushed and Zevran felt his groin tighten again. He did not know if he should be thrilled that he finally got a response from the little girl or disappointed over his sudden scruples. "Please, Neria, tesoro, don't make this tougher for me. Trust me when I say that this is much harder for me, pun definitely intended there, than it is for you." Grinning cheekily, he placed a chaste kiss on her cheek, a friendly act that he had not committed since he was thirteen and Marta was still alive.
Neria smiled shyly and climbed out of his embrace. Zevran clenched his hands to prevent himself from seizing her again as he already missed the warmth of her in his arms. He watched the little girl rumble through his pack looking for food and water. Never had he allowed anyone in his team of Crows to do this. Just days in her presence and he was getting soft. He will have to harden his heart after he delivered her safely back to the lady mage. A good assassination contract should do the trick.
Neria took out bread, cheese and the salted ham Zevran managed to purchase from the last tavern they passed, slicing everything with one of her daggers. Zevran winced at this abuse of a good weapon and made up his mind to teach Neria on proper weapon care. A blunt weapon can mean a dead Crow.
Taking a small, red fruit from her pack, Neria peeled and deseeded it before placing strips of it over the meat. Placing another slice of bread over the stack she made of cheese, meat and mystery fruit, she offered one portion to Zevran while biting into the other.
Zevran sniffed at the breakfast sceptically and took a tentative bite after watching Neria polish off hers in quick, refined bites. The explosion of taste in his mouth took him entirely by surprise. It was spicy yet sweet and very tasty. For a Fereldan, Neria was full of surprises. Most Fereldans he knew could not stand spicy food. It added another level of intrigue to the young girl that he did not wish to be interested about. Maker cursed curiosity is going lead to my death one day.
"Shall we go or do you need a moment?" Zevran asked, noticing that Neria had paled at the mention of staying. Zevran wanted to return to Antivan City and normalcy as soon as they could. Any more time in her presence and he may forget how to be a Crow.
Let's go back. Neria wrote resolutely. She knew that going back meant shortening her time with Zevran but she wanted to leave this dreadful place before something more frightful makes its way out of the Veil.
"Where is Neria, Ines?" Greagoir asked for the umpteenth time, voice turning into a fearsome growl.
"I have no idea, Greagoir. Perhaps she found some fascinating book in the library here that she could not put down?" Ines replied without meeting his eyes.
He rolled his eyes in disbelief. "Besides the fact that she can't speak much less read Antivan, would she miss all her meals for the past five days? This is Neria we are talking about, the little mage who needs at least six meals a day?" He raked his hand through his hair in irritation, looking adorably mussed. "First Enchanter Alfonso has started to ask after her and the Antivan Knight-Commander has started to get antsy that nobody has seen her for the past five days."
Ines snorted indelicately. "Why would that peacock be interested in Neria?"
"You've Irving to thank for that. He boasted about Neria's abilities to the Antivan First Enchanter and now he is 'intrigued' to meet her." Greagoir huffed impatiently. "So where is she?"
Ines took a deep breath and spoke in a rush of words. "I sent her to the place where we initially found her so that she would have some idea about her place of origin."
"WHAT?" Greagoir roared, eyes wide in utter incredulity. "You let a ten year old Unharrowed apprentice leave a Circle alone to traipse into a foreign jungle?"
"She was not alone." Ines sniffed in disdain. "I am no fool. I hired a Crow as her bodyguard."
"INES!" Greagoir yelled, temper raging out of control.
"Stop shouting at me!" Ines snapped, eyes flashing with ire. "This may be the only opportunity she may get to visit the place. Maker knows when she would have another chance given the Divine's increasing paranoia."
"Why didn't you get a templar to accompany her?" Greagoir questioned, unable to win that particular argument. "You know her potential, the danger her magic could create. If she gets out of control out there, who would be able to restraint her?"
"I'm not about to trust her with one of those Antivan templars." Ines retorted indignantly. "You don't know how deprived some of them are. Neria alone with one of them?" Ines shuddered. "You were too busy escorting Irving and I have it on good authority that Antivan Crows make the best bodyguards. I have also instructed her not to use magic at all." Peering at the mixture within the flask that she was heating up with a small Flame Blast, she made a frustrated noise when it remained the same colour for two seconds before turning dark purple.
"You would rather trust a guild of assassins and whores than the holy knights of the Chantry." Greagoir griped.
"They are honest about what they do for a living and always deliver exactly what they are paid to do." Ines smirked sardonically. "I paid them a great deal to keep Neria safe. They will keep to their end of the bargain."
"Do I even want to know how you managed to contact an Antivan Crow in the first place?" Greagoir groused.
"No, I don't suppose you do." Ines threw another failed experiment into the designated trash can. The Tranquil would clear out all hazardous items for burning or other disposal. Even if they no longer had any access to their emotions, the Tranquil did not lose their education. Being Tranquil just meant that items normally dangerous to others were harmless or less harmful to them.
"I suppose you have the perfect excuse for her not being around?" Greagoir tiredly stepped away from the laboratory table and started pacing within the confines of the room Ines setup to work in.
"Sure, I simply tell them that I have been working on getting her voice back." Looking up from another flask into which she poured some Concentrator, she grinned. "It would not exactly be a lie. They don't need to know that she is not here with me while I am working."
"I hope you know what you are doing, Ines." Greagoir sighed resignedly. "If they find out, Neria could be made Tranquil."
"Then they will just have to be kept in the dark about it, won't they?" Ines pinned a meaningful look on Greagoir.
He heaved a sigh, acted greatly put upon, placed a chaste kiss on her cheek and exited the laboratory.
To say that their interactions were awkward after their shared kiss would be like saying Antivan summers were ridiculously hot. Zevran did not know what to make of the soft looks Neria threw him and kept his hands to himself whenever possible. Now that she was aware of him, every touch seemed to cause a delightful blush on her porcelain cheeks. Zevran had to restrain himself from actively seeking to see her flush repeatedly. He succeeded most of the time.
Something he had to admire about the little girl was her persistence in learning to use her daggers. As they tracked through the Antivan jungle, Neria would sheathe and unsheathe her daggers with increasing proficiency. True, the first few times she had done it with the daggers strapped behind her, Zevran had heard a sharp intake of breath that cause him to dart a worried glance at her. Many times, clumsier Crow recruits would cut themselves doing this same action. However, every time, there would be no indication of any injury. He had been puzzled but perhaps, as an elf, she was not as gauche as those humans.
Neria was more thankful than ever for her almost instantaneous recovery rate. She had nicked herself so many times in various places while practising her draw. The inevitable effect of using so much magic, however instinctively, was that she was even hungrier than usual during each meal.
Zevran normally only took breakfast, lunch and dinner with her while looking faintly amused at the rate she could down bread, cheese and ham just two hours after each shared meal. She longed for a hot soup, Maker's sake, she would even make do with hot gruel but as they are not allowed to even stop in a tavern for a hot meal, she had to make do with dried rations.
Finally, when they entered the last town before Antiva City and caught the market fair, Neria put her foot down and demanded Zevran purchase some fresh produce. He had jingled the coins remaining in the money bag Ines had given him and declared it was not enough to purchase food for the next day, given how much Neria ate and still get the vegetables and meat she wanted. When she had pouted and turned those bright hazel eyes at him, Zevran had laughed, recognising the manipulation for what it was. Nonetheless, Zevran found himself resorting to petty thievery to satisfy the little glutton. Observing his actions, Neria wondered if it would be possible to convince Zevran to teach her pickpocketing.
That evening, Neria had proposed they setup camp earlier. After lighting the fire, she had produced an iron cast pot from her pack, rinsed it very thoroughly with sand and water before setting it to boil on top of the burning twigs which she had arranged to support it.
Slicing onions, potatoes, carrots and beef into chunks, she powdered the beef with a fine white powdery substance. With the water had boiled, she threw the onions and potatoes in with a few pinches of an orange powder. Once that mixture had bubbled, she dumped in the carrots and shortly thereafter the beef. Covering the pot leaving a small vent for steam, Neria cleaned up by throwing the various odds and ends into the bushes.
"Not so close to us, it may attract animals. I do not wish to fend off a bear." Zevran had warned, they had been very lucky in this aspect so far in their travel and he did not wish to tempt Fate. Neria had just smiled that little secretive smile before cleaning and sharpening her dagger with his extra whetstone as he had taught her.
After more than seven days of bread, cheese and whatever preserved meat they could purchase, the scent of the stew even only half done was enough to make Zevran's mouth water.
Neria stirred the stew with a ladle and tasted it several times before finally smiling and carefully removing the pot from the fire with linens folded quadruple over the handle. Waiting expectantly for her to dish out his portion, Zevran was chagrined when Neria took out her notebook instead. He knew that look by now. The little minx wanted something from him.
Please teach me how to pickpocket.
Zevran gawked at her request. "Piccola cara, it is not a skill that may be learnt in just a day." Surreptitiously moving towards the pot, Zevran froze when Neria narrowed her eyes, tipping its contents towards the ground in a threatening glare. "You wouldn't. You love food too much to waste it."
A myriad of emotions flashed across Neria's face, none of which was useful for Zevran to discern if this was a bluff, before she raised an eyebrow cockily and tilted the pot more to its side.
"I will not be threatened by a pot of stew. If you will not share it, I will just have bread. Crows are trained to live with a minimal food." Zevran started digging into his pack.
Neria pouted petulantly before dishing out the rich stew into two wooden bowls. Handing one over to Zevran, she sullenly turned away from him and savoured her first warm meal in days.
Zevran stopped his act and dug in. He trusted Neria enough to know that she would not poison him. She just had too much passion for food to sully it. The rich aroma of the brown coloured stew was heaven to Zevran's olfactory senses. He bit into a potato smothered with the sauce and his taste buds were scintillated by the sheer magic of its taste. It had just the right level of spiciness. The sauce was neither too watery nor too thick. Best of all it was also sweet from the onions and carrots. The beef was soft and tender, biting into it, released the juiciness of fresh meat into his mouth. It was the tastiest meal that Zevran had ever tasted, bar none. The little imp just makes it so hard to resist her.
As if she knew he was thinking about her, Neria looked up and grinned conceitedly at Zevran. She flipped a page on her notebook and scribbled. I'll teach you to cook this stew if you teach me to pickpocket.
Zevran knew he was sold.
Translations
Bella signora – Beautiful lady
Mia signora – My lady
Vallaslin – Blood writing; tattoos made using blood
Emma da'vhenan – my little heart
Emma da'len – My little child
Emma lath – My love
Da'vhenan – little heart
Ma serannas – Thank you
Dareth shiral – Safe journey
Dolce bambina – Sweet girl
Piccola cara – Little Darling
Amata fanciulla – Beloved girl
Tesoro – Sweetheart
Author's Notes
I know I said a fortnight but Neria and Zevran kept distracting me and I just had to finish this chapter before they would leave me alone. So see you all in another fortnight from now.
I moved Zevran's Fade nightmare here so that dialogue is pure Bioware.
I would like to thank Corea and Ra'iira The Fiend for your continual support. :) It means a lot to me.
Thank you Sandrael Lycura for adding me to the list of your favourite authors and author alert. :)
That said it really helps my writing to know what people think of each chapter. Please review to let me know if it's a hit or a miss. Please, I beseech you be kind :P More importantly, it would really help if you were specific about how I could improve if you want to cast stones. :)
Receiving notifications of people reviewing, adding this story to their list of favourites and/or putting this story on their alert list gives me a buzz. :) Thank you all so much for your support, it helps to keep me writing and I hope to continue to meet or even exceed expectations in thanks for everyone's support.
I would also like to thank all the silent readers of this story. :)