"Where is the famous silver tongue that so enthralled the Landsmeet, teryna? I've heard such tales of your loquaciousness."
Lorelai didn't look up, though the inappropriate title made her want to. She had never been haughty, but her captivity made her want to wrap her Queenhood around her like a child's bedtime toy. The urge to shout at him to address her properly was building slowly every day.
Through some trick of timing, she was being treated to a lucid moment in the early evening. Amazing how much one can begin to miss the sun. She watched it throw patterns of light across the ground, ignoring the boots that stood in her peripheral, as she hugged her knees to her chest as much as her bulging stomach would allow.
"Of course, tales do have a tendency to grow and twist with each telling. That's to be expected. I find myself disappointed, nonetheless." He sighed deeply. "I begin to question how you managed the Landsmeet at all, arlessa."
She could stand no more, though she stopped herself from shouting. "I find it...interesting that you give me all manner of titles...except the one you abducted me for."
He laughed then, loud and deep, as if she'd told a particularly good joke. "An excellent point you make! Forgive me, but a flaw in my character deems that I only address people by the titles they have earned."
Lorelai tilted her head, finally looking up at him. The sun allowed her to finally see his features, and she vowed that this was not something the drug would take from her. His face would not fade into the smoke.
His shoulder-lenth hair was black, but liberally streaked with gray so the black was muted. The stubble on his cheeks she'd noticed long ago had matured into the beginnings of a beard. Wrinkles carved deep into the skin of his face, like they'd been chiseled into stone. From her position on the ground, she guessed he would be slightly taller than Alistair. All in all a very ordinary man, but his green eyes burned with such conviction that it sent a shiver down her spine.
Though she had already sensed it, his eyes left no doubt. This was not a man who could be convinced that the path he had chosen was wrong. The silver tongue he mocked would be of no use against him.
"So I have not earned...my title?" She arched an eyebrow, and pushed her face into snide lines. "Funny, since the Landsmeet...disagreed with you. Where were you...that day...I wonder?"
Rage flashed over his face briefly. "If I were you, the only thing I'd be wondering is how my husband is fairing." He grinned and tilted his head to the side. "It's been over three months. The list of things he would not do to get you back must be getting rather short, don't you think?" Bending at his waist, he leaned down until his face was inches away from hers. "How much longer before he'd do anything, hmm?"
Her blood ran hot, and she dug her nails into the thin material of her skirt. "Your bearing and your...manners make me think you...were a noble. I say 'were' of course...because you clearly abandoned...all aspects of nobility...long ago," she sneered, willing her face to show the contempt she truly felt. "Did Loghain know...he was lost even before the...Landsmeet, and send you away...to bide your time until revenge...could be had? Or did you lose faith in your...traitorous leader, and flee Ferelden?"
The snarl that spilled from his lips rose the hairs on her arms. "Loghain was a fool!"
That was a surprising answer. "On that much we agree." Lorelai gave a smile filled to the brim with pity. "At any rate...it doesn't matter. Your voice at the Landsmeet would...not have changed anything. People had seen Loghain for the traitor he was...and were ready to embrace the rightful...heir to the throne."
"You mean ready to embrace what you shoved down their throats." His face was so close to hers that she could hear his teeth grinding together.
She gave as elegant and disdainful a shrug as her shoulders would allow.
His eyes narrowed and he pulled away at last. "It seems you have caused me to forget myself and speak out of turn. Perhaps I should not have prodded your silver tongue out of its slumber. I will be more cautious next time, my lady." As he turned to leave, he shot over his shoulder. "Make my words, Warden-Commander, by the time I speak with your husband, he will be begging me for my demands."
She glared at his retreating back, and tried to quiet the trembling of her hands. For once, their shaking had nothing to do with the drug.
Zevran slid unceremoniously out of the saddle, only to collapse into a graceless heap on the ground as his legs refused to hold him up. The horse snorted in disgust and danced to the right, away from the pile of elf next to it.
"Your compassion is truly boundless," the elf in question said from the ground. Days in the saddle had rendered him into one, massive sore muscle. The former Crow hurt in places he hadn't even been aware of until now. "A position in the Chantry must surely be your calling." Reaching up, he grabbed hold of the stirrup and used it to help pull him upright.
The horse was not amused at such weight hauling on him in such an unbalanced fashion, and tried to move away.
Zevran stumbled, but kept his feet by not losing his grip on the saddle. He flailed a hand forward and snatched the reins. "I do not know much about horses, my friend, but I do know that I'm supposed to be in charge, yes?" He gave the reins a sharp tug. "So perhaps you could stem the theatrics a bit."
Swinging its head around, the horse glared at him with one dark eye.
"Ah, fine." Zevran dropped the reins quickly. "Perhaps not in charge then. How about, partners? Does that suit your noble sensibilities better?"
It snorted again, and tossed its head fitfully, but at least it stopped glaring.
Zevran sighed with relief and looked around. "So, this must be Lothering." In the deep blue light that came before true darkness descended, torches flickered and danced. The homes and places of business looked adequate, if plain and boring. The streets were mostly abandoned; none of the usual nighttime revelry as seen in Orlais or Antiva. The air was heavy with the sounds of crickets and frogs, whose choruses were border-line deafening in the absence of people.
He was not impressed. Too long spent in other, fancier lands. The earthiness of Ferelden had always been slightly off-putting to him. This country seemed just a few steps ahead of barbarism...and its citizens were seemingly thrilled by it.
Well, he had a barbarian Queen to find.
Walking slowly, putting one foot in front of the other very carefully, he started making his way across the quiet town. Having both feet on the ground, even just until he reached the woods on the other side of Lothering, seemed an excellent idea. The horse followed behind him of its own accord. He wasn't about to grab the reins again. "Demon-horse" didn't even begin to cover the beast. When he saw Alistair again, he planned on asking how good their relations were with the Rivaini. He wasn't sure the horses weren't some kind of secret weapon in the guises of gifts.
He'd reached what appeared to be the marketplace, when a prickling sensation raised the hairs on the back of his neck. The elf froze, and the horse stopped just short of hitting its nose into the back of his head. Its heavy breath ruffled his silver hair.
Zevran knew very well that he had to find the clearing where Lorelai had been kidnapped. It would make it pretty difficult to pick up the trail left by Howe if he didn't. There wasn't really any information to be had in the town proper. So why was he standing here, feeling an almost insurmountable compulsion to look around? He mulled the strange feeling around in his mind. Perhaps not look around, but definitely to stay...no, to wait.
Wait for what?
The horse shoved its nose into the back of his head, knocking him forward a few paces.
"All right, my friend, that will be enough. I am not here for you to abuse," Zevran said, smoothing his hair when the beast had mussed it. He felt a wet slime on his fingertips. "Ugh, nor am I here to be your handkerchief."
It stared at him with its wide-apart eyes. After a few moments, one of its ears swiveled to catch a sound. He narrowed his eyes, and then he heard what the horse must have heard: a whimper, just barely making itself known over the insistent singing of the insects and amphibians. The sound came from the darkness between two buildings.
Whatever it was, it wasn't the assassin's business. Heroics were not in his skill set. Focusing on the trilling of the crickets, he was determined to pretend he'd never heard the noise.
But the reluctance to leave that filled his body had not abated.
He sighed, and used the exhale to blow an errant strand of hair out of his eyes. Lorelai wouldn't approve of walking away, anyway. Seeking the shadows, he carefully made his way over to where the sound had come from. Zevran pressed himself against the building, creeping as quietly as he could. His abused legs shook in protest, and the elf knew he'd pay for this exertion later.
More sounds pulsed into the darkness: scuffles, a few more whimpers, tearing cloth. Crossing in front of a wooden storage shed, he could finally put a visual with the puzzle of noises. Cold fury rose up, swallowing his common sense in one freezing gulp.
The next thing he knew, he was standing over the bodies of the two men. The warmth of their blood pressed thickly against the outside of his boots. Ruby droplets fell from his blades to join the pool rapidly spreading across the ground. Apparently, heroics were in his skill set.
The girl bit her lip as she struggled to hold what was left of her clothing around her battered body. The first stars managed to glint off the tears streaking down her face. When she finally raised her eyes to him, her expression held a mixture of embarrassment and gratitude. "Thank you," she whispered.
"Are you all right?" he asked, his voice strained with anger. "Well," he added quickly, "as all right as can be expected, I suppose."
A laugh jaded well beyond her years answered him. "I'll live."
"I have some medical supplies, as well as a very rudimentary knowledge of how to use them, should you require any of that." He pulled a comical face, desperate to drive that look from her eyes. "I'm sure that last statement has given you a huge vote of confidence, yes?"
She laughed again, this time with less bitterness. "The supplies would be welcome. I can bet my knowledge exceeds yours, so I'll be tending to my wounds. No offense."
"None taken. Quite a relief, actually." He bent to wipe his blades on the dead cowards at his feet. "May I escort you home, or get you a room for the night, if you've no home nearby?"
"That's...generous of you," she answered slowly, her voice filling with suspicion.
Sheathing his blades, Zevran held up his hands and took a pace back. "I mean nothing untoward, this I promise you. I would assume this takes you out of commission for the rest of the night. If one cannot make a living, one can at least relax in a free room, yes?"
"Is it that obvious?" she asked, raising one eyebrow.
"No," he responded, "but I spent a great deal of my childhood surrounded by ladies such as yourself. For me, it is your eyes and your voice that give you away; they are far older than your body."
"And yet you saved me anyway? Why?"
"Contrary to popular belief, everyone has a right to say 'no'. Even prostitutes."
She grinned then, and it was a smile that belonged to her age. "If only the rest of world believed you, good ser."
He sighed dramatically. "If only."
Laughing, she pushed to her feet with a wince. "Now, about that room..."
Zevran offered her his arm gallantly and led her carefully out into the marketplace, being sure to keep the pace slow and the steps short. He didn't care about the evidence he was leaving behind. He would be gone soon enough, and no investigation of any kind would catch him. And if by some devious twist of luck his actions were to come back to haunt him...well, he had only to call on his King-ly connections to free himself.
Though he and Alistair saw eye to eye on very little, Zevran felt sure that rape would be one thing they could agree to abhor. Perhaps it could even be a bonding experience for the two of them.
He steered obediently toward the inn she indicated, and the horse followed behind them like the largest mabari Ferelden had ever seen. Its impatience seemed to have vanished in the face of their current company.
"Don't get yourself snatched while I'm gone," the elf said to the horse as he untied one of the packs. "I would hate to have to purchase an inferior beast for the rest of the trip."
The horse sniffed and tossed its head, moving to stand near entrance of the establishment.
Zevran paid for the room, blatantly ignoring the looks they were getting. How sad it was that he couldn't tell if it was because he was an elf, or because she was a prostitute. Tragic times, indeed.
Negotiated the stairs took her a bit of time, and once they reached the room, she melted gratefully onto the bed. "My thanks, stranger."
He passed her the pack and settled himself into a chair near the only window. "No thanks necessary. Just be prepared for a visit from me if none of my companions believe me when I tell them I rescued a damsel in distress."
"Not something you normally do?" she asked as she rummaged around in the pack.
"Not generally, no. But perhaps I am turning over a new leaf, yes? Rescuing damsels, assisting friends." He waved his hand around airily. "I shall shock them all."
"Is that what you're doing in Lothering? Helping your friends?"
"Why do you ask?" He narrowed his eyes, and wondered suddenly if he'd made a grievous error. She was asking entirely too many questions for a prostitute. Or maybe his natural paranoia was getting the better of him.
She lifted her head, and must have seen the look on his face. "I don't mean to intrude. If it's private, I don't expect you to tell me."
"Is Lothering usually filled with ruffians of their type?" he asked, jerking his head in the vague direction of the two bodies. "Or are they a new development?"
"It would be silly to claim that Lothering is crime-free, but that's the first time I've run into that particular problem. Street thieves and drunks are normally the worst of it. A few months ago me and my fellow, ahem, ladies," she winked, "feared that we were in for an entirely new set of criminals, but they left just as quickly as they came."
"Did they?" he asked calmly, though his mind was spinning just a little bit faster. "What kind of criminals?"
"Well, they didn't do anything wrong while they were here, so calling them criminals is a bit unfair, I suppose. But they were so strange! The whole band of them. They were polite enough to my friends and I, never too rough or anything. They even paid several of us to hang about all the time. But they were never, exactly, happy. All business, very serious. Kept talking about some 'prize', but I got the impression it was a person, not an actual prize. Isn't that odd?"
"Indeed it is," the elf answered mechanically, slowly rising to his feet. Was it possible for him to be this ridiculously lucky? Could coincidence fall close enough to reality to make a huge misunderstanding? "Did they happen to say where they were going once they left Lothering?"
"They mentioned Gwaren several times." She blinked at him, as if just noticing the change in his demeanor. "What is it?" Her breath left her all at once. "That's why you're here, isn't it? You're after them."
"Do you have everything you need from my pack?" he asked solicitously, keeping a tight grip on his urge to race out the door. Did he dare follow such a vague tale? In the back of his mind, he noticed the bizarre compulsion to wait was gone. Whatever it had been, divine intervention or Maker only knew what else, its sudden presence and even more sudden leave-taking were enough for him. "I should be on my way."
She clutched the pack to her chest. "What have they done?" she whispered. "They were bad, weren't they? Oh, Maker, I knew it!"
"I cannot tell you," he answered her. "It would not be wise. You will have to be content to know that their 'prize'," Zevran's lips twisted in disgust at the demeaning nickname, "is someone greatly loved by powerful people."
Releasing her hold on the pack, she held it out to him. "Do be careful."
He grinned at her. "Such concern for my well-being. I'm touched." Pulling out a handful of silvers, he poured them into her hand. When she tried to protest, he cut her off. "I insist. I do not have enough gold on my person to truly pay you what this information is worth, so that will have to suffice."
Before she could mouth another argument, he left the room. The horse was waiting for him just where he'd left it. Sighing with dread, he swung himself into the saddle. He dearly hoped the bastards had holed up somewhere. If he had to go somewhere else after he made it to Gwaren, it had better be somewhere close enough to walk on his own damn two feet.