You know when you write a chapter, and you're like, "Yeah, I finished it!" Then it slowly, creepingly, dawns on you that it sucks and you have to start all over? Yeeeeeah...

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Zevran narrowed his eyes, and felt rage rise up in his throat. He swallowed it back; it was very rare for anyone, save Leliana, to witness him lose grip of his emotions. Isabela and Howe certainly weren't going to see it.

It was difficult, however, in the face of this.

It had been a fortress once. Built for unknown peoples for an unknown purpose, made of ugly black stone. Time and the surrounding jungle had taken their toll, dragging structure to chaos. The center buildings were still intact, from this angle it looked like there were four, perhaps five of them. They stood like an island of civility in a sea of destruction.

The ruins of the rest of the fortress formed a perimeter around the center buildings of decimated walls, half-barracks, and used-to-be towers. In its prime, the place must have been more than immense. Now, its ruins created a dangerous gauntlet of exposure for anyone attempting to approach unnoticed. The height of the center structures gave an all-too-clear line of sight into the graveyard of broken stone.

Jacob growled softly by the elf's side.

Zevran reached down to pat him gently. "Aye, my friend. This is not…ideal, to say the least."

"Maker have mercy," breathed Howe from behind him. "They have her…in there?"

"It would appear so," Zevran answered, eyes trailing over the labyrinth he'd be forced to cross. It was hard to tell where the jungle stopped and man's attempt to beat it back began. Roots and vines had already absorbed the outer rim, laying claim to what had once been orderly blocks. No doubt if they were to come back in ten years, the line of jungle would have advanced even further, with no trace of the first stones to have been consumed. The jungle would eat them.

The elf suppressed a shiver of revulsion.

"I would imagine she's in there," Isabela added. The loquacious pirate Queen had become uncharacteristically quiet since Zevran had informed her of the nature of their mission on the voyage to the island. "When they told us to shove off, they were merrily stocking the place like they intended to make it their summer home." She snorted bitterly. "Kept anything of mine they found in there, as well."

"I suppose that answers the question of how they funded their operation," Howe sighed. "Maker, what a nightmare."

"That is an appropriate word, yes," the elf agreed. He started stroking the mabari's head repetitively, mechanically. He needed to do something with his hands. The former Crow had confidence aplenty…but even he would be hard-pressed to pretend that this was feasible alone. It would be suicide without Leliana by his side.

It may be suicide, anyway.

Somewhere off in the massive, shadowy trees there came a rustling and cracking of branches.

Howe swore, and Zevran felt him spin around behind him to face the sound. He didn't turn, though he felt Jacob's muscles stiffen beneath his fingers.

"Pay it no mind, Warden," Isabela cautioned. "This is no happy, friendly Fereldan forest. The creatures here are," she paused, as if searching for just the right word, "fearsome."

"And here I thought you were grasping for a word that wouldn't escalate the situation," Howe said tensely. "Silly me."

"You don't need to be coddled," she replied. "You need to stay alive. Leave them alone, and they will leave you alone. Zev," her hand slid over his shoulder, "are you certain you wish to stay here? Come back with me, we'll wait for the others in Gwaren together."

"No," he answered. "I am familiar with the concept of respecting boundaries. It's time I exercised it in practice. What better reason than to keep from being eaten?"

Isabela laughed softly. "I think your familiarity with boundaries extends simply to knowing the word."

Finally looking away from the ruins where, undeniably, his friend was being kept, the assassin turned and gave her a broad smile. "I have never heard you complain of my lack of understanding."

"I find it hard to believe any woman finds cause for complaint in your company, Zev."

"Sorry to interrupt as you two flirt your way through disaster," Howe interrupted with exasperation, his face lined with weariness, "but we should find a good place to make camp. I don't fancy walking around in here in the dark." His eyes twitched to the jungle surrounding them, every movement filled with tension.

Zevran felt a modicum of sympathy for the Warden. This was no doubt the first time he'd set foot in a jungle, and it was surely unsettling, to say the least. Strange trees speared toward the sky, spreading branches and leaves so thick and broad the sunlight could barely penetrate. Wherever it did, what could be loosely described as bushes sometimes made it difficult to walk they were packed so densely. They sprawled immensely, and their leaves were bigger than Jacob in some instances.

Bizarre fungi grew everywhere. Rope-like vines descended seemingly from nowhere. Hot, moist air trapped by the upper prison of tree branches pressed down, suffocating them. It was easy to forget they were on an island, for the sound of surf was nonexistent, unable to penetrate the wall of vegetation.

Yes, he felt sympathy for Howe. Zevran himself was feeling slightly trapped. Maker only knew what the dark-haired son of Rendon Howe was feeling.

"My travel-weary comrade is right," the elf said. "Go back to Gwaren. Wait for Alistair and the others. They'll be there sooner than you think, I have no doubt."

She nodded, face pale, her auburn hair leeching the color from it. "Be careful."

"Ah, I always seem to have beautiful women concerned for my well-being. I am a lucky man, yes?" he asked Howe brightly.

"Apparently," he grumbled.

"Ignore him, he is grumpy," Zevran said in a stage-whisper. "Go on. We shall be fine."

She disappeared quickly into the jungle, the sound of her footsteps swallowed by the trees.

"Do you trust her to wait in Gwaren? To bring the King, and everyone else, back here?" Howe asked quietly, stepping closer to the elf.

"Isabela is no traitor to the crown. She would rather be a treasured friend, a person who aided in a desperate time." Zevran winked at him in an attempt to ease the other man's fears. He supposed if he didn't know Isabela, she wouldn't exactly inspire trust in him either. "Much easier to get out of trouble with that card in your pocket, instead of She-Who-Abandoned-The-Crown-In-Its-Time-Of-Need. Doesn't have the same 'let me go' ring to it."

"I suppose it is a handy…card," Howe agreed, though he continued frowning.

"She has many. She enjoys collecting them," the former Crow said. "You really should smile more often, Warden. All that glowering, it's bad for your health, didn't you know?"

Howe stiffened, then his shoulders sagged and his eyes narrowed with a touch of what may have been humor. "Are you certain you didn't spend a lot of time in Denerim with Sigrun?"

Zevran folded his hands over his heart and gasped dramatically. "I assure you, Warden, I never laid an inappropriate hand on the lovely dwarf. I give you my solemn word." He grinned mischievously; what an ingenious way to pass the time. "Why do you ask?"

"She always says I should laugh more often," answered Howe, his cheek twitching minutely. Probably at the word "lovely".

"Does she?" Zevran questioned, affecting a tone of surprise. "She sounds delightful. Such a shame I angered her so. I shall attempt to rectify that when she arrives." He bowed extravagantly. "So, in the search for a camp, would you like to lead the way?"

Cheek still twitching, Howe turned stiffly and started making his way through the bush. Zevran and Jacob followed, and when the elf glanced down at the mabari, he had to bite his tongue to keep his laughter in check, for the dog was glaring at him with a great deal of ill-humor.

The elf winked at the hound, then asked Howe's back cheerfully, "Since my experience with the lady Sigrun is limited and tragically confrontational," he added mournfully, "do tell me what she is like. You seem to know her very well."

Jacob laid his ears flat against his skull, and the glare intensified.

"First off, it is only a fool who claims to truly know a woman," Howe snapped without turning around. "Second, I hate to tell you that there's probably no rectifying your first impression with her. She doesn't take kindly to those who denounce her friends, and she's not keen on second chances in that regard."

He didn't sound like he hated to relay that information at all. "By that argument, she counts you as a friend, yes?"

"I suppose," he snarled.

"Excellent." Zevran patted the now-glowering mabari on the head, and winked again. "As her friend, I am sure you are only interested in her happiness."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Howe finally turned slightly to look over his shoulder at the elf.

The elf in question painted his face with the most innocent grin in his repertoire. "Why, because her happiness should certainly include a man to fawn at her feet and worship her, no?" He shrugged nonchalantly. "I could be that man…if only you would part with some information. I will be sorely outmatched without your deep insight."

Under the impression that his statement might provoke a certain reaction, Zevran was well prepared when the other man stopped and turned to face him. Jacob was not so prepared, and consequently ran directly into Howe's legs.

"I'm sorry, let me understand this right. You think you could make Sigrun happy?" the Warden asked, thunder gathering in his eyes impressively.

"Why not? She is beautiful, of course. Fierce. Apparently loyal. Deadly with her blades, I would assume. That is all I require. More than I require, in fact. And, if I do say so myself, I am certain I can provide whatever it is that she needs." Blinking exaggeratedly, Zevran waved his hands as if indicating something obvious. "I am quite devastatingly handsome, clearly. Roguishly charming. Witty. Capable of protecting her should the need arise. A heartfelt apology should smooth things over between us and the rest will fall into place, I have no doubt."

He was not disappointed by the effect of his words.

Howe's jaw clenched, and at his sides, his hands tightened so swiftly into fists that the blood was driven out of them, leaving them pale and shaking. Stepping in, he took full advantage of the height difference between them to stare down at the assassin.

"You're not worthy of her," he hissed.

"I'm not?" Zevran questioned, filling his voice with confusion. "How disappointing. Who, then, do you think is worthy of her?"

"No one," the Warden retorted. "At least no one I've met." He stopped then, backing away from the former Crow as if he just realized what he was doing. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't occupy yourself by getting under my skin," he said quietly. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to make camp." He spun around, and began pushing his way through the vegetation forcefully.

Jacob curled his lip at Zevran, but didn't make a sound.

"Not even yourself?" Zevran countered, before the other man could get too far away.

Howe froze again, but didn't turn to face him. "'Not even myself', what?"

"Even you are not worthy of her," the elf explained patiently. "This is what you think?"

"I don't- That's totally irrelevant," the archer answered tightly. "But, no, I don't think I am, either."

"Why?" All traces of humor gone now, Zevran focused on the dark-haired man's back intently. If he couldn't get it out of him now, there would be large amends to make in regaining the Warden's good faith and trust. He gave a mental sigh. He supposed, if he failed right now, that he would have plenty to time to win that trust back.

"She deserves better than I can give," came the answer, but his voice had lost all venom, and his shoulder sagged a bit at the admission.

Honestly, must he hold this man by the hand like a lost child? It was a wonder the entire population of Ferelden had not simply…extinguished itself. If it took these people this long to get around to admitting they liked one another, Maker only knew how they managed to reproduce at a consistent rate.

Then again, Lorelai and Alistair hadn't been this thick-headed about it. Although it had taken forever for them to share a tent, come to think of it…

"But you want to be a better man for her, is this not so? To give her what she deserves?" Zevran pressed, his fingers twitching with the possibility of victory peeking its shy, comely head over the horizon.

"Of course, I do. She's-" Howe turned again, his face carved in comic lines of surprise. It crumpled swiftly from shock to despair, and a spew of furious curses unraveled from his mouth like a dropped spool of thread. "I. Am. An. Idiot," he groaned when the rant of filth had ended, and he plunged his face into his hands.

"You are," Zevran agreed pleasantly, feeling disgustingly proud of himself, "but I hear most men are when it comes to this sort of thing. Come, come," he gestured to the jungle before them and draped his arm around the other man's waist, "let us make camp and then we can discuss what beautiful poetry you shall use to woo your lady."

Another dark room. At least this one had rectangles of light spearing in from various high, narrow windows. Much too high up the wall for escaping out of, though, and much too small, anyway. No chains, that was a step up in the world. Infinitely more depressing, however, since it meant they assumed she had so little chance of fleeing that shackles were unnecessary.

Another perk was that they seemed to have perfected the dosage of the drug in her food. Whether they'd known the correct amount the entire time, and were just overdosing her on purpose on the journey, or they'd just now figured it out mattered little. After her most recent deliveries of food, Lorelai hadn't experienced the same mind-wiping smoke, or the same loss of hours.

Still all the coordination of a newborn calf, still the empty void of her absent ranger abilities…but no blackout, no oblivion.

Yes, she was definitely moving up in the world.

A wave of dizziness swept her, and she promptly, albeit gracelessly, sat on the floor. Blood pounded in her temples, and she swallowed hard, trying to breathe evenly until it passed. As it gradually subsided, a subtle noise eased its way into her conscious.

A quiet scratching.

She pressed her palms against her temples. Was she imagining that? A horrific thought occurred to her: where there rats in this cell? Surely there were. Lorelai had never feared any animal before…but that was then, with all the power of a ranger at her fingertips. Now she'd be at their mercy. Drugged and pregnant.

Scrambling to her feet, she pressed herself against one of the cool, stone walls. She peered around the room, the sparse light from the high windows casting everything in a frustratingly dark shade of gray.

The noise continued, determined…and far too regular to be made by something in nature.

"Your Majesty?" called a barely audible voice.

It came from the other side of the door.

Was she going mad? It seemed a distinct possibility. Cautiously, Lorelai approached the heavy wooden door anyway. At this point, she'd take a conversation with someone not really there over her solitude. Her fictional friend might cheer her up. After all, he called her "Your Majesty". She hadn't heard that title for quite some time.

"Who are you?" she whispered hoarsely, leaning her face near the door frame.

"Oh, thank the Maker!" the voice gasped. "I've been looking all over for you!"

She blinked. The voice was very male, but that wasn't a shock. She hadn't seen another woman since she'd been kidnapped. What surprised her was the fervent relief in his voice.

"I don't have much time," he continued hurriedly. "They don't exactly have you under guard, but you're not being left alone, either. Your Majesty, forgive me. When I was asked to make this wreck of a fortress ready, I had no idea the intention it was going to be used for. Please, believe me!"

Belief, or lack thereof, could be delayed for the moment. "A mercenary then?" she asked.

"No," he spat bitterly, "I was asked by a man I totally trusted, and I find myself betrayed just as vilely as you have been, my Queen."

"Grady," she whispered, leaning her forehead against the door wearily. His treason knew no bounds, if her new friend was to be believed.

"Yes," he replied. "By the time I knew what was happening, you were already here and he would listen to none of my arguments. I'd gladly toss myself from the roof for my part in this treachery, but that won't help you in the slightest," he added with a self-mocking laugh.

"Not generally," she agreed, grateful for the way the lower dose of the drug was enabling her to speak clearer, with less pauses. "It's a poor solution for…almost every problem."

He laughed again, but sobered quickly. "Your Majesty, though I've nothing to prove my loyalty, I-"

"In my current situation, there's not…a whole lot to lose, is there?" Lorelai pointed out, laughing weakly. "What is the worst that trusting you…if you prove false, will do?"

"Not the vote of confidence I was looking for, but I'm not surprised. I'll do all that I can to get you out of here, my Queen, this I promise you," he whispered. "All I can offer at the moment are words of warning, however. As out of control as Grady is, he is not our biggest problem."

"Oh, that's comforting."

"There are whisperings that make me fear that Grady is not as in charge as he thinks he is," he said. "He seeks to place Anora back on the throne, and set you and the King free…but that sentiment is not being echoed in the corridors."

His words set Lorelai's hands to trembling. "Who is in charge?"

"I don't know yet, all the men talk in circles, never implicating anyone. He could be sitting next to me in the mess hall at breakfast for all I can tell. But I don't think he's someone who has a friendly, everyone-gets-out-of-this-alive ending in mind."

"Andraste's blood," she whispered, one of her hands moving to her swollen stomach

"Please, Your Majesty, tell me you know Isabela, the captain of The Siren's Call."

Confusion replaced her fear. "Yes…what in Thedas does that have to do with anything?"

His sigh was one of pure relief. "Oh, Andraste must love me! At an inn in Gwaren, I heard her boasting of knowing you and the King. I slipped her a note in the midst of a fight, telling her where you'd been taken, on the off chance that she might actuallybe telling the truth." There was a sound like his palm striking his side of the wall. "I didn't have time for anything else! Surrounded by Grady's lackeys, expected back at the ship," he growled in self-loathing, like his own excuses weren't measuring up. "I should've skipped out, gone for help."

"No, that would've been reckless. And I would've been deprived of your…shining company," Lorelai whispered reassuringly, even as she slid down the door until she was again sitting on the floor. By Andraste's mercy, someone knew where she was. For an instant, she allowed herself a glimmer of hope, a thought beyond the moment-to-moment existence she'd been mired in.

Isabela would tell Alistair.

"I have to go," he said, interrupting her sudden euphoria.

"Wait!" she blurted out. "How will I know it's you when you return…and not someone pretending to be you? I have nothing but your voice."

"A code name then. If I don't tell you my name is," he paused, "Keep, then it's an imposter."

"Not your real name…I take it?" she teased, smiling in spite of everything.

"I'd have horrible parents if it was, wouldn't I?" Keep said with a laugh. "Stay safe, Your Majesty."

And he was gone.