Lucy

My first scar. I stood before the mirror, nightgown pulled up, twisting my head over my shoulder to see it in the mirror. Strange to think of everything I had endured during the Blight and Elissa Cousland's hide had come through flawlessly intact, thanks to Wynne. Now it was marred with a vicious, twisting scar down the back of her… my leg. It served as a bitter reminder of Wolf, of trust gone very wrong. How could my judgment have been so off? It made me question everything. How could I ever trust myself again? How could anyone else ever trust me? What about Daniel? What sort of loser mother makes the sort of mistakes I've made and for the reasons I made them?

I let my nightgown drop to cover my leg again. I went into the nursery and stared at Daniel. He cooed in his crib and waved his little arms.

"My lady, you're feeling better today? Daniel has missed his mother." Iveta smiled at me.

"A little," I replied, my voice sounded as hollow as I felt. I wanted to pick up Danny and smell his baby-smell, feel his warmth… but I was assailed by doubt of my skills as a mother, as a person. Your mother is a complete and total fuck-up, Danny. Suddenly I saw everything that had gone wrong in my life as evidence of my incompetence: Riordan's death, Zevran's unknown status, Wolf. Every time Wolf's name rippled through my mind, it felt like another arrow slicing through my thigh.

An overwhelming exhaustion swept over me and I longed to go back to sleep. Once I had slept a little more, perhaps I would be ready to face life again. "Actually, I'm tired. I think I'll go back to bed." I turned and went back to my room and crawled into bed. Burrowing into my covers, I cast a sleep spell on myself, again.

Anders

She hadn't been out of bed in a week, not even to eat or take a bath. He looked down at her and frowned. Her hair would be a bird's nest, if the bird were drunk or insane. She was starting to smell ripe as well. There wasn't anything wrong with her, other than her mental state. He'd had patients before like this. After a severe illness sometimes they fell into a depression. Sometimes they never recovered.

"Not you, Lucy. This is not you," he said to the sleeping lump in her bed. "Wake up. This ends now."

He paused a moment waiting to see if she stirred, but she didn't. He pulled the covers off her and tapped her on the shoulder. "Get up, Lucy. This has gone on long enough."

She still didn't stir. He sent some magic into her and found she was profoundly asleep; the sort of sleep that only comes from a sleep spell. There was nothing he could do about it. He had no ability to dispel magic. But there was someone who could. He walked down the hall to one of the guest rooms. Harrison, the templar, was lodging there. He was still recovering but, thanks to Anders, he survived and his brain was intact and functioning, better than most templars' brains.

"Harrison," Anders nodded to the templar when he opened the door. "Are you feeling good enough to use your abilities?"

The templar's face looked puzzled. "Well, I suppose it depends. Am I tracking someone down?"

Anders shook his head. "No, I just need some magic dispelled." This would be awkward. Harrison didn't yet know that Lucy was a mage.

"Oh? Did you miscast a ward or something?" Harrison looked very curious. "You're too good of a mage for that."

Anders frowned. "No. Look, there's something I have to tell you, but it needs to remain private. Grey Wardens are outside the Chantry's purview, do we agree on that?"

Harrison nodded. "You've got nothing to fear from me, Anders. Knight-Commander Greagoir himself confirmed you're the Wardens' problem now." He paused a moment and rephrased it. "I suppose he didn't really mean it quite that way, but he was rather vexed with you at the time."

Anders could almost be amused with the overly polite and precise way Harrison spoke. "It isn't me. It's the Warden-Commander. She's spelled herself asleep and won't stay awake."

Harrison's eyes widened with surprise. "She's a mage? How can that be? Surely someone would have noticed before now."

Anders shrugged. Harrison might be a pretty decent guy, for a templar, but he wasn't about to trust him with the truth. "Her family kept it a secret. They were rich enough, powerful enough, to succeed."

"She's been an apostate all her life? Maker's breath, Anders, she could turn at any time. She needs training."

"You make her sound like a bottle of cream. I assure you, she isn't going to be making any deals with demons. She did rescue the Circle when other, trained mages, or templars, couldn't."

Harrison nodded. "She did at that."

"Wynne had a hand in training her during the Blight, you know." He decided to leave out how much training she'd received from the daughter of Flemeth.

"Wynne is a good teacher but…" The templar's confusion was still evident. Mages are usually trained from a very early age.

"Look, I just need you to dispel that sleep spell and drain her mana so she can't recast it."

"I need to know why, Anders," the templar insisted. "I really shouldn't get involved in Warden affairs."

Anders sighed. I take it back, his brain is just as bad as all templars' brains. "Because she's not well, Harrison." He threw up his hands in frustration. "Look, I saved your life and kept you from being an idiot. You owe me."

Pursing his lips, Harrison thought it over and then slowly nodded. "All right. I'll do it. But in the future I won't meddle in Warden business."

Stupid git! If I were commander, I'd invoke the Right of Conscription and just order him to do it. Anders escorted the templar to Lucy's bedroom.

Harrison closed his eyes and held out a hand. There was a subtle shimmer in the air. "That should do it."

Lucy moaned and turned over. Her eyes cracked open and she looked at the two men standing over her. "Anders, go away," she mumbled. She began to cast her sleep spell again but Harrison did something and she stopped mid-cast. "Fuuuh…?" She peeled her eyes open further and they focused on Harrison. Recognition dawned. She sat up in alarm and scrabbled across the bed away from him. "Don't smite me, bro!"

Harrison's brow furrowed. "I'm not going to smite you, Commander. It's all right. But it's best if you don't use any magic for a while, or so I'm told." He held his hand in front of his body and concentrated. The air shimmered again and Anders could feel the wild magic in the air as Harrison drained her.

Lucy squealed angrily. "Damn you and your meddling, Anders!" She crawled across the bed and reached for her lyrium necklace. Anders saw her going for it and got to it first.

"No lyrium, Lucy." He clutched the necklace in his hand and sent a meaningful look at Harrison. "We need the collar."

Harrison looked about to protest but Anders set his jaw and pointed to the templar's head. "Right, I owe you." He pulled a torque out of his pocket and looked at it then looked at Lucy. "You should put this on, I think." He said it tentatively, not wishing to offend her. "It will keep your mana from coming back. Just wear it for a little while. I think, perhaps, you'll feel better if you do."

He reached out his hand to her. "You have a son, don't you? I bet he would like to see his mamma feeling better."

Lucy looked up from the torque in the templar's hand to his kind, patient face. Anders marveled at Harrison's skill. Somehow he was getting through to her. His voice was even and pleasant, his manner was nice. "All right," she said. She held still as the templar snapped the torque around her neck.

"I'll leave it unlocked," he said. "You can take it off any time, but please don't." The templar put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it. "You need to get well for that boy of yours, Miss… er, I mean, Warden-Commander."

She just stared at the templar then turned to Anders. "All right. I've done as you've asked. Now, please, go. Let me sleep. Tell Nathaniel he's in charge."

"Lucy…" Anders started to object, but Harrison put a hand on his shoulder.

"Your commander gave an order, Anders, you should follow it." He pushed the Anders toward the door and they both left her alone and walked down the hallway.

Worry painted Anders' face. "She can't be left like this. She needs to get up, otherwise she might…" He trailed off. He had seen people stop wanting to live and what happened to them.

Harrison's jaw firmed and he nodded, feeling at least somewhat responsible for the Commander's condition. "Right. Let her have a few hours, then I think you might need to try sterner measures. A bath might make her feel better, don't you think?"

His brow furrowing, Anders wondered how he would get her into a bath tub if she didn't want a bath. And, if he did it, would she ever forgive him? He pushed that thought aside. It didn't matter whether she forgave him or not, she needed to snap out of this and the sooner it happened, the better.

Zevran

Ignacio poured Zevran another drink. "It's time to rethink your strategy, paesano. You've done well. I've assimilated Armand's cell, what was left of it, and Armand is finito. I have taken over the contracts he left behind, and acquired a couple of his very best assassins who you didn't manage to kill. But there is still the matter of broken omertà. You are pentito, and even more of a threat since Armand and Bernardo have both failed to kill you." He poured himself a slug of the fine brandy and gulped it down. "The pressure is on me now, mi amico. Your name is on the lips of every Crow in Antiva, followed by the phrase 'must die'."

Zevran played idly with the edge of his blade. One wrong move from Ignacio and it would be buried in his chest. "Then it is time to be bold, no? I have nothing to lose. I would prefer to live, but I cannot go home until this is resolved. If I cannot go home, then perhaps it would be best to die trying."

Even though his cold gaze gave nothing away, Zevran knew what Ignacio was thinking: Zevran was the very worst sort of enemy, the kind with nothing to lose. So far Ignacio had been nothing but helpful, setting up caches of weapons, money, disguises and information for the rogue Crow, but Ignacio might succumb to pressure, or he, Zevran, might outlive his usefulness.

"There's a big flaw in your strategy, Zevran. You came here to protect your woman and bambino, no? It isn't going to work. Already there was another contract on her."

Zevran tensed and leaned forward. "Merda! What idiota is accepting contracts on Grey Wardens?"

Ignacio held up a hand. "There's always someone with more greed than brains. This time it was Gennaro. The patronessa was captured and the operatives didn't receive their payment. They went home. Your woman and child are fine."

Zevran relaxed imperceptibly. Was she really fine, though? What was going on in Amaranthine that someone was trying to assassinate her again? He wished he could get word to her and even more importantly hear something back. He worried about her. Only he knew how fragile she had been after Riordan died. Then when he left, he knew it would have been a blow to her.

"You were right, though, paesano. You have to die," Ignacio said casually, keeping his eyes on Zevran.

Zevran was coiled like a spring, ready to move, but he doubted he needed to. "What are you about, Ignacio? If our partnership is over, I don't expect you would announce it. You would have already tried to kill me."

"And succeeded, of course. Listen to me, figlio, the masters are going to go after your woman and child again. They need to take care of you once and for all, and if they have to go to the expense of kidnapping your family, they will do that. They're not going to wait until another master falls, they're going to act and soon."

"Vaffanculo!" Zevran was overwhelmed with frustration. He'd come to midst of the Antivan Crows so they'd leave his family alone, but he'd been too successful in throwing down his old cell. Now they'd go after his family anyway. There was only one thing he could do… give up. He knew it might come to this; even so, he wasn't ready to die. He wanted to see her, to say goodbye, to kiss those sensual lips one last time. He wanted to hold his son just once…

"You give up so easily, Zevran?" Ignacio must have read his body language, however subtle it was. Ignacio leaned back in his chair and smiled. "I have a plan, of course. Don't be so eager to get yourself killed, paesano." He shook his head and tsked. "A woman as beautiful as your Lucia, I should think you'd do anything to return to her. You don't deserve her."

If he didn't look so amused, Zevran would have slugged him. "All right, Ignacio, you weasel. What's your plan?"

"You remember Donato? He is one of Gennaro's boys."

Zevran rubbed his chin. "Donato, Donato…" He shook his head. "It doesn't ring a bell."

"Good, then you won't mind so much if he dies. He is you, if you were human. If he were badly burnt, maybe just the hair and tattoos remaining intact, it could be you." Ignacio laughed and rubbed his hands together.

"Does this Donato have my tattoos?" Zevran asked. "Not many men have the tatuaggio on their cazzo."

"Ah yes, Zevran's famous cazzo. If anything would identify a corpse as yours, it would be your cazzo." Ignacio laughed. "Even I have heard about it. Is no matter, a man does not mind a tattoo on his cazzo once he is dead."

Zevran began to relax. "So, we fake my death. Then what?"

"You become someone else. I take on a new apprentice from Rivain." Ignacio stared at him. "You'll cut your hair short. I don't suppose you'll let me fix your ears?"

Zevran shook his head.

"Very well, you'll need to have those tattoos on your face removed. I know an apostate who can make an amulet that will change your appearance a little. How is your Rivaini?"

Zevran waggled his hand. "Mi rivaini no es malo."

"Problem is your face is too pretty." Ignacio broke out into a huge grin. "Perhaps it would be best to disguise you as a woman. They wouldn't expect that."

"They won't be expecting my tattooed cazzo either, if they reach under my skirt."

"You'll just have to keep your skirt down, amico. You won't be the first uomo-donna in the Crows. Maybe the first with a tattoo on his prick, though." Ignacio laughed. "You and I will take down each cell, one by one, until we're at the top."

Zevran helped himself to Ignacio's brandy. "You're crazy, we're both going to die." He smiled at Ignacio and they clinked their glasses together. "To a glorious death."

Ignacio drank with the elf. "Indeed." He cleared his throat. "There is just one thing, Zevran."

Zevran looked up, wondering what outrageous price he'd have to pay for this generosity.

"Lucia has to think you're dead for this to work. I will have a letter and some token from you to deliver to her with the news. They watch her, amico. If she should think you are alive, they will take her and the baby to draw you out."

Zevran's smile faded. "Can't you tell her it isn't true?" Lucia would be devastated. Who would she turn to if he were dead? Would he be able to come back to her and resume where they left off? The thought was an arrow through his heart. He had no choice. It was something he would have to risk.

Ignacio shook his head. "Your woman has no face for bluffing. She's as easy to read as a child's book."

Zevran sighed and leaned back in his chair. Ignacio was utterly right. She wore her emotions openly; it was a terrible habit and one he loved dearly. He wanted this over, but it seemed that it would drag on for many more months.

"A toast, mio amico!" Ignacio rose and held out his glass. "May those who love us, love us. And those who don't love us, may the Maker turn their hearts. And if he can't turn their hearts, may we turn our daggers in their hearts."

Zevran smiled. He would never completely trust Ignacio, but their relationship had evolved over the months they'd been working together. He rose and clinked his glass with Ignacio's and they both drank deeply.

"You'll need a new name, Zevran. Is there one in particular you want?"

He mused for a moment. Lucia would be too obvious, as would any name similar to his own. "Daniella, after my son and my fallen friend, Riordan."

Ignacio pursed his lips. "I like it. Daniella, the Rivaini." Ignacio finished his drink and sat down. "Tell me… Daniella, when this is over, Maker willing, what will you and Lucia do?"

Zevran barked out a short, cynical laugh. "Ah, that is a very good question. This is no small task we have ahead of this. She's going to think I'm dead. Maybe she'll marry Teyrn Loghain, or someone else."

Ignacio shook his head, commiserating with the former Crow. "In your dreams, what would you and the lovely Warden do?"

Zevran leaned back in his chair, his eyes half-closing, relaxing as much as he could around a Crow. "She would leave the Grey Wardens. We would go back to Denerim where her friends are. She could work at her inventions, perhaps I could do some work for the crown. We'd have another child or two." He fully closed his eyes, reliving a daydream in one of its many incarnations. "A very large, soft bed comes to mind, when I think on the subject. If she doesn't already have one of those, I will buy it for her."

Ignacio's hum broke Zevran out of his reverie. "I've been meaning to ask, mio amico… What they say about the Grey Wardens, is it true? Even the female Grey Wardens?"

Zevran's eyes widened. It never failed to disturbed him when Ignacio expressed admiration toward Lucia. It was like finding out your father had sexual thoughts about your girlfriend. "I don't wish to brag, but even I find it a challenge to match her appetites." He mashed down his discomfort and impulse to skewer Ignacio for even expressing the thought.

"I always said you were a lucky man, Zevran. Lucky to survive the Blight, lucky to find such a woman, now your luck will help you and me climb to the top of the Crows. Then you will return to Ferelden and your family. Do not give up that dream so easily, figlio."

It was a long-shot, but so was surviving the Blight or even that ambush of the Grey Wardens. He was lucky Lucy had spared his life, that she and Riordan had lost that card game in Orzammar. A half-smile curled his mouth as he remembered. Ignacio was right, he was lucky. Perhaps that luck would hold out. He felt the pessimism that had been plaguing him since he had arrived back in Antiva finally dissipate.

Nathaniel

The daylight was fading, but Nathaniel was still practicing archery when Anders found him. He watched him fire a few more shots and applauded when Nathaniel drove three arrows rapidly, one after another, right into the center of the target.

Nathaniel turned to look at the mage and smiled at him. He walked to the target and reclaimed the arrows. "How's the Commander doing?" He tossed the question over his shoulder as he pulled out the arrows.

"Not so good," Anders admitted. His face was serious. "She's put you in charge."

Nathaniel stopped pulling out arrows and turned around abruptly. "What?" His brows furrowed.

The mage shrugged. "She refuses to get out of bed and told me to tell you that you are in charge now."

"Maker's…" he started to say. "What's wrong with her that she can't resume her duties? I thought you healed her?"

"Physically, nothing. Well, other than the fact that she hasn't eaten much of anything for the better part of a week, or gotten out of bed. I think she's punishing herself for what happened, trusting the wrong person, not that she'll talk to me about it. She isn't even spending any time with her son."

Nathaniel's nostrils flared as his anger grew. He pulled off his gloves angrily. "Oh that's just wonderful! She not only neglects her duties as commander but her duties as a mother, too." His fury was growing at the thought. Of all the things he disliked about Lucy, the way she and her son interacted was one thing he admired. How dare she neglect that little boy, especially after they had worked so hard to keep him from being an orphan. He paced back and forth thinking about it and getting even angrier.

"This cannot stand!" He slapped his gloves into his hand and unstrung his bow. He turned and started to stride inside.

Anders shot out a hand and grasped his arm. "What're you going to do?"

"I'm going to get her out of bed!" He was nearly shouting, not entirely sure why he was so angry. Once he would have been satisfied to have her out of the way and be running things himself. Now though, he'd committed himself to supporting her and she would damn well prove herself worthy of that commitment.

The mage looked surprised at his fury but didn't seem too likely to protest. "Get her to eat something and take a bath… not in that order."

Nathaniel nodded shortly. "She'll take a bath if I have to stick her in the tub and scrub her down myself."

Anders looked a little taken aback at that. "Perhaps I'll come with you. I am her physician, after all. It wouldn't be seemly if…"

Nathaniel glared at him. "Seemly? Since when have you cared what's seemly? The woman will bathe and eat. I don't particularly care how it happens or whether it is seemly." He strode into the keep and barked orders at the nearest servant. "A bath to the commander's quarters, immediately. No hot water in it."

A timid servant mumbled a reply. "My lord, she was quite adamant that she mustn't be disturbed the last time we went up."

"I don't care. You'll take water up there now!"

He strode to the kitchen. "I want a full Warden meal for the Commander immediately."

"My lord, she's refused every meal we've taken up there." A frightened kitchen servant said, suddenly reminded of Arl Howe in one of his tempers.

Anders was impressed by how quickly she leaped to prepare the meal simply by the glare Nathaniel gave the balky servant. Howe turned his glare on Anders next. "You're with me. If she gives me any trouble you're going to paralyze her and we'll stick her in the tub."

"Maker… she's going to kill you," Anders said softly. "And then me…"

Nathaniel's lips twisted into a half-smile. "If she can work up the gumption for that, she's welcome to try."

"Hmmm… good point," Anders said.

Nathaniel's face went back to completely furious. "Let's go."

The pair ran up the stairs. Nate's feet thundered on the wooden stairs. He slammed open her sitting room door. It hit the wall knocking some plaster loose. Then he did the same with the bedroom door. She hadn't even bothered to lock it, he noted.

"You're getting up now, Warden-Commander. I am not taking over for you while you laze about in bed." He stood at the foot of her bed, his face a furious mask, hands on his hips.

If she was even in her bed, he couldn't see her. There was just a fetal shaped lump underneath the layers of blankets and down-filled comforters. There was no reaction from the lump at their noisy intrusion into the quiet bedroom.

Nathaniel glanced at Anders who shrugged in response. Servants started coming in, dumping water into the tub.

"Commander, you have until the tub is full to get up. If you're not up, we're going to get you up." Nathaniel's voice was stern. The servants all hurried out of the room afraid to incur his wrath.

Still no movement from the lump.

"Did she spell herself asleep again?" Nathaniel asked Anders quietly.

The mage walked to the side of the bed and pulled back the covers. Lucy was sound asleep, curled up on her side, and the anti-magic collar was still around her neck. He shook his head. "Lucy?" The mage shook her gently.

Lucy stirred to the touch, cringing away and pulling her covers back up again. "Lemme alone," she murmured.

"You are getting up now, Commander," Nathaniel said sternly. "You are going to take a bath, and then you are going to eat."

There was a faint protest from under the blankets. Nathaniel remembered she probably hadn't eaten in a week; she was quite likely to be weak and not difficult to man-handle into the tub.

The servants dumped the last of the cold water in the tub and left. Another pair of servants brought in a tray laden with food and set it up on a table in her room. They left in a hurry too, realizing that something unpleasant was about to happen.

"One last chance. Get up and get into the bathtub now, or get put in it." Nathaniel's voice brooked no argument, yet Lucy argued with him.

"Go away. That's an order," she said. Her voice was muffled under the blankets.

"Oh ho! I don't think so. You turned over command to me and now I'm commanding you to get out of bed and get into that tub," Nathaniel's voice was implacably hard.

"After a short nap, perhaps," Lucy bargained, yawning.

"Absolutely not!" Nathaniel's patience was at an end. He strode over to the bed and ripped the blankets and comforters off and threw them on the floor. Lucy lay on the bed, coiled up on her side. Her arms were thinner than normal and her cheek bones were more prominent than they should be. She looked like a little girl wearing a too large nightgown.

"Last chance, Commander. Get up and into the tub or I will put you in!"

Anders cleared his throat and shifted around somewhere behind him, his nervousness obviously growing.

"Time's up! Into the tub you go." He grabbed Lucy's arm and pulled her to the edge of the bed. She fought him weakly, but she had none of her former strength. He ignored her protests and picked her up, cradling her like a child, walked into the bathing room, and set her into the tub none too gently, nightgown and all.

"Aaaaaagh!" Lucy shrieked. "Nathaniel, dammit! It's cold!" She was looking angry now, sitting in the midst of the tub, her nightgown getting soaking in the cold water. She clutched her arms around her to warm up.

"Wash, Lucy. Or do I have to do that for you too?" He glowered at her, his temper flaring. Maker help him, he would, no matter how embarrassing it would be for them both.

"Get… out!" she growled at him. "At least give me some privacy. Jesus Christ almighty, Howe, you're a dead man! You too, Anders! I'm going to keel haul you both for… for… mutiny or insubordination… or for being stupid fucktards!"

He suppressed a grin and left the bathroom. There was a satisfying, but perplexing barrage of curses about people he'd never heard of and slurs on his parentage, but he also heard the sound of a wet nightgown being thrown and slurping noisily against a wall, then frantic washing sounds.

"Fucktard?" Nate said quietly to Anders. "What's a fucktard?"

Anders shrugged. "Something from her world, I think. It didn't sound very flattering."

"Hurry up, Lucy. There's some nice hot tea waiting out here." Nathaniel taunted her.

"Ooooooh! I swear to god, Howe, I should have let Varel hang you because I am going to do it myself!"

There was more splashing and then the sound of feet on wet tiles. Lucy came out of the bathroom with a towel around her hair and another wrapped around her body. She scurried over to the fireplace and knelt in front of it, teeth chattering, glaring angrily at the two men.

"You two idiots, get out!" she growled at them. "Just get the hell out of here!"

Nathaniel turned to Anders and nodded. "I'll be back in a while, Commander. We need to have a chat."

Lucy angrily unfastened the anti-magic collar from around her neck and flung it at them. "You can give that back to Harrison."

Anders picked it up and the two men left Lucy alone in her bedroom. Pulling the door shut, Nathaniel heard a crash and tinkling sound against the door. Lucy had thrown something. He grinned at the worried-looking mage. "I'd say that went well," he said quietly as they walked down the hallway.

~o~o~o~

Nathaniel wasn't entirely sure what would happen when he knocked on her door an hour later, but he was damned if he was going to let her go back to bed. The door crashed open and Lucy stood before him, fully dressed in a gown with a shawl wrapped tightly around her, hair neatly braided. He looked past her and saw the tray of food had been mostly eaten. Her face looked like a thundercloud, but he saw something else there: worry.

"Come in, Howe." She gestured him into the sitting area. "I suppose we need to have this out." She poured a brandy for both of them and handed him one. "First off, I apologize and admit that everything was my fault, completely and utterly. Like an idiot, I trusted the wrong person…"

Nathaniel raised his hand. "Stop. There's no need to apologize for that to me. Perhaps you do trust too easily, but I have certainly benefitted from that trait. As far as trusting the wrong person, I only have to look to my father for an example. I trusted… that man… to have his family's best interests at heart."

Lucy drew a deep, tremulous breath and shook her head. "I almost got us both killed. I…"

Nathaniel shrugged. "The situation had its dangers. We could have been more careful, but you were right, if we had too many people there we might have tipped off Bann Esmerelle." He sipped from his brandy. "There is someone you should apologize to, however: Your son." Nathaniel cleared his throat. "You don't have the luxury of lying around for a week and ignoring that boy. You need to keep it together for him, if for no one else."

Lucy's looked down at the floor, the corner of her mouth twitched. "I just felt like a complete and utter fuck-up, like my son doesn't deserve such an idiot for a mother. I don't trust myself as a mother or anything else really."

Nathaniel's heart went out to her; he'd never seen her look so vulnerable. She had been his prey, his adversary, his Commander; now she was just a woman, one with flaws and vulnerabilities. The realization unsettled him, in part because he had once considered betraying her, or killing her, himself. His own parents had never displayed any sort of self-doubt over their parenting skills or the way they behaved, something they probably would have benefited from.

"I won't take over command from you, Lucy, but I'll be happy to help out however I can for as long as you need me to," Nathaniel offered.

Lucy looked up from the spot on the floor at him. "You don't want command? I thought you would."

He shrugged. "I think you need to resume it. Show the rebellious nobles that they didn't get the better of you – of us, the Grey Wardens. Prove it to your… Elissa's brother, to everyone else that would love to see you defeated."

"You're right," she said, taking a deep breath. "I need to prove it to Wolf, too, that his betrayal didn't destroy me."

He held his tongue. Anders had warned him not to tell her that Wolf was dead. They'd been good friends, the mage said. She was soft-hearted, and probably would have just exiled him since she didn't believe in capital punishment except for the very worst offenders. Nathaniel had an entirely different idea of justice and Anders agreed with him. What Wolf had done, if he had succeeded, would have been the end of Lucy. The Chantry would have learned of her odd circumstances and decided there was only one way to deal with it. Wolf had to die, he knew too much. There was one other person from that incident that knew too much now… Harrison.

"Commander, there is something you need to consider: Harrison now knows you're a mage, it might be dangerous to allow him to return to the Chantry."

Lucy's mouth dropped open. "Surely you're not suggesting…"

"Conscript him."

"Oh, that. I thought you meant something else." She frowned. "I will talk to him first. Sooner or later I think it will come out that Elissa Cousland is a mage, hopefully not that Elissa Cousland is not herself. Harrison doesn't know that, does he?"

Nathaniel shook his head. "I don't think anyone revealed that."

"Well, then, we shall see." Lucy stood and extended a hand to Nathaniel. "Thanks, Nate. I'm sorry I yelled at you."

He stood and took her proffered hand. "My pleasure, Commander. If I might suggest, you've been neglecting your own combat training awhile. Perhaps you should spar with me daily. I think Anders has plans for some magical training as well." Nathaniel and Anders had discussed keeping her busy so she wouldn't have time for regrets.

Lucy smiled. "That sounds fine."

He gave her a quick smile and left. Nate, she had called him, and he hadn't even bristled. He wasn't quite sure he was ready for such familiarities yet, but it hadn't irritated him like it had before. Well… whatever. He certainly wouldn't be going easy with her and her training. She was relying on magic too much and she'd had a taste of what combat was like without it. It could easily happen again.

I forgot to ask her about fucktards, he thought. It sounded like a really malignant imprecation, one he might like to add to his own vocabulary. Ah well, I can ask her tomorrow.

Zevran

Donato met a quiet death, alone in a dark alley, one that left him intact. Imbued with lyrium and magic by an apostate, his corpse wouldn't decay quickly in the warm Antivan climate. Zevran noted that Ignacio was right, corpses don't mind having tattoos on their privates, or their ears reshaped to points. A talented apostate even cast a glamour on the corpse so that the resemblance to Zevran was uncanny.

"It is you, is it not?" Ignacio commented. "You rest so peacefully, amico. I will almost believe what I shall have to tell your woman."

It took another cup of brandy to quiet his nerves. "Tomorrow then, I die and Daniella is born."

Ignacio nodded. "I predict this Ravaini woman will rise quickly through the ranks." He raised his glass to the elf and drank deeply.

It took a lot of will to keep from drinking enough to forget that Lucia would soon think him dead. He feared he would eventually return to Ferelden and find she loved someone else or was, perhaps, married. Better he were dead than to return to that. Still, there was always hope that he would be reunited with his Warden and the child he claimed as his own. Remember me, Lucia, he prayed. He pushed the bottle away. He would need all his faculties and strength on the morrow.

It all happened as planned. Zevran, the pentito, was chased into an alley where traps were awaiting him. The explosions and flames drove back the Crows following him, but luck was with them. They found the charred remains of the elf, identified by his flamboyant tattoos and pointed ears. Ignacio got the credit for setting the trap that lead to his death. He stripped the corpse of a Grey Warden amulet, more proof of the Crow's identity.

"He was one of the best," Ignacio said later when the Crow masters assembled, his voice tinged with regret. "Too bad he had to die, eh?"

The other masters toasted the talented elf and said a small Crow benediction, giving him a respectful send-off, but then spit on his pyre. He had died for breaking omertà, after all, and was lucky to even get such recognition. In the end, Zevran Araini had left the Crows as they all do, through the smoke of a funerary pyre.

~o~o~o~

Removing a tattoo was a painful procedure requiring a skilled medic and healer. The skin needed to be cut away and only the most talented healer could do it without leaving a disfiguring scar. Fortunately Ignacio hired the best and Zevran's face was perfectly smooth when he woke up from the sleep spell.

A little more work and Zevran had black hair down to the middle of his back. He put on an amulet given to him by an apostate and his features softened and became more distinctly feminine. His skin became duskier, less golden, his eyes: black. He admired himself in a mirror, rather enjoying the change.

"I could fall in love," he said, his voice even sounding different, a little higher, with a musical lilt.

The apostate laughed. "Yes, well, don't lose the amulet or you'll lose your girlfriend in the mirror there." He gazed at Zevran, admiring his work. "I have to admit, I really did out-do myself. Are you busy tonight?"

Zevran… no, Daniella, he reminded himself, laughed a lovely contralto. "I'm afraid I'm spoken for."

"Pity," the apostate said. "Remember, the amulet is only a glamour. If someone becomes suspicious, they might see through it. It works best layered on top of a similar appearance. Keep your hair dyed, your skin smooth and dark, try to make your voice feminine. That will make it much harder to see through the spell."

"Thank you, my friend," Daniella said, wondering how long the apostate would live given what he knew about his client. Ignacio probably wouldn't leave a loose-end like that. A shame, the man was very talented.

Zevran left the apostate's home and walked openly through the streets of Antiva City for the first time since he had arrived nearly six months ago. A free man, or woman, rather, at last.

~o~o~o~

Notes:

Reviewers are teh awesome! Beta-readers are teh awesome, too, especially when they turn around a chappy as quickly as Biff did and find so many weirdnessess! Thanks Biff! Friends are awesome too, thanks Zevgirl and Biff for your support and chuckles.

I modeled the Antivan Crows off the Sicilian Mafia. Omertà is the code of honor, keeping silent about things seen or done. Obviously if you break the code, you will run afoul of the mafia. One who does is called a pentito. It doesn't exactly fit Zevran's case, but I liked the similarities so I borrowed it.

A glamour is a spell that makes something appear different than it really is.

"Don't smite me, bro!" is a reference to a viral video, then song, about a guy who caused an uproar at a political gathering and was tased for his efforts.

Translations - Provided by Google Translate

Figlio: Son

Vaffanculo: Fuck it, or fuck you.

Cazzo: Prick

Uomo-donna: Man/woman – transvestite (my own invented translation)

tatuaggio: Tattoo

Ignacio's toast was stolen from the Irish and twisted to meet my needs.

Translation courtesy of Google.