Lucy
With a "Sword of Mercy"—yeah, right—pressed against my belly, I meekly surrendered. They hauled me to my feet, using my unbroken wrist, and actually asked me if I were badly hurt. You never know with templars, they could have always said "No? We'll take care of that!" and beaten me to a bloody pulp. But not this pair; they were being, if not solicitous, humane. Templar A took my arm with the swelling wrist and bound it.
"I don't suppose you'd let me just heal that?" I asked.
He snorted, ignoring me, and continued to bind me. Templar B relieved me of my weapons, the ones I had strapped to my back, but I still had my boot dagger. He threw them on the ground and then started to dig through his backpack and swearing under his breath.
"I know I put the strangler in here this morning." He picked up his bag and dumped it out entirely, covering the ground with various oddments that templars collect.
"Strangler?" I said, my throat going dry. "Uh, that seems a bit harsh, don't you think?"
Templar B smirked. "For a maleficar of your stripe? Hardly."
He picked over the pile of junk while I felt beads of sweat pop out on my forehead. Then he picked up a metal torque and I recognized that it was the same metal choker that Harrison had put on me after that whole Wolf incident. It would only keep me from casting magic. I relaxed a little as he clasped it around my neck. Unlike Harrison, however, he locked it.
Feeling strangely off, I closed my eyes and tried to see my imaginary door to the Fade. I saw it, but it seemed closed and far away. There was no white light burning behind the door. How odd that something I always thought was a bit of mental imagery really seemed to function as a psychic gas gauge.
The horseman who had directed me to Lady's Well, and helped cut-off my escape, circled around us, looking very smug. I shot him a glance and decided he wasn't the important one at the moment. My captors were templars and I doubted they answered to smug-looking men, even one with a snazzy goatee.
"Did you check her boots?" the smug man said.
"How absurd!" I spouted, a tad too quickly. "Who keeps weapons in their boots?"
Templar B pointed at my feet. "Take them off."
"Can't," I said, nodding at the templar binding my broken wrist.
"Fine," he replied. He knelt and unfastened my boots, pulling them off one at a time, shaking them. A thin copper wire fell out, as well as a lockpick. He grimaced as he felt how my one boot was unnaturally stiff on one side. Digging around, he found the secret place I kept my boot knife.
"You can go barefoot," he said and he threw my boots to the side of the road.
My boots! They were enchanted boots of ass-kicking and even more important, they were broken-in and comfortable. My heart sunk even further. My entire stash of emergency backup tools were gone. Sadly, I didn't have the decorative wire that Zevran gave me, which I might have braided into my hair but I never figured out how to make it stay.
Deciding to venture an exploratory conversation with my captors, Templars A and B, I said, "Gentlemen, I fear this is a rather sizeable mix-up." I sighed and knit my brows with friendly concern. "Understandable, of course, but I am the commander of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden, sometimes called The Heroine of Ferelden, fondly I might add, by the King, Queen, and the inestimable Teyrn Loghain. Release me and we can say 'let bygones be bygones' and get on with our day." Finishing my short speech with a warm smile, I waited for their reaction.
"Who you are doesn't concern us, Miss. You're a mage and the Knight-Commander ordered you to be brought in," Templar B said while stuffing back into his bag all the junk he had dumped out.
"Greagoir? You're kidding me! I know Greagoir. I pulled his ass out of the fire, when Ulfric, or whatever his name is, blew up into a giant Pride demon." This time I knew I was saved. They'd take me to the Circle and I'd pull Greagoir aside and calmly remind him he owed me some favors. The man wasn't stupid. I might be a slobbering sloth demon and he'd look the other way so the royals wouldn't harass him. And he was scared to death of Loghain. "Sure, take me to the Circle. The sooner you do it, the sooner I will be walking away free."
"Greagoir?" the templars looked at one another and laughed.
Templar A finished binding my wrist and took out a length of rope and tied my wrists together. "The Knight-Commander who ordered your capture is named Meredith, mage."
"Meredith? Did Greagoir retire? I'm sure I would have heard." I flinched from the pain as he pulled my wrists together and tied them securely.
"I doubt it, mage," Templar B said, "Kirkwall's Chantry is of little interest to Fereldans and I'm sure the reverse is true." He took the length of rope leading from my bound wrists and gave a tug on it. "Keep up and it won't hurt your wrist much."
"Wait!" I suddenly panicked. A moment ago I thought this unpleasant incident would end at the Circle tower on Lake Calenhad, but now—"Isn't Kirkwall in the Free Marches? You have no jurisdiction in Ferelden!" I resisted moving as the templar started to walk and cried out in pain as the templar gave a sharp jerk on the rope. I followed, not wanting to further damage my broken wrist.
There was a way out. There had to be a way out, there always was.
The goateed man watched me with dancing eyes, his horse walking alongside us. I looked up at him with what I'm sure looked like false bravado. "You're a Fereldan! You're not just going to let them kidnap me are you? Do you even know who I am?"
"Why yes, I do, as a matter of fact," he said. His gloating smile appalled me. "You are Elissa Cousland, the heroine of Ferelden, Warden something-or-other, dear friend of Teyrn Loghain, and the not-so-beloved sister of Fergus Cousland. Oh yes, and you're a dreadful maleficar. The Ferelden Circle didn't want you, so I had to reach out to friends across the Waking Sea. They were keenly interested in you."
I froze. NO! My shriek of fear was an internal one. If they took me out of Ferelden, away from the people who were covering for me, protecting me, I was done for. The least I could do was make it hard for them. I sank down, right there in the middle of the road. I sat and refused to go on.
"Stand, mage!" Templar A ordered me while B gave a vicious yank on the rope.
My broken wrist launched into a new chorus of pain, but I refused. If they wanted to take me away from Ferelden, they wouldn't have my cooperation.
"Move damn, you!"
When the kicking and slapping commenced, I noted it could have been a lot worse. They were clearly trying to avoid permanent damage and if they had wanted to kill me, it was easily accomplished. So I held my ground and when they tried to pick me up and physically carry me, I went utterly limp. The one templar alone couldn't carry me and I slid bonelessly out of his arms to the ground.
Templar B crouched on the ground next to me and yanked off his helm. He was close enough that his breath buffeted against my face. "One way or another, mage, this is happening. Resist us all you like. You're going to the Gallows to meet your fate there. Cooperate and this journey doesn't have to be unpleasant."
The gallows? So, they intended to hang me in Kirkwall. I closed my eyes and prepared myself for whatever they intended to do. Nothing happened but I heard the scuffling of feet and conversation.
"We need the horse," one of the templars said.
"Make the bitch walk," the mounted man said. "Do your templar thing, and make her walk!"
"Bann Friedewald, just give us the horse. It isn't that far to your estate. I think you can walk a bit. Besides, the agreement was that she isn't harmed."
Not harmed? Why go to all the trouble of not harming me if they just intended to hang me?
The man, Friedewald, grumbled, but dismounted. Then all three lifted me onto the horse, draping me over it like a sack of flour. I tried to squirm off, but then the ropes came out and they tied me up, securing me to the horse.
"You fuckers are so going to die!" I growled, my voice sounding a little demonic, even to my ears. "Once they find out what you've done, the Grey Wardens are going to fucking resurrect the griffons from the dead and fly en masse to Kirkwall. The Antivan Crows will take out contracts on every last one of you. The mages will rise up. Teyrn Loghain will personally invade your miserable little country, rip off your heads and shit down your…"
I was cut off mid-sentence by a rag being stuffed into my mouth and then bound in place.
"Mmmmph! Mmmmph!" My diatribe continued a while longer, though no one but me knew the dire contents of my warning.
It was only a journey of a few miles and then I was unloaded and carried into a fine estate, the Bann's I presumed. He must be one of Fergus's toadies. Sadly I didn't get to see the guest accommodations. They took me to a subterranean dungeon. It was dank, cold, and very dark. Three sides of the cell were stone walls, but the front of the cell was all bars, including the door. They dumped me in one corner, on a moldering bed. Across the cell a slop bucket sat reeking in one corner.
As soon as the templars withdrew from the cell, I threw myself at the bars and shouted imprecations after them. There wasn't much point. I might have irritated them, but it wasn't having much effect other than that.
I finally gave into the fear and gloom. Despite everything I'd threatened the templars with, I had no idea how I was going to get free of this mess. It would be another day or two until Zevran got to the tower and found I wasn't there. How long I would be here, I didn't know.
The bed or the floor? I tried to decide which was the least dirty and finally settled on the bed. It stunk and I felt things crawling in it, but the floor wasn't much better. There was nothing I could do. Nothing.
"Take care of my baby," I whispered. "Zevran, Anders, Loghain—All you who love him as I do—please watch over him." I sniffed and my eyes filled with tears. "Danny, my love, wait for me in the French Laundry. I think I might be with you soon. Order some appetizers and a strong drink with an umbrella in it. Maker knows I'm going to need it."
That prayer spoken into the air dissolved the last of my resolution to stay strong. I buried my head into my hands and cried.
Anders
"You've got a visitor, Anders." The big, plate-clad hulk of a templar stepped aside and he saw the man's bulk had obscured a smaller man. He stared at the elf for a moment, his brain seizing up with the feeling that he knew this blond elf.
A feminine hand tracing a pair of graceful swirls across a tanned check… A pair of heavy-lidded eyes, half shut, and a kiss. Lucy's memories. They bubbled up from time to time.
"Ah, Anders, amico! I am glad to see you're all right," the elf said.
His voice only made Anders's head swim even more until it finally seized on an idea. "Daniella? I mean, Zevran?" He held his hand out, even though he still felt disoriented.
The elf chuckled and seized his hand in a hearty shake. "What do you think? Am I better as a blond or did you like those black tresses?"
Anders returned the chuckle, his sense of déjà vu turning into wonder at the transformation. "I confessed to Lucy that I found Daniella an attractive woman."
"Or 'hot', as she would say?" Zevran said.
The mage laughed again. "Yeah, she would say that." It seemed a little weird to be discussing Lucy with someone else who knew her so well. But 'hot' was also a term he would apply to the fair-haired elf in front of him. His shoulder-length blond hair was held back in a ponytail with a leather lace. There was a honed sharpness to his features that almost bordered on feminine, but held plenty of masculinity. It was plain to see how the glamour had worked with his underlying features. His physique, while compact and lithe, was definitely not feminine. Anders understood Lucy's attraction to the physical elements of the assassin.
"Speaking of the Warden, where is she? Visiting with Irving? Tormenting Greagoir?"
Anders's brows drew together in puzzlement. "She's here?"
Eyes growing wider, Zevran said, "She's not?"
The assassin's face didn't give away much, but Anders could sense his worry. "Wait. Why are you here? If Lucy isn't here and is supposed to be, where is she? What is going on?"
"To answer your first question, the reason I am here is simple. Lucy was beside herself with grief over losing you and wants you to come back. We split up in order to find you. She flew to Amaranthine, stopping to ask after you along the way. She intended to search for a day or two up north and then fly to the tower. She should have been here before I arrived. That she is not…"
"Andraste's flaming tits!" Anders swore. "She could be anywhere. That's a whole hell of a lot of territory to cover."
Zevran angrily slapped an open hand against a table and slumped into a chair. "Where do we even start? Retrace her steps from Denerim? Go to Amaranthine? Vigil's Keep? Who would kidnap her?"
Anders sat on his bed, resting his elbows on his thighs and his chin in his hands. She wanted him back? Why was the assassin assisting her in this search? Was Zevran prepared to stand aside for him? Would she let him? The questions chased around in his head, but they were all for naught if Lucy had disappeared.
"Lucy has a lot of enemies. There was a conspiracy to kill her in Amaranthine. We thought we got them all, but you never know."
"What about Fergus Cousland?" Zevran asked.
"Ah, yes, funny you should ask. I would put him at the top of the list. She and Loghain did make something of a fool out of him."
"Brasca! Amaranthine is right next door to Fergus' territory. Perhaps we should pay a late-night visit to the teyrn?"
Shaking his head, Anders sat up straight. "That may be a dead-end too. I have a better idea. I can ask Lucy where she is."
Zevran cocked his eyebrow, looking at Anders like he had just said something ridiculous. "How do you propose to do that when we don't even know where she is?"
"There is one place I know she goes to," he said, smiling grimly. "The Fade. I've had some experience tracking her down in that place. All I have to do is find her in a dream and ask her. Well, sort of." Getting her to focus on the problem and communicate meaningfully in a dream might be a challenge.
Zevran's look of incredulity faded to admiration. "Really? That is marvelous! Is this because you two were in the same body?"
"Um, not exactly, it was before that. Long story." Anders really didn't want to admit to the assassin that he had spied on her in her sleep. "Suffice to say, I've had some experience navigating dreamscapes. If we can time it right, so I'm in a lyrium trance while she is asleep and dreaming, I can find her."
Leaping to his feet, Zevran snapped his fingers. "Brilliant! Then you'll just ask her where she is and we'll chase her down."
"Well," Anders rubbed the back of his neck, feeling uncomfortable discussing his former snooping, "I don't know what your dreams are like, but they can be chaotic. Getting straight answers out of someone in a dream can be iffy. It might take a few tries."
"We can't waste time. We know she went north and is probably to the east, I can't imagine she would have gone far into her… Elissa's brother's territory. We should at least start traveling in that direction." Zevran stopped pacing a moment and stared at Anders, sizing him up for a moment. "You will come?"
"Maker's ass, man, of course I will. I, uh, well… this is my fault. I shouldn't have left like that. It just seemed like it would be easiest if I did. I know what you mean to her." He rubbed the back of his neck again. It was feeling hot and prickly.
"Don't underestimate how she feels about you, ser mage. The tears filling my décolletage that night weren't all tears of joy."
"Hm," Anders mused over the admission and wondered how exactly the elf felt about his lady's divided loyalties. Then he remembered the elf was a well-trained assassin and felt even more uncomfortable about the topic. "We should leave right away." By immersing himself in action, he wouldn't have to deal with this uncomfortable subject.
"Do you know any forms other than bird? If not, perhaps we should acquire a horse for you."
"Uh, no. I just learned how to turn into a bird a short time ago. I can fly along behind you," Anders said.
"No. It is no trouble. We will acquire another horse. Until we find a stable we'll just have to ride double." Zevran fixed him with that surveying gaze again, as if he were able to evaluate someone's equitation by looking at them. "Do you ride?"
There was something in that gaze that made him squirm and that question was almost a double entendre. "I do well enough." The small quirk at the corner of Zevran's lips said his instinct about the question was not entirely wrong.
"We shall see about that." The assassin looked around the mage's room. "Let's pack your things and go, yes?"
"I'm traveling light," Anders said. He picked up his staff. "I'm ready. We just need to stop at the quartermaster and buy as much lyrium as we can. Hunting her down in her dreams requires quite a lot."
Zevran gave a decisive nod. "Let's go."
The two men jogged down the stairs and the templar at the door let them pass without a challenge, but Anders had caught the flinty look in Zevran's eye. The smaller man exuded danger, overlaid with a veneer of charm and refinement. The interesting part was how he turned it off and on as needed. It was another trait he could imagine Lucy would find fascinating. Yes, very interesting indeed.
Zevran
It took some convincing, but eventually the mage got up on the horse behind Zevran. Anders had an awkward few moments where he didn't know where to place his hands. That moment was dispensed with as Zevran urged the horse into a trot, then a canter and Anders's arm wrapped around Zevran's waist until he regained his balance.
"Do not worry, Anders. I've been groped by men far less handsome than you," he said, chuckling.
They rode for several hours, alternating getting off the horse and walking when the horse started to tire of carrying them both. That evening they stopped at a fair-sized village and took a pair of rooms at an inn. Anders napped before dinner while Zevran scouted around, looking for horses they might acquire. Three or four horses would be ideal; they would trade off when one became fatigued and double the distance they could go in a day.
He found some suitable horses owned by the Bann of the area and went back to the inn to have dinner with Anders.
"So, this thing you do," Zevran said. "How do you walk into someone's dreams? I can imagine this is a useful skill. Perhaps you could kill someone in their dream and they would wake up dead, yes? Far less mess."
Chuckling, Anders raised his glass of wine and took a small sip. He would need to be sober if he wanted to walk through the Fade looking for Lucy. "You don't die if you dream you die. Trust me, I've had it happen. Yes, it is a useful skill. However, it is difficult to find someone unless you know them very well."
And he knows Lucy well. "Is this something I can assist you with? Perhaps two of us could reach her more easily?" The thought of being frozen out of this and having to depend on this other man to find Lucia—it made him feel helpless. Even worse, he recognized he was feeling jealousy.
"Sorry, Zevran. The only way I know of getting to the Fade is through a lyrium trance and I don't believe non-mages are capable of that. It is something we prepare for through our entire apprenticeship."
The two men ate their dinner and shared inconsequential stories. Neither of them talked much about their time with Lucy, as if such a thing would reveal something dangerous the other man might take offense at. There was one possibility that neither of them had broached. What if she were dead?
"Are you so certain you can find her?" Zevran asked again.
"I believe so. Of course, if she's not asleep, then I can't or if she's in the Fade but not dreaming—"
"Dead?" Zevran asked.
The other man didn't answer, but stared into his wine and swilled it in the glass. His expression had gone flat, the good-natured smile faded. It was obvious this hadn't been far from the mage's thoughts.
"I never really felt free," Anders finally said. "Not until the day we woke up together for the first time. At that moment I realized I didn't have to hide who or what I was, or who I loved. I was exactly where I wanted to be. For the first time since I was a kid, I wanted to stay. Maybe it was a new sort of shackle, but it was one of my own choosing." He broke off and swigged down the rest of the wine.
Nodding, Zevran took a big quaff of his ale. "I didn't fight my way out of the Crows, plotting and scheming a mass slaughter of assassins, just to lose her. Not to Fergus Cousland, not to darkspawn, not to the Chantry." He looked up, his smile gone and his eyes turned to flint again. "Not to you, either, Anders. No offense, but after we get her back, I will continue to fight for her."
The mage's hooded eyes met his. "Are you threatening me?"
"No threat here, amico. I wouldn't hurt someone she loves, but I won't stand aside."
"So, it's up to me?"
Shrugging, spreading his hands palms up, Zevran shook his head disapprovingly. "Perhaps you don't love her as much as you think if you are so willing to give her up." He put his drink down and rose from the table. "I'll wake you early. We can get started before the sun comes up."
~o~o~o~
"Wake up, amico. It's time to find some horses," Zevran shook the mage's shoulder as he lay in bed, on his back, breathing deeply and regularly.
Anders's eyes opened as he came out of the lyrium trance. He could only just barely see Zevran in the dim light. It was one or two hours yet before dawn. "I wasn't asleep, actually." He sat up in bed, his head whirling a little from an entire night spent in a deep lyrium trance.
"Did you find her?" Zevran asked.
"No." Getting out of bed, Anders put his boots on, straightened his undershirt, and put on the coat he wore over it all.
"What does that mean?" Zevran put out a hand and turned the mage to face him.
"Either she didn't sleep much, or—" Anders didn't complete the sentence.
"Brasca!" Zevran pounded his hand against a wall, his frustration bubbling beyond his control. "Might she be dead?"
It was the first time Anders had seen the assassin truly lose his cool. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to smooth out the snarls. "I thought you weren't one to give up so easy, Antiva." He couldn't help throwing the words back at the elf. The nickname came to him in a flash.
The tension and anger left Zevran as quickly as it came. "Antiva," he murmured. "Not bad. Listen, we've got to get those horses. Four nice ones."
"Why so early? Surely they're not going to want to sell them before the sun even comes up."
"Who said anything about buying them?"
~o~o~o~
"I've got money. We can just buy them." Stealing horses? Maker, what was the elf going to lead him into next? He had no doubt if they were caught he'd be bundled back to the tower in no time.
"I don't think the Bann would sell these, not to an elf and a mage. Besides, these horses are nice. He'd have to be insane to sell them. So, why bother? Now, shush. I'll have this lock off in a minute."
Anders waited, holding his tongue, peering into the dark looking for anyone who might catch them. The minute Zevran promised extended into two, then five.
"Are you sure you can open this lock?" Anders whispered.
"Of course."
Another two minutes went by and then there was finally a click as the lock popped open. "You see? A simple padlock can't stop a Crow."
"I take it most of your victims don't use locks?" Anders whispered.
The blonde elf turned to look at him, but it was too dark to see whatever expression he was sporting.
The two men padded quietly into the stable while the horses roused from their rest snorting and stamping at the smell of two unknown humans.
"Shush, my beauty," Zevran said. He slid his hands over the dark, glistening form of one horse.
Surprisingly the horse quieted down, nickered softly, and nuzzled against Zevran's head. Anders was surprised to see how facile the elf was around the horses and how much they seemed to like him.
Each horse eagerly extended his, or her, neck out to sniff and nuzzle Zevran. One tried to eat his hair. He didn't even bother to gather their lead lines, he just walked out of the stable and they followed him.
Anders stood in amazement, watching the elf masterfully handle these big and—in his opinion—dumb creatures.
"Get the tack, Anders," he said quietly.
Anders went into the stable, looking for things like halters, bridles, bits, blankets, those other thingies, and… uh, oh yes, saddles. He found everything he remembered from his earlier experiences with horses. He made two trips, carrying out a pile of equipment with each one. Zevran had already started saddling one horse when he finished.
"Can you get your own horse ready?" Zevran asked.
It was embarrassing, but Anders was beginning to feel second-class next to the accomplished assassin. Mr. Perfect, he grumbled to himself. Fights the whole damn Crow organization and wins. He's got perfect hair, a sexy accent, women love him and apparently horses too. "Yeah, I got it."
Anders worked on readying his horse, watching Zevran, and trying to remember what he had learned in Amaranthine when Lucy had insisted they all learn to ride. He fumbled at it, putting things on and taking them off, uncertain how hard to pull the cinch on the saddle, a little hesitant to jamming his hand into the horse's mouth for the bit, and getting more nervous by the minute, especially when his horse kept craning his head toward Zevran and nickering like a love sick mongoose. Do mongooses nicker? Wait, is it mongooses or mongeese ?
Zevran looked over at the mage struggling with the equipment. He kept it to himself, but he was impressed. The man had spent most of his life locked in a tower and he was doing a credible job of tacking-up the horse. All right, so the saddle was askew and he was trying to talk the horse into opening its mouth, but all in all it was a decent effort.
"Hey, Twitchfinger," Zevran whispered. "Take this horse. I will finish yours. Fasten the rope from the spare horse to your saddle."
"Twitchfinger?" Anders couldn't help but chuckle at the name. "Fair enough, Antiva. I don't have your skill with horses. Or locks, for that matter."
Another dig at his lock-picking abilities. Bad enough that Lucia was always teasing him about that, the mage-usurper didn't need to. "My dear mage, you may comment on my abilities only when you exceed them."
Tying off the knot linking the spare horse to the saddled one, he smiled at the reply. "Opening doors is an easy matter. A large fireball can simply blow it apart."
"And panic the horses? Truly a brilliant strategy."
"They seem to love you well enough. I'm confident your presence would have calmed them."
"I think you're jealous, Twitch. It is true, horses love me." He patted the specimen he had just finished. "Now, hold onto this fellow and I'll close up the stable."
Anders, still holding onto one horse, gathered the reins of the other. As he did so he came close to Zevran and an herbal scent assaulted his nostrils. "What's the smell ?"
Cocking his head, Zevran shrugged. "Smell?" He walked over to the stables and shut the doors, snapping the lock closed once again.
"I know that smell from alchemy class. Are you wearing perfume?"
"Me? No." Zevran came back, took the reins of his horse and deftly mounted.
The scent once again wafted past Anders's nose and it suddenly came to him. "Horse mint! You smell of horse mint!" He spoke more loudly than he had intended, gloating with his epiphany. Unexpectedly, there were voices and footsteps running toward the stable from the estate.
"Braska, mage, you've woken them. Flee!" Zevran spurred his horse, glad to have a distraction from his rival learning his secret.
"Sweet Andrate's cunny!" Anders tried to mount, but in his anxiety he put too much effort into the maneuver and slid off the other side. He tried again and by now his horse was dancing with nervousness. This time he managed to stick his landing and took off after the elf who was slowing down, waiting for him to catch up.
The sun was just beginning to rise as Anders caught up to Zevran.
"Ah, you made it," the elf flashed a smile at him. "You have the makings of a horseman, Twitch. Your seat is good but needs some improvement."
The double-entendre wasn't lost on Anders. "Horse mint, you cheat! That's your secret isn't it? It's like catnip for horses."
"Tsk, tsk, that would be cheating." He leaned over his horse's neck and lovingly scratched his neck. "Tell this boorish mage that I would never stoop to cheating, my beauty."
They heard the beating of hooves off in the distance behind them and both the men spurred their horses into a gallop.
"Cheater!" Anders yelled, clinging to his horse.
"Horse thief!" Zevran shouted back.
Lucy
That first night I couldn't sleep at all. Toward morning my weariness overtook my anxiety and I finally drifted off into a light sleep. I was awoken abruptly as a hand clapped over my mouth. My eyes opened to see the smug-looking Bann Friedewald. He held a dagger close to my face.
"Make a sound, my dear, and I'm afraid I will have to kill you," he whispered. "Now, let's see what all the fuss is about the Grey Wardens. You can just slide right out of those trousers."
No coherent thought went through my head except that this man probably thought I was helpless without my magic. I mentally thanked Zevran for nagging me to practice the last few weeks. Perhaps I was battered and had a broken wrist, but I had a whole arm left, two elbows, knees and a pair of feet.
"One doesn't just slide out of these, Bann. There are ties, clasps, and belts that need to be undone. So unless you have some other idea, you'll either have to undo all those fastenings yourself or let me stand up." There was a little waver to my voice as I spoke. It was adrenaline, but I hoped he thought it was my fear of him.
Why is he whispering? He's the Bann here, if he wants to rape someone in his dungeon, who is going to stop him, the templars? They seemed to be interested in keeping me unharmed, but would that extend to this sort of harm? And were they even close enough to do anything about it?
"Then get up slowly and take them off. I warn you—"
"Yeah, I get it. You'll cut me if I try anything," I said, raising my voice just a little to see how he would react.
"Quiet!" he hissed.
He backed off a little, giving me room to stand, his blade still close enough to easily flick at me and carve me up pretty good.
Strange how your mind reacts in such circumstances. Mine remembered the book Dune and how Jessica Atreides used her voice and Bene Gesserit training to outwit some guards. All right, maybe I don't have The Voice but, let's face it, men can believe crazy things about their own sex appeal. It was worth a try.
I reached down to unfasten my leggings at the ankles, bending one leg at the knee a little, jutting out my booty and sending a sultry look to the Bann. "It has been a little lonely down here," I said.
"So, it is true what they say about the Grey Wardens. The lot of you are insatiable?"
Shifting my weight to make my hips rock, I slowly worked at the bottom of the other leg. I turned a little so my behind was fully displayed. "Utterly."
After that, I started to work on my pants, glancing up to see that the Bann was absorbed in watching me undress myself. I wriggled and made the task of taking down my leather leggings as difficult as possible, with an awful lot of gyrating. As I finally got them down, leaving my smalls still on, I looked at the Bann and smiled. I was happy to see that he looked somewhat enthralled with my performance. When I did my last bend to step out of my legging, I picked them up in both hands.
The smile on my face as I turned to look at him this time wasn't a sexy one, it was feral. I stretched the leggings taut between my hands and snapped them around the wrist and hand holding the knife. Then I kneed him in the crotch as he tried to untangle himself from my pants. When he tried to roll into a ball to protect his junk, I pinned him against the back wall of my cell, bending his wrist against the flex of the joint until he could no longer hold onto the dagger and it clattered to the floor.
He yelled loudly when I rammed his nuts again with my knee, and it gave me the time I needed. I dove for the dagger and in another moment I had sliced a long red seam down the side of his face while he screamed bloody murder.
"You forgot the other part of the legend of the Grey Wardens. We're fast, ferocious, unnaturally strong and we fight to the death," I hissed. "We also fight dirty, fuck-face." I drew back my hand, preparing to bury the dagger in his chest, forgetting about his value as a hostage, just as a thunderation of boots came from the staircase.
A templar led the pack, but there were a handful of guards in the crowd that charged at my cell.
"Drop the dagger!" someone yelled.
"Kill her!"
"No. Stop!" the templar shouted.
"No further or the Bann gets it!" I shouted over the noise. It did shut them up.
"Drop the dagger, Elissa," the templar said. He held his arms out to the side and edged forward, showing he was unarmed. "No one is going to hurt you as long as we're here, girl. It's obvious you were just protecting yourself."
"All right," I said, trying to buy some time to reason this out. If the templar wanted to, he could just smite the shit out of me. That would put me out of commission long enough to gut me, but he was talking to me. "Get the guards out of here."
He hesitated a moment, but finally turned to the guards and spoke to them in low tones. While he was doing this the other templar came downstairs.
"Elissa, if you kill him, we can't guarantee your safety. You need to let him go," the newly arrived templar said.
I laughed bitterly. "You're guaranteeing my safety? That's a laugh. Why? You're just taking me to Kirkwall to be hung."
The guards filtered slowly back up the stairs, apparently reassured by whatever the templar had told them.
"To be hung?" the templar said. "No one said that. That isn't why you're going to Kirkwall."
"You said you were taking me to the gallows!" I growled, and wrapped my arm tighter around the Bann's neck, the dagger poised over his jugular vein.
The templar let out a short laugh. "I see. No, the Gallows is not what you think. It's the Circle in Kirkwall. That's all. It just has a peculiar past and the name to go along with it. Our orders were explicit that we retrieve you unharmed. It is obvious that the Bann was violating the agreement we made. If you let him go, there will be no repercussions. Ernest and I will personally stand guard down here so nothing like this happens again."
Think. Think. Think! What should I do? No, first thing: what can I do? I can try to use the Bann to leverage myself out of the cell. But why would they allow it? If I killed the Bann, I figured my chances were nil.
"All right," I said, pushing the terrified looking Bann toward the door. He was still bleeding from the souvenir I had carved down the side of his face. He looked too frightened to move at first, but I booted him in the ass with a foot and got him moving.
"Good girl," the templar not named Ernest said.
They halted the terrified Bann to take his keys, but then he pushed past them and ran up the stairs.
"Push the dagger under the door, Elissa," Ernest said.
The fight had gone out of me. I knelt and slid it under the door. Now we would see whether or not the templars were just talking shit, or if they meant what they said. They approached my cell and simply closed the door, locking it.
"All right, Burton," Ernest said to the other templar. "I'll take first watch. Go get some sleep."
The other templar, Burton apparently, nodded and climbed the stairs. I watched him go and stared at Ernest.
"Put on your pants," he said.
I picked them up off the filthy floor and stepped into them as Ernest turned away, keenly interested in looking elsewhere. There was a long gash across the front of them and they gaped open, revealing my smalls and a bit of the top of my thigh. Great. My armor is ruined now too.
"Is this an improvement?" I asked and he turned to look at me standing in my risqué leather armor
"Maker, no," he said, looking away again. "I will get you something else to wear."
He went up the stairs leaving me on my own. I sat down despondently on the squalid bed and awaited his return.
When he returned, he handed me a very utilitarian dress, pushing it between the bars. It was something a scullery maid might wear. I removed my cuirass while I watched him curiously.
"Have some decency!" he said, turning his back on me as I stripped off my armor and put the dress on.
For some reason I was enjoying this. Maybe enjoy was the wrong word. I felt a mean-spirited bit of entertainment at the templar's discomfiture seeing my body exposed. It reminded me a little of Alistair back when we'd first met. Maybe there was some kernel of decency in the man I could appeal to. Perhaps he was lonely. A kind gesture or a bit of encouragement might move him to compassion.
"Why, Ernest?" I asked. "Why is all this happening? Why am I going to Kirkwall? Why don't you just kill me if I'm such an awful maleficar?"
"Ferelden has shirked its duty, and the Knight-Commander of Kirkwall knew she had to step in. Ser Alrik spoke long and convincingly about the necessity of acting if other Circles do not. In the end, she agreed. You will be tested and, if you pass, you can join the Circle. Your prowess has not gone unnoticed and you will be treated with courtesy if you cooperate."
I stared at the templar, pressing my face against the cold bars of iron, still trying to puzzle it all out. Was it because of my status in Ferelden that they were being almost… nice? "Because I'm the Hero of Ferelden?"
"I can't say, really. I'm just operating under orders. When we get to Kirkwall, I'm sure you'll learn more."
"Right. Lovely. Well, thanks, Ernie." I went back to my disgusting bed and laid down. My mind was still racing. Why was I being kidnapped? I suspected my so-called brother, Fergus, was behind it. Still, what did the Kirkwall Circle gain from it? Maybe Fergus paid them to have me removed. I was too hard to kill, but he knew templars were my weak spot. Perhaps what he told them about me had piqued their interest. Maybe Kirkwall would ransom me back to Ferelden. It was possible I was a political pawn in some chess game I had no idea was going on between Ferelden and Kirkwall.
My mind spun for hours and I didn't sleep until the sun started to rise and a bit of light illuminated my charming surroundings. As I finally started to fall asleep, I thought someone was having a big joke at my expense, especially since I realized my templar captors were named Burt and Ernie.
~o~o~o~
Notes: Please review, I always love hearing from folks. This is the final adventure in the story. The idea was a little unexpected, but I decided to go with it and ride out where my muse was taking me. I'm hoping to capture some of the seriousness of other chapters but lightened with some humor. I do hope you're enjoying this last hurrah. Please let me know!
My thanks to Biff McLaughlin for beta-reading, and for letting me use her idea of ripping off heads a pooping down necks. That sounds like a threat one might plausibly make on Loghain's behalf.
My thanks to Biff, Zevgirl and KatDancer2 for their reviews. I always love the feedback. Oh yes, I can attest that all three of these folks have great stories to read.
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