"Cousin, please wake up."

A burning throb covered half of Raviathan's face. The fine grain of old wood against his cheek was the only tie he had to gravity. The rest of the world insisted on twisting about like it was trying to buck him off. Dizzy with pain, he tapped his hand against the platform hoping that was enough of a signal for Soris to give him a minute.

Angry shouts swarmed in the distance like a wasp nest had fallen in the middle of the alienage. Maker his face hurt. Not since his mother's training had he experienced pain like this. Why…? Raviathan bolted up. The pain in his face slammed a wave of nausea that threatened to turn up the contents of his stomach. Nesiara. "Where is she?"

Everything looked too bright. Raviathan winced as the glare of sunlight shot past his eyes and straight into his brain. Soris's eyes were red. "They took her. Shianni and Valora too."

With Soris's help, Raviathan struggled to his feet. They were alone on the stage. Valendrian stood in the center of a large crowd of elves across the other side of the square, his voice ringing out over their protests. That shem stood with him. For a second, the light became a bright, indistinct glare, turning the alienage sideways. Raviathan swayed, clutching at Soris to stay on his feet. "What happened to the Mother?"

"She left. Rav, what are we going to do?"

"Would she have gone for help?"

"Mother Boann? To who? Vaughan commands the city guards. The templars won't get involved."

As he walked, Raviathan's vision cleared, his steps becoming steadier. Ness. "How long was I out?"

"I'm not sure. Twenty minutes?"

Did he still have time? "I'm going after them."

"Rav? You… you can't. It's not… possible."

Raviathan pushed the gathered elves out of the way to get to Valendrian. A few turned in anger but stayed silent when they saw him. That shem stood there, useless. Valendrian spied them and beckoned. "You're awake. Your father has gone to the bann he works for to ask for help."

"I'm going after them," Raviathan growled. His voice didn't sound like his own anymore. Lower, deeper, his voice carried over the shouts easily.

Valendrian's face fell.

Elva screeched, "You can't! You'd risk us all for a few? You go, and we'll have a purge for sure. Vaughan isn't going to show any restraint now that his father is gone."

Valendrian raised his hand for silence as a dozen more elves added their voices to the cacophony. "Elva, this act of aggression cannot be allowed to stand. That Vaughan would do this… in the open with no fear or consequences. As it is, another purge may be inevitable."

The momentary silence broke as scores of elves shouted out. There was no one voice to unite them, no single view of what should be done. Some gasped at the idea of a purge. Others raged against the injustice of the invasion.

Their voices pounded through Raviathan's skull, further setting him on edge. All of this was wasting time his wife and kin didn't have. For the first time in Raviathan's life, Valendrian's authority would have no impact on his decisions.

Raviathan turned to leave. He had taken three steps, when an hand on his arm pulled him back. Raviathan snarled at the shem, ready to cut the man's hand off if only he had a knife. "Back off, shem."

"Rav," Valendrian's voice warned.

Before he could finish, Raviathan cut him off. "What do you think they're going to do? Every minute here is wasted."

Duncan shook his arm. "And you think to rescue them unarmed? Where is your head, lad?"

"You'll not stop me." If he could, Raviathan would put a dagger in this shem's stomach.

"I'm not trying to. You will get further if you dress as a servant." Duncan's advice was so unexpected, Raviathan felt it like a slap. "Get changed, and quickly. I'll lend you my sword and bow."

"Where is Isa?" Valendrian called out. "She can take you there."

~o~O~o~

"Go into the grounds. The side entrance for servants is on the right. Second door. Goes to the kitchen"

If Isa hadn't looked sick with fear, Raviathan would have kissed her. "Any advice?"

She shook her head. "I didn't come here often. Uh, watch out for dogs. They were fond of mabari."

"Get going," Raviathan said. Isa fled through the streets like a mouse searching for cover. In seconds, she was gone from sight. "Calm, Soris. Stay behind me. Let me clear a room before you follow."

"Okay."

Raviathan glanced back at his cousin. They had argued about a purge on the way over, but it didn't matter as far as Raviathan was concerned. Maybe their hahren could figure a diplomatic way out, but as long as Vaughan was in charge, there would be no safety anymore. Not for any of them.

They hurried through the grounds. The estate was quiet. Not even a guard at the entrance. Vaughan's confidence that no one would challenge him betrayed his arrogance. That arrogance was the only window of hope Raviathan and Soris had to exploit. Perhaps Duncan had a point that a couple of servants wouldn't be noticed. Soris carried their two weapons, borrowed from Duncan, wrapped up in a thin blanket so they wouldn't attract attention on the way over.

Raviathan took a shaky breath outside of the servants' entrance to the kitchens. There was no going back. Once Vaughan invaded the alienage, the laws that allowed elves their own space free from the pain of shems was gone. How fragile those laws appeared to him now.

What would he find though? Guards on the other side of the door? Would they have to kill servants as well? People who were innocent? Would the city guards interfere? How far would they get? The glare of the over bright sun was strong in the courtyard without the high alienage walls all around. Raviathan felt naked without the walls, vulnerable. Would his people ever be safe again?

The door was unlocked. "Are you ready, cousin?"

"Rav? Will this work?"

No? Even if Vaughan thought nothing of elves, the odds were so far against them Raviathan thought they had a better chance of touching the moon. He opened the door feeling like his blood had turned to shards of ice. The small room was empty. Just a few benches. Light from high set windows and a cook's fire lit the room beyond the open archway. The room was fragrant with the smell of lunch cooking

Tense, Raviathan jumped when he heard a slap. "You filthy knife ear! How long does it take to peel potatoes? Day after day," another slap, "and you're still worthless."

Raviathan leaned around to look through the archway and found a beefy human holding an elf by the front of his shirt. The elf was bruised and bloody. The human's broad back faced him. Raviathan motioned for Soris to stand back. Careful, making his steps quick but light, Raviathan padded forward taking a long knife from the wide table laden with food. The other elf saw him, eyes widening slightly, but said nothing. Raviathan gripped the knife, heart thudding. Couldn't risk trying to knock the cook out. He'd raise the alarm. Had to be fast.

The elf winced as the man drew his arm back for another blow. This shem was larger than Raviathan and the other elf put together. Raviathan slid forward. The human was just a cook. Had never wronged him. But he would, Raviathan knew. If Raviathan had been hired as a servant, this cook would turn those blows on him instead. We're nothing to these shems. Raviathan took the knife, gripping it in both hand, and drove it down into the human's left lung. Deep.

The elf collapsed then scrambled out of the way.

Instead of falling, the human staggered about, reaching dumbly behind him. He was too fat, too thick to reach the knife hilt. He turned and saw Raviathan for the first time. The man had heavy jowls, his head sitting atop his shoulders with only a thick roll suggesting a neck. His eyes were small, shocked in his meaty face.

The elf swung a log at the back of the cook's head, and Raviathan no longer had to look into the eyes of the first person he had ever killed.

"Terran."

Raviathan tore his eyes away from the spreading pool of red at the human's back. "What?"

"Terran. My name."

"Rav."

Soris came out of hiding, pale even by the glow of firelight. Terran nodded to him in greeting. "You're looking for the women? Milord's got them upstairs in his private rooms. I think you still have time since they only just got here." He shook his head. "If you get them, run. None of us are safe here anymore. With Urien, it was bad, but not… not like this."

"Wi-," Raviathan's voice cracked. "Will the servants go to the guards?"

"The elves'll run." He kicked the body of the cook. The body jiggled with the impact as if Terran had kicked a sack of lard. "This shem had it coming. Most of 'em here do."

"Can you help us at all?" Raviathan asked. "A map, some details of the building?"

Terran's gaze darted around the empty room. He turned his neck to listen to the low speech coming from the next room. "Okay. Suppose I owe you," he whispered. "Next room is the guard's dining hall." He sketched out a map with flour on the table, explained each room as he created lines in the white powder. "Experienced guards left with Urien. But you'll still need to deal with the rest that's stayed on. You can try and sneak your women out through the servants' passage, but it's tricky. Easy to get turned around and trapped. And Vaughan. I don't know. I don't know what you'll do. The guards'll find you soon enough." Terran glanced at Raviathan. "I don't know what you'll be doing to get them out of this. Or yourselves. Suicide if you ask me."

Soris whimpered, his knuckles white as he clung to the wrapped sword scabbard. "We were told to dress as servants. That we'd get farther if we did."

"I doubt most guards'll notice a new servant or two. Those who could signed up with the king or left. You can't get those women out by pretending they're servants though."

"Go on," Raviathan said to Terran. "Probably best you get out of the city then."

The elf nodded. "Make watch over you." Terran cut the dead cook's purse, and left with a hastily gathered sack of foodstuffs.

"Um, see if you can push him under the table," Raviathan said. "Then stack some sacks against him. Hide the body a bit." The first man I ever killed, Raviathan thought as he stared at the lumpy corpse. "I'll check out the next room. If you hear fighting, and you don't think you can help, just run."

"Y-yeah." Soris put a foot on the body and pushed. Brown spread across the corpse's pants. "Ugh. What…?"

"He's dead. That's what happens. Just… do what you can, okay?"

At least Soris wasn't thinking about his fear. He pulled his shirt up to cover his nose, got on the ground, and pushed with both feet to slowly scoot the body under the table.

The lard heavy shem left a wet stain on the floor. Soris grunted in disgust at the smell. The first person he had ever killed, thought Raviathan. He had seen death many times. Death stalked the alienage like starved wolves in winter, but this was the first that he was the sole cause. Not a disease, or cold, or neglect. Not the consequence of another's blade. Raviathan stared at the body, seeing shapes and colors as the world unkitted itself in his mind, but not a person.

The loose bowels of the dead never made it into the tales, heroic or otherwise. Memories of his mother's death rose at the back of his memory, the pain becoming fresh as a wound reopened. The dead have no dignity. Who had he been? Did he have family? There was more to this man than simply a cook who beat elves. Was he funny? Did he save scraps for the arl's dogs? Had he ever loved? Was he a disappointment to his parents? All that he had been was lost. Now he was a fat lump smelling of shit. A joke with no way to hide.

Raviathan listened at the door. Low voices. He took the sword Soris had carried and stowed it near the door. Time to see if he could pass as a servant. There weren't many in the dining hall. Three guards drunk at midday.

"You there, elf. Dry as a witch's snatch here. Get us something."

"Yes, milord." Raviathan kept his head down and hurried across the room to the small door that Terran said led to the alcohol storage. So, he passed as a servant to drunken guards at least.

"Did you see that bride? The pretty one? When Vaughan's done with her, maybe we can keep her in the barracks for a few weeks."

"Heh. Not much 'll be left of 'er wid all of us takin' turns."

"Still. Put a collar around her neck. Pet her when she learns a new trick. Couple weeks of training and she'll present willing as a bitch in heat."

"I'd like to do that with the red head. Muzzle her first though."

Raviathan could feel his heart pumping hard in his chest. He put a trembling hand over his heart, felt it hammer through his clothes. These men would never leave them alone. Even if he could sneak his wife, kin, and friends out, there was nothing to stop Vaughan and his guards from coming back again. And again. There wouldn't be any end.

His eyes caught the rat poison piled in small dishes around the edges of the room. Raviathan grabbed a half empty whiskey bottle. The shems knew they could do whatever they wanted. Shems never had any fear. They took and stole. Greedy, grasping, and cruel. Raviathan carefully funneled one plate of rat poison after another into the bottle. They take from each other. They take from us. And why not? We can't stop them. He shook the bottle, watching as the powder dissolved. We have nothing but our anger and shame.

"Blasted knife ear. What took you so long?"

"Sorry, milord." Raviathan kept his head down, eyes lowered.

"Lazy knife ears."

Raviathan poured the liquid into each mug, bowed, and retreated back to the kitchen.

"Andraste's tits! This is some hard stuff."

With the door shut behind him, Raviathan felt calm. No more indecision. Raviathan's eyes slid to the bubbling stew over the fire.

Soris dropped the last bag that would cover the dead shem from a casual glance. "Rav?"

"I have a plan." The words made everything final. Energized, Raviathan hurried to his cousin. His mind sped up and went blank at the same time. Action without thought. Tying a scrap of cloth around Soris' head, Raviathan said, "You're going to serve lunch. You're going to make sure every guard who comes in gets a big bowl full of that stew." Raviathan dusted Soris' shirt with flour and smeared a bit of gravy across his cheek. "Go. Tell them lunch is ready."

"R-"

"Just go."

Once Soris was out the door, Raviathan hunted around for the bottle he knew had to be around. Where, where would that shem keep it? The pantry? Had to be away from the food, or the poison could contaminate everything. Not much time. Raviathan hunted through a box of dried herbs, canned fruits, and oats before he found the brown bottles. Careful, he smelled the contents of the first bottle-a fragrance of warm hay with an irritating undertone-and smiled.

Raviathan tasted the stew. Rich broth. It had been ages since Raviathan had tasted beef. The shem had been a decent chef. He added a cup of sugar to balance out the bitterness of the distilled sweet clover. How to hide the formaldehyde that acted as an agent? The herbs. Rosemary and other aromatics. A thick, black beer would bring out the bitterness again, but it would also distract from the flavor. Taste. Still too bitter to cover the poison. A jar of canned apples. Another taste. Syrupy sweet. The rest of the whiskey. Three full bottles of concentrated rat poison. Raviathan stirred the mix. A little flour to thicken. He placed a few drops on his tongue to taste then thoroughly rinsed his mouth. The taste was unusual. Odd, but not bad. The beer and apple was more interesting than he expected.

The stew ready, Raviathan tied a burlap fragment around his head as he had Soris. He pat a bit of flour on his face and hands to help conceal his skin. While the drunken guards hadn't cared, the others would likely take note of an exotic Northerner enough to recognize him as one of the grooms. The flour didn't do more than make him look sloppy, but he would look like he belonged in a kitchen. Raviathan grabbed the sharpest knives in the kitchen, his agitation growing as he waited for Soris. What in the Maker's name was taking him so long? Unless he got caught. Raviathan listened at the door expecting to hear the marching of boots, but there was only the continued joking from the three guards.

Raviathan stirred the stew again then paced. When he was about ready to charge into the hall, sword at the ready, Soris came in. "What took you so long," Raviathan whispered in anger.

"So long? Maybe ten minutes. Anyway, the guards are coming like you wanted."

"Fine. Help me carry the pot out."

"What… is it going to kill them?"

"No," Raviathan whispered as they both grabbed the handle of the heavy cauldron. He lowered his voice. "Not quickly enough anyway. It'll make them sleepy, disoriented. If we do fight, they'll bleed out quickly."

"Cous-"

"Shh." Guards began to fill the hall. "Get the bread and cheese. Bowls and whatever they need. I'll bring up some beer."

Soris nodded, grunting as they heaved the cauldron on the serving table. Raviathan hurried back to the storage room. Finding the same heavy black beer the cook had been drinking before, Raviathan poured in every last bottle of poison that had been in the pantry. The hall was half full of guards by the time he returned.

"Here, what's this?" a guard asked spying the keg Raviathan was carrying.

"Gift from milord. For a job well done."

"Ha!" the guard said turning to his fellows. "I's told ya. Vaughan knows how to treat a man, he does."

"Just you remember where your loyalties lie. Urien isn't going to be gone forever."

"Aye, but no harm in enjoying the spoils while he's gone. You, elf, fetch us some mugs."

"Yes, ser." Raviathan gave a quick bow and left for the kitchen. He wasn't sure, but a few of the guards had kept their eyes on him. Did they recognize him? "They want mugs. Are you okay with handling things here?"

"Yeah. Easier than I thought it'd be."

"Stay on your toes." Raviathan grabbed a skin of oil and the wrapped sword. "If you think one of the guards recognizes you, just run." He tossed fruit, cheese, and bread on a platter. "I'm going to take the lords their lunch."

"You need help?"

"No. Keep the guards distracted for as long as you can. More food or beer. Whatever they want." Raviathan held the sword under the platter, the skin over one arm.

"Got it. Good luck, cousin."

Back out in the dining hall, the guards were raising cups to their lord's health. "Elf, where are those mugs?"

"The boy will be right out with them," Raviathan said keeping his head down.

"What's this then?"

"Lunch for milord and his guests."

As he left, Raviathan heard, "That elf look familiar to you?"

"Just a knife ear."

"Yeah, but how many dark skinned elves are around here? After this morning, I don't…"

The door shut behind him. Oh Maker, just let them drink the beer and forget about me. Raviathan walked briskly knowing a run would give him away. Maker, please don't let me be too late. The guard walking down the hall set his heart racing. He dared not look the guard in the face, but the strain of uncertainty made him jumpy. He bowed to the guard as the man passed by. Thank the Maker servants were invisible.

"You there, elf."

Andraste's burning shit! Had this man been one of the guards at the alienage? Was he recognized? He dared not look the guard in the face. "Yes, milord?"

The guard's feet were pointed in his direction. "Lunch is served?"

"Yes, milord. Beef stew. Beer as a gift for this morning's services."

The guard grunted, his steps quicker as he left for the dining hall. The food on the platter was shaking as Raviathan continued to the main stairway. Was she alright? Had they touched her? Maker please, please. Not my Ness. Please, Maker. Her hair, bright in the morning sun. Smiling. Maker, don't break her light. Ask of me anything, and I will give it. Whatever your will, ask me, and I shall do anything to keep her whole. Please, Maker.

The stairs. There were two guards standing near the main door. "You there. Why aren't you using the servant's passage?"

Raviathan bowed, his fear crawling up his spine and over his shoulders like thousands of marching ants. "There was a spill. The stairs are being cleaned, milord. Too slippery."

The guard snorted. "On your way."

Raviathan bowed again. The further he went in, the more trapped he felt. Once up the stairs, there were fewer paths of escape. At the top, Raviathan crouched down. No guards or servants. The guards at the bottom couldn't see him through the banister. He pulled out the skin and squeezed out the oil at the center of the top of the stone steps. Staying low, he worked his way half way down the stair so that the oil was spread then crawled back up on hands and feet. If he was lucky, one of them would break their neck or crack a skull.

After wiping the residual oil off his fingers with the thin blanket, Raviathan stored the tray out of sight under a table. The library and study were on the left. The private quarters of the family and high level servants on the right. Most likely, they would be in the private quarters. He left the blanket on the tray and belted on the sword. Shadows would be his cover from here on. Maker, please let me make it in time.

Laughter. He followed the voices.

"What, you really going to do it?"

"Oh, mate, that's just sick."

"Maker's breath," a man said laughing. "Too bad. She has a nice pair of tits on her."

Raviathan unsheathed the sword as silently as he could and retrieved one of the knives he had stolen. The laughter continued. The door was cracked open, and while shadows moved in what little Raviathan could see, he had no idea of who was on the other side. Two voices, but at least three were on there. Holding his breath, Raviathan slowly pushed open the door. There were no sounds of alarm. Just laughter.

Three guards stood in a tight semi circle in the solar. Another was on the floor. The only way to the arl's chamber was forward. At least the guards were distracted, but four against one? Not the best odds. Why was that guard…?

Her neck was cut half off. Skin pale enough that she was translucent. Blood pooled, bright red, matting her dark hair. A slender arm lay limp in the blood, her fingers slightly curled. Ripped dress. Nola's breasts bounced with each thrust from the guard. Pale blue eyes stared ahead, unseeing. The dead have no dignity.

They didn't see him. Two died never knowing the cause.

"What?" A third reached for his sword.

The one on the floor looked up. "Heh. Wh-"

Raviathan took the standing guard's head off. A clean cut. The head fell, bounced with a metal clank of the man's helmet and skittered across the stone floor. The body continued to stand, dumb, before falling back, slowly as if through water. Raviathan's knife whipped forward, striking through the last guard's neck. The shem's breath hissed out, his eyes bulged when he couldn't scream. Blood filled his lungs as he tried to breath in. The headless guard's body hit the floor, a heavy clatter of metal on stone.

Nola. Raviathan kicked the dying guard's body off of her. The guard's cock slide out, wet and still hard. Oh, Nola. She lay there, bare to the world. Raviathan tore a tapestry and bundled her in the rich but dusty fabric. He set a torch to the tapestry. There was no time for this, but Raviathan couldn't move on until the tapestry started to burn. No one was going to see her like naked and abused like that. No one. If no one else saw, maybe she could still go to the Maker pure. Like she should have.

The keys were on the headless guard's body. Raviathan ripped them off and continued. Any mercy he might have had was gone. Please, Maker. Ask of me anything, and I shall do your will. Please, let her be safe.

The first door was locked. After fiddling with the keys for what seemed like an eternity, his hands shaking, Raviathan got the door opened. Empty bedroom. Cursing silently, he went the next and fumbled with the lock. A feminine gasp. "Hey," he whispered as loud as he dared. "It's me."

"Rav?"

Raviathan's heart leapt into his throat. "Ness. I'm here. Are you alright?"

"Yes." She was next to the door. "They took Nola, Miram, and Shianni. The rest of us have been left here."

Why by Andraste's burning tits did these shems need so many Maker damned keys! He tried to will his hands to stop shaking, but Ness was right there. Just one piece of wood separating them. "Ness, you're alright? Swear it to me."

"My arm is a little bruised from the guard, but that's all. I swear, husband."

Blast these keys. When he finally got the door open, his wife was there. She was whole. "Oh, Maker. Ness." He kissed her, wished he could stay there until his shaking stopped. He tried to blink back his tears now that he could see her. The other four came up to the door. "No, wait. Stay hidden for now. There are guards all around."

"Guards?" Valora retreated a step. "But how will be get out?"

"You'll get out," Raviathan said. "Let me clear the rest of the wing first." He looked to his wife for support.

Nesiara nodded then turned back to the others. "It'll only be a minute. He's gotten this far, and I'm sure he has a plan."

Raviathan closed the door and whispered thanks to the Maker. The adjacent door was locked and empty. Last one. It had to be Vaughan's. Unlocked. Thank the Maker for small favors.

Vaughan's broad back faced him. The rich velvet of his doublet had swirls of gold embroidered vines. He was every inch the wealthy lord. Laughter. Grunts. Movement on the ground.

No.

No… not that.

Of all things, Maker why?

One shem had Shianni's wrists over her head, pinned down under his knees. His hand over her mouth. Keeping her from screaming. Not even allowed to scream.

The other…

Oh, cousin. Images of their lives together sped through his mind like flashes of lightning. Two. His first memory, holding her hand and listening to his mother's story. Four. The two of them, naked in a tub, splashing each other to his mother's frustration. Six. Raviathan giving her a wooden toy of a strange deer with laced horns, his favorite toy, when she was crying. Eight. Learning to dance, his mother's singing, Shianni laughing when he fell over his own too large feet. Ten. Playing on the banks of the Drakon River, pretending to be pirates, her laughter and bright red hair as she brandished a stick that was her saber. Twelve. Her face, scowling at him, trying to get him to stop messing around with the alienage girls for his own good. Fourteen. Weeping on her shoulder when his mother died, her fingers running through his hair. Sixteen. She was rubbing his back after one of his patients died, making him a horrible meal because she didn't know how to cook. Eighteen. Wrestling with her on the stage the day he met his wife.

Shianni…