As uni is sending me to hell in a handbasket for the next few weeks, this is a treat for all the fans; some Alistair, some Zevran and loads of complications! I think we´re at about the halfway point of this story right now, so it shouldn't turn out to be more than thirty chapters. Maybe about twenty-five, who knows?
This chapter is a little shorter than I intended, but stretching it out would have lessened the impact of it, I think. I might make up for it with the next one – this is a bit of filler, kind of, but it will have impact eventually.
In any case, I thought it might be nice to crack Nimue a little; she comes off as a bit cold with people, but I think it's mostly the wariness to open up based on the long life in the Tower. It sort of goes like this: she cares for Alistair but is at odds with many of his opinions (the last thing she wants is another Cullen incident) and likes Zevran more than she admits, but doesn't want to be abandoned in any way again (Jowan buggering off hit her hard). As for Teagan – well, she let him kiss her. Considering her "frigid virgin act", to paraphrase Oghren, I'd say she likes him a lot.
All romance material, though where it goes is yet to be seen. Who knows? The poll is still open!
o.O.o
Healing Ever After
o.O.o
"Perhaps you should rethink this plan of yours, Leliana."
Wynne knew the suggestion wouldn't fall on fertile ground before she even mentioned it. They were in the process of setting up the tents for the evening, practically in the middle of the Dalish camp. Nimue had agreed that they would leave in the morning, since even the shapeshifted forms of her and Morrigan wouldn't be able to find their way properly through the forest without any light source. Especially if they were to also look for an elf who knew the forest far better than they did.
Aneirin. Alive. If it was truly him, Wynne had no idea what to do. She wanted to rush into the forest now, partly, but also didn't know what to do if she even managed to find him. What to say or do to someone whom she had failed in such a spectacular manner? Besides, there was an intermediary available, with the most ideal combination of both magic and elven blood, who had initiated this unlikely reunion. At the very least, Wynne hoped to see it through with their leader.
But, for the moment, the mage had other concerns. She and Leliana were setting up their combined tents – an odd thing to do, even after months of camping out in the wilderness – when the younger woman mentioned how different this was from Redcliffe. And Nimue was different as well. In fact, Wynne rather thought she had never seen the elf so… relaxed.
They both knew what plan was in question, though; the bard stopped moving only for a little while, pursing her lips just a little.
"It is better to have Nimue decide early on and not leave anyone hanging." Of course, there was just the slightest assurance behind this that the only possible solution was the one she was presenting.
"But you still intend to persuade her to marry Bann Teagan."
"Well, yes." It wasn't a question and Leliana knew it, but answered nonetheless. "I doubt anyone will be too rewarding towards her once all this is over, and I can imagine no one who deserves a life of privilege more than Nimue."
If Leliana wanted to award all those who had suffered with a good life, she would have work cut out for her for more than six lifetimes. Especially if those people were like Nimue – never having had the chance to choose, they had no idea what they actually wanted.
"I just think that it isn't as straightforward as you would like it to be." Matters of the heart never were, even when there weren't so many players involved. "Nimue is a Grey Warden first, but also a mage."
"Bann Teagan said he doesn't care." This was probably a phrase she would have to repeat many, many times over the coming weeks, Leliana presumed. Nimue had a good memory, but a selective one; she would begin to doubt herself. It wouldn't be so easy if the bard had something to say about it.
But Wynne had other concerns, ones less related to the choice than to the consequences. "I doubt the Chantry will be so benevolent." She could imagine it now, the protests, the carefully worded slander – that a weapon, not needed right now, ought to be returned to its sheath, the Tower. "But what I mean is that she could be invaluable to many causes after this Blight is over."
"You know better than I that she will never return to the Tower." Leliana spoke softly, truthfully, also aware of this trend. Nimue made no secret of her dislike of the prison she had been confided to, even though it might have been a step up from the Alienage. To put her back there – or attempt to – would be in very poor taste and judgment. "If not because of what happened there, then she will have other reasons."
The elderly mage remembered those moments vividly, having been there herself. Contrary to general opinion, she wasn't as familiar with Nimue´s past as she would like, but the trip through the tower had given her some understanding on why the elf was so guarded against anyone trying to get closer to her. It also partly explained her continued resentment of the Chantry in any shape and form.
"I think the present should be taken into account as well." Wynne´s eyes found her target just as she handed another part of the fabric to the bard. Their other Warden seemed unnaturally silent and was apparently talking to the dog, of all people and things. That was hardly a picture of mental soundness. "Alistair is a good lad. I hate to see him like this… but it is necessary, and that, at least, Nimue seems to understand."
Under any other circumstances – any, even if only just one of them was the slightest bit different in their station or worldview – Wynne would have easily gone out of her way to help the poor boy communicate his feelings to the elf. He deserved that much, if only to make up for the subsequent teasing. But they were what they were; incompatible, at least socially.
Never mind the whole royalty business that complicated things, even Alistair himself was acutely aware how the mage constantly tensed in the proximity of templars, or those with a mindset determined to view magic as a volatile substance to be observed with hostility. It had lessened to the point of being imperceptible towards the heir apparent, but there were moments when it briefly returned.
Spotting movement near their leader, Wynne identified the intrusion with a crease gracing her brow. "Him, on the other hand..." she trailed off, as if to say that even discussing this was pointless.
This wasn't because she didn't think much of Zevran, but because the assassin frustrated her in quite a few ways, Leliana understood. The "magic bosom" comments had been relatively amusing the first few times, but she knew that it could easily grate on the nerves if the intention behind them – to imbalance, nothing more – wasn't entirely apparent. The bard carefully unpacked some of the bread they still had left from Redcliffe and idly wondered what they could do with it for the evening as she spoke.
"I have things under control; you need not worry."
Leliana was only a little worried by Zevran; she understood his game quite clearly most of the time, but this fixation on Nimue was a bit surprising. Yes, the elf flirted with everyone; yes, everyone in their little group usually responded in the same manner as Nimue did – that is, a refusal with varying degrees of embarrassment or anger. But while she could freely admit that their mage-leader was intriguing – and Leliana would have taken the chance to be with the woman herself, had she been given any indication of anything more than wary acceptance and possibly friendship – it was peculiar.
Still, there was a plan in the making and Leliana was reasonably confident that it would all work out in the end. The Maker was on their side now and He had brought her to their group; it just seemed natural that He would offer guidance even in the matter of making sure that His earthly champion received the acclaim she deserved. And if Leliana was to be the vessel, the agent for this, then so be it. She could think of no worthier task.
"There is always reason to worry." Wynne managed to say just before Nimue darted past them – this time, not to escape Zevran, but to avert a potential incident involving Shale and several halla.
o.O.o
Rabbit was just about to give up on the whole encouragement routine when the boy showed up.
The clown knight was in the middle of his usual running commentary of events, stopping only briefly when Nimue brushed past them without sparing them even a single glance. After almost an hour of no success at all, the warhound rather thought that whatever his mistress considered worthy of her time had to be more entertaining than this pointless tirade.
The boy didn't seem to be much older than his mistress and the clown knight; in fact, if Rabbit had to hazard a guess, he would probably say that he was a few years younger. That explained the wide-eyed timidity that most pups displayed when approaching someone they believed wiser due to a slightly greater age. Whether this was the case, Rabbit couldn't say, but it was entertaining to watch at times.
"The hound doesn't seem to be responding to you."
Alistair blinked, startled out of his reverie. He had been contemplating the distinctly upsetting sight of who had snuck his way back to their Warden-leader and then Nimue had gone past them… well, it wasn't good for productive thinking, in short. But he seriously hadn't expected one of the Dalish to just walk up to him and start talking. Most of them were doing a damned good job of pretending he didn't exist; and, if he did, was less important than many of the forest critters around them.
"Huh?" Once more, he was the peak of intelligence, the snide Morrigan-ish voice in his head commented. After so long, Alistair had learned to tune it out. "Oh, it takes a while to get use to it, but he's actually very eloquent when he sets his mind to it. Always has advice on any topic and never gets smarmy. Well," The templar shrugged; he couldn't cut the hound so much slack. "Most of the time."
Rabbit personally took a little offense to that, but reproached the clown knight only mildly.
"See? I'll have to remember that, in case it might come in useful later on." The babbling was a side-effect of not really knowing what to say to a Dalish; Alistair's experiences with elves were rather limited, due to his Chantry-centric past, and the last thing they needed now was for someone to destroy the fragile alliances.
Fortunately, the elf seemed far more timid and uncertain than him, which was always a perk in these situations. It was apparently only disbelieving fascination that had allowed him to even come closer and ask about this.
"You humans are strange."
"What? No, no, no, no, my friend, we happen to be entirely too simple." The comment stopped the boy from walking away, which had obviously been his intention. But Alistair sort of wished for any kind of intelligible wordy response to his conversation by then and found this upsetting statement quite… upsetting. Redundancy was convenient in anger. "It's you elves who give us headaches. Especially the mages. I mean, the fashion sense is a bit of a tip-off that something has to be wrong with them, but that's just the start of things."
"Mages?" While the Keeper had magic of his own, there weren't many other arcane users in the tribe; let alone trained ones. And Cammen rather doubted that Zathrian had said more than two words to any of the humans, preferring to confer with his own kind. As all of them did. "You mean the Warden?"
"She doesn't have a twin sister, as far as I know." Any possibility of a jest was lost on the elf, which wasn't entirely a good sign. Alistair didn't care much, though, as the thought began to expand in his mind. "That would be weird, having one as my… aunt…" That word left a really sour taste in his mouth, more than swallowing a ripe lemon at once would have. "Though perhaps it would be good as well."
Of course, unless it were triplets, there would always be the uncomfortable aspect of Zevran to consider… all right, this train of thought was getting out of hand. Best to derail it at once, before the wheels in his mind began working far too fast and caused his head to explode. Not that those Tevinter robes they had found hadn't done that already.
"You're courting the Warden and she's refused you, then?" Hearing this spoken in something akin to a hopeful tone was Not Nice.
At All.
Of course, a quick wound would have been able to heal, instead of this dissection thingy they were performing now.
"Oh, no, refusal would be much more straightforward, like a dagger in the back." Or a dagger in the heart? Backstabbing could hardly be straightforward, but that was beside the point. "This is more like someone prodding in that wound with a dull spoon." These morbid images he was projecting were clearly a sign of unrest. "She never gives me a straight answer… but I guess I haven't asked a straight question."
"Uncertainty doesn't seem horrible in comparison to utter refusal." Well, look who else was moping. It no longer seemed as potentially manly or heart-wrenching when this kid was in a similar situation, but then again, he wasn't being ushered into a life he didn't want. And certainly not by people he trusted, who were moving him there with almost ruthless efficiency. "At least you can still hope. I… I have no hope left."
Contrary to the opinion of some, Alistair was neither blind nor stupid. Even without the dramatic words, the brief, shy glances towards a redheaded elf girl were enough to relay the whole story to him without words. He also saw that, while Zevran was a paragon of many vices, procrastination and giving up certainly didn't belong among them. Almost as soon as Nimue was away, it appeared to be business as usual.
What was it that people said about mice when the cat was away? He couldn't remember.
"Yes, no kidding. Assassins seem to be popular with the ladies nowadays."
"A-assassins?!" Fortunately, the boy didn't seem to be capable of having a temper tantrum even at such an outrage, making his outburst more of a squeak than anything else. Alistair actually almost felt sorry for the kid, but, given his situation, it was more Schadenfreude than anything. He did feel a little guilty about it, though.
Not enough to really regret it, but a little, yes.
"There´s no need to get too worried about that. I don't think Zevran has any permanent intentions towards your lady friend there." Permanent meaning anything more than one night, of course. With Nimue… with Nimue, that might be many nights, but certainly not what Bann Teagan had offered her. Marriage. He felt very young at the mention of the word, unprepared. "Besides… yes, there it is." Alistair nodded to himself. Where there were multiple attractive and apparently willing females around, the assassin wasn't one to restrain himself. "He's got absolutely no shame."
"But… aren't they bonded?" the elf asked helplessly, gesturing in the general direction of where Nimue had gone.
What Alistair knew of Dalish customs could be fitted into a dagger pouch and still there would be much room to spare. So, naturally, he posed the obvious question. "Bonded?"
If dogs could roll their eyes, then Rabbit did so. Humans and their ceremonies. They believed that some kind of approval was needed for them to mate and have puppies. If these elves had anything right, it was that only the mating ritual itself determined who was to be with whom, not some unnecessary gathering.
"Well, I suppose you humans see that differently." Cammen tried to think back – it wasn't often that Zathrian told them of humans, but as flat-ears came to them, they sometimes shared stories of the cities. They had mentioned something about the Chantry ways as well, he thought. "The Keeper said there was a word for it. M…" Short word. Two syllables? Hopefully. Ah, there it was. "Marriage, if I remember." It was actually wonderful to be able to remember these usually fleeting tidbits of information. You never knew when it could come useful.
Now, if only Zathrian had said something about persuading stubborn girls of true love…
But the odd human wasn't at all assured by this or happy by his having managed to find the proper word for the bonding. In fact, he looked as if he had choked on his own tongue, or if someone had very suddenly and undeservedly kneed him in the crotch. He tried to get up and steady himself at the same time, then breath and avoid turning purplish red in the face.
It was an odd, undignified human reaction, but Cammen wasn't one to judge. If he hadn't been outright rejected by his heart's desire, perhaps he would have reacted the same to the sight of Gheyna talking to another man with less than proper intentions.
"What?!" Some of the nearby elves shot Alistair either surprised or dirty looks, but he didn't much care. Having managed to bang his head against a surprisingly low tree branch had something to do with that, of course. "Ow! No! No, certainly not!" Right? At least, Nimue wouldn't have done such a thing. Besides, there was Bann Teagan… no. No, such a thing wasn't possible; there hadn't been the time, the means or the opportunity. A decidedly impossible thing. "Zevran wouldn't go that far, anyway."
There was that, of course. The assassin might claim that he was as faithful as any Antivan, but Alistair had some serious doubts about whether the concept of faith in Ferelden was similar to the Antivan version or not. He was getting the distinct impression that Zevran just enjoyed messing with them all in various ways; really bad flirting with any woman, philosophy with Shale, anything possible with Oghren and flaunting whatever street smarts he might possess over Alistair himself.
That had to be it.
Just to be certain, he asked for a confirmation of his theory that this bonding of theirs was supposed to be a religious ceremony – something done in front of the whole clan, with the Keeper acting as a priest, perhaps.
Needless to say, the revelation that sex alone was quite sufficient to make two people bonded among the Dalish was about as welcome to Alistair as an invitation to the annual darkspawn flower-arranging festival.
"O-kay, perhaps he would go that far." And that presented a problem. It meant that the Dalish girls, no matter how numerous, were off-limits to the assassin, assuming he knew about this. And if he didn't yet, he soon would. Which would mean that, once again, his sights would rest on his favorite target. "And then try to weasel out of it."
"I would warn Gheyna, but… I think she would only attribute this to jealousy." No kidding, with this obvious mooning over her. Or perhaps he was just as obvious, Alistair thought gloomily, and Nimue only pretended not to notice to be kind. "I just… I feel so helpless."
"You know what? I think I know what you mean." Alistair muttered as another thing he wasn't able to get rid of – Morrigan – walked past them with frosty indifference, heading towards where their leader and Shale were apparently having a discussion with the halla herder about whether or not the animals found it annoying if birds sat down on their horns.
Rabbit decided to quit while he was ahead and call it a day. There was a lot of work to be done yet.
