Author's Note: Combat! Woot! Best stuff ever! Also, I'm not quite sure how Sylrien's issue works. I imagine it would be somewhat similar to what happened in The Calling book. I thought it up before I ever heard a book existed, and if you haven't read The Calling, neither have I. We're on the same page! As always, please Read and Review, and thank you to my lovely betareaders. Interested? Send me a message!

Chapter 11

It was like fighting blindfolded. She could still do it well enough, but every time she reached out, every time she tried to sensewhat was happening, she hit a wall. Sylrien kept her eyes opened and remembered that there was more to combat than semi-mystical forces. There was also the hard truth of a sharp blade in soft flesh. Also: Ranged need to go down first.

So she made a running sprint in the direction of the first arrow, her two curved blades trailing behind her. It was all a blur, ducking as a sword passed overhead, bringing her left sword in an arch that met with the creature's kneecap. The sword hit bone, causing her to pause just a minute before swinging it out and around, the sword finding a welcome sheathe in the base of a spine in front of her. She stepped on the back of the fallen thing, yanking her sword free as she brought the right blade up to meet a swing from another one of the creatures. There were about seven? No, eight of them.

Well, there were at least five or six left now.

And still the archer with the arrows!

The Hurlock that towered over her, one heavy sword to her two frail blades, grinned as he swung down again. And again. She managed to yank her second sword free, meeting his blade with her own crossed in an X. But with each heavy strike her arms were bent lower...lower...lower till the thing made a gurgling sound as tanned hand cupped its chin, a dagger flashing across its throat. Zevran. The elf grinned down at her, extending a hand to help her up. She took it, using the forward motion to propel herself into another sprint. He acted as a buffer, tackling another monster and unleashing his fury upon it as she sidestepped another. That makes four, three... Alistair roared in the distance, she could hear the sound of something metal and heavy hitting something wet. Two. Then there was an unfamiliar, but distinctly female growl. The sensation of something being smashed reverberated in the ground beneath her. One.

One that was still a few feet away, tossing his bow aside to engage her with blades. She paused for a brief moment before pouncing on him, knocking down the archer with her own weight. The odor filled her nostrils, her sight was temporarily stained red. Her sword preceded her, pinning his stomach to the ground as she stabbed the thing with the remaining blade in her hand. Both hands wrapped around the pommel, pushing down and slashing at it, long since its blood began to cool on her skin.

Then it was still. She stood, wiping the blood off of both swords. Turning she waved a blood-spattered hand to her three companions. Zevran smiled at her...then his smile began to fade. She heard something, began to turn on her heel - Shayle began to bolt toward her, there was something hard and dark flying through the air...

Until the head of a black hammer collided with the skull of the Darkspawn creature that been moving to flank her. Sylrien heard the crunch, bits of bone and brain matter splattered onto her face.

Now they were all dead.

The next few days passed without incident. They established a watch at night, two shifts, with the sleepers foraging and managing their supplies in the morning. Unfortunately for Zevran and Alistair, the two ladies of their merry company did not exactly require that much sleep, so they tended to stay up together. Even more unfortunate for Zevran, Alistair and Sylrien had been spending most of their travelling time together, horses side by side as they discussed what had happened in low voices about their encounter with the rogue band of Darkspawn. Alistair kept giving her odd looks, and there seemed to be a permanent expression of unease whenever he caught Sylrien's attention. The foul mood of the elf permeated the rest of the party, so their trip was also silent. Zevran hated silence, too.

They were soon to be arriving at a small village though, and with that promises of sleeping in real beds and eating real food began to manifest themselves. Real baths, and maybe real women to take baths with. Oh, it wasn't so much that he was abandoning his feelings for Sylrien. Moreso that he was tired, and he knew his chances there were slim. Hmm. Maybe he was holding onto some sort of hope that after this quest business, he could convince her to go back to Antiva with him or that maybe he could follow her where-ever she went. Agh, againwith the thick cloaks. They weren't made for these warm springs, but they really couldn't have the King of Ferelden and Grey Warden Hero walking around wearing signs...Or maybe they could...

His chuckle caught Sylrien's attention. She smiled back at him as she drew the cloth around her head, obscuring most of her face with the exception of her eyes. The laugh died in his throat.

So they rode on quietly to Lothering. He saw Alistair and Sylrien exchange glances before continuing through the gates. It was a small, picturesque village. Obviously it had seen some sort of battle in the past, among the freshly raised houses there were still burned husks of buildings. It was nothing special to a man like Zevran; it was an ordinary village out of thousands of ordinary villages. He saw Sylrien break away from their group, heading toward the Chantry building's courtyard. He cocked an eyebrow in her direction, and followed her...

As she dismounted her horse, so did he. She handed it off to a boy, pressing a coin in his hand. He followed her actions, gesturing to the boy that the sovereign covered his horse at well. He still had some residual belief in the Maker, but he knew that she had abandoned that system of beliefs long ago. He couldn't blame her, but it made her foray into the Chantry all that more odd, all that more curious. She must have known that he was following her, but she made no mention of it. Sylrien kept looking straight ahead. Some words were spoken with one of the Chantry's Templars, she showed him something she was holding. A bag of coin, perhaps? This was even more unusual. Why the large donation? Why here, instead of all the other perfectly fine little villages they had passed?

The Templar led her to one of the side rooms...Zevran stayed behind, loitering around the doorway so he could better keep an eye on her. Whenever someone passed he would bow his head and start up one of the verses from the Chant... "All men are the Work of our Maker's Hands..."

They would smile and nod at him, and then continue on their way. He kept his eye to the hooded figure entering the office. Sylrien stopped, dropped the bag as he heard her gasp. Something was wrong. Zevran looked up, shifting his weight on his back leg, a hand going to the dagger at his left side - the side away from Templars. She uttered a word - his ears twitched. He couldn't quite make out the sound. She held out her hand, drawing back her hood with the other. Then a softer, feminine gasp of someone he couldn't see - someone just out of his line of sight, then...

POW!

The Grey Warden was flying, falling back in a swirling mass of heavy cloth. The Templars and the Assassin dropped everything to see what was going on. However Zevran was faster in his investigation; not wearing a full suit of platemail had its benefits. He wove his way through the growing crowd, crouching over the sitting form of Sylrien. She was holding her hand to her lip; she was bleeding. He gritted his teeth, hand on her shoulder as he looked around them. Six Templars in plate against two elves in leather. This was not the sort of situation he liked. He nudged Sylrien, looking around as the half circle of Templars unsheathed heavy swords, pointed at the two elves. "Protect the Revered Mother!" One cried, followed by another voice that laughed softly at the situation.

"No worries! Lay down your swords! I told her I would be very cross with her if she died! Come, stand up my friend, this is truly a miracle of the Maker if I have ever seen one! Blessed Andraste, look at you! And Zevran, Zevran too?"

He knew that voice. Though he did not lower his blade, his head swiveled around to get a better look at the sole form that wasn't encased in metal. It was a soft, feminine form dressed in a pink Chantry robe. An elaborate pink Chantry robe.

"Leliana?"

She was nothappy. Though the bath water was hot, and the pack of ice on her jaw comfortably cold, Sylrien was still far from pleased. She didn't know Leliana would be there. At thatChantry. In Lothering. Of course she would be at that Chantry! Sylrien groaned again, sinking deeper into the water. At least she was still in fighting form, if she wished to join them. Her right hook was proof enough. But it was good to know she was safe...even if her jaw had to suffer for that bit of knowledge. They were all downstairs now, and occasionally Sylrien could hear bits of Leliana's voice drifting from the main room at Dane's Refuge, along with the cheers from the grateful audience. She would have liked to join them, but there was too much weighing on her mind right now. Sylrien took a deep breath, and dunked her head beneath the surface of the soapy water.

A few minutes later she resurfaced, her hands working a lather of soap into her hair. At least tonight offered a few comforts. After she rinsed her hair, she began to twist her arm behind her, trying to wash her back. A hand took the rag away from her and began moving up and down her back. Sylrien jumped away, grabbing at some towel and snatching it to her chest, moving to the other side of the tub so she could face her guest.

"What? What? I thought I just might be of some help, hmm?" Zevran grinned widely at her, holding up his hands. She rolled her eyes, settling back to where she had been sitting, leaning forward so he might continue. "You shouldn't be in here. You know this." He chuckled, "I do many things that I really shouldn't, especially when it comes to Grey Wardens. But me, I am a glutton for punishment - I find that the pain these Wardens inflict tends to be the kind that leaves me begging for more. But I do have questions, and I have a feeling you, my dear, have answers." His hands were at her shoulders, kneading the flesh slightly before rinsing the washcloth. She let out a soft sigh of pleasure - a signal for Zevran to continue.

"The attack with the Darkspawn a few days ago...Something was wrong, was it not?" Sylrien's eyes opened and she glanced back to him. Her lips pursed into a tight line. "...Yes. Something was wrong. I was wrong. Something in me was wrong."

"What was it?" His hand found her hair as the other continued to wash her back. She squirmed slightly, trying to put off the answer.

"...I couldn't feel them. I...I should have been able to sense them, anticipate them - not just their presence, but even some of their attacks...I just wonder..."

The hands on her back stopped, and she looked over her shoulder. Zevran's eyes were closed and by the way his brows were furrowed together, he was in deep thought. Then all of a sudden his hands wrapped around her, lifting her out of the tub and into his lap despite the fact she was wet and now his entire front was soaked. He...hugged her. Then he brought his lips to her ear, whispering softly.

"This means you wonder if you are not a Grey Warden anymore? That you are not bound by their...traditions?" The Calling. He did not say, though they both thought of it. Maybe because she had died already, that maybe because (he did not know this) she had been bled dry in some ritual of Flemeth's...that maybe her blood was no longer polluted by the Taint...

"I don't know." She whispered back, hands resting over his own. "I am not sure. It...it might be. It might just be that the Taint has lessened, that I might...(live longer than thirty years) not hear it as clearly as others." 'That my womb might not be so polluted and corrupted that no life might grow there. That I might, be truly, really alive,' she thought. She and Alistair had come to the same conclusion, and she had looked away when his face lit up at the suggestion. 'Could we really be together, then?' he had asked, his eyes so wide and brown and innocent. 'I don't think it would be as simple as that,' was her gruff reply. They said no more of it.

"Then, then why are you so sad? Would this news not make you happy?" Again Zevran with his questions.

Sylrien didn't have an answer for him.