Dragon Age: Origins, and all related characters, themes, and etc are property of Bioware. They're kind enough to allow me to barrow their world.
A/N: I dislike this, I feel like it should be longer... but I've been widdling away at it for almost two weeks now and I felt as if I should post -something-. So here it is. There's more, and its in my head, but I'm out of time for this particular bit and you've been waiting very patiently for it :)
Orzimmar. There was little that could be said that was good about the place. It was fascinating, to be sure. Fascinating, and horrifying. The more pleasant things about the place were the crushing weight of the sky-less ceilings, the humid stale air that reeked of dwarf sweat, and the dirt-flavored ale. The less enjoyable bits were things like the civil war, the mindless tasks they were set upon to solve it, and the maddening urge to go outside and let the sun seep into his skin.
Those were just the okay and the iffy. The really, truly horrible thing about Orzimmar, were the doe eyed looks Alistair kept giving the pretty Warden. Or perhaps the rose she had taken to wearing, tucked into her flame-colored pony tail. It made his fingers twitch, and often he found himself fingering the pommel of his sheathed daggers.
Something had happened between them, Alistair and Asyla. Zevran Arainai was no fool. He could see the signs a mile away. The Ex-Templar had a spring to his step that had not been there previously, and the lovely Asyla held a blush in her cheeks that she had previously only held for him.
What bothered him the most, was that it bothered him at all. He was a worldly man, and had always taken his pleasures when they came. The Warden, Tabris, should have been nothing more then a fling. A quick tryst to ease the tension of battle. A simple night, or several simple nights, of passion and sweaty limbs, to take ones mind off impending doom. It should have been of no consequence to him.
It was a game. Could he bed the pretty elven lady? He had failed to kill her, so this particular challenge had been sweetly won. Especially once Alistair had expressed his jealousy of the conquest. Oh, and what a conquest it had been, too. The woman knew her way around the bedroom, so it would seem. Which was both fun and exciting to learn.
He sighed, his hand firmly tucked around a stone cup of his own favorite Antivan wine. It seemed that the Grey Wardens, at least, knew how very dreadful the dwarven brews truly were. They'd gone exploring the estate granted to Wardens during their stay within the Dwarven Kingdoms. If you could even truly call it a kingdom anymore. In their quest, he and Sten had managed to rummage up three casks of Antiva's finest. A worthy reward.
He liked the dwarves well enough, to be sure. They had a bit of the crow in them here in the Diamond Quarter. Brother against brother, cousin against cousin in the mad dash for power and prestige. Poison, sharp dagger, and keen wit. Yes, he did indeed like the dwarves.
"...Alas," he sighed, looking down into his mug, "If only there was blue sky and bright sunshine to go with the extraordinary amount of regicide."
"You are a very strange Elf." mused the redhead sitting across the table from him. Leliana was beautiful, and he did have to admit that he was most fortunate to be in the company of so many beauties. It made this whole ordeal much more bearable.
"Ah, but that I am, my dear Leliana. It is something I have heard often enough in my travels. Tell me, is there something you require of me, or are you just here to fill my vision with beautiful red hair and supple flesh? Because if I wished to see that, I am sure I could just ask the Warden." he had not meant to come off as annoyed, but the bard had been hovering for the last few days.
Leliana tsk't, which irritated him all the more. "Zevran, do I hear defeat in you're voice? You really aren't going to let Alistair win, are you?"
Let Alistair win? What in Andraste's magical flaming bosom was this woman going on about? "My dear Leliana, what in Andraste's name are you going on about?" he inquired aloud. The playful way in which this woman had presented this idea set his mind spinning, and so he did his very best to sound bored. It was never good to let a woman know one's tells. In particular, this woman.
"Why Asyla, of course. She is quite a lovely woman, if I do say so myself," her tone was rather innocent, but the curl of her lips spoke volumes. "Strong, able, fun.. surely an elf, a man, such as yourself could find no equal. I am sure Alistair believes much the same way."
She continued on, in such a manor that only an Orlesian bard could, "A prize to be sure, a beautiful elven mistress for the King of Ferelden." the thick accent rolled off her tongue, and she smiled her smile, that ever the pretty, innocent chantry sister smile.
If the bard had expected him to jump up and be offended by such a notion, then she was terribly mistaken. Kings took mistresses all the time. What did it matter to him if the ex-Templar took Asyla as his mistress once crowned? "Should this be a concern of mine, my dear? When have kings ever been faithful to their wives?" he said, leaning gently against the back of his chair.
Yet, it did bother him. Asyla Tabris was better then that. She was strong, steadfast, truthful... a king's mistress was hardly appropriate a station for such a woman as Asyla. Alistair was a good man, and may yet become a worthy King, but only a fool believed that he would be permitted to take an Elf for a wife. Not in this life time. Not even in the next, if such a thing existed. Which he wasn't sure it did.
None of this, though, did he vocalize. Especially not to the Bard. Zevran Arainai had lived his whole life around whores and assassins. A bard was a bit of both of those things, plus a few more tricks that even he found unsavory. Instead, he sat forward and plucked a single apple from the stone bowl upon the stone counter that was built into the stone floor. He brought that apple, brought here strictly to accommodate the cast of humans-and-elves, and quinari in the Warden's party, to his mouth, and took a bite. Chewing was a great way to mask ones face when one was thinking. So he took his time to really enjoy this particular apple. While watching the bard.
It took her a few moments, this bard. She watched him right back, blue eyes innocent of any true emotion other then pure curiosity. What was her game, he wondered as he enjoyed his apple. Was this supposed chantry sister out to cause trouble? Perhaps to babysit the mages that accompanied the Warden? It was hard to tell, really, so he took another bite.
"I just thought that you might find it interesting to know, that before our visit to Haven," her mouth was curled, as coy as the words she spoke, "that she didn't even see him at all. Her vision was full of tanned, Antivan elf." The red-haired bardess stood, winked, and then sauntered in her manor out of the room, leaving Zevran to his thoughts, and his apple.
Asyla sighed, her hands firmly pressed against the stone desk separating herself from this dwarf, Bhelen. He should consider himself lucky that there was something so very solid between them, because at the moment she wanted to slice his throat out for being so very obnoxious.
"So now that I've gone and chased down Dwarven lords in the deep roads for you, to prove that this Harrowmont is double crossing everyone and bad for business or what ever it is I did," she waved one hand in the air to demonstrate just how very little she cared about this whole situation. "Now... now I have to go hunting for your criminals before you'll give me the troops I need? You do realize this is a Blight, right? It's not some human war over lands or religion. Its a Blight."
"I am sorry, Warden, but I've gone over this with you already. I do not yet have the authority to give that to you just yet. Do this for me and I'll be named King and then you will have all the troops you desire."
"Fine." She sighed, throwing her hands up in the air. She'd much rather just punch him, but it would solve nothing. Were Dwarven troops really even going to be useful on the surface? Sure they knew enough about Darkspawn, but wouldn't most just be bitter? "If that's what I have to do for you and your people to honor the treaties, then so be it. But I swear, Bhelen, do not tempt me. Your ancestors swore an oath to assist during the blight, same as mine and his, and hers.." she emphasized, pointing at Alistair, and at Wynne. "Humans, Mages, Dwarves, Elves. And until now, they've, we've, all complied. For much less."
"Asyla..." Alistair hissed, a warning noise to alert her to her rising temper. She ignored it. She was getting fed up with the game of politics. She wasn't built for this shit.
Bhelen looked at her for a few moments, and then let forth a hearty laugh. "Oh Miss Tabris, I like you. If I could give you those troops now I would in a heart beat. It's hardly my fault that my brothers decided to kill themselves over this stupid throne. But, I am heir, and the Usurper would claim what should rightfully be mine. He would weaken and destroy what little is left of this place, these people. He would keep things as they are and watch as we die, extinct out of ignorance and tradition. You will have your army, and it will be filled with dwarves of all castes, noble and branded alike."
"Good." If nothing else, she liked this particular dwarven lord. He understood that the poor were as much people as the rich sitting high in their fancy walls. "Alistair, Wynne, we'll be taking our leave of the prince's company. We need to prepare if we're to take on a crime lord."
She bowed, biting the inside of her cheek to keep herself from saying something snotty, and once recognized, she spun on her heels and headed out the doorway. Once out side of the palace, she muttered under her breath, "I can't blighting wait to be done with this place. If I never see another rock-wall again it'll be to soon."
This brought a chuckle from Alistair and an overtly exasperated sigh from Wynne. She thanked the maker she'd decided to leave the other three behind. Except Zevran. She could stand to use a dose of his particular brand of humor right about then.
"Well that's.. not.. how I would have handled the situation, but.." Alistair fumbled, adorably, for the right words. She just sighed and shook her head, "I know you don't like him, Ali. That doesn't mean a thing in the long run. From everything I've learned about the other one, what's his face.. Harrymont?"
"Harrowmont," Wynne corrected curtly.
"Thank you, mom," she chirped flatly, her head tilted in Wynne's general direction. It earned a, "Ha!", but it could have been a "Humph!" It was hard to tell with the echo. "...Harrowmont. Everything I've managed to gather is that he wants things pretty much the status quo around here. Which would be fine, but you weren't with me when I went down to Dust-town. It's worse then the Alienage, to be sure." she sighed, pausing in front of the Grey Warden compound.
"Worse then.."
"Rich folks don't steal, Alistair. At least, they don't steal bread. If they've got a Crime-syndicate, its because the poor are really, really poor." She grimaced as she looked up at the handsome ex-Templar. Maker, he was handsome too, and better in the tent then he'd given himself credit for... but that wasn't where she wanted her mind to go just then. Maybe later. Wynne excused herself inside, leaving the two of them standing there, staring at each other.
"So there's really no way for me to convince you that this Bhelen seems like a slimy no good.." He struggled on this sentence, as if nothing came to mind that was bad enough to call the Dwarven prince.
"No, there's really nothing you can say. He might be slimy, no good, and probably guilty of Patricide, but he's probably the best thing for the Dwarves if he plans on lightening the restrictions on the castless and low-born dwarves. They're dying, Alistair, and not just of normal things that might kill people. They're causing their own extinction. Something's got to change. It might not feel good now, but it'll be good in the long run. I promise."
He sighed, hanging his head. "Alright, you're the boss. If you think this is really best.. "
"It is. You trust me, don't you?" she asked, and did her best job of giving him the big-green-puppy-eyes look.
"Oh, alright. But stop looking at me like that."
"Like what?" she asked, innocently, with a smile to match. She bat her eyelashes at him, just for good measure.
"Like that, for makers sake!" he blushed. It was absolutely adorable, and it made her bat her eyelashes at him one more time.
"La-la...!"
She laughed, "Oh alright. Spoilsport. Let's head out to Dust-town and see what we can find out about this Carta. When we have some information we can figure out what our next step is."
He twirled the apple core between his fingertips, savoring the words that Leliana had left him with. Over and over they repeated, as if he were tumbling a stone to shine. He sighed, and sat forward on his elbows, dropping the apple core gently against the stone. The fight they'd had that evening came back in stark contrast to the silence of the stone walls, ceiling, and floor around him.
"Please, do tell me you do not truly believe this hogwash, my dear La."
"Shouldn't I? That was my cousin standing in front of me, telling me things that only she would know."
"Asyla..."
" I've never been big on religion and gods. It was a human that humans revered, and what has their Maker ever done for any of us... but, what if its real? What if these ashes work? What then? Should I keep telling myself that Andraste was probably just some extra-pretty woman and that The Maker just a human's excuse for not taking responsibility for his own actions?"
"Why yes, that is exactly what you should be doing, my dear. These.. illusions.. they are designed to trick the mind, to make one think they are less then they are. The Maker could, indeed, be real enough, and perhaps Andraste was a real woman, but should you lie your life before them and expect them to just, poof, make it in the light of perfection? There are a million things in this world that go unexplained."
"That's not what I meant."
"No? Ah, surely then you mean to spend the remainder of your life in prayer for an absent god that cares nothing of the humans that worship him. Alas, let us not also forget we Elves, whom he has never once turned an eye to so long as I know of our history, my dear warden." his tone had come off so very bitter, and part of him had meant it. She was making quite a fuss over nothing.
"It seemed pretty real to me, Zevran. Besides, Maybe I need to believe in something, Zevran. Maybe I need to know that someone loves me," The hitch in her voice spoke volumes, as volume of her voice rose, "Maybe I'm tired of being the one to give, and give, and give and GIVE. My mother died fighting off a guard who was trying to rape her. My father said he loved her, but he refused to even lift a finger as they slit her throat open end to end. When Shianni's mother died and she came to live with us, I was the one who went to work to help feed us. Not Sorris, not Shiannai, not my father. Me. When they carted us off like cattle for the slaughter, I was the one who freed everyone. And now I'm the one expected to save the world from the blight and everyone's sodding problems."she panted heavily, her red hair wild around her face and her green eyes ablaze.
Had it been any other night, he would have told her she was beautiful when she was angry, and carted her off to tent. Yet, something about that tomb and this night had set him on edge, and so when he grinned, he showed his teeth. "Such a shame really. I wish what I had been told of you, my dear, was correct. Alas, it is not. You are not the strong, fierce red-haired she-demon with twin fangs set to eat a man's heart alive with the barest of looks. You, are in fact, nothing more then one more alienage mouse looking for forgiveness for doing a terrible wrong to your human masters."
She hit him. Square in the jaw. With the full force of that petite body. It hurt. He might just have deserved it, too. His jaw throbbed, and he stumbled back a few paces before catching his footing. He brought his hand to the place where her fist had made contact with his face, and rubbed gently. His lip was split, and tastes of blood. She'd managed to catch him off guard. It would never happen again. This, this, was exactly the kind of thing the crows warned of. If you let your mark become a person, they will hurt you. They will always betray you to save themselves. It had been what Talisan had warned him of with Rina, even if it had turned out not to be the case.
He stared at her, this beauty of an elf, with all her fire-hair and her grass green eyes, and simply laughed. He laughed, because what else could a man do in such a situation? Should he hit her back? He'd love to, but alas it was not for gentlemen and assassins to strike a woman. Especially if that woman could more then likely kick your ass. He laughed.
"I swore an oath, and I will not break it. This does not mean that I enjoy it any longer." he said, as he turned his back to her, and walked away.
"Zevran?"
He jumped at the sound of her voice. He had not expected them to be back quite so soon. She stood facing him, her fire-hair pulled neatly in its tail, a few strands to short to stay back willingly falling in her pretty face. It made his chest ache, which send alarm bells through his head.
She was dressed in her fine leathers, a gift from the Arl of Redcliff after saving his life, and the lives of both his wife and child. His mind made note of just how very well they suited her figure, and then he scolded himself. It did naught to have seductive thoughts of a woman, this woman, whom he was still angry at.
Yet, she was speaking, and it took him a few moments to will his eyes away from her chest so that he might actually hear what it was she was saying. "... and now that we've found our way in, I need you to accompany me to complete this job."
"Why my dear, are you sure you wouldn't rather bring your dashing young warrior? It might do him a world of good to see how .. well, how his better half lives." he couldn't help himself, the bitterness spilled forth from his lips before he could stop them.
"Not that it's any of your business, Zevran Arainai." she countered, stubbornly, both hands on her hips, and what luscious hips they truly were. "And when I meet my better half, I will be glad to not bother to tell you. Now suite up and meet me outside in twenty minutes."