Promises: Chapter Seven
Disclaimer: Dragon Age and all assorted characters/places/etc belong to Bioware, not me.
When the party reached town the next day, Zevran was true to his word and headed straight to the tailors, unheeding of Hawke's protests.
"The two of you met up with templars the other day, no?" the assassin pointed out as he led them through the narrows streets unerringly. "And the little one was wearing the same robes? Because of this, a change of robes for Hawke must be the first thing we do. We don't want anyone recognizing the pair of you, am I right?"
"Fine," Fenris put in before Hawke could protest further. The other elf had a point as much as he hated to admit it.
Hawke peered over at Fenris and pouted. From the cross look on her face, it was apparent that the mageling knew she was fighting a losing battle. "All right. Robes first then," she said, her tone making it clear that she was not happy.
"As you wish," the assassin replied gracefully. He made a hard right, causing Hawke to almost fall down and leaving Fenris hard pressed not to run over the mageling. Once they had all safely navigated the corner, Zevran turned around to face the pair.
"And here we are at the tailor," he announced, waving a hand towards the building on his left. He ushered Hawke in through the doors before following her. Fenris was left to take up the rear. He did so and only entered the shop after taking a surreptitious glance around to ensure that there were no templars watching the establishment. Once inside, Fenris saw that Zevran had taken complete charge of this little shopping expedition.
"No," Zevran said firmly, taking a set of robes away from Hawke. "Not brown as it is hardly a flattering color for you, little one."
"It might not be flattering, but it does tend to blend in well," Hawke stated.
The assassin laughed at those words. "Oh little one, I hate to be the one to break this to you, but a lady as lovely as you will never be able to easily blend into the background. You might as well accept the fact and learn not only to live with it, but to exploit it," he told her.
"Flattery will get you no where," was Hawke's reply.
"Trust me. I have noticed that with you and your grumpy friend. The two of you are well matched in that regard." Zevran went through the shop like a whirlwind, picking up different robes that caught his eye and tossing each one into Hawke's arms. "There," he said once he had made a complete circuit of the store. "Into the changing room with you to see how those look."
Hawke stepped into a changing room and drew the curtain back across the partition. Zevran made himself comfortable, taking a seat near the mageling's room in order to wait for her. Fenris, for his part, couldn't adopt such a relaxed demeanor. He couldn't quite shake the feeling that he didn't belong in the shop, especially not with the questioning glances that had been shot his way.
"Relax," the assassin told him from his seat. "You are so nervous that I am starting to worry."
Fenris snorted. "I can't help but notice that I stick out here."
"That's only because you think so and very loudly at that. There is nothing so strange about a fine lady being accompanied by elven servants."
"Perhaps," said Fenris, "but that doesn't mean—" Fenris' train of thought was abruptly interrupted by the whooshing sound of Hawke drawing the curtain open. The mageling demurely stepping out of the changing room, clad in one of the sets of robes Zevran had chosen.
She was, in a word, stunning. The dark green of the robes perfectly set off the paleness of her complexion and the dark glory of her hair. The robes were cut so they highlighted the fact that she had curves in all the right places rather than hid them. Fenris' mouth went dry as he couldn't stop himself from looking at her. It was a far cry from the clothes Hawke had worn since Fenris had met her, clothes that made it easier for him to ignore the budding attraction to her that had haunted him ever since she had healed him on that first day.
"Now that is perfect, little one." Zevran clapped his hands in glee. "Those robes are quite charming on you. And the color—not only is it perfect for you, it is also quite practical. You'll find that dark green blends in very well in the dark."
"Maybe," Hawke said noncommittally. "What do you think?" she asked Fenris.
He gulped nervously once before replying. "Those robes fit well enough. I do not think they will impede your movement in battle and so I would hazard that they are adequate."
Hawke's face fell, and she bit her lower lip in disappointment. Zevran gave an exasperated huff. "You, my friend, need help, serious help, if you think that is an appropriate response. But let me translate for you, little one. Our grumpy friend likes those robes very much as do I. We are most definitely getting them. Now go try on the others."
Hawke wound up trying four other sets of robes. In the end, she walked out with three new robes: the green one she had first tried on along with one set in purple and another in grey. Each outfit had the same distressing tendency of emphasizing of just how desirable Hawke was. When they were finished, Zevran insisted that Hawke wear the green robes out for her old set was simply not fit to wear any longer.
Their shopping excursion moved on to the grocer's after they had finished settling up with the tailor. "Shouldn't we see about meeting your contact?" Hawke asked as they walked out the door.
Zevran shook his head no. "No, not yet. I'd rather wait for him to have the chance to get a few drinks in him. That should make him more amenable to helping us. Besides if things go badly, we'll have to leave in a hurry. It's best for us to get all our supplies now."
As much as Fenris hated to admit it, what the other elf said made sense. So the party spent the rest of the afternoon replacing their supplies. The sun had begun to set when Zevran finally got down to business and led them to a rather rundown tavern in a poorer section of town.
The assassin entered the tavern first, followed by Hawke and then Fenris. It took a moment for Fenris' eyes to adjust to having less light inside but the assassin had no such problem. One glance around the room was all he needed to locate his contact, a brown-haired man with a slight stoop to his shoulders, sitting at the bar.
"Lorenzo! My old friend! Imagine seeing you here," Zevran called out cheerfully as he walked over to the bar with the other two in tow. "Let me buy you a drink," he offered. Though the assassin's mood was relaxed, there was a tension to him that hadn't been there before.
Lorenzo snorted derisively. "Still not dead, are you, Zevran?" he noted. "That is indeed a surprise."
"When you say things like that, old friend, it makes me think that you are not happy to see me," replied the elf.
"That's because I'm not." The old man brought his tankard to his lips and took a long draught. "The innocent act doesn't work for you, Zevran. It never has, and I doubt it ever will. Why don't you drop it and get down to business?"
"Direct as always my friend." Zevran dropped into the seat next to the man. He waved over the bartender and ordered a couple of drinks. Fenris snuck a glance at Hawke to see if she would join the others at the bar, but she hung back, looking oddly uncomfortable. He sidled over closer to her, so he could shield her in case things got ugly.
That movement was enough to divert Lorenzo's attention on to them. His head whipped around, and the old man gave a slight snort of disbelief. "What is this I see? These are not your usual partners, Zevran."
"Oh really? I didn't notice," was the assassin's snarky reply.
Lorenzo didn't look amuse. "I think you might have spent too much time in the sun. I don't remember you being this stupid. Really, Zevran, you are something else. Most people would reconsider their path if even their partners are not willing to support them. You, however, plow on ahead despite everyone warning you not to. You are too stubborn to take advice. Even then I never pegged you as one to have a death wish."
"I don't," Zevran replied with a shrug of his shoulders. "The reward is just too tempting to pass up."
"I would think it's not worth your life."
"My life? It doesn't have that much value. But you have asked me to be direct and so I shall. Have you heard anything about Brax or his group?"
"Just because you do not care to live doesn't mean I feel the same," Lorenzo replied. He took another swig from his tankard. "I cannot help you with this."
"I'm afraid it is not a matter of can or can't, old friend." There was a tinge of foreboding in the elf's voice that was driven by something like desperation. Somehow the tavern felt colder and darker. From the way the mageling moved closer to him, Fenris could tell she could sense the rising danger too.
"Is that a threat?" Lorenzo asked quietly. He set his tankard down.
"Not at all. I would never threaten you. Consider this a reminder. You owe me for that time in Orlais when that chevalier had by the balls. Best case scenario, you would be a eunuch, old friend. Worst case scenario…well you would hardly be in a position to help me if you were dead."
"I see. So that's your game. You are calling in that old debt." Lorenzo leaned back in his seat, a small frown on his face. Then he shrugged his shoulders. "I suppose I would do the same in your situation, seeing how it is your life that is now on the line."
"So what do you say, Lorenzo? Do we have a deal?"
"I tell you what I know, and everything between us is settled, right?"
Zevran nodded his head.
"How can I say no to an offer like that? Very well. I will tell you what I know." The old man finished his drink in one gulp and put it down on the bar with a thud. The bartender was quick to refill it even though he wasn't asked.
"Well? Don't you have some information to give me? The sooner you tell me, the sooner I'll be out of your hair." Zevran shifted back and forth on his feet as he awaited the other man's answer.
Lorenzo's lips twisted with a sardonic grin. "I know nothing," he said.
"What? I don't believe this. Are you going back on our deal? You owe me, Lorenzo, you owe me your life," the assassin said hotly.
"Not any more. Do not forget the terms you offered me. I tell you what I know, and the debt I owe you is repaid. I know nothing. My men might, but I do not. It is not my fault that you did not verify I had any information to give you before offering such a bargain."
"Do not lie to me! If your men have seen Brax, then they must report it to you!"
"Not if they have orders not to," the old man replied. His eyes were cold as he regarded the assassin. "Your business here is done, Zevran. Leave an old man alone to drink in peace. You do not wish to quarrel with me. You have enough problems as it is." He lifted his tankard up in a mock toast. "I tell you what. Though you didn't ask for it, I will grant you safe passage through my territory. The night is young. Why don't you find another tavern where you can drink and perhaps have a bit of fun with your pretty companions?"
The old man turned back to the bar, all but dismissing Zevran. For a moment, Fenris thought that the other elf was going to backstab Lorenzo, and he mentally prepared himself to fight. However, the elf let out one muffled curse before turning on his heel and stomping away with the other two left chasing after.
"Unbelievable!" Zevran exclaimed after they had exited. "A guild master not knowing what is happening in his territory? I am not such a fool to believe such a patently false tale."
"Should we find an inn for the night so we can regroup?" Hawke asked as she struggled to keep up with the angry elf.
"No," was the assassin's reply. "We must press on. I can hardly trust Lorenzo's word after his actions today. And even if the old man is telling the truth this time about granting us safe passage, I want to accept nothing from such a bastard. We will set up camp once we are a safe distance away."
Author's note: I'm afraid I'm beginning to sound like a broken record but much thanks to everyone kind enough to leave a review. Seriously I appreciate them so much. :D