I'm back! I actually started this chapter 10 minutes after I finished Consequences and only just finished it yesterday. There were three full completed drafts and I wasn't happy with any of them so I combined them to make this. There is a lot of dialogue, but happily most of it is original.
Thanks to all of those who reviewed last time: Shadowwolf102612; Japboix1; RatedRsuperstar87. A special thanks to S3ek for pointing out spelling errors! (That's what I get for making changes after my beta has proofread). It is much easier to fix these things right away than after the document expires. As always, a huge thanks to almost insane for betaing this!
Enjoy!
Part 4: Arcane Mastery
Chapter 1: Murderous
"Keep running!"
The shouting behind them increased as the pursuers caught the trail. Frantically, Ishafel plunged into the underbrush, crashing through leaves and briar. A hazy part of her mind tried to remember that this was not how you moved in thick growth but the panic had deep roots. It didn't matter as she was being dragged along by someone much taller than her, falling over her feet to keep up. Long, rose colored hair glinted in the shards of moonlight that penetrated the trees.
"My lady! Head north! I'll try'n lure them away."
"Nidia," the woman rasped, out of breath, "It's too dangerous! You'll be killed for sure if they catch you."
"They'll kill us all anyway. Hurry!"
The speaker tore away from them making as much noise as she could. Ishafel sniffled and slung her arm across her nose to clean the mess. Her cheeks were stained with tears.
When had she started crying?
Her foot caught on some loose soil. Stumbling forward, she fell flat on her face, hand ripped from the woman's grasp.
"Poppet!"
She leaned down and scooped Ishafel up. "Stay strong, Poppet! Mother will keep you safe."
Over her shoulder, Ishafel could see bright spots of torchlight approaching the bank. Somewhere close, a Mabari howled.
"Maker...they have dogs. The woman muttered in fear.
Holding her so tight it was hard to breathe, the woman plunged into a nearby stream, struggling against the current. When it was clear they could go no further in the water, they scrambled back up the bank and continued to rip through the forest sopping wet. The roots and leaves suddenly turned to the packed earth of a country road. Unsure of where it might lead but desperate, she tore down the path and was rewarded by a small chantry at the end.
A scream cut through the normal sounds of the night. Ishafel's savior turned toward the sound, sending the world spinning.
"Nidia..."
A clamor of boots behind them set the world awhirl again. They continued running with renewed vigor, the tilt of the land adding to her speed.
"Sanctuary!" she shouted; hoping beyond hope that a figure would appear at the door; a Brother, a Mother, anyone.
The small place was quiet, though candles flickered in the windows. There was no sound, no sign that they had been heard. Abandoning all caution, her voice rose to a fever pitch as they flew down the hill.
Sanctuary!"
Behind them, Ishafel could see shadowy figures in mail appearing on the road, pointing at them. She heard someone say "Before she...Chantry!" A clamor of mail and dirt rose up.
They reached the bottom of the hill and the Chantry door. She was spun again as the woman put her down and pounded on the door. "Help us! Please help us!" She sobbed.
Wide-eyed and clinging to the woman's ruined skirts, the small version of Ishafel began to watch the armored shadows emerge from the wood.
Templars.
"It's no use, Revka. It's not like anyone could help you anyway. You've been harboring a mage."
The singsong voice provoked a fear beyond all comprehension. It echoed in the clearing, preceding its owner. Ishafel lost all self-control, turning to claw at the wooden door barring escape. "You know what happens now."
The woman tucked Ishafel behind herself, safe between the door and her own body.
The man who stepped in to the clearing could have been handsome if his features didn't betray a slight twist to them, a tightness that revealed the kind of man who reveled in the discomfort of others.
"Ser Conal." She stepped forward, afraid but undaunted. "I beg of you, serah, leave the boy be."
To her credit, she didn't flinch at what she said next. "Do whatever you wish with me, but don't harm him."
Conal barked in laughter. The sound blended with the hunger in his eyes to render him more armored wolf than man.
"The time for bargaining has long passed, my dear. That offer ended the moment you fled Kirkwall." His lip curled upward to open into a sneer. "A shame really, for someone so beautiful to be tainted by magic in the family line. No wonder your husband was so quick to denounce the child as a bastard. Nearly as quickly as he denounced you."
The figure in front of Ishafel stood her ground, chin held high.
"Revka Amell, you are hereby charged with aiding and abetting a dangerous apostate-"
"He is four years old!"
"And fleeing chantry judgment-
"Please!" She pleaded as the Templars began to close ranks, searching for a sympathetic face. "You don't have to do this. Help us, Maker, help us... please!" One of the men started for them, eyes fixed on Ishafel's, but he wasn't as fast as Ser Conal's sword. At first she didn't understand the thunk, or the burble that came after; a flash of steel where it ought not to have been. Compression came creeping anyway, its cruel tendrils wrapping around her heart and beginning to squeeze.
He tossed her to the ground like so much rubbish, and could not hide the satisfied look on his face. Ishafel could see her eyes and mouth from where she stood. She spoke, but she could not hear the words, and then the light in her eyes was gone. It was just her small self and the Templars now. Ser Conal came towards her, steel in hand. The hunger had not left his eyes.
"Maker, have mercy!"
Her head snapped to the side. An old woman in a nightgown stood beside a man in hastily donned chain-mail.
"What evil has been done on the steps of His house?"
The wolf straightened, attempting to play the sheep.
"I am Knight-Captain Conal of Kirkwall, Mother. This woman has been protecting this apostate for six months. When we attempted to apprehend her, she fled, and was dealt the justice she deserved by endangering us all." He moved toward Ishafel "We will be taking the boy with us..."
The man stepped in front of her.
"I am Knight Commander Willem of Kinloch Hold." His voice was quiet and even but held the unmistakable edge of authority.
"We heard what this woman said to you. It is beneath a Templar to take advantage of their charges' families! She was seeking Sanctuary! It was her cry that brought us to this unhappy scene in the first place."
Ser Conal ignored any reference to the dead woman at his feet.
"He is a Krikwall apostate! Who can be sure what might have occurred outside the gallows? We should perform the rite of tranquility-"
"He is a child whose mother has been slain in front of him!" The Mother shouted horrified. Ishafel squirmed as she was pulled into genteel old arms.
Ser Conal's eyes narrowed dangerously, flickering between anger and madness in the firelight. "You will hand over that child!" He held his still bloodied sword aloft.
"I would rethink that, if I were you, Ser Conal." Wilhelm's men, as hastily dressed as their commander, revealed themselves. Their bows and swords were at the ready. Conal's men stood down immediately, only the man himself keeping a weapon drawn.
"Greagoir, take these men into custody for murder. Mother Mae; please take this boy to the other young charges. Perhaps you could help get him cleaned up? I will...attend to his mother."
"Of course," She got a nasty shock as Ishafel darted out of her grip, focused on the fall of red hair on the ground.
"Mother! Mother!" Her own voice was high pitched and boyish, but it didn't concern her. She fell on the fallen body, the now lifeless corpse. Ishafel looked into the dead woman's face. She had been incredibly beautiful, that much was plain. There was a familiar dusting of freckles, a quirk in her mouth, that reminded her of someone...
"Mamae," Ishafel said as she caressed the poor dead woman's face.
"Mamae." A warped voice, gigglish and dark mimicked her. She looked up
At the edge of the clearing was a man. Not quite a man. He was a man shaped hole in the cloth of this place. The color and noise drained into him. A deep hum permeated the scene causing the fabric of it to ripple and blur. The older mother was washed out and faceless as she lifted her up. And when she was lifted, she did not go, rather she watched a small red headed blob disappear into a chantry spilling into the ground like drops of hot summer's rain. The darkness was speaking, but she couldn't hear the words. Rising as the fallen woman's body melted away she moved towards the figure; but with every step she took he seemed father away. Not until the creature spoke his last word could she make out the sound.
"... Ishafel…"
Her name wrapped around her, echoed in her ears and bones.
"Ishafel," a more familiar voice was honey in the cave of her skull.
"Tamlen?"
"Ishafel!"
She was suddenly brought back to the waking world by a blunt force making contact with the side of her jaw. Sirius barked sharply. Her eyes flew open. The world slid to the side and back again as she reoriented herself. This was wrong. She had been sleeping. Why wasn't she in her tent? Why was she standing? Blinking, she looked up at her attacker. Leliana looked as dazed as Ishafel. Her hand still held high, as if she was ready to strike again. A scuffling at the edge of camp revealed Dylan hurrying back from watch, his left hand unconsciously at his temple. Alistair was close behind.
"Maker, what is going on Alistair started.
"Ishafel." Dylan said with a heavy, clearly forced calm. "Drop the dagger."
She looked down at her hands. Her silver blade, emblazoned with wolves and trees, the gift from Tamlen, rested in her palm. Its point was turned on Leliana.
Her legs gelled like pond slime. She slid to the ground, the dagger racing to meet the dirt before her knees.
"Abelas, Leliana," she said, still dazed, "I did not what I was doing."
Leliana leapt to help, not offended in the slightest. "It's alright," she said, She tucked an arm around Ishafel, her hand rubbing small, comforting circles on Ishafel's back. "You were not menacing me, rather, heading out into the forest. Just walking towards the trees, holding that blade at hilt and point; like you were offering it to someone..."
"That dagger..." Alistair's recognition as he joined them was immediate. Sirius whimpered. It was the blade that Jowan had used during the blood magic ritual.
Dylan unwrapped Ishafel from Leliana's embrace, replacing her arm with his own. The tension in her shoulders ebbed as they touched. Looking into his face, she could see the questions in his eyes that had nothing to do with the dagger.
"Leliana, tell Sten he will take the next watch with Sirius. Ishafel needs some time to recover. Come." With a slight push, he managed to guide her back into her own tent.
Not a moment after the flap had settled, it opened again.
"Alistair..."
"I'm not leaving." he informed them both, sitting down on the camp chair Ishafel herself had been using earlier. "I know what this is about. Well, I think I know what it's about, I don't actually know. But if it has to do with the blood magic, I should be here."
Dylan's smile was brittle, "And the Templar training shows, I was wondering how much longer it would take."
"Hey!" Alistair exclaimed, caught between alarm, sorrow and skepticism. "I'm a former Templar recruit, remember? And it's not like I'm going to start screaming maleficar from the Chantry steps, Dylan. The bell tower would be so much better."
They both stared at him.
"What? Too soon?"
A breathy laugh came out through Dylan's nose, that didn't quite qualify as a snort
"We're the last remaining Grey wardens. We need to stick together. As much as I don't like it, none of it is your fault, really. Wrong place, wrong tim-"
"And what good will this 'sticking together do'? It's seems its only causing the place to become quite crowded."
Morrigan sat cross legged at the back of the tent. Nobody knew how she gotten there and they all knew well enough by now (even Alistair) that it was best just not to ask.
"What do you want?" Alistair snapped.
"T'was quite plain something was wrong from my fire. I came to see what all the noise was about. Have you asked yet, fool? Or do you intend to continue spouting platitudes?" She turned to the two wardens, both who had gone still. "Well?"
Dylan spoke first.
"I'm not sure, actually" He admitted. "I was thinking of…that is… We are close to the place where… the forest here reminded me of…" He trailed off.
"I didn't mean to do it." Ishafel said quietly. "I dozed off and it just ... I'm..." she swallowed thickly, "Sorry, lethallin. For both my intrusion and for…"
"Intrusion?" the lines around Alistair's mouth deepened. "You were in you tent all night, where could you possibly intrude?"
"Well, it is very clear that whatever has taken place has made both you unable to complete a full sentence." Morrigan frowned, dissatisfied. "Do you intend to enlighten us?"
"Ishafel wandered into a memory of mine while she slept."
"What, Wha- how is that even possible."
"Another side effect of Jowan's botched spell." Dylan rubbed his forehead wearily. "We seem to be able to breach each other's thoughts."
"Well as delightful as that is, it hardly explains Ishafel running towards the forest, blade drawn in her sleep."
"There was singing. And a man he was speaking but the words were so faint…"
"I saw it too, sort of." Dylan confirmed. "Up to that point, it was just a memory."
"I know that dream." Alistair shuddered. "But bad dreams are a hallmark of being a grey warden, I'm sure it was just…." But he didn't look sure, if anything he looked more worried than before.
"Hardly," Morrigan sniffed. "But the fool is right, there is nothing we can do at the moment. Be on your guard. And do not sleep with knives lying about."
Ishafel snorted. "And you should not sleep with magic lying about. How will I defend myself if I give up my daggers?"
"We can look after you." Dylan cut in. Ishafel shot him a glare that until that moment had been reserved for the truly idiotic and Michael.
"No. It is not going to happen."
"Then remind me to give your tent a wide berth in the future, lest I have my eyes cut out while you are sleepwalking." Morrigain dripped acidly under risen eyebrows.
"Done." Ishafel responded, irritated.
"Better to cut out her tongue." Alistair muttered. Dylan gave him a look. "I was only joking, after all her tongue would probably split the knife clean in two."
Ishafel had to fight to keep the smirk from her face. Alistair saw it anyway, and waggled his eye brows at her.
They all sat for a moment. It was not companionable silence; rather nobody wanted to be the first to leave. Finally Morrigan broke the stalemate, flowing out of the tent without a by your leave. Alistair followed soon after, giving Ishafel a small smile, a squeeze that Dylan felt on his own forearm, and a rather feeble reassurance that it was probably nothing to worry about.
Neither Dylan nor Ishafel moved. After some time in silence, Ishafel picked up a boot and began to work the leather. She concentrated on the task at hand, rather than meeting Dylan's eyes when she started to speak.
"How old were you? When you first knew?"
"Four," He sighed, hunching over his own knees. "It was an accident. I knocked over my mother's teacup while playing. The liquid never touched the ground. It just hung there. She grabbed me by the shoulders and told me to never do it again. That it was our secret. She was good about keeping me in check. I think I had an uncle or a cousin who was forced into the Circle that was giving her advice on it…"
"How did they find out?"
"It was my fault. Nidia, my nursemaid, she had attracted the attention of a visiting nobleman's guard. I'm not sure how he got in, but they were in the courtyard and he was shouting at her. She tried to get away and he grabbed her, started to drag her towards the gate to the street. I didn't know what to do. I ran out into the yard. Cook and one of the manservants were already down there. The man had a sword." Dylan tried to grab onto that first time he cast a spell, but the essence of the feeling escaped words. "One moment he was standing there, holding Nidia. The next, his breeches were on fire."
Ishafel snorted. "His breeches?"
Dylan sighed, "Yes, well, the man went screaming from the house. And the next day the Templars showed up." He stiffened at the memory. "You saw the rest. It's a fairly typical story; if you have a story at all. All some remember are the stone walls of the Circle. At least I have something more."
She placed the boot aside. "I am sorry, lethallin…I didn't know what I was doing. I would have never entered something so private without your permission. Even then…The Keepers tell us that some memories are to be left with the trees. Forever there but lost in the forest."
"I knew." She looked up at him. "but you were there before I could react. It's not something I am used to… having to shield my thoughts from people."
"Do you not have to shield your thoughts from demons? Merrill always said that if she was not careful, she could hear the whispers."
"Not the same…hmmmm."
He stroked his beard, momentarily retreating into his own thoughts. She finally looked at his face, drawn by curiosity, and could almost see the idea form behind his eyes. He came back to himself suddenly. She looked away quickly, lest he think she was staring.
"Have you ever practiced meditation?"
A knitting of eyebrows occurred before he explained it to her.
"All hunters know that, to stay calm and noiseless when pursing prey, but I have never heard it practiced the way you describe."
He stood from his seat on bed.
"Join me during my sessions, I'll show you the way mages do it. It's meant to keep the demons at bay, but it might help us keep out minds free of each other."
"Dylan…" she was still not looking at him. "Abalas, truly. I feel this weight in my heart. It is not mine, but I feel it."
Their eyes met and he felt a powerful urge to close the gap between them, to have some kind of contact. He kept it in check.
"Now you know how I feel when you walk about angry and distressed and won't breathe a word why. What is bothering you, Ishafel? I won't judge."
She turned back to the boot, though if she made the leather anymore supple it would no longer serve the purpose of protection.
"Good night, Dylan."
"Don't you trust me?"
She stilled, hand on the second boot of the pair and then after a moment she worked it again. She kept working at it until she heard the cloth of the tent flap rustle shut.
The morning was hardly fresh. Thick piles of clouds peeping through the trees foretold of the return of the rain that had held off in their weeks at castle Redcliffe. Dylan brooded moodily, glaring at the sky. The chill in the air and a late watch, Ishafel's, not his own, saw him up long before the little sun they would get that day. Even Sten, always up and armored before well him, lay motionless in his bedroll, soft sighs barely audible over Alistair's more violent snoring.
A flicker caught the very corner of his eye. Turning to get a better look, he gave the other early riser a wry smile.
He didn't exactly know why he wasn't surprised to see Morrigan moving about her small fire as though she'd been at it for hours. He watched her as she went about the mundane task of preparing the morning meal, hefting the wood for the fire effortlessly. Wood she had acquired herself, he noticed, as she had most certainly not gone foraging with Alistair and Leliana.
She was an interesting case, that Morrigan. Very interesting…
She stopped, and he recognized the awareness of being watched, a common expression of the tower mages. He expected her to ignore him but instead her head lifted sharply and they locked eyes.
He could barely register her expression before she had returned to what looked like a pot of food cooking over the flames. He had to admit, that was wise. They had just survived Alistair's cooking, and Ishafel's was somehow nearly as bad. Not mention between the two of them, they managed to eat enough to feed a whole camp full of soldiers. He shuddered as he remembered Ishafel tearing into an unsalted leg of rabbit. She had no palette at all. Ironically, Sten and Sirius also shared her aplomb for barely edible meat. They fell on the meal rather like ravenous dogs (Sirius was excused the comparison) while he and Leliana looked on in mild horror.
He stretched, lifting his arms high above his head as he stood, uncurling himself from the front of his tent. He'd never admit it to anyone, but there was something about the Circle he missed.
Watched at every moment, yes, but at least the food was good.
"Good Morning!" He called amiably as he approached her campfire bringing his bowl. Surely, for the sake of camaraderie she would share whatever it was that smelled like porridge.
"Is it really? Do tell why." She grumbled with distaste, eyes flicking over him.
The side of his mouth quirked in mirth.
"Not a morning person, Morrigan? Or does the idea of being so close to the Circle make your nose twitch."
She drew herself up to her full height. She was a half a head taller than him, he realized as he found himself eye level with the tip of her nose. Strange he'd never noticed it before, if anything he'd thought she was shorter. He was suddenly struck by the idea that she was very good at letting others see only what she wanted.
It was a trait to be wary of, he told himself ruefully. Then again, he had never been very good with being wary when it came to beautiful women.
"Fine words coming from you. Let your Templars come. I've done nothing I need to protect others from."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
The attack was unexpected. She had been friendly enough on the road to Redcliffe, although she had made herself scarce during their extended stay. He had thought it was because of her general dislike for the stone walls, a dislike Ishafel had shared (despite warming to beds), nothing to warrant anger at him.
"Leeches do not seek me out. My memories are not targets for unknown denizens of the fade and little elven huntresses to frolic through. I was not enslaved by a demon."
His cheeks colored considerably. "I was not enslaved!"
She gave him a withering looking before ladling porridge-y substance into a small, rough-hewn bowl. She made no move to offer him any; instead she made herself comfortable on a nearby log. The heat of the meal rose in steamy curls around her face.
"What would you call forcibly held in the embrace of a desire demon?"
Annoyance flared. Apparently, Ishafel had been talking. He would have thought the Dalish were above gossip.
"Captured."
"Not to mention being stuck on one end of a blood magic bond that is beyond your own comprehension…"
"And who do I have to thank for that?" He asked, exasperated.
"A skill deprived blood mage." Her lips curved as she met the challenge in his voice. It was not a nice smile, more of a grimace.
"You truly think me a fool then? You're not the only one who Ishafel's been talking to..."
He hesitated at the swirl of confusion on her face. Perhaps the Dalish were above gossip after all, but then how would she know about that embarrassing situation he found himself in?
"You suggested the ritual to Jowan. You are the reason he performed it! You are the reason…"
He stopped suddenly as realized the full berth of his own accusations, a knot forming and twisting in his chest.
She eyed him, disgust overwhelming whatever else was present.
"I am the reason you are alive!" She snapped. She paused, taking a discreet deep breath before continuing on tonelessly. "I cast no mind control on Jowan. He had every opportunity to say no, but he did not. He made his choice.
"Are you saying he decided to die?"
"He knew what was best for his own survival, and chose not to do it."
Her eyes were stormy and set in transmitting a lesson that had been learned constantly under Flemeth's tutelage.
"Learn all the pretty spells you want, if you cannot remember to look for leeches or keep yourself safe from demons you will get yourself killed sooner rather than later; and get the rest of us killed with you. I, for one, do not intend to die because you were sloppy.
"What do you intend to die of? Sourness?" He replied bitterly. It was made all the more bitter by the creeping feeling that she was right. Still, that knowledge did nothing to quell his own anger.
She looked down her nose at him. "Do not vent your anger at me for-"
"Oh, don't bother" He snapped. "Look at you. So proud, so self-righteous, so oblivious to your own flaws! It never once occurred to you to help Jowan did it? Two mages cast a better spell than one."
She opened her mouth to give what was sure to be a snarky reply, but he buzzed right through it.
"We are members of a group. A party if you like. Did it ever occur to you that we are supposed to help each other? Teach each other?"
"I never agreed to that." She drawled, unaffected. "How can I possibly teach someone who is so unwilling to look beyond the nose on his own face? Are you stubborn, or merely useless?"
He threw an object at the ground and stormed off. The watch had to be back by now. It was time to move on.
Morrigan frowned at his back. That had not gone at all how she had intended. Her point was a valid one, this much she had taken away. Why did he refuse to acknowledge it? And she felt nothing at the death of the hapless blood mage, she was certain, despite a discomfort in her gut at the accusation. She was sure it was nothing more than indigestion from having her morning meal so rudely interrupted.
Teach him? Surely he did not expect her to give up the secrets she had painstakingly wrung from Flemeth merely because he wanted them all to play nice. She knew mages. More so, she was coming to know Dylan Amell. For all his boyishness and charm, he wanted power; and he was not the sweet innocent he seemed so fond of pretending to be.
Did he think she was an idiot?
He was hardly worth her time at all.
So what was this restlessness she felt now, watching him go?
The object thrown away with such intensity glinted at her. Curious, she crooked a finger. The little bauble lifted itself from the ground and with a lurching gait came to float in front of Morrigan. It was band of rose colored gold barely discernible through a liberal incrusting of garnet and golden citrines.
As long as his hair was getting, Dylan did not strike her as the type to wear jewelry.
A gift then? For her?
What had she done to deserve such a…pretty…thing? Though nobody was there to see it, her eyes softened as she lifted the bangle from the spell. She fingered the gemstones with a kind of awe.
Despite learning quickly, the mirror was not the last treasure Flemeth had destroyed.
It had not escaped her that despite all his reading and obvious spell-mongering, he had never once asked her of her magic beyond those few cursory questions at Redcliffe and at Lothering. He seemed more interested in his silly book. She had no doubt sooner or later he would ask, perhaps the bracelet was meant to soften her but intuition told her it was not. What did he want?
It was all very peculiar. Peculiar indeed.
If anyone was to have asked Sten, he would have told them that he preferred the silence that had fallen over the group as they trudged ever closer toward the shores of Lake Calenhad. Ishafel walked with him, well ahead of the rest of the group. She would have been welcome company, except she kept turning her head ever so slightly, as though she was trying very hard to look at someone without catching their notice.
The Mabari made an exasperated chuff at his left. There were all manner of elves, humans and dwarves in Ferelden, but Sten preferred the dogs.
Dylan walked alone. Leliana and Alistair both had quickly forsaken his storm cloud for the sunniness of each other. They were engrossed in a lively discussion about some frippery behind him. Ishafel fought down a dry heave. Her stomach had not behaved itself since the night before, immediately preceding the impromptu discussion about trust. Dylan's uncertainty and anger swirled in her gut and shadows of his disgruntled thoughts wrapped around her own, creating an odd sort of vertigo that made moving through the lightly wooded area almost unfamiliar.
It was disturbing, and it stung that it was very thing she had put Dylan through.
Pride had been taught to Ishafel very early in life, practically from the moment she had left her mother's womb. It had the side effect of making it very difficult to admit when mistakes had been made. That was the reason she told herself, that she watched him for over an hour as they walked in the thickening humidity until she finally tried to broach the subject.
She was so tired of her own cowardice that she asked her question rather bluntly.
"Are you still upset about last night?"
His face was flat and void of emotion. He didn't respond.
He continued walking until she forced out the words. "I'm…sorry…"
Still nothing, if anything his thoughts turned darker.
Frustrated, she shouted "You can't possibly expect me to go on this way… I need to…"
She stopped suddenly, realizing this conversation was all too familiar.
He turned to look at her. The pale mask stayed on his face, but only for a few seconds more as laughter gradually crept into his eyes at the sight of Ishafel's red face and slack jaw at the realization.
They were both idiots, he realized and couldn't help but laugh. The gnawing feeling at the pit of Ishafel's stomach wavered, the stinging of unfamiliar unpleasantries lessened.
It seemed that something had broken through the gloom that lay over him. Instead, he gave her a rather impish smile that made her force down a gulp.
"Ishafel, are my feelings upsetting you?"
She waited, eyebrows pointing downward. Was he really going to rub it in?
He looked at her expectantly.
Fury rising, she turned away. He was going to rub it in. She didn't see him anxiously tilt his head to see if anyone was watching.
"Do you think I'm useless?"
"Do not ask ridiculous questions."
She turned to look at him, smirking at first, and then frowned when she realized the question was genuine.
"No. Of course not. Last night, did you not figure out way to stop our wandering into each other's thoughts? It was you kept me alive when the taint threatened to take me. Those villagers in Redcliffe were sad to see you depart; you healed so many of their wounded. Exactly how many lives did you save? How many babies did you deliver?
"That was healing. I've been doing that since I could breathe!"
The frown of Ishafel's face wavered and dissipated as she laughed. "I hardly think you were birthing babies when you were born Dylan." The image, almost clear but not quite, flashed through his mind. A cherubic version of himself attempting midwifery caused him to snort, and then join in Ishafel's laughter.
Ahead, Sten sighed. The enemy would be able to locate the two of them in the dark under blankets of fog; they were so loud.
The two of them stood on a rise that Sten had ambled over some moments earlier, waiting for Leliana and Alistar to catch up. Dylan glanced at Ishafel sidelong, before asking offhandedly.
"What were you so upset about last night, exactly?"
Her face darkened immediately. Surely this wasn't all over kiss that hadn't really been a kiss at all? He wasn't even conscious, for Andraste's sake!
She gave him a measuring look, and sighed deeply.
"Michael."
Relief bloomed followed by a tenseness that could only be annoyance. All this ..this… fretting …had been over Michael?
Somewhere Dylan was sure the rogue had started to laugh at their benefit.
"He suggested that Leliana is a spy… for Orlais or Loghain or someone. It's not surprising; we knew already she is not what she seems."
"That's certainly true."
Dylan had experience with spies, on a juvenile level. There was always apprentice or two who was more interested in garnering the favor of the Templars than that of his fellow peers.
"It is different from her just lying to us." She began earnestly, "We can't just let her follow us around and give information to our enemy.
"Why ever not?" Dylan smiled, a whimsical half smile that seemed totally out of place considering the subject. She gave him a rankled look.
"That not what is done with spies."
He found himself curious. "What would do the Dalish do with spies?
She sniffed. "The Dalish do not have spies.
Well, he mused, none that they ever knew about, not with that attitude.
"This is what's bothering you? It's really quiet simple, we feed her misinformation to give the enemy. I would rather have a spy who is telling the enemy what I want to hear rather than kill one off and let them know we are on to them."
She had to admit, there was wisdom to that.
"There is also the chance that she is not a spy." He noted, staying out of earshot of the two they had waited for. "We might as well give her time to prove herself rather than chase off a bow."
She nodded, continuing to walk on, letting a now comfortable silence stretch (to Sten's delight). Dylan glanced at her, hand absently stroking his trim beard as he did when presented with a real puzzle.
"Was that all?"
"Yes."
"You're lying."
She glared and turned her eyes towards the heavens in exasperation. "It is nothing, Dylan, Merely personal. My thoughts are still my own."
"If I've done anything to offend you, please know it was not intentional." His tone was earnest in its sincerity. They stopped again and she rested that surprisingly small hand of hers on his shoulder.
"Dylan, thank you for your concern, but truly…it is nothing you need worry about."
He nodded, continuing forward as she drifted back towards Leliana and Alistair.
"Dylan. I do trust you, and you are not useless." He nodded.
When she said it that time, he believed her.
It was all forgotten as Bodahn waved from the road. It was the signal for trouble. Dylan smiled, more opportunity to prove himself. It was Ishafel who broke cover first, landing beside Sandal without a sound. The amiable little dwarf looked up at her placidly.
"Hullo!"
She came around to the front of the cart, Dar'misu drawn. The slip of a woman waving her arms at Bodahn started, beginning to shake at the armed presence. Ishafel lowered her sword.
"Andaran atish'an. What is the problem here?"
"Oh, thank the Maker! You must come! They are attacking the carts!" She tore away from Bodahn, waving them down the road.
Dylan climbed back onto the main road without much difficulty, followed by Alistair, Leliana and an agitated Sirius. His ears were pressed flat to his skull and he snarled at the woman's back. The last to amble out of the woods was Sten, and he was muttering something about tactical decision of the element of surprise and idiots.
"Bodahn, Sandal, take cover and keep the cart off the road until we return." Dylan ordered
"Aye. Come on, boy!" Sandal obediently began to push the cart into a nearby hollow.
The woman ran down the road, and they followed suit, soon seeing wagons over the rise, blocking the road.
Alarm sparked in Ishafel's brain. When would anyone have had time to turn the carts like that in a surprise attack? Time slowed as that spark reached her gut and she realized what was happening.
There were no bandits, just a lanky elf, seemingly alone, at the center of the glen. It was he who appeared to be the woman's destination. She turned and grinned. It was a nasty grin; the kind that belonged to children who are fond of torturing kittens.
"Ambush!"
Leliana's voice was almost drowned out by the explosion behind her followed by the crack of the tree trunk falling, blocking escape
"Death to the Grey Wardens!"
And then everything was moving far too fast.
Dylan barely got the shield up in time to deflect the first rain of arrows, arms momentarily stuck above his head as he struggled to attach it to the air around them. Not that it mattered; everyone was suddenly on the move.
Sten surged forward to meet charging marauders; a howling Sirius was at his side, aiming for throats. Leliana moved too quickly for the archers to target, one moment she was there and the next the offending archer had her arrow through his skull. There was a shocked cry as a wolf materialized out of thin air and fell snarling on a group of bandits that until that point had avoided notice.
The woman who had sold them out shot a bolt of lightning at Dylan, expecting him quake in fear. Dylan caught and redirected it easily, sending instead a burst of intense cold. He chuckled; this mage was poorly trained. He stepped forwarded and let go of his control, just a little bit. Lightning danced over his robe to play across his face.
Time to show her how it was done.
He launched himself into the fight and completely missed the fact that the lanky assassin was creeping up behind him; but Alistair did not. With a roar, he moved to engage only to find the man at his back instead. The assailant's light leather armor allowed him to be far more versatile than Alistair in his plate. He swung his shield around, but was too slow to block as the elf moved in close.
He was about to plunge his blade into the side of Alistiar's exposed neck when steel met steel.
Ishafel was half suspended in air, foot actually braced on Alistair's thigh, her dar'misu stubbornly blocking the path of the blade. Using his attacker's momentum, she pushed Alistair back to the relative safety of less skilled opponents and tossed the assassin to the side, forcing him away from her. She attacked, he parried. With a snarl, she struck again. Again he blocked. They began to circle. Space began clearing in the glen for what was shaping up to be a duel. This was more because there were significantly less people alive than dead at this point, with the final thugs trying hard to saves their lives rather than complete whatever dark goal they had been set to. Morrigan and Sirius were more than happy to finish what they started for them. The death cries of the attackers mixed with doggie barks and wolfish howls.
Ishafel moved to attack again, and this time he met her halfway. She almost missed the sly, cutting grin her gave her, his golden eyes dancing meanly, as he tried to slip under her guard. It nearly worked too. From that point on there was no break in movement: only a complicated dance of blade and blade, blade and armor, parry, feint, parry, strike.
The mage woman was growing desperate. She had lasted this long, Dylan grudgingly admitted, using experience that he didn't have. She was nowhere near as skilled or as powerful, but she knew this and used it to her advantage. It was hard to shift spells to accommodate for a weaving, bobbing target, and he was left vulnerable when casting. Sweat was already pouring into his face by the time his opening came. Sirius had grown tired of waiting and darted into the path of the mage, barking. Her attention shifted and didn't have enough time to dodge the stone fist Dylan unleashed at her. She went flying.
He heard the stiff sound of clapping behind him. Morrigan, unexplainably clean of battle gore.
She looked down at the prancing Sirius. "That," she scolded, "was cheating."
The hound chuffed happily. She looked up at Dylan. "By the way, you have wonderful aim, truly."
He looked confused.
She frowned.'Twas an accident then? That makes it less impressive." She lifted one slender white arm to point at what was talking about.
Ishafel's Dar'misu shattered. The attacker's dagger came up as he moved to capitalize on the handicap. There was a sound of steel striking steel and a cry of pain.
"Brasca!"
The assailant's dagger flew across the field. Narrowly dodging a throwing knife meant for her the throat, Leliana nocked another arrow, aiming for the second dagger. He leapt forward arcing slowly in the air. Leliana slid forward to meet him. She pressed her body to the ground, ready to fire when he reached apogee. He twisted himself in midair, forcing him to the floor much quicker than anticipated, the remaining dagger already in the sweep of a downward strike. The mage's body slammed into his torso, the force of Dylan's throw causing the assassin to be launched across the field and into the carts blocking the road.
He didn't rise. The ambush was effectively over.
"We…should check on Bodahn and Sandal." Alistair voice was high pitched, betraying that he had not quite recovered from the attack. "For all we know…"
"They are probably fine. They were only after Grey Wardens," Leliana reassured him "They might have papers on them, something to give an idea of their employer…."
Ishafel nodded, kneeling down to check the nearest corpse. The man's belt was full of pouches, reaching for the nearest one, her fingers tugged at the dark green string holding it shut.
"No! Not the green string!" Leliana abruptly pushed Ishafel out of the way and received a faceful noxious gas in her place.
"Leliana!" Ishafel cried out
She made a pained croaking sound, hand immediately at her throat. Dylan managed to be at her side in seconds. He uncorked a small flask tied securely to the top of his waterskin, grabbed Leliana's head and tossed the whole concoction down her throat in one go.
"There. That's the last cure I had … I'll have to…" He stopped, stunned, as Leliana's breathing became more labored, not less.
"How strange." Morrigan looked at him critically, before handing Leilana something from her own pack. "Seems a waste, but…"
Lelana glared, but drank the other flask. There was no change at all. The bard staggered as her knees wobbled, Alistair catching her before she fell.
Morrigan peered over her clinically. "A fast acting poison that doesn't respond to common antidotes. She looked at Dylan sweetly. "Tell me, student, do you have any idea."
"Wardens?"
He glared at her, nostrils flaring. For Leliana's sake, his healer's mind began to quickly hash through all the poisons and cures he had been forced to learn. Adder's Kiss? No, it was liquid based. Fell poison? But where would they find felandaris is this climate?
"Wardens."
Panicking, Ishafel grabbed a spring of elfroot from the roadside, wet it with her own flask and eased Leliana's mouth open to place it down her throat. It should stop swelling…if swelling was even the issue…
"WARDENS!"
The search for a cure was temporarily halted as Sten's booming voice sounded over the field, even Leliana's coughing was diminished as they all turned to look at him.
"This one is still alive." He nudged the unconscious elven assailant with the tip of his sword.
Ishafel strode across the field. "Dylan, wake him."
It only took one waggle of fingertips to bring the man, moaning, back into the world.
"Oooh…mmmm...what?" He gazed up at them, disbelieving his luck, "I rather thought I would wake up dead. Or not wake up at all, as the case may be. But I see you haven't killed me yet."
"That can be easily fixed." Ishafel squatted down so she could meet him eye to eye.
"That man over there, he had a powder in his belt. It's making my… friend… sick. Tell me what it was."
"Do you honestly expect me to keep track of…?"
Ishafel stared back patiently.
"Well, yes, obviously you do. Let me see…Gerard… always seemed to have large amounts of deathroot and spiders venom on his person. Eh, could just be one of his fetishes. There were many if you believe the rumors…but add a pinch of glitterdust to that..."
Dylan and Ishafel both looked confusedly at Morrigian, who sighed crossly and began to remove things from her pack. The flask she dangled from the tips of her fingers was snatched up by Alistair, who helped to get the poor woman get the liquid down her throat.
A light enveloped her, and she stood.
"Ah, much better."
"Pleasure to have been of assistance." The would-be-assassin said merrily. "And now since I'm not dead…"
Sten made a sound low in his throat and lifted the point of the broadsword to rest a little closer to the man's throat.
Satisfied that Leliana was recovered, Ishafel turned back to him.
"Quiet, you'll answer when spoken to."
Instead of looking properly captured, the elf smirked.
"Oh, you're an aggressive little minx, aren't you? Lovely, too. But if it's questions you're planning on asking me, let me save you a little time and get right to the point. My name is Zveran, Zev to my friends. I am a member of the Antivan crows, brought here for the sole purpose of slaying any surviving Grey Wardens. Which I have failed at, sadly."
Dylan snorted incredulously. "We're all very happy that you failed. Aren't we Alistair?"
He grinned, "Ecstatic, actually. Death is one of those things we try to avoid, that and ambushes, but if you can't avoid one..."
"Avoid the other." Dylan finished with a shrug.
Zevran smiled. "So would I be, in your shoes. For me however, it sets a rather poor precedent, doesn't it? Getting captured by a target seems a tad detrimental to ones budding assassin career."
"What are the Antivan Crows?" Ishafel asked.
Leliana let out a little cough. "I can tell you that; they are an order of assassins out of Antiva. Very powerful; and renowned for always getting the job done…"
"Not this time." Ishafel stated dryly.
"Except in this case," the Crow agreed with an easy smile. "I'm surprised you haven't heard much of the Crows out here. Back where I come from, we're rather infamous."
The pride in his voice escaped no one.
"You came all the way from Antiva? To kill us?" Dylan asked.
"I suppose we should be flattered…" Alistair scoffed.
"Yes, you should always be flattered when someone travels long distances to kill you. Why anyone thinks they would need to travel that far to kill any of you escapes me." Morrigan muttered, "Ishafel maybe. Perhaps."
"Not precisely, I was in the neighborhood when the offer came. The Crows get around you see." He offered by way of explanation.
"And who exactly hired you to kill us?"
"Isn't it obvious? Alistair asked Ishafel incredulously. In a moment his suspicions were confirmed.
"When were you to see him next?" Ishafel asked. Perhaps Morrigan's plan in Lothering had been the best after all.
He looked at her and, despite the situation, that sly, knowing smile crept back on his face.
"I wasn't. If I had succeeded, I would have returned home and the Crows would have informed your Loghain of results… if he didn't already know. If I had failed, well, I would be dead. Or I should be, at least as far as the Crows are concerned. Needless to say, no need to see Loghain then."
"If you had failed?"
His warm honey eyes met her dark molten ones and held them.
"What can I say, I am an eternal optimist."
Shifting behind her broke the moment, and Zervran looked up at Dylan, now standing over Ishafel.
"Although, the chances of succeeding at this point seem a bit slim, don't they? Ha, Ha."
Dylan frowned and despite his position, stomach down on the hard earth, Zevran gave a shrug.
"No, I don't suppose you'd find that funny, would you?"
Dylan crossed his arms. "Why are you telling us all this? You're Loghain's man, aren't you loyal to your employers?"
"Ah, no. I am, or was, a man of the Crows, whom this Loghain of yours happened to employ. And I was not paid for silence. Not that it was ever for sale, precisely. I have no idea what his issues with you are. The usual, I would imagine. You threaten his power, yes? But beyond that, I'm not loyal to him. I was contracted to perform a service."
"And now that you've failed at that service?"
Well that's between Loghain and the Crows. And between the Crows and myself. And perhaps myself and you" His gaze darted between the two wardens. "both, yes?"
"We're listening."
Dylan's eyes turned to the setting sun on the horizon. "Make it quick, we need to get moving if we want to make the tower by nightfall. For some strange reason," He drawled dryly. "I don't feel comfortable in these woods at night anymore."
"Well, here is the thing; I failed to kill you so my life is forfeit. That's how it works. If you don't kill me…" Zevran's eyes danced up Sten's blade, but they held no fear, "The Crows will. Thing is, I like living. And you folks are obviously the type to give the Crows pause. So let me serve you, instead."
Ishafel stood, stretching her legs. "Can we expect the same amount of loyalty from you?"
"I happen to be a very loyal person. Up until the point where someone expects me to die for it. That's not a fault really, is it? Unless… you're the sort who would do the same. In which case. I… don't really come well recommended, I suppose." He chuckled.
Dylan's eyes narrowed. This Zevran made him uneasy. How could anyone be so calm with Sten's broadsword at their throat? It wasn't like it was Alistair's or Leliana's or even Ishafel's blades. That was Sten's no nonsense, roughhewn, made for a single purpose Chasind Flatblade. It was a bloody monster of a sword. No normal person was calm with a thing like that sitting by the largest artery in the neck.
"What's to stop you from finishing the job later? What do you get out of coming with us?"
Still Zevran remained calm as he answered. "To be completely honest, I was never given much of a choice regarding joining the Crows. They bought me on the slave market when I was a child. I think I've paid back my worth to them plus tenfold. The only way out is to sign up with someone they can't touch. Even if I did kill you now, they might kill me on principle for failing the first time. Honestly, I'd rather take my chances with you."
"Won't they just come after you?" Ishafel asked, Dylan angled his head to get a better look at her without taking his eyes from the assassin. Her voice held more interest and innocent curiosity than the animosity of when they'd started speaking. He didn't like where this was going.
"Possibly, but I happen to know their wily ways. I can protect myself, as well as you. Not that either of you seem to need much help. And somewhere down the line if you should decide that you no longer have need of me, then I go on my way. Until then, I am yours. To do with as you please. Is that fair?"
"Why would we even want you?" Alistair asked the incredulous tone never leaving his voice.
"Why? Because I am skilled at many things, from fighting to stealth and picking locks. I could also warn you should the Crows attempt something… more sophisticated. I could also stand around and look pretty if you prefer. Warm your bed perhaps?
Ishafel frowned. "What are you talking about?"
But Zevran didn't answer, enjoying the frog-like expression on Dylan's face as he swallowed the statement. Ishafel didn't understand that either.
"Is this before or after you stab us in the back?"
For the first time Zevran's gaze went flat, and she felt chastised as though she had said something particularly stupid.
"Tsk, these things you say they must drive the men back home simply wild!"
His pitch finished, he took a steadying breath. "So what shall it be? I'll even shine armor. You won't find a better deal. I promise."
Dylan's hand was at his beard. "Well?"Ishafel started at the voice in her head, eyes darting to him.
"You must think we are royally stupid." She said aloud.
Zervan ran his eyes up Ishafel, much like Michael had been fond of doing. She waited.
"I think you're royally tough to kill and utterly gorgeous."
Alistar snorted and Leliana giggled.
"Not that I think you'll respond to simple flattery, but there are worse things in life than serving the whims of a deadly sex goddess, or god in his case." He inclined his head toward Dylan once with a jerk and a wide grin. "And definitely nothing wrong with servicing them together."
Ishafel's brows knit. That one she understood.
"Stop that." she said sternly, and proceeded to walk back toward the direction of the Bodahn and the wagon. "Very well, Sten let him up."
"Warden, you think this wise?" The Qunari began to grumble under his breath.
Alistair had similar thoughts. "What? You're taking the assassin with us now? That really seems like a good idea?"
"Nobody objected to Michael and he tried to kill us. Do not worry about it. I trust he will make himself useful."
"Did not you object to Michael?" Morrigan pointed out, "Rather profusely, I recall."
Ishafel opened her mouth the reply but Morrigan cut her off with:
"Especially at the gates of Castle Redcliffe."
And she swallowed her words.
Dylan sighed and followed suit. "How do you catch a thief, Alistair?"
"Hmmmm. Alright, alright, I see your point. Still, if there was a sign we were desperate, I think it just knocked and said hello."
Zevran rose from the ground, unoffended by Sten's broad sword following him most of the time.
"Thank you. I am your man, without reservation, until what time you see fit to release me. This I swear. Feel free to use me however you see fit."
"You'll probably regret that. Somebody's going to have to push Bodahn's cart out of the mud."
Morrigan watched them all go, Sirius beside her, thoroughly annoyed.
"Well this is fine plan, but I would examine your food and drink far more closely from now on, were I you." She told the dog. Sirius' response was to bark back up at her and let his tongue loll from his mouth.
Zevran turned, a predatory grin on his face.
"That's excellent advice for anyone."