He drifted through the chamber, ghosts of what had been and could never be assailing him at every step. Duncan hated to admit it, but he'd been caught off guard by his run-in with the mage. Irritation festered as their brief interaction continued to irk him. He'd expected to find Zoya here in the practice room, not a human apostate. And not only was Zoya missing, she was apparently in danger and in need of rescue. But there was the lad uselessly pacing the room, perhaps even as Zoya sat in a dungeon cell for participating in something that might not have been entirely her idea. Staying calm had been difficult - what he'd really wanted to do was wring the mage's neck - but he'd somehow managed to keep up an illusion of calm indifference during their talk. Ultimately, Duncan had gotten what he wanted - he was rid of the mage's unwelcome presence.
Duncan was thankful for a moment of solitude as worry for Zoya churned to the surface. He needed to come up with a plan to free his little magpie from her cage. Years of dealing with nobles in Ferelden had taught him to approach conscription carefully.
Mulling over his options, Duncan plucked a throwing knife from the splintered center of a wall-mounted target and paced the room. The familiarity of this beloved place, coupled with the well-remembered weight of the blade in his hand, momentarily lured him away from his strategizing. Closing his eyes, he surrendered to his memories. The phantom of Adaia's laughter chimed in his ear; she'd been tickled that he could never seem to sink a blade into the large wooden disk, something that even her young daughter had learned with relative ease. The girl had been giddy with excitement as she showed him for the first time how she could hit her mark, her small fingers hardly long enough to wrap around the blade's hilt. Opening his eyes, he whirled toward the target and launched the knife from scarred fingers, chuckling as the hilt thudded against wood. He'd always been better with weapons he could keep firmly in his grip.
He turned toward the tunnel entrance, the shining surfaces of swords in their racks drawing him in. It was clear that Zoya had been maintaining these weapons; she'd remembered that much of his lessons at least. The girl had been a quick study, hungry for everything he could teach her about weapons and fighting, and always diligent in her practice. Over the years of training with Duncan, her skills had grown. She'd gone from trying to replicate the speed and grace of her mother's fighting style to adapting his and Adaia's techniques to suit her own strengths, creating moves all her own. Adaia rarely joined in their sparring; she'd perch on the sleeping platform and watch them together, her face aglow with pride and love. Duncan would tease her later when they were alone that she was only watching them to dream up new ways to win when it was her turn.
A quiet smile touched his face as Adaia breezed through his mind - the deadly grace and fluidity of her movements as they sparred, the feel of her lithe form shifting under the supple smoothness of her fighting leathers, and the wicked grin that would light her face when she knew she had him beaten. The memory of her touch seared as it always did; this room hadn't been used just for sparring. A tightness grew in his chest as he approached the sleeping platform on wary feet, his eyes closing as his hand carded through the dense pelts piled on the smooth wood.
His fingers tingled with the remembered sensation of Adaia's skin. During their years together, he'd memorized every inch of her - every scar, every freckle, and even the brand on her flank that no magic could remove. He lost himself to the memory of her silken skin under his callused hands, her expressive, emerald eyes giving away the depth of her desire. When first they'd met, she'd been so young, so passionate, so open with her feelings for him. He'd always loved the way she'd gazed up at him, adoration sparkling in her eyes, a soft, teasing smile tugging at her lips, and a flush across her cheeks...
The image of Zoya with the mage in the market flashed through his mind. The way the young elf had gazed at her companion... it reminded him of the way Adaia had once gazed at him. Maker's breath, it's been far too long since I've seen it, but I know that look. How did I miss it before? Duncan suddenly felt a twinge of guilt about chasing the lad away.
He'd probably done Zoya a favor by running the boy off; it wouldn't benefit her to chase all over Thedas with the apostate. It was surprising how little convincing was actually needed for him to leave Zoya behind. Even so, Duncan had been so sure the mage would object or insist on going with them to Ostagar. But he'd barely made the suggestion that he conscript Zoya before the lad made a dash for the docks.
Duncan was confident in his ability to nudge people into seeing things his way, but the mage had been far too easy to manipulate. In some ways, it almost seemed as if he'd been relieved the Warden was there to step in. He might have had genuine concern for Zoya, but Duncan knew the type - his self-interest would always be his top priority. While he was willing to do whatever it took to ensure her safety, that didn't seem to be as important to the mage. How could the ass have allowed Zoya to throw herself at the Templars in his place?
The sound of light, leather-soled footsteps approaching the chamber jarred him from his thoughts. A feminine voice cried out, panic cracking the dulcet tone. "Anders! Anders, I need your help!"
Duncan's breath caught as Zoya burst into the practice room, her pale face expectant as her gaze settled on him. Green eyes going wide, the light that shone from her raised fingers guttered and faded. Confusion marred her delicate features as she scanned the room and realized he was the only one there. "Duncan? What are you… Where's Anders?"
His heart thundered. How in Andraste's name had she managed to escape from the Templars? Maker's breath, the blood... is she injured? How much of it is hers? But even from the arm's length between them, he could see no obvious indication of a serious wound. Much as he wanted to, he resisted the urge to approach and search her for injuries.
His mouth went dry as he recognized Adaia's fighting leathers, the very ones he'd commissioned for her so long ago. Even bloodied and battered, the resemblance between Zoya and her mother was uncanny - it was as clear to him here under the Alienage as it had been in the market. He saw her potential in the capable way she carried herself, the confident grace underlying her movements, the fiery will simmering just below the surface, the determined set to her jaw.
It was almost too much, being here in this place, surrounded by familiar things and finally face to face with Zoya. He fought to retain his composure as the years that had passed weighed heavily on him. She was no longer a child, no longer innocent to the horrors of this world. And yet here she stood, somehow having eluded the Templars. His heart swelled; had she lived to see it, Adaia would have been so proud of the young woman her daughter had become.
~oOo~
Zoya had rarely felt so afraid. Unwilling and unable to pull her cousins into the Between, they'd fled the palace by moving through the shadows, trusting elven servants they encountered along the way to help them evade the guards. It seemed as if a lifetime had passed before they reached the relative safety of the tunnels running under the city. Her uneasy gaze returned to Shianni's pale, still form at every opportunity, but she tried to keep her mind focused on her goal - getting the young elf to Anders.
Panic tightened her chest as she called out to the mage and got no response. Had he and Isabela not escaped the tunnels under the Chantry? He should be back here by now. She skidded to a halt as she entered the practice room, breath catching in shock. She'd hoped to find Anders, but he was here instead. Duncan - Commander of the Grey, her mentor, her hero - stood there regarding her, an inscrutable face hidden in the shadows of a thick beard.
She tore her eyes from him as shuffling footsteps sounded behind her, peering over her shoulder as Soris staggered into the room. The strain of carrying Shianni for so long was threatening to send him to his knees. Before Zoya could swoop in to keep Soris from dropping her, Duncan strode forward and swept Shianni into his arms, laying her gently on the sleeping platform. Glancing up from the young elf, his dark eyes implored Zoya to speak, "What happened? Are you injured?"
Zoya licked bloodless lips before dragging the lower one between her teeth, biting down hard enough to bring an involuntary wince as she wrapped her arms tight around herself. Where to start? I killed the arl's son? Even now, the grim truth of what she'd done writhed in her gut. When she didn't respond, Duncan turned his gaze on Soris, but the young elf only stared helplessly between Shianni and Zoya, avoiding Duncan's eyes.
Duncan stepped towards her, placing a resolute hand on her shoulder. "Zoya, what happened?"
His grip was strong and steady, his concern for her clear. Would he still be worried for her if he learned she was a murderer? She closed her eyes, a violent shudder convulsing her slender frame. Now isn't the time to lose sight of what I need to do. I have to stay focused - find Anders and help Shianni. Shaking her head, she ran her hands roughly over her hair and squared her shoulders."There's no time to explain. Did you see a human? Younger, tall, blonde, probably carrying a staff? He was supposed to be here..."
Duncan regarded her, his expression maddeningly neutral, "The mage? He was here when I arrived, but he left a short time ago. He said something about catching a ship."
The Warden's words stung like a backhand blow, her eyes widening as their meaning sank in. Her world trembled, threatening to turn the stone beneath her feet to quicksand and swallow her up. Spinning on her heel, she left Duncan staring after the quiet sound of her retreating footsteps.
The pounding of Zoya's heart echoed in her ears as she fled through the inky blackness of the tunnel. She trusted her feet to know the way as they flew along the smooth stone. Why did he leave? I told him I would meet him in the tunnels, not on the ship! She knew she should be relieved Anders had made it back safely, but any happiness she might have felt was sucked into the emptiness growing in her gut.
Instinct told her to halt before she reached the end of the tunnel; she blindly fumbled with frantic fingers for the switch to open the panel that led to the docks. Maker's balls! I need to calm down. She took a deep breath, releasing it loudly as she regained control of her digits. I'm probably just overreacting. Maybe he went to the ship to insure Isabela won't leave without us. The quiet click of the switch signaled her success, and she eased the panel open.
Zoya slid through the opening, her panic growing as Anders didn't appear. She moved quickly along the shadows of the crates toward the slip where The Siren was moored. Even with the wind at her back, she could already hear the telltale sounds of a ship leaving port - the slap of oars hitting the water, the flap of wind catching the sails as they were unfurled, the shouts of a captain directing her crew. Zoya's feet quickened as a sob caught in her throat. The ache growing in her chest threatened to split her wide open. He wouldn't leave me here. Oh Maker, he can't be gone! I need him! Shianni needs him...
She skidded to a halt at the end of the last row of crates, splinters from the rough wood stinging her palms as she grasped for a tether to keep from collapsing. The sails of The Siren glowed golden in the light of the rising sun as it moved off into the blue expanse, the view shimmering behind the veil of tears now spilling from her eyes. At any other time, she would have been transfixed by the beauty of the sight, but not now, not when her world was crashing in around her. She went still as she heard Duncan approach from behind, unable to tear her eyes away from the retreating ship.
His voice was gentle when he spoke her name, his concern for her apparent in the tone. "Zoya?"
The strong, reassuring pressure of his hands on her shoulders shattered the crumbling wall she'd built to contain her fear and that had happened that evening, all the feelings she'd shoved behind that barrier descended all at once and the crush of emotion threatened to drive her to her knees. "Oh, Duncan," she choked out as she flung herself at him, wrapping her arms around his armored waist.
The Warden staggered, the force of her slight weight knocking him back. Zoya felt him tense, and she peered up into his dark gaze, suddenly abashed by the conflicted expression on his face. It had been so long, and much had happened since they'd last seen each other. But for her, at this moment, none of that mattered. Perhaps it wasn't so easy for him. What if he hadn't forgiven her? She choked back her tears, stepping back from him with her head bowed. "I'm sorry. I..."
Duncan stepped toward her, tipping her chin upward with his gloved hand, concern-darkened eyes locking with hers. "My dear child, you've nothing to be sorry for." Gentle arms encircled her, pulling her in tight as she broke down, giving vent to her tears at last. She'd tried to be strong for so long, willed herself to stand tall... it was a relief to be weak for once, to allow someone else the burden of keeping her upright.
"He left, Duncan. He really left," she sobbed. "He said he would take me with him. I thought he cared about me. I thought I could trust him. But he's gone... he's really gone."
Duncan stroked her hair, his strong arms rocking her just as he'd done when she was still a child. "Shhh..." he soothed.
"And Shianni... I can't... Oh Maker. They hurt her, Duncan. There was so much blood. She'll die without his help! I can't lose her... I can't lose anyone else I love..."
"Everything will be fine. You'll see..." his deep voice was calm as he consoled her. "I know a mage who is more than capable of healing Shianni."
"What?" Zoya pulled away, one fist dragging across her eyes. "You know someone who can help?"
The Warden chuckled, his deep voice rumbling in his chest. "You, my girl."
Zoya paled, shaking her head. "No, Duncan, I can't... It's not that simple..."
"Of course you can," Duncan cut her off, his voice firm. "You are your mother's daughter, and she taught you well. Magic is mind over matter. How many times did she tell you that? You imagine what you want, and then you will it to be so." Gripping her chin, he forced her to meet his eyes. "I know you, Zoya. I know what you're capable of. You have the knowledge, you have the power you need. What makes you think this Anders is the only one who can heal your cousin?" He stepped back, gesturing for her to the lead the way back to the tunnel entrance.
Zoya swallowed hard, her troubled gaze drawn to the retreating ship. Maker's breath... why did he leave? I truly thought he cared for me as much as I did for him. Memories tore through her - the euphoria of their magic mingling, the searing touch of his lips, the electric caress of his hands. She took a ragged breath, pushing the unwelcome thoughts away as she squared her shoulders. It doesn't matter why - he's gone. He broke his promise and betrayed my trust. What more is there to say? Grief, anger and self-doubt swirled, building into a maelstrom. Now isn't the time - I'll deal with it later. With an effort of will, she closed her eyes, imagining that cursed ship carrying her unspent emotions and being sucked into a whirlpool, lost to the abyss. If only... Casting a final scowl at The Siren skulking off toward the horizon, she spun on her heel and slipped into the shadows, racing back to the tunnels with Duncan on her heels.
~oOo~
Anders stood on the swaying deck of The Siren, his gut churning and his knuckles white from gripping the railing. He wasn't sure what was causing him the most discomfort - his guilt over leaving Zoya behind or the rolling of this cursed ship. The Denerim docks, that place where he'd nearly lost his life less than a month ago, receded into the distance. With the first light of day came the slow arrival of dock workers and ships' crews, and he watched as they scurried along the worn planks and jumbled crates.
While he was in the tunnels under the Alienage, the path had become so clear. The Warden was right – the Templars had his phylactery and would be hot on his heels. It was difficult enough to stay one step ahead of his pursuers, but if he had to also worry about Zoya? Besides, if she was with him, there was a far greater chance of her being captured and made Tranquil, or even killed. Or of me hurting her… I did the right thing – she's better off with the Wardens… Perhaps if he repeated it enough, he would even believe it.
"Why hello there, Sparkles." Isabela's hand slipped beneath his arm, clutching it against the soft curve of her breast. The woman continued to fidget at his back, but he ignored her obvious attempts to arouse him. When he'd climbed aboard The Siren, she'd greeted him with a smug grin. She might have thought she'd won by getting him aboard this ship without Zoya, but he wasn't about to give her the pleasure of acknowledging it. She snorted, "Still pouting like someone stole your cookies I see. I thought you might be interested in seeing this." Isabela handed him her spyglass and nodded toward the docks.
With a suspicious glance at the pirate, Anders raised the bronze tube to an eye, letting his vision adjust as he swept the wharf. It took him a few moments before he saw her - Zoya was hidden in the shadows of the jumbled crates with the Warden. Duncan held her in a tight embrace, the silver gleaming from his gauntlet as it tangled in her hair. Conflicting emotions churned through Anders. He was relieved that she was alive and seemingly unharmed, but dark jealousy burned within him at the sight of Zoya and Duncan together. If I'd stayed in the tunnels, that would be me holding her now. He closed his eyes as he silently handed the spyglass back to Isabela.
She tucked the heavy tube into a case at her belt before sliding her hand up his arm to brush a lock of his hair back from his face. "So you see my dear mage, everyone can be happy. The little elf can run off and play hero with her delicious mentor, and you can head below deck and play cabin boy with your sultry captain. It's a win-win for everyone."
Anders wrapped bruising fingers around her wrist, shoving her away from him, "Knock it off, Isabela. I'm not in the mood for your games."
Pouting, Isabela rested a fist on her jutted hip. "I thought maybe your unwillingness to play was the elf's influence, but now I'm wondering if there isn't another reason. Maybe you've lost your edge, or maybe you're feeling a little unsure of your skills? Aww... or maybe you're only sailing at half-mast? The turtle's afraid to come out of his shell? You're missing your tent pole? Your little soldier won't salute?" She chuckled, turning on a heel.
"I said shut it, Isabela!" Anders blurted in a tense voice, his hands balling into fists.
"Aw... I could come up with those all day, lover." She snickered.
"Maybe you're thinking of one of your other conquests." Anders growled, nearing his limit with the pirate's teasing. "You know damned well that's never been a problem for me."
"Do I?" she purred, raising a suggestive eyebrow as her gaze traveled down to linger on the region in question. "It's been too long," she pouted. "Maybe I need you to remind me." She raised an eyebrow, the tip of her tongue tracing along the fullness of her lips.
He rolled his eyes, pointedly ignoring her attempts to distract him. "I'm not that easy, Isabela." He turned to walk away.
"Since when?" She pressed on, "Come now, Sparkles! I thought you were a harder nut to crack than that." She laughed, regarding him through dark lashes. "I hope you get over it, whatever it is. I miss the old Anders; he was always up for a good time." She sauntered away, an exaggerated sway to her shapely hips. Pausing at the entrance to the crew cabins below deck, she ran her hands over the boning of her corset before slipping through the heavy wooden door. "You know where to find me... when you change your mind."
He clenched his teeth, his hands tight on the rail as he peered again toward the dock in one last futile attempt to catch a glimpse of Zoya. Andraste's flaming knickers - why in the Void did I leave? Logic fought to re-establish dominance, She's safer not playing fugitive with me while I run from the Templars. She's better off without me. The image of Duncan holding her, his hands stroking her hair tore through his mind. Besides, now she has her precious Warden to take care of her. The dark jealousy kindled moments ago leapt to life with renewed intensity. He forced the temptation of Isabela's proposition into his mind. Why am I hesitating? Turning his back on the dock, he ran his hands over his hair, familiar anticipation building as he stalked after the pirate.
A/N - Thank you to the folks who have stuck with this story, whether you're a lurker or have followed, favorited, or reviewed. Hugs and kisses to my favorite beta-mommy Eve Hawke and my little beta-sister Etaine M. I don't know how I would continue this crazy story without you both :) And for those who are wondering what happens with Anders next, stay tuned for a forthcoming story focused on Anders and set in the Zoyaverse. *hugs*