(Courtesy warning: If you are uncomfortable with male/male relationships, you may want to stop reading when Zevran shows up. I think you can guess what happens from there. :) )

68. A Ballad of Dangerous Men

Finian was hiding. Blatantly and unashamedly. He wasn't sure what had happened at the Circle, but it had put something hard in Percival's eyes. Something that made him keep glancing over at Finian with cool distance and... betrayal.

He didn't want to deal with that. He couldn't deal with that, after everything.

Fin sighed, plucking idly at the strings of his lyre, too softly to make any real noise. He was nestled between shelves in the Redcliffe Castle wine cellar, a single lantern casting flickering shadows across the walls. Not the most pleasant of places—it was cold, even in summer, and it had yet to be cleaned after the siege—but it was better than the castle dungeons. Those two places were the only ones that weren't crawling with Wardens and Warden companions, and Fin had no intention of using the other place.

His fingers danced out a short melancholic melody, and it sounded much better than it would have a week ago. Just four simple notes in a minor key. He hummed an echo of the notes, wondering if there was a song in there somewhere. Or if there had to be. He'd have to ask Leliana.

He winced in the privacy of the cellar, thinking about the reunion earlier that day. It could have gone better, and probably would have, if Zevran hadn't been there. Or Kazar. Or Alistair, for that matter. Any combination of those three seemed like a bad idea.

Still, he was glad to see everyone back and in one piece—with the exceptions of the Orzammar crew, of course. And if he was inappropriately glad to see Percival, well... that was his problem. Especially if said noble was apparently not so happy to see him.

He laughed quietly to himself, plucking out another string of notes. Soothing, this time. A lyre was a lot like a person, he mused. You just had to know what strings to pull. An unflattering thought, but there it was.

Like Felicity. Distract her with something that piques her curiosity, and she would jump right on it, and drag everyone else along with her. The argument about Zevran, Alistair's outrage over Isolde, and Kazar's little outburst... all had been wiped from memory by the mere suggestion of tracking down Genitivi.

He admitted that he had his own reasons for wanting to go to Denerim. It had been his home, so of course he did. He just… needed to see how they were faring. The mess he had left behind couldn't have been easy to clean up. He needed to assess the damage.

He sat back with a sigh, and his pockets jingled. He winced again, because his fingers had rediscovered their old twitch in the past couple days. Jewelry, papers, gems, runes… anything that might sell to a vendor outside Redcliffe had found its way into his pockets these last days. He tried to feel ashamed, but very little of his finds would be missed, and every sovereign they could squeeze meant one more that could be put toward the war effort.

Saving the world didn't come cheap, after all. The others didn't know it, but Finian was already planning how they would get into Denerim, the very seat of the man who wanted them very, very dead. They needed disguises, and that meant buying different clothes, and supplies, and maybe even a cart.

The elves would likely slip by all right—though they needed some sort of skin-colored powder to mask certain facial tattoos—and no one would look twice at Leliana if she wore her Chantry robes instead of her leathers. But how to mask a big, loud man like Alistair… Or worse: grim, glaring Percival. When you glared at people like that, they tended to remember you, if only because they were afraid you'd corner them in a dark alley. And that was outside the fact that Percy was a noble, and thus had likely met half the bluebloods in Ferelden.

He sighed, and his next string of notes was sharp and discordant. Just like his thoughts.

Maybe the others were right. Maybe keeping Zevran on was a bad idea. It wasn't that Fin didn't trust the assassin not to kill them—he could read people well enough to know that the assassin's fear of Crow retaliation was genuine—but rather he didn't trust the assassin on general principle. The man was wily. And selfish. And cunning. And charming. And fun. And handsome. And dangerous.

Wait, was he putting 'dangerous' under the positive qualities?

Right. Well that was part of the problem right there, wasn't it? First Percy, now Zevran? He had always been attracted to the worst kinds of men, starting way back with that conman's son when he was twelve. One of these days, it was going to get him killed. It nearly had, back in his Aiden days.

He still couldn't believe he'd told Meila and Kazar that story, fit of werewolf-onset panic or not. All his life, he'd had a strict policy of keeping his preferences between himself and his lovers. He'd made the mistake once of being less discreet, with that conman's son. The conman's son's father—the conman—had ingrained it on Finian in no uncertain terms that such things were meant to be kept to the shadows. It got awkward, otherwise, and, depending on the person, it got potentially very painful. And then awkward again when your curious cousins scoop your battered body out of a gutter the next morning.

That was why not even Soris and Shianni knew about his preferences, much less anyone else in the Alienage. He'd kept his few trysts strictly outside the walls of the elven community, because he couldn't bear to think of disappointing his father like that. An elf was supposed to grow up and get married, and Fin never would.

A bark broke the silence, followed by the distinctive sound of a mabari hound thundering down rickety cellar stairs.

Finian leaned his head back against the rack behind him with a hopeless laugh. "Percival, you cheater."

Hugo rounded a wine rack and barked happily, obviously delighted to have found Fin. Little did Hugo know that he was just a pawn for his evil, cheating master, who came around the rack after his hound.

Percival crossed his arms and leaned against the rack, cutting an imposing figure, even out of his armor as he was. "Hiding, are you?"

Finian shrugged. "I wanted to practice my playing without hurting everyone's ears."

Percy looked at him flatly for a moment, then sighed. "You're a good liar, Fin."

"I do try."

"Don't. It's not a compliment."

Fin bent over his lyre, pretending not to be aware of the blue eyes boring into him.

"Why did you kill lady Isolde?"

The note he was about to strum came out sour, and he carefully corrected his fingering. So that was what had been bothering the man. "I didn't. Jowan did."

"But you had final say."

"No, that was Teagan."

The noble slammed a fist against the rack, making a dozen bottles clink and threaten to fall. Finian froze and dared to look up. Percy looked livid. "Don't read me that tripe. Teagan agreed with us. They all did. Then you were there for five minutes, with your silver tongue, and suddenly they changed their minds? Do you really think I'm that stupid?"

"No," Fin said softly, even while inside he felt something shatter. "I don't."

The noble's jaw was tight, his hands clenched. "Then I have to assume you wanted Isolde to die. Just tell me why, Fin. You owe me that."

Fin swallowed and gently set the lyre aside. No use pretending to play it... and in this state, Percy may very well smash the instrument over Finian's head anyway. "It was the most good for the greatest number."

"You killed a woman!"

"To save an entire town."

"With blood magic."

Fin winced. Well, yeah. "It was for a good cause-"

"The Circle Tower was utterly routed by a blood mage. It's evil, Finian."

He stiffened, but stayed sitting. If he stood right now, Percy might just punch him in his current state. With careful calmness that he didn't feel, Fin explained, "It was either that, or allow the undead to continue attacking the town." Fin forced himself to meet Percival's eyes, showing the noble his conviction that, yes, he was still sure he'd done the right thing. "What is it about killing one to save a hundred that is so evil? Is it the fact that the one death is decided as a departure from the default and must be actively carried out, whereas the hundred are from negligence alone and therefore require no active killing on our part? Is that what makes it wrong?"

"You don't know that any more townsfolk would have died," Percy argued back. "You and the others could have simply fought beside the town defenders until we returned, but no. You took the route that involved sacrificing a human being to blood magic!" Percival turned away to calm himself, and Fin took the reprieve from those blue eyes to catch his breath.

"I'm sorry it had to happen, really," Finian said softly, watching Percy pull himself back from the brink. The human was really, genuinely upset about this, on a personal level more than a moralistic one. "But it was about ensuring that the fewest people possible died. We couldn't take the chance of another attack on the town."

"And the ends justify the means, no matter how brutal, is that it?" Percy said in a cold voice.

"No!" Maker's stained socks, this was hitting all the uncomfortable places that Fin had been ignoring over the weeks. "I mean, okay, a little. It stopped the undead. Doesn't that count for anything?"

Percy slowly turned and regarded Fin through a hard mask that even he had difficulty reading. The noble took a long, slow breath through his nose, then said, "My mother died defending me."

Oh.

"The pain of such a loss is... indescribable. Knowing that your life was somehow deemed more important than hers? More worthy, when she was one of the most important people in the world to you?" Percy looked away. "Did you consider Connor at all? You took his mother from him. Did you consider that, in your calculations?"

Finian found it hard to breathe, all of a sudden. He thought of his own mother, and how many habits he'd picked up over the years that she would have disapproved of. He couldn't imagine how much worse it would feel if she'd actively given his life for his. "No," he admitted softly. "I had not."

He stared down at his hands to hide a wave of shame. This was the cost, he realized, of playing games with lives. People were so much more complex than playing cards or a lyre's strings. Actions could have rippling consequences. He knew that. But he'd missed this part. Or maybe he just hadn't wanted to think about it. What sort of monster was he?

But, even then, as he replayed the sight of all those bodies by the barricade, he couldn't say he would have done any differently if asked to do it again.

Percy sighed into the silence and moved in to sit across from him. The tension seemed to be leaving the noble's form, now that he'd said his piece.

"I won't apologize for it," Finian said quietly. "But you're right. How it affects Connor is awful, and I'll bear the guilt for that for the rest of my life."

Percy's blue eyes searched his, as if for artifice, but he wouldn't find any. Then, the human nodded to himself, and more of the tension left his shoulders. "I just keep imagining what it will be like, when he loses his father as well."

"You don't know that." Fin reached for his lyre, and plucked out a few light, soothing notes. They both seemed to need it. "We're going after the Ashes, after all."

Percival made an incredulous noise.

"We might find them."

"Chasing after echoes and dreams, if you ask me."

Fin reached out a foot to gently nudge Hugo, who was sprawled out between them. "We're Grey Wardens. We do what we must, right? And if we 'must' find the Sacred Ashes of Andraste, then I suppose the cosmos has no choice but to abide by that."

Percy slanted a glance at him. "Somehow, I doubt that is how it works."

Finian shrugged and bent back over the lyre. The tension between them was breaking, bit by bit, and he was suddenly feeling very aware of the noble's presence. "Would you like to talk about her?"

"Hm?"

"Your mother."

Percival leaned back against the shelf, his eyes going distant. For a moment, Fin thought he might do just that. Then, Percival shook his head sadly. "No, I'd best not." He sat up again. "I promised myself I wouldn't dwell on the past. We must keep moving forward, and not be bogged down by old pains." He paused. "Apparently, it's harder to do than I thought it would be."

"It's certainly not easy," Fin agreed. The song coming out of the lyre now was distant and sad. "I know I had trouble doing anything, after my mother died. But if you smile and tell everyone you're fine for long enough, even you start to believe it, right?"

Percy gave a weak huff of a laugh.

Finian nudged Percy with his foot. "I think happy memories, though, should be dwelled upon."

The laugh was a but stronger this time, if also a little incredulous. "You're like a mabari with a bone sometimes, aren't you?"

Fin dared a smile. "I just like hearing about you. I think you're interesting."

"Interesting?" That earned him an aristocratically arched brow. Victory! "Am I like some sort of study subject, then? What about me could possibly be that fascinating?"

"Good point. You're obviously dull as dirt." Fin leaned forward and scratched Hugo behind the ears. "Let's talk about Hugo, then. He's the most interesting of the lot of us, I think."

Hugo barked his agreement, and that got a far more genuine laugh from the nobleman.

Percy leaned back, fully relaxed now. He was still achingly serious, though. "I know you mean it in jest, but it is still good to be asked. About myself, I mean." He stretched out, his foot nudging his hound. "It is... a good thing that you took the time and care you did when we first met. You saved my life and sanity. I've never thanked you for that."

Fin smiled, fighting not to show how much such earnestness from Percy affected him. "It was hardly as dramatic as that."

"It was. If you hadn't been there… I can't say what would have happened. I'd probably have gone mad, thrown myself off the bridge at Ostagar. You made things… bearable. Thank you."

Maker, Percy was an unfairly beautiful man, especially when his blue eyes were going soft like that. Fin stared down at the lyre to hide the heat that crept up onto his cheeks. "You're welcome, for what it's worth. But it hardly was anything as dramatic as you shielding me from further attack with your own body when I was severely injured at the Tower of Ishal."

Percy's smile was slight, but more than Fin could have hoped for. His pulse quickened. "I would say it was much more. I suppose we'll have to disagree on who saved who, then."

Finian reached to the wine rack above him and pulled out one that looked like a decent vintage. He popped the cork and held it up. "Here's to being less heroic than the other guy."

Percy chuckled, and reached for the bottle once Fin had had the first taste. The nobleman took a sip and swirled it around in his mouth, and Fin had never seen someone take wine so seriously.

When he had swallowed, Percy arched a brow. "What?"

"I've never actually seen someone do that with spirits before."

"This, my friend, is wine. You may gulp down other forms of drink, but wine is meant to be enjoyed before it goes to the head."

Finian laughed and reached out to take the bottle back. "All right you posh, high-class noble: educate the poor deprived elf."

And so he did, extolling upon 'bases' and grapes, and Finian sat back to enjoy it.

The pair stayed down there for the better part of an hour, passing the bottle back and forth while Hugo dozed contentedly between them. They spoke of inconsequential things—past misadventures, Percy's conquests, Denerim, familial anecdotes, and, yes, their mothers—anything but the current situation and the Blight.

By the time the bottle was most of the way gone, Finian was feeling pleasantly warm and fuzzy, and growing more so every time Percy laughed. The nobleman's face was flushed, practically glowing every time he smiled. Which was quite a bit, once he got some wine in him.

"…came by later, of course," he was saying with a devilish grin that made Fin's blood purr. "Her father nearly had an aneurism when he opened the door to see me standing there. Oh, how he glared. Then, he slammed the door in my face." His laugh was warm and free, and Finian wanted to throw himelf on the noble then and there. "Of course, there's nothing more thrilling to a young woman than a forbidden affair, so I just had to walk around to the window and pull her out of it." He raised the near-empty wine bottle in toast. "I introduced her to more than sex that night."

Fin chuckled. "Some might say you corrupted her."

Percy shrugged, still smirking. "Corrupted. Debauched. Freed. It's all about point of view."

He wanted very badly to be debauched by Percival, especially when the man grinned like that. Perhaps Fin was a bit more drunk than he'd thought (drunk on wine? Shianni would never have let him live this down), because he never would have said what he did next sober.

"So with all those women you've tumbled, have you ever tried something… else?"

Percy gave a baffled laugh. "What, like spanking? I always found that sort of thing a bit gauche."

"Not exactly that, no." Fin lowered his voice, even though they were the only ones there. "Have you ever tried bedding another man?"

Percy looked startled by the question, as if it had truly never occurred to him. Fin's blood warmed as he watched the nobleman honestly think it over. No immediate disgust; that was good. Then again, given Percival's apparent experience, Fin had expected him to be relatively open-minded "I can't say I'd ever considered it, no."

"Would you like to try it?" Percy's eyes widened, and Fin chuckled. "There are certain things, you know, that women aren't really equipped to understand."

"Are you… coming onto me?" Stunned. And a little frightened.

Fin shrugged casually, even while his heart pounded. "It's just something I thought might be fun."

Percy looked at him silently for a long time… or it felt long, anyway. Fin watched the emotions play across his face: shock, confusion, disgust…and a tiny spark of curiosity. And then, horror.

Percy stood abruptly. "I should get going. It's getting late."

Fin kept his grin, like it didn't matter. So it's just women, then. Of course.

"I suppose you're right." Fin chuckled lightly. "The girls will probably roll us out of bed at a completely unreasonable hour tomorrow. Meila is of the firm belief that every minute of daylight is meant to be utilized, including the minutes before the sun has technically risen."

Percy didn't respond, just looked down at him with a blank expression. Fin let his smile fade, because it didn't seem to be helping anything. For a long time, they just looked at one another, and Finian was surprised to find that he couldn't read the nobleman. Laying between them, Hugo whined.

Finally, Percy looked away. "Goodnight, Fin."

"'Night, Percy."

Percival left. Hugo woofed and stared after him. Then, with one last look at Finian, the mabari sprang to his feet and scampered after the noble.

After the sounds of their footsteps had faded, Fin let his head fall back against the rack. Then, he forced a laugh. "Can't blame a guy for trying."

A lyrical chuckle filled the cellar. "But you can have a good laugh at his expense when he fails, yes?"

Fin jerked upright. "Zevran? How long have you been here?"

"Long enough." The Crow's form emerged from the shadows at the end of the aisle, a cat's grin on his features. "Tsk tsk, Warden. Propositioning people behind my back. Here I thought I was the shameless one."

"You still are." Finian found himself wishing he was a bit less tipsy at the moment. He'd never be able to keep up with the assassin's quick wit in his current state. "Last I knew, spying was frowned upon, yet you show no remorse."

"Ah, but why would I be remorseful when it means I now have you all alone and at my mercy?" Zevran's voice was wrapping around him like a warm fog, and his heartbeat was picking up again. Especially as Zevran prowled closer.

Fin leaned back casually against the wine rack, trying for a cocky grin. "And now that I'm at your mercy, assassin, what do you intend to do with me?"

"Whatever I wish, of course." His voice was a purr. "You will find being my prisoner most agreeable, I think." Zevran stopped two steps from him, his eyes running over Fin with a predatory gleam. That look made Fin's head spin more than the wine had.

Somehow, Fin got some words out, though he barely registered them. "I'm pretty sure that taking me hostage is a violation of our contract."

"Not the way I treat my hostages, it is not." Zevran crouched down in front of him, gently lifting the lyre out of his lap and setting it aside. Finian let him, too distracted by how the lamp-light danced across the other elf's skin. "I am your man, Warden. Without… reservation." The way his tongue rolled around that last word made Finian shiver. Judging by the sudden quirk of his lips, the Crow had seen it. "It is my duty to see to the health and wellbeing of my employer, yes? And if that display just now was anything to go by, there are certain needs of yours that are not being attended to. They should be… addressed."

Zevran's face was a foot from his own, leaning over him. Still, Finian managed to collect his wits together, because he wasn't going to just let a dark, sexy, and apparently willing man reduce him to a stuttering puddle. "When you put it that way, you make it sound like I was throwing myself at Percy."

"Not throwing, precisely. But I have a feeling your offer was a great deal more sincere than you let him think." Zevran reached out, and Fin's breath hitched as the assassin's fingers played lightly along his collar. "It is becoming much clearer to me why you have been declining my advances until now."

At this, part of the fuzzy spell over Fin broke, and his heart started pounding for a different reason than the assassin's proximity. He forced a laugh. "What are you saying, exactly? That you think I'm in love with him?"

"Oh, not love. That would be silly. But a man has needs, yes? And that nobleman of yours surely used to be the focus of several of yours."

Zevran's other hand gently rested on his knee, and his thoughts turned dizzy again. "…used to be?"

The Crow's eyes darkened as he chuckled, and Fin shivered again. "That was all before you picked me up, of course." The hand at his collar moved up to trace his jugular, and Fin couldn't seem to breathe right. His head tilted back of its own accord. "Now, I think you will be pleasantly surprised to find that you will no longer have any need of him at all. Convenient, no?"

The hand on his knee slid up his thigh, and Fin's reply was cut off by a sound between a squeak and a moan.

Zevran chuckled again, the sound of his voice making heat coil in all the right places. "You seem rather at a loss for words, Warden." His head swooped in, and for a moment, Fin thought he was coming in for a kiss. Then, instead, Zevran ducked down and licked a line up his throat.

Fin's arms wrapped around Zevran, because now he could feel the other elf's warmth, and he had better not dare pull away. "Zevran," he managed, "if this is another joke…"

"No joke, my Warden." His lips moved against his collarbone, and Fin had to bite back another keen. "Simply tell me what you want, and you will have it. It is as simple as that."

Finian thought about fighting it. Zevran was an assassin, and one who used sex as a tool as often as not. He was a predator, and that thought should not thrill him the way it did.

His head was too thick with wine and lithe, overpowering man to think of any more protest than that, and any doubts were swiftly shucked aside when Zevran's lower hand reached his upper thigh.

"Take me to bed, Zevran." The assassin's hand moved even higher, and he didn't bother biting back his moan. "Tonight. Now."

Zevran's laughing eyes met his, and that chuckle made him melt. "As you command, my Warden."

He was already so wound up that the assassin's first kiss had him seeing stars. He turned to putty in the assassin's talented hands, and the Crow wasted no time in showing him an entirely new array of skills he had to offer.

As Fin gave into what the Crow offered, he wasted no thoughts of the Blight, or Percival, or anything except a pair of very talented hands, playing him like a lute as they drew him up and toward the bedroom Fin had staked out. And if this night's events led to more awkwardness with Percival the next morning, well, he couldn't say he regretted it.

Provided the assassin didn't stab him in his sleep or anything. But for this? That was a risk he was willing to take.