79. Breaking Quarantine

"Does it get any easier, Zev?"

The Crow cast a curious glance across the table, where the Warden was nursing a tankard of cheap wine. Zevran himself was working on whatever awful spirit the Blessed Horse tavern was trying to pass off as Antivan brandy. He had a strong suspicion it had never been outside some brewery in the Free Marches, much less to Antiva.

"Does what get easier? Being this irresistibly handsome? I'm afraid it does not, but, alas, it is a burden I must bear."

Finian's expression briefly lifted in amusement, and it faded quickly. The Warden had been subdued most of the evening, ever since they'd returned from their tour around the market. Not even 'Mother' Wynne's gentle condolences regarding the Alienage nor the bard leading the tavern in a rousing musical number could cheer him up. It was a pity… Finian's face was much more suited to smiling.

One by one, the humans of their party had trickled up to bed, leaving the two elves dressed in servant linens and nursing their mugs at a corner table slightly too large for them.

"Not that." The Warden lowered his voice. "I mean killing. Does that ever get any easier?"

Zevran leaned back in his chair, letting his eyes drift over the inn's common room. He noted no one that seemed to be giving the pair any attention—one of the few advantages of being elves in a human world was that most people didn't bother to eavesdrop.

"Practice does make perfect, my dear, or so they say."

Finian cast him a flat look. "Don't be deliberately obtuse. You know what I mean."

Zevran shrugged. "I apologize, Warden, but I'm afraid I am not the one to ask such a question." At Finian's curious look, Zev went on. "To a Crow, murder is the means to an end… that end being getting paid so that we might enjoy good wine and better women. It is part of the job. This is quite different from killing either in battle or in a crime of passion."

"The only methods I'm familiar with."

"Just so."

Fin took a long pull from his goblet. "My first kill was here in Denerim, you know."

"Your dastardly bann's son, I presume?"

"One of his guards, actually." Finian's eyes were distant in memory. "My cousin Soris and I were sneaking into the bann's estate, disguised as servants. It worked for a while, but then we walked into this room where a trio of them were standing over the body of one of the Alienage women. They'd obviously just finished doing terrible things to her, and the guard said… he said that they could probably go again, if they weren't too picky." He took another long gulp. "The next thing I knew, my daggers were in my hands, I was covered in blood, and he was dead on the floor."

Zevran watched the Warden polish off the last of his wine. For all of his easy tongue and his insatiable curiosity about Zevran's own adventures, the Warden rarely spoke about himself. This was territory that the Crow would need to tread softly upon. "A first kill more worthy of you, I cannot imagine, my Warden."

"Except that now my family is paying the price for my one afternoon of recklessness." Finian dropped his head to the table. "They're caged in the Alienage like animals and slaughtered at the whims of the nobility, and it's all my fault. What kind of monster lets that happen to the community he grew up in, and then just walks away?"

Despair was thick around the Warden, and Zevran had to stop himself from placing an arm around the other elf's shoulders. Their implicit arrangement was one of business and leisure. Comforting embraces were not typically included in that, and Zevran knew better than to even consider it.

"I am under the impression," he ventured instead, "that you would have been arrested or worse otherwise. And then I might never have tried to kill you, and then where would I be? Languishing about utterly bored, that's where. No no, it is far better that you left when you did."

Finian made a muffled sound against the table. Zevran smirked, because it sounded suspiciously like a laugh. His suspicions were confirmed when Fin rolled his head to cast an honestly amused—if still somewhat subdued—little smile up at him. "Maker forbid you be bored, Zev."

He nodded solemnly. "Although, I do admit that your claiming of my services has summarily deprived many people of my talents. Pity them, Warden, for they cannot imagine what they lost."

Finian snorted and hid his face in the table. "I wonder if I should be the one pitied. Alas, it seems I am stuck with you."

Zevran nodded again, taking a sip of his awful brandy as he let his gaze roam over the room. Ah good, still no suspicious behavior. "I would not be so worried, my dear Warden. If your family is anything like you, I am certain they are strong enough to weather whatever has come their way. Likely whilst still finding reasons to smile."

Finian raised his head from the table, at least. Not so despairing, much to the Antivan's relief. "You may have a point. I just wish I could be sure."

"Then why do you not?"

"They're in quarantine, Zev. The city locked them up."

"My dear, when has a locked door ever stopped you before?"

Finian stared at Zevran, his face blank. Then, he started fidgeting with his empty goblet, looking thoughtful. "It wouldn't be as easy as picking a lock… these are portcullises. Guarded portcullises, at that. We'd either have to concoct some disguise that they would allow past or jump over… the… wall." His eyes widened, and the smile that lit his face was dazzling.

"Ah, I take it you've come up with a plan?" Zevran prompted, amused. Finian's smile was infectious, so the Antivan had to fight to keep his usual poise, lest he too grin like some sort of mad idiot as well. One mad idiot between the two of them was entirely sufficient.

"I've never climbed over a city wall, but I know someone who has. Come on!" Without further ado, Finian jumped from his chair and all but darted toward the stairs. Zevran took one last sip of his brandy and followed at a more leisurely pace.

By the time he'd gotten upstairs, Finian was leaning into the girls' room, whispering to someone the Antivan couldn't see. From somewhere behind the door, he heard the bard squeal, "Ooh, I will come too!" at which Finian shushed her and whispered something about waking Wynne.

A moment later, Finian shut the door, grin solidly in place, and the elves headed back to their own chamber. The pair slid expertly inside… their stealth aided by the fact that Alistair was snoring rather spectacularly.

"Denerim at night is no place for linens, so leather up."

"My dear Warden, you cannot guess how long I have waited for you to say that to me."

Finian snorted softly and smacked Zev's arm. "Has anyone ever told you you're insatiable?"

"Why yes, many times." He stooped to begin donning said leather. "Often, I tell myself that. To boost my morale, you see, when I am facing the most exhausting of nights." He looked at the Warden meaningfully and winked.

Finian smirked. "Warden endurance is legendary."

"And with good reason, my dear."

"Oh Maker…" Alistair groaned sleepily from his cot. Both elves froze, but Alistair just rolled over and stuffed a pillow over his face. "Could you two do that when I'm not in the room, please?"

"As you wish," Zevran said obligingly, and Finian stifled a laugh, sweeping up his pack with a flourish.

The two of them snuck back out of the room to Alistair's resumed snores, and met Meila and Leliana out in the hallway. The women were also dressed in leathers, most spectacularly being the Dalish elf's midriff-baring little number.

"I'm bringing some potions, just in case," Meila said, indicating a pack strapped to her belt.

"We're only sneaking through the night," Finian laughed, "to break into a heavily-guarded, quarantined part of the city. What could possibly happen?" His Warden sure did seem to be in a much better mood, now that he'd decided on a course of action.

The four of them headed out, their tread light as they slipped down the stairs and out the tavern's back door. In the stables, Bodahn could be heard rooting through his cart with his son, the elder talking loudly about how well business had gone that day (apparently, fairly well). The four rogues snuck past the stables without alerting the two dwarves of their presence, and then they were out on the street.

Zevran fell into step behind Finian as they started through the darkened city. His eyes scanned the rooftops, as the Antivan was overly aware of just how easy it was to jump prey in cluttered cities like this… an awareness born from experience at the other end of the hypothetical ambush.

At some point, Zevran had discarded the illusion that he had any intention of doing the Wardens harm. Not only because, were he lucky enough to take one or two Wardens out, he had no reasonable hope of getting away with it. No… he was beginning to appreciate the merits of having the Wardens around, last defense against the encroaching darkspawn that they were. Zevran wasn't one to subscribe to causes—doing so just complicated things—but if there were any cause worth championing, stopping the Blight from spreading seemed entirely practical.

And Zevran was nothing if not practical.

This was why he had assigned himself to the protection of the Wardens. It was why he'd made himself as invaluable as possible to the one Warden who had dared to trust him. He had not so recently been willing to throw his life away… the Wardens had given him a reason to keep living, and he would gladly take that chance, and defend with his life the Warden who had made it possible.

It was practicality.

"So how are we getting in?" Leliana asked as they ducked into an alley.

"Up and over," Finian said, pointing toward a nearby rooftop with a low overhang.

"Ooh, that looks like fun. It has been a long time since I snuck around on rooftops!"

Zevran cast a smirk back at her. "I would bet it has, dear bard." This earned him a sour look from the sister, and he laughed. He was amazed that no one else had guessed her illicit past, but he supposed it was to be expected, as they hadn't known what Crows were, either.

Finian led them to the overhang and hoisted himself up with the ease of practice. Zevran and Meila followed fairly easily, though Leliana did need a bit of elven help being hoisted up.

Once on the roof, Finian took a couple deep breaths… he was getting tense again. Zevran nudged the Warden and gave him a playful smirk. "Up for a race, my Warden?" This was a game they had played often on slow nights back in Redcliffe, and he could tell from the grin Finian sent back that it was a welcome distraction from his worries.

And so, with the Dalish elf's eyes heavy at his back, the two jetted off across the rooftops, leaping between buildings with all the grace and agility of their roguish selves. Zevran chased Finian up over a slanted roof, overtaking the other elf at a gap over an alley.

However, Finian played dirty. Zev felt a tweak in the vicinity of his hindquarters, and stumbled enough for the Warden to laughingly retake the lead.

Finally, they reached the stone wall that separated the Alienage from the rest of the city, and it was perhaps fortunate that Finian was leading, because Zevran might have run right past it otherwise. The pair waited on a wall-adjacent rooftop while the girls caught up to their impromptu race.

"It is so cute," Leliana laughed as she bounced onto their rooftop, "that you two can still play like that in times like this."

The Dalish elf gave her a hard look. "We are not here to play."

"We're here to play a little," Finian said, turning to look up at the wall. It stood a full ten feet higher than their rooftop, but this height was made inconsequential as Meila drew a length of rope from her belt and tied one end to a peculiar-looking arrow. One shot of her bow later, and they had a viable route up to the top of the wall: no trouble for four people as capable as themselves.

Rappelling down into the Alienage was a lesson in Fereldan culture. It wasn't as bad as some other slums Zevran had seen—primary among them being the dockside squalor he'd lived through his apprenticeship in—but it was certainly a change from the cleaner, 'human' parts of Denerim.

The place was dominated by wooden structures—where stone seemed to dominate the rest of the city—and poorly kept ones at that. Worse, the place stank of the sickness and filth of a district that hadn't had a proper cleaning in quite some time.

They descended into a moon-cast shadow behind a two-story structure, casting all four of them in impenetrable gloom. It was impossible to see the other three in the darkness, but a hand on Finian's arm confirmed that the Warden had once again become far too tense.

"Something wrong, my Warden?"

"It smells sick."

"I guess the quarantine is real after all," Leliana whispered.

Finian could be heard swallowing, and Zevran squeezed his arm briefly before letting go. Silently, the Warden led them behind a cluster of buildings and out into a main thoroughfare.

"A vhenadahl…" Meila breathed, staring across the darkened district at a large tree that stood in the middle of the square.

Zevran, however, was more concerned with the sound of heavy armored footsteps he heard down the way. He hissed an Antivan curse and shoved his Warden into an alley. The girls, fortunately, had the mind to follow his lead. They hunkered in a shadow as an armored form passed their hiding spot. Curiously, he was not dressed in guard armor.

"A Templar?" Leliana whispered once he had passed. "I wonder what a Templar would be doing here at this hour?"

"Perhaps there is dark magic about?" Meila said.

"Don't say that," Fin groaned. He stepped back out onto the Alienage's one street and led them under a wooden walkway and to a door. Zevran kept an eye out for that errant Templar while Finian knocked softly. A moment later, the door opened a crack, spilling a sliver of firelight out onto the road.

"Go away," a female voice hissed. "There aren't anymore sick here."

"Shianni?" The Warden sounded surprised. "What are you doing at my-"

"Andraste's Oiled Tits: Fin?!" The door was thrown open, and a red-headed elf yanked the Warden through the door. If he hadn't been smiling, Zevran might have stabbed the stranger then and there. Even so, he kept his hands near his blades as he and the women followed Finian into the building. Leliana had the presence of mind to swiftly shut the door behind them.

"What are you doing here?" the new red-head babbled, her hands roaming all over his Warden's person as if to check that all his parts were there.

"What am I doing? What are you doing? Why are you at my father's house?"

"Oh, Fin, it's awful." Now she dragged him over to the small house's fireplace, and Zevran was ready for her to stop touching him now. "They've got your father!"

"What?"

"It's not like that!" another elf said, coming out of the back room. "They're healers, Fin. Your father was sick, and the city was nice enough to let a few healers in."

Finian finally pulled away from the red-head's grabby hands. "Hold it. Start from the beginning." He turned to the male. "Soris, what's going on here?" Ah, so this was the cousin.

Soris looked uncomfortable. "Well, after you left… there was a bit of a mess. The humans weren't too happy about losing the bann's son, especially since the bann himself died at Ostagar."

"Yet another problem Loghain caused," Meila said flatly. Both Alienage elves looked at her curiously, seeming to register the presence of the Dalish elf, then the Antivan and Orlesian.

Soris stared at them, hesitating, but Finian murmered, "Go on, Soris," and the cousin obeyed with the ease of old habit.

"There were uprisings, on both sides. The bann's men against elves, us against guards. But that wasn't as bad as the plague."

"How a plague got in here without affecting the outside districts is beyond me," the red-headed woman grumbled. Zevran's own instincts agreed with her.

"What plague?" Finian pressed.

"The healers think it might have something to do with the Blight," Soris said. "It starts with a cough, and then fever, dizziness, and exhaustion. Soon you're coughing blood and falling down in the streets. When hahren Valendrian fell sick, we begged the new bann for help… and Bann Howe sent it!"

"Wait, wait," Zevran cut in. "Howe, as in Rendon Howe? Short, oily, unfortunate nose? He is the one who stepped into the convenient void left by the death of the previous bann?"

Again, Soris seemed to have forgotten that the other three were there. "Uh, yeah? I guess?"

"Hmm." Zevran arched a brow at his Warden. "Have I ever mentioned that it was this Arl Howe who introduced me to Loghain?"

"The same guy who killed the Couslands," Finian said, apparently in full agreement with Zevran's suspicion.

"This is a man who seems to like having his finger in every pot. If he were Antivan, he would be what we Crows call a 'regular customer.'"

Leliana said, "And he sent the healers, not the Chantry?"

Zevran crossed his arms over his chest. "What manner of healers are these, I wonder?"

"They're not healers!" the red-headed elf burst out.

"Shianni!" Soris said. "Stop being so suspicious, just because they're human!"

"That's not why I'm suspicious!" Shianni circled the room, gesturing wildly. "Dozens of elves have gone into that building, and most of them never come out!"

Finian paled. "Including my father?"

"Sorry, cousin," Soris said. "He started coughing a couple days ago. The healers promise they'll help him."

"Lying Tevinter bastards, all of them!" Shianni spat.

"Tevinters?!" Leliana yelped. She exchanged a worried look with Zevran, and he nodded grimly.

Finian's eyes flickered between the two of them. "What's wrong with Tevinters, Zev?"

Inwardly, Zevran cursed Fereldan backwater ignorance. Could they really be so closed off from the rest of civilization, that they couldn't know…? He steeled himself. "Tevinter mages do not travel to foreign lands to heal their elves, my Warden. They have a far more profitable use to put foreign elves to."

The word 'slaves' hung heavy in the air, unsaid, but Zevran could tell by the pallor on his Warden's face that the other elf understood perfectly well what the Antivan was talking about.

It was the Dalish elf who broke the silence. "This cannot be allowed to stand." Meila stepped forward, raising her hand as if to call them to arms. "We have fought against such atrocities for our entire history, and so must we do again, and again and again until these shemlen realize that we are not going to lay down and take it. We are elvhenen, and we will not submit!"

A long, awed silence greeted this declaration.

"You're Dalish, aren't you?" Shianni breathed.

"I am elvhen, as are you. We are too strong to sit here and do nothing."

"They have my father, Meila." Finian took a deep breath, resolution hardening his face in a way it rarely did. "Of course we're going to fight back."

Zevran twirled his dagger, smirking his approval. Awful circumstances aside, he did so love when his Warden got like this. "Just point at the man who needs to die, and it will be done."