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Chapter 18 - Spite and Malice

Nervous? Who? Me? No, not at all! Just because I was pacing the room and hurried toward the door whenever I heard footsteps outside didn't mean I was nervous, right? Right?

Alright, who was I trying to fool? Rori was late and it drove me crazy. All day long I had been looking forward to spending the evening with her and, admittedly, the night. I also dreaded seeing her again. Too many things had been left unspoken since our first night together. I missed her. Maker, I did! The sensation of missing her was so strong it reached the quality of a medium heartache. I felt miserable without her and I couldn't decide whether to cut the bonds here and now or to embrace the happiness she offered by just being Rori. I mean, there still was the wife hitch, you know. So, excuse my indecisiveness. I so wanted to do what was right for the kingdom, for her, for me. But someone was to come away empty-handed, as there was this huge gap between the right thing to do and what I wanted to do. I could only take one route and—Maker forgive my cowardice—I hoped to pass the buck to Rori so it would be her own responsibility if all this ended with another set of broken hearts. Hers. Mine. Quite a mess. And yet I was drawn to her like a moth to the flame.

The table in my suite was set. Candles for the romantic atmosphere. A single rose in a slender long vase. A choice of various fine cheese I usually couldn't have resisted if not for my nervousness making me sick to my stomach, slices of cold meat, grapes, some bread, and by now, a half-empty bottle of red wine. I was in desperate need of some liquid courage, you see.

Time passed and I tried to convince myself Rori's absence was saving me from having to make a decision since this was her way to decide for her and me. Strangely, I felt no relief, but rather a sharp stabbing in my heart. Didn't I mean anything to her? Was this how she wanted to handle things? Just have me wait and figure out myself that she wasn't interested anymore? Some wallowing in self pity and some more wine later, I finally began to worry about her absence. I'm really not proud of how long it took me,but only when I had reached the bottom of the bottle did it occur to me that maybe she was in danger. Not that far-fetched with all the assassins running wild lately, huh? And all that time I had been solely thinking about myself, my hurt feelings, my wounded pride; I had not once wasted a single thought on her well-being. When it finally dawned on me, the realization hit me like a golem fist.

Doom!

DOOM!

What was I doing here, pacing the room and brooding? I had to search for Rori! What if she needed me? Maker preserve me! I hoped it wasn't already too late. Images of Suri's lifeless body next to the archdemon's corpse, of Anora's contorted face, of Slim Couldry lying in a puddle of his own blood popped up in my mind as I hurriedly put on my leather armor. Where should I start looking for her? She could be anywhere! I hadn't seen her at dinner so it was possible she hadn't yet returned to the palace. I couldn't search the whole city without help. Blast it! This was DEFCON white! I had to find her! I had to alert Sergeant Kylon! Combat column march! Now!

Whoa...

Breathe, Alistair! Keep cool. You cannot help Rori when you lose your mind. Breathe!

Plan. I needed a plan. Only my panicked mind kept reproducing images of death and destruction. I mustn't lose her. Not like Suri. The helplessness and hopelessness that had engulfed me ever since my beloved Warden had died came crashing down on me once more with corrosive force. I couldn't think with all that chaos in my mind. Frustrated, I threw myself onto my bed. Maker help me!

The moment I touched my pillow I felt something poking the back of my head. It was a cream white envelope with my name scribbled across the front in Rori's neat handwriting. With trembling fingers, I tore it open. The letters swam before my eyes. I had worked myself up so much over Rori's fate, the words I now read didn't make sense to me. I could hardly believe them and when they finally sunk in, I burst into hysterical laughter. Weeks of pressure and tension, of hardly suppressed paranoia and sleepless nights, had left me on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

The letter read:

Hey Prince Charming! Surprise, surprise. Change of plans. Meet me at the hunting lodge. I'm dying to be with you. — Rori

I felt like a complete idiot. All that time her letter had been waiting for me right there on my pillow. She wasn't late at all; turns out, I was the tardy one. Utterly relieved that she was alive and still kicking and in addition wanted to be with me, I took the direct route by climbing down the balcony to reach the park. I didn't want to waste any time discussing with my guards where I went and why and then be walked there like a toddler. So, my guards were safely guarding my bedroom door while I hurried through the dark park all alone.

As long as the light from the palace windows illuminated my way, I didn't waste much thought on my own stupidity. It only occured to me when I stumbled through the pitch black darkness beneath the trees that maybe running around here all alone without anybody knowing my whereabouts wasn't exactly the brightest idea I ever had. What can I say? I was young and rebellious... Alright, alright! Without glossing things over: I was foolish and horny. There, I said it. Are you happy now?

The hunting lodge was what Orlesians would call a little chateau close to the forest. Built by Meghren, it lacked any Fereldan charm but provided a whole lot of rather impractical features like a ballroom with floor-to-ceiling mirrors and crystal chandeliers. There were exclusive tapestries and wallpaper decorated with gems. The doorknobs were made of pure gold and gold leaf adorned the furniture. At least, that's what Eamon said it had looked like before the Blight. Loghain, in desperate need for money to finance his civil war and the fight against the darkspawn, had removed anything worth removing. The hunting lodge was now a ruin, a skeleton of a house. Even the doors and windows were missing; instead, the holes were boarded up. Dark and silent, the lodge meassured up to all requirements of a haunted house. Minus the ghosts, of course.

Why did Rori want to meet me there? Really, I didn't care. She wanted to be with me and that was all that mattered to me. Foolish and horny, remember?

Pushing aside a loose board, I squeezed through the door and found myself standing in the entrance hall with a broad staircase leading to the upper floors. Candles lined each side of the staircase, one on every second step showed me the way. On a mezzanine halfway between the ground and the first floor, the lights followed the stairs leading to the left wing. Like will'o'wisps, the flames flickering unsteadily in the draft, the candles led me away from the entrance into the north wing of the building, past empty rooms and chambers. The air was humid and heavy. It smelled of dust, mold, mice, and something else I couldn't quite distinguish. The wooden floor that croaked with every step, the rustling of tiny feet in the corners and behind the walls and the whispering of the wind sweeping through the rooms and halls couldn't drown out the thundering of my heart—a drumming so loud in my ears I was convinced they could still hear it in Weishaupt.

"Rori?" I called down the corridor, my voice shrill with hardly suppressed fear. I drew my sword as memories of the alienage orphanage popped up in my mind. Suddenly it didn't seem that good an idea anymore to have come here all by myself. "Rori? I really respect your need for privacy, but don't you think you're taking it to an extreme... just a little bit?" I didn't receive an answer, but I kept on babbling just to ease my nerves. I even debated returning to the palace, but Rori had asked me to come here and I didn't want to disappoint her. Still, the sword was trembling in my hands; every sound, every movement caught from the corner of my eye made me jump. I cursed myself for being so damn chicken-hearted. Rori would laugh her ass off at me. Surely this was some kind of prank and I was making a major fool of myself.

The candles guided me into another empty room. Carefully, I peeped through the door and spotted a mattress and blankets on the floor and a bottle of wine next to it. Duh! I let out a heavy sigh of relief, sheathed my sword and walked in, still feeling a little shaky but already laughing about myself acting like a blasted scaredy-cat. Here she had arranged everything for our date while my paranoia had me tremble with fear. "Alistair, you're such a fool," I scolded myself. "Rori? I'm here now! I'm late, I know. I didn't find your note right away." No answer. I briefly wondered if she had left, tired of waiting for me. But she surely would have blown out the candles. She probably was... um... powdering her nose or something. I decided to wait and meanwhile get a little more comfortable. I reached for the bottle of wine when I felt a movement in my back. "Hey Puck, what are you up to?" I laughed—and then I laughed out of the other side of my face when I was grabbed from behind before I could turn to face whoever was there at my back.

"I really thought you would stand me up," a voice purred into my ear as cold, sharp metal pressed against my throat. "But here you are and now the party can begin."

The sound of that voice chilled me to the bone. I had never seen this coming and still, with the blade pressed against my throat, I refused to believe the black treachery. After all what we'd been through together, I just couldn't understand what had brought us to this quite unpleasant situation.

Breathe, Alistair! Keep cool! What in the Maker's name was I going to do? There aren't that many options left when you have a knife in close proximity to your carotid. Whoa... Think... Okay, I once saw Leliana snake out of a situation like this. She slowly kinda lifted her arm and to my eyes looked as though she were about to give up when—in the blink of an eye—the guy was on the floor and Leliana snatched the knife from his hands, turning it back on him. I never really understood how she pulled that one off. And call me crazy, but I didn't think this was the best time to practice. What else could I possibly do? Stomp on the assailant's foot? Should I risk it?

"Don't even think about it!" the assassin hissed into my ear as if reading my thoughts. "Whatever you attempt to do, I will know before you even get started."

Bloody blast it! This just wasn't my day!

"This... this is a joke, right?" I croaked, my forced chuckle turning into a terrified squeak when the sharp blade scratched my skin. "Okay, I get it, I get it. No joke. This is damn serious. But... why? I... I don't understand..."

"Of course you don't," the voice whispered into my ear. It was acid, dripping with contempt. "You always have your head stuck up your arse. All Alistair ever cares about is Alistair." The voice continued in a whiny singsong: "Alistair is so sad about his terrible, terrible childhood. Alistair is so lonely. Alistair is riddled with grief. Alistair cannot endure the burden of being king..."

"You... you want to kill me because I am a snivelling simp?" I gasped.

"No," my assailant snapped, pressing the blade harder against my throat. "I want to kill you because you took everything away from me."

"Whoa! Easy! Let's talk about this, okay? I believe this has to be some kind of misunderstanding..." I reasoned. I... I didn't want to die! For months I had wished to join Suri in death, but now that I was about to be reunited with her I quickly changed my mind about that matter. Time. What I needed was time. I realized I couldn't hope to free myself. My opponent was too skilled, too sneaky. One false move and the blade would slice my throat open and I would bleed to death. But time, time could save me. Arlington would find me missing. The guards would search for me. My assailant had to see there was no chance to escape.

"A misunderstanding!?" the assassin spat into my ear. "You are the one to misunderstand. You should have died a long time ago. You claim to worry about what is best for your people, for the kingdom, so I'm telling you: It's your death."

"What do you know about my kingdom?" I grunted angrily. "This is not about me being king, is it? It's about your jealousy."

"Jealousy!" Zevran laughed without humor. I could feel his hot breath against the back of my neck, dropplets of spittle hitting my skin as he spat out the next words. "You didn't deserve her! All you ever did was drop your petty problems on her. It was Suri to carry the burden of ending the Blight because you were too weak to do the job. It was she who grew up in the alienage and the tower, both prisons, while you whined on and on about your fate of growing up in a monastery. So you hated it there, did you? Did you ever care enough to ask Suri how much she hated the alienage or the tower? Did you ever care enough to wonder what she had gone through as a child while you sat sulking in your monastery?"

Ouch. Now that hit home. I mean, I knew about Suri's life, but unlike me, she never once lamented about it. There was nothing she could change about her past, so she concentrated on improving her future. I admired her strength. It convinced me even more that I wasn't a suitable leader. Zevran was right: to her, the story of my life had to sound like the cant of a sulking child. She took my hand and guided me on my way to become king. She taught me self-confidence; she showed me the strength buried inside of me. And she did all that with the patience of a saint.

"O-okay, I... I get what you mean..." I made another attempt to talk to the elf. He cut me short at once. He wasn't done with me yet. He had waited for a very long time to tell me what he truly thought of me. And he wanted me to realize all my failures and selfish behavior.

"You understand nothing, Alistair," Zevran snorted and with a quick twist of his wrist he pricked my skin again. Nothing bad—only a little cut. Still, I winced. "Suri and I, we were soulmates. She was just like me. We had both endured so much and yet we had survived. At first I didn't realize what a rare gem she was. I wanted her in my bed as a trophy to boost my ego, to once more prove to myself I was irresistable. Here's a confession—I've never told anyone before, but seeing as you won't live to tell anyway, what's the harm?—All this aggressive flirting, the nonchalance I display when asked about my past or emotions... it's my armor. Suri, she saw right through it. I was playing my game but it was by her rules, and before I even knew what happened, I was head over heels in love with her," he said sadly. Bitterly he added: "But, for some reason beyond my comprehension, she chose YOU. You took her away from me!"

Really? He could hardly put that blame on me. It had been Suri's decision. I had never said anything bad about Zevran or tried to manipulate her to dislike him. I objected when Suri spared his life, but only until she told me to kill the elf myself if I so wanted him dead. I couldn't have killed him. Despite his attempt on our lives, I felt sorry for him. I didn't want to believe his life story, but I felt it was true and so I couldn't ignore it. Zev, he was a poor sod. I didn't really pay him much mind, though. I was circling around Suri alone as she was the sun of my universe. Nobody shone brighter than her. My superficial opinion about Zevran marked him a lecher and a trickster without much of a conscience. Now I was sorry I didn't pay more attention and didn't at least try to become real friends with him. A bit late now? You don't say!

"There's no accounting for taste," I muttered and earned myself another prick. Blood trickled down the side of my neck.

"Oh, Alistair, my foolish friend, do you really believe she chose you because she loved you more? You just offered her more influence. Why do you believe she made you king? She told me Anora was the better choice for the job, but she had no control over her. You, however, ate out of the palm of Suri's hand. You'd have done anything she told you. A puppet—that's all you were to her!"

"That... that's not true!" I cried out. "She wasn't scheming! She didn't just use me! She loved me! You just want to hurt me!"

"You keep telling yourself that," Zevran snorted.

I bit my lips until I tasted blood to stop myself from lashing out. Doubt welled up in my heart, threatened to poison the purity of my love for Suri. Often had I wondered why she had given in to my wooing. I couldn't believe my own luck. This intelligent, courageous, beautiful woman loved me. It was like a dream come true. But now... now I found myself afflicted by the venomous doubt planted by Zevran. Had Suri really only chosen me because of her own future plans for this kingdom? It hurt, Maker, it hurt so much to even think about it.

"Ahhh, finally it begins to dawn on you," Zevran laughed nastily.

"No!" I snapped stubbornly. "No! Suri would never have sunken so low as to manipulate me and use my affection for her plots! She loved me! I know it in my heart! And nothing you say can ever change my feelings for her!"

"Why do you think did she came running straight to me after you dumped her?" the elf taunted.

Touché!

"Finally you were out of the way and we could be together—and then you took her away from me again!" Zevran growled next to my ear. "She sacrificed herself on the top of Fort Drakon to save your miserable life! She couldn't leave Ferelden without a monarch. Your death could have started another civil war and thus, she made the final blow. It wasn't her love for you; it was pragmatism. Nothing more." His voice trembled with bitterness. "We could have left you and your rotten kingdom alone. We could have dropped the whole damn Blight thing on you. But no... once more you stole her away. For good this time."

"Zevran," I croaked. "I lost her just like you did..."

"Shut up!" the elf snapped. "Shut up!" With every word he pricked my skin. "Again, it's only about you! Oh how you suffered! You claimed her all for yourself even after her death. It was your grief, your suffering! You were so wrapped up in yourself you never wasted a single thought on how I felt! You should have died! You! Not her! A blunder I intend to correct presently..."

"Zevran," I gasped hurriedly before he could end his final speech and my life. "Where is Rori? What did you do to her?"

"Ah, I thought you'd never ask," Zevran chortled coolly and managed to make me feel like a complete dick because she wasn't first on my mind when he threatened me with a long sharp knife. "I have her safely tucked away for later use."

"Use? What use?" I croaked. Oh, this didn't sound good. Not at all.

"Oh, now comes the part where the villain explains his whole evil plan to the hero, yes?" Zevran chuckled. "I will kill you, but of course I don't want to be held responsible for your death. I need a scapegoat, you understand, Alistair, my dear friend?"

"Nobody will believe a word you say when you put the blame on her!" I exclaimed furiously. "She will tell them the truth!"

"Tsk, tsk, Alistair, my stupid friend. Alas, she cannot tell anything when she's dead."

Oh no!

Doom!

DOOM!

"It's easy, you see," the elf explained cheerfully. "I will kill you and make it look as if Rori ended your life. Then I kill her, making it look as if she committed suicide. She will leave a heartbreaking letter about how she couldn't endure not being loved in return anymore."

"She will never write such a letter!" I snapped forcefully.

"Alistair, Alistair," Zevran sighed. "Forgery will do the trick. First it brought her here, then it brought you here, and in the end it will complete my revenge."

"The letter on my pillow!" I gasped. "It wasn't from Rori! It was yours! You put the spiked ball under my saddle. You murdered Anora and Slim Couldry! It wasn't about a rebellion or conspiracy... All this time it was you and I never even suspected you!"

One by one all the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. They had been there all the time right in front of my very eyes but I had been too blind to see them.

"You've never been the sharpest knife in the drawer," Zevran remarked dryly. "You still don't understand. There is a conspiracy. They hired me like in the good old days when I still worked for the Crows after they found their first choice, the little Cousland imp, had no intention to die for her fatherland by murdering you. Fortune favors fools. You really have luck on your side. You evaded three attempts on your life, so my clients fired me and now try to get rid of you by questioning your royal blood..."

"Then why...?" I stammered. "Why are you doing this?"

"It's something personal, my friend. Very personal. I will not be bereft of my revenge! I could have killed you a thousand times. I had so many opportunities, but after my first attempt when you came running to me for help, I changed my plans. I didn't simply want you dead anymore. I wanted to destroy you. I wanted you to suffer. Your blossoming love for the little Cousland gave me the perfect opportunity for revenge. You will die with the knowledge that you are responsible for the little imp's death. You killed her just like you killed Suri..."

"Zevran," I croaked. "Spare Rori! She never caused you any harm. She's innocent..."

The elf sighed heavily. "Do I have to spell it out for you—again? I thought even you would understand..."

"No, no, I understand," I stammered desperately. "You need a scapegoat. You don't want anybody even getting the slightest suspicion about you. Here's what I propose: I will kill myself. I will write a suicide letter, telling Eamon how I cannot endure the pressure anymore, how the grief about Suri's death broke me. They will believe it. I've been depressed, I've been drinking too much... Nobody will be surprised. And I will kill myself however you want me to die. You want me to jump off the tower? Slash my wrists? Hang myself? It's your choice. Just let Rori go."

"How very chivalrous of you! Or should I say quixotic? You offer your life in exchange for the lady's. Well, let me think about it... hmm... no. You had your chance with Suri. With her you weren't nearly so concerned with being a gentleman."

"I wanted to save her!" I protested. "I wanted to slay the archdemon! She paralyzed me with a spell! I couldn't move no matter how hard I tried. I had to watch her die!" Anger flared inside of me like an inferno. "You were there, too! I cannot remember you even trying to stop her!" I snapped.

"I didn't know she would die!" Zevran defended himself. Bitterly he added: "She never told me." The sorrow softened his tone and losened his grip on me. He still held the knife to my throat but with less determination. The memory of his lost love left him vulnerable. This was my chance... If only I could break through to him. If only I could make him see the insanity of his actions. I just had to press the right buttons. Easier said than done when the assassin was a complete stranger to me. Before that night I would have claimed I knew Zevran. Truth is, I didn't know anything about him and I had never cared to look behind the facade.

"Zevran," I begged, giving up completely on trying to save myself. He hated me too much and somehow I even understood. "Please, let Rori go. You do not need her to get what you want."

"Alas, that is not correct, my friend," Zevran said coolly. "Your little imp has seen my face. I lured her here with another fake letter and she came running to meet you. She knows too much. I'm afraid I cannot accede your request. This has to be quite a dèjà-vu for you."

"No! Zevran, she will keep your secret! Just let me talk to her..." I pleaded in ultimate desperation.

The elf snickered, completely recovered from the weakening of his determination his memory of Suri had caused. "Ah, this is perfect! Again you are paralyzed, unable to save the woman you love."

"Zevran... no, not Rori!" My voice was trembling.

"You should have stayed away from her, you know. I liked it better when you were wallowing in grief, slowly destroying yourself. You were suffering and you deserve to suffer. But then the little imp stepped into your life and you began to heal. You were happy again. I wanted her gone, dead. I wanted you to sink into the gloom of your miserable life again. I even forged a letter to blame your riding accident on her, and you instantly came running to me to save her. Now, isn't that ironic?" Zevran laughed without humor. "I could have condemned her back then. Her life was in my hands. But at Fort Drakon I changed my mind. I noticed that special something between you and her and I said to myself: 'Zev, old boy, why kill him when he's down at the bottom, depressed and grief-ridden. He wants to die. You'd only do him a favor. Better to kill him when he's happy, when he has something to lose.' You so trusted in me. I found it far easier to fool you than I had expected. It was highly amusing."

"Then why try to poison me?" I muttered in confusion. I wasn't thinking straight. One, there was this sharp knife pointed at my carotid artery and yes, I was afraid. Two, I was worried out of my mind about Rori. All this time I had kept my distance. Sure, we had kissed and spent a night together. I missed her when she wasn't there and enjoyed having her around. However, she and I—it didn't seem real. It was too good to be true—our little rainbow bubble that was doomed to burst anytime now. I was always waiting for reality to catch up, for this dream to end. I had to find a wife, we both had to accept that and would be forced to move on, bruised and broken again and with another set of scars on our torn hearts. I neither wanted to hurt her nor myself. And so I had built an emotional wall to protect us both, a barrier to keep us apart—and now it all came crumbling down. What I had refused to accept rushed from the bottom of my heart to the surface. Maker's Breath! I loved her! I loved her and I would never get the chance to tell her. The realization was pure heartbreaking agony.

"Unfortunately, I still had my clients breathing down my neck," Zevran complained. "They were not happy with me when I murdered Anora instead." He so didn't sound sorry at all. "They gave me one last chance but I hadn't expected the Couldrys to be such ardent patriots. And after Slim's death, I lost my job." He heaved a sigh before adding merrily: "And now I'm my own boss." He chuckled to himself. "And that bodes ill for you, I'm afraid. Bye bye, Alistair!" The blade pressed against my skin but didn't cut. Hope flared up inside of me but then, with a movement so quick I didn't see it coming, he shoved me against the wall and turned me around to face him. The knife was back at my throat at once. "I want to see your face," the elf declared. "I want to see the fear in your eyes, the realization that your life flows out of you with every beat of your slowing heart." He grinned like a blasted maniac. "You will be reunited with your little imp soon," the elf informed me. "She only dies because she gave you happiness. You are responsible for her death."

"I see Rori hasn't gone down without a fight," I remarked dryly with a wry smile once I caught sight of the assassin. A rather useless sensation of pride rose inside of me. Zevran's left eye was black and swollen, deep scratches ran down his face and the side of his neck. A biting mark adorned his cheek, bald spots painted his skull where Rori had ripped out thick strands of blonde hair. At the sight of his destroyed face I figured it was only Zevran telling me Rori was still alive, a tale of hope that she could survive, that he might change his mind about her. He wanted me to beg and cry, to break down in front of him and crawl in the dirt, pleading with him to spare her. And it was only he who guaranteed she was still alive. I wasn't convinced. Quite the contrary. Did I really want to sit here and allow Zevran to slaughter me like a lamb? Blast it! No!

Only once before had I loathed a man. Loghain had murdered my brother and Duncan, my fatherly friend and mentor. I hadn't known until Ostagar how terrible my hatred could be. I hadn't known the scorching flames of hatred before Loghain taught me that lesson. Now, with as much contempt and loathing as I had reserved for Loghain Mac Tir, I spat at Zevran right in the face.

Then everything happened very fast. My spit hit the elf's good eye, blinding him for a brief moment. I dove sideways to avoid the lethal dagger. It missed my throat but dug into my shoulder, slicing through the leather of my armor. Even without sight, Zevran was an opponent to be reckoned with. He stabbed at me, his attacks led by the noise I made when scrambling away. I tripped over the mattress on the floor when jumping out of reach of the dagger wielded at my stomach. Landing on my hindquarters, I entangled myself with the blankets as I tried to get back to my feet. Helplessly wrapped up, I had no chance to evade the elf as he came for me. I raised my arm, covered in blankets to fend him off, trying to keep him away from my exposed throat. I fought with the desperation of a man facing death. Zevran fought with the determination of a man seeking revenge. It wasn't pretty, and he was the one with the knife as I couldn't reach my sword without opening myself up to his attacks. Rolling around on the mattress, we knocked over a candle and another blanket on the floor caught fire. The flames crawled across the wall; the mattress was engulfed in flames and with desperate effort I rolled myself and Zevran away from the fire. And, just my luck, he came to lie on top of me again.

"Die, you son of a bitch!" Zevran shrieked, his face contorted to a mask of frenzied hatred.

That very moment, a crouched figure silently emerged from the shadows and came upon the elf like a wraith. Zevran, noticing the movement at his back, turned just in time for the first blow to hit him straight across the face, breaking his nose. He stumbled backwards, and blinded by tears he raised his knife, waving it at his attacker aimlessly. The wraith dodged with ease and slammed its weapon sharply against the elf's temple. The former Crow collapsed at once without a sound.

Mrs. Couldry whirled her ladle around once, then tucked it into the waistband of her apron with skilled ease. "Language!" she grunted with grim satisfaction, poking the unconscious elf in the side with her foot. "I told you I would bring out my ladle if I ever heard you curse again!"

Whoa!

WHOA!

I swear, Mrs. Couldry could defeat a high dragon with her wooden ladle. Too bad Duncan never got a chance to recruit her. The Blight would have ended in Ostagar. No way the archdemon would have stood a chance against Mrs. Couldry. It would have crawled back underground and told its darkspawn this was not the right century and not the right place for a siege.

"Mrs. ... Mrs. Couldry!" I stammered, still wrapped up in a bundle of blankets like a huge human roulade. Not exactly my most heroic moment. I just couldn't believe it! There was this tiny old lady with her grey hair and wrinkly face and she had just beaten up a former Crow with a ladle as if she had been spanking an impertinent brat. "Wh-what are you doing here?"

"I am here to make sure you live to see tomorrow," Mrs. Couldry snorted as she unwrapped me hurriedly. The flames were licking at the ceiling, consuming anything in their way. The heat was making my eyes water. My skin burned and the smoke took away my breath. "Again." She glowered at me as she helped me back to my feet. "Now get out of here before we both get roasted like a pair of skinless chickens."

"Rori!" I cried, pulling free from Mrs. Couldry's grasp as she dragged me out of the room. "She's somewhere in this house! I have to find her!"