Chapter 5

Ataashi hated the docks. It smelled bad, it was dark, it was always full of drunken sailors, and on more than one occasion he'd been knocked into the sea. Meeting contacts here often ended poorly. He always got paid, of course, his handler saw to that, but sometimes the coin came at a cost. A wet, cold, salty cost. He growled inwardly, hitching up the hood on his cloak to protect him from the spray and counted the lamp posts. The message said the flame in the lamp on the thirteenth post, where he was to await his contact, would be blue. And, in a strange turn of events, his mysterious contact provided Ataashi with the call phrase response. He wasn't sure how to feel about that.

Eleven, Twelve and… there it was. It hadn't taken long to reach the correct dock and the lamp was, indeed, flickering with a flame so blue it was nearly white. There didn't seem to be anyone else around, just himself and the cold salty mistress of the sea. That bitch.

He waited for several minutes, just about to give up and leave the spray and smell to go back to the manor and his warm bed, when he heard a voice.

"The mage's cheeks glisten in the moonlight."

Ataashi choked a bit. He'd only been given the reply phrase, which, granted hadn't really made much sense… until now. The assassin couldn't pinpoint the direction from which the voice came so he recited the second half, trying to mask his surprise, "A handful for each to squeeze."

"Ha," the voice barked. It wasn't a laugh, exactly but it drew Ataashi's gaze upward. There, atop the outstretched arm of the light post, squatted an elf. Bright, russet hair, interesting and distinctive caught Ataashi's eye first. The one side was shaven with a braid at the back, the other side remained loose, gathered and tied to hang just past his shoulders. Though his skin was slightly dark and his ears a bit small, he was obviously Dalish. The vallaslin, a tree just visible in the dim glow lighting the elf from below, gave him away.

"I can't believe you actually said that," he mused, a mischievous twinkle dancing in his strikingly blue eyes. Those eyes looked familiar, he searched his memories quickly, but couldn't place them.

"Well," Ataashi considered, "it wasn't the worst call phrase I've ever heard. That dubious pleasure goes to 'The night is dark' followed by 'and full of bats'. No creativity at all."

The elf made a sound of amusement and hopped down from his perch, gracefully landing on the deck with a hollow thump nowhere near as loud as it ought to have been. Ataashi nodded approvingly though, if one were to judge by the smug expression on the elf's face, he hardly needed it. "So," the assassin asked, "what can I do for you?"

"I," the elf said, walking about the dock with the ease of the purposely disinterested, "have come into possession of some very sensitive information. I would like to pass that on to you."

"Mhm," Ataashi drawled. "And why would you do that, exactly. Seems like sensitive information could land a man like yourself any number of perks. Money, favors, better gloves." He nodded to the elf's hands. His black fingerless gloves clearly showed their wear, patches of light skin flashed through holes.

The elf hid his reaction well, his face betraying nothing, his shoulders shrugging disinterestedly, but Ataashi caught the way he pulled at the wrists of the gloves. "Sometimes," the elf said, "knowledge is its own reward. I don't want money or influence, I want information in return."

"Ah. Finally, something that makes sense. I'm afraid I'm not a spy, information isn't exactly my wheelhouse."

The elf laughed again, gaze falling on Ataashi heavy and searching. "They said you were clever. That's good. I like clever." The elf winked.

"Oh," Ataashi said, amused, "have we reached the flirting portion of the evening? So soon?"

"Yes, yes," the elf said waving a hand, "I get it. You're very witty. Consider it established."

"And handsome, and knowledgeable, and very very good at what I do. So," the assassin said, trying once more to return the conversation to the job, "why don't you tell me what it is I can do for you?"

The elf smiled up at him. He'd moved closer, closing the gap between them, and being a full head shorter made the crane of his slender neck necessary. "I am going to give you this information. No strings, no expectations."

Ataashi furrowed his brow. "And why would you do that? Not really how this contracted killer stuff works, you know. It's usually more 'go here, kill this person, get paid.' I'd like to emphasize that last part. The payment part."

"As I said, all I really want out of this is information. If you do the job you'll see me again after." The elf held out a sheaf of papers. "You'll have to work fast though, the shipment will be in before the midnight bell."

Ataashi opened the file, briefly perusing the papers. Contained within were several Slates. Prominent houses, all. At least half of them were houses Ataashi had been trying to get intel on for months. But, as interesting as those were, even more interesting were the shipping manifests. Several shipments over the past two months arrived in under the listing for "imported goods" but looking at the manifest one thing was very clear. The boats had more food than they had any reason for, excesses of water, the boat bigger than they needed to move most goods. Unless they were bringing in druffalo that pointed to one particular cargo – the elf had just handed him the manifest for a slave ship.

The assassin looked up, his head spinning with questions, but the elf was gone. Vanished without a sound in the handful of seconds he'd taken to look things over. He'd been right. Ataashi had a choice to make and he had to make it now. If this information was correct he could be down at pier twenty-two by the time the ship landed. But if the folder was wrong, or if it was a trap, he could be walking into a very dangerous situation. He knew what he should do, he knew it was a dumb move to go after them like this, unprepared, on a hunch. He could just walk away. He should just walk away.

Ataashi tucked the sheaf into his trousers and took off down the docks in a full sprint, foot falls thumping quietly, drummed out by the beating of the waves as the tide moved in.

…

He got to the twenty-second pier just as the crew started mooring. Ataashi managed to slip, unnoticed, into a shadowed corner, observing the ship. A plank walkway lowered for a man who seemed to be the captain. The man, well-muscled and well-dressed, descended the plank followed by three armed guards. They were shirtless, scarred, intimidating, and carried weapons they clearly knew how to handle. More stood on the dock for the transfer, and several still on the ship for 'handling the cargo.' It was probably reasonable to assume some guards in the hold, as well. All told, at least a dozen, probably closer to twenty.

And here was Ataashi. One man, two daggers, and some shadows. His lips pulled back, bearing his teeth in a dangerous flash of white. Well, he had always liked a challenge.

"Two died on the journey," the captain was saying to a man in long, rich robes, a hood pulled up over his face. Ataashi made a note of the colors, burgundy and gold, though anyone who had been in the trade for more than a second knew not to wear their house's markers. "They were sickly, not my fault."

"I trust," the robed figure was saying, "you secured the bodies, as asked?" There was something off about the voice, it echoed oddly, lending it an otherworldly air.

The captain nodded. "Got 'em in the barrels. Naturally, I'll give you a discount on the cargo, what with some of it being damaged and all."

"Naturally," the man replied, as he looked down at a ledger. "Always good to do business with you, Captain."

Ataashi sighed inwardly at that. He had hopped the ship was just a cargo ship. That the captain had been kept in the dark about the cargo. Couldn't fault a man for taking a job and not looking too closely at it. But it was clear he'd been doing this a long time, which meant it probably made up the bulk of his trade. Slavery was profitable, after all. So it wasn't just the man in the robes, but the captain as well. He'd make notes of them, try to track them down and end their business.

The rage bubbled up, unbidden and unwelcome. He was looking at some of the worst scum on the planet. And what did he do? Crouched in the shadows and watched. He wanted to slip behind them and slash their throats. There was a gang of armed guards, two figures of authority, a ship full of people who needed him and precious little time.

Ataashi slipped out of the shadows and into the light. "Well, isn't this cozy."

…

Feladara moved silently across rooftops toward the pier. He'd been tracking this shipment, waiting for its arrival, plotting. He'd intended to do the job himself, but then the Dragon appeared in the city. The elf rolled his eyes. Really? Dragon? He thought, not for the first time. Qunlat for "Dragon?" What a ridiculous name.

Over the past weeks he researched the assassin, learning his style, his record, following his trail. The last was difficult, as it ended rather abruptly. That alone was a plethora of information. To vanish as completely as it did, Ataashi had to have had significant contacts. That could be useful. So while the trail did not lead to where Feladara had expected, it did lead him to the assassination of Cervidus and he had to admit – that was well-done. It seemed the baby assassin excelled at planning, which made sense given what he knew of the man. However, Feladara predicted, it also meant he'd be somewhat lacking on the opposite end of the spectrum.

If he was being truthful, Ataashi surprised him. Most assassins were self-serving by nature and this one he had expected to be doubly so. Giving him the information he had tonight should have ended a very specific way. Every other assassin he knew would have taken one look at the assignment and dismissed it as foolish. There was no coin, no real information. Slaver ships were notoriously well-guarded, nearly impossible to take by surprise. Da'isenatha had no back up, no reason to trust the elf who had handed him the file, and no plan.

Feladara felt a little leap in his chest as he climbed into the overlook he'd scouted earlier in the day, little more than a nook between two roofs. The baby dragon was just...good. A baffling truth that hit him like a blow the moment Ataashi took off running down the dock to face the impossible. Not because he had any reason to trust the information, but because there might have been a ship full of slaves that no one else cared about.

Ataashi was not one to sit idly by. Feladara had unraveled that the moment he put the connections across his contracts together. About seven, he guessed. Good kills, impressive "accidents." He doubted anyone else drew the dots, found the links. They were all Magisters, but most assassinations were. They were all deplorable people, but most Magisters were. They all practiced Blood Magic, but who in this Creators' damned city didn't? No, with the exception of one death, Feladara's research revealed a pattern: the Slates. Each of the confirmed kills lead to a Magister with a Sanguine Slate. The Dragon was picking off the scum of Thedas.

So he knew the Dragon was a man with a code, he knew he was a man of action, but now, seeing him run off, unprepared into danger, on the word of an elf he didn't know and had no reason to believe? Well, now Feladara knew he was good. And Creators if that wasn't confusing.

He shook his head, crouching low in his hiding place. He'd been here during the day-lit hours, moving crates and barrels to strategic positions around the dock so that they offered convenient cover, leverage points, and escape. No one even questioned him. An elf doing manual labor on the docks? Why, he was just another slave. So he was here when the assassin slipped into a shadow. Ataashi observed before striking even though time was short. A point in his favor. But he didn't wait long enough. He should wait until the chaos of unloading had begun before slipping out and taking them by surprise, but here they were, only just exchanging pleasantries, when Ataashi stepped out of his shade.

"Well, isn't this cozy," he said, a tall black figure, broad chested and projecting a practiced indifference. All eyes turned to him, weapons slid out of sheathes with metallic hisses, clubs hoisted onto shoulders. Feladara groaned inwardly.

Ataashi held up his hands, placating. "Now now," he said, "no need to be so edgy. I was just out for a stroll and saw your very fine ship, and I thought to myself, 'what could such a fine vessel be doing here in the middle of the night? And why is the port master missing from his post?' All very curious, wouldn't you say?"

It was the captain who stepped forward. That was good, at least. The captain would try to buy the assassin off, instead of outright killing him. It would be better to avoid that. Feladara would feel a little guilty. The slaver was a man of ledgers. If paying the stranger off would be cheaper than replacing several of his guardsmen, that would be the preferable route.

"It's dangerous to be on the docks at night, friend," the captain said. His teeth flashed in a smile that didn't so much as touch his eyes. "Stories like this one don't often end well for passersby."

Attashi smiled back. Feladara had to admit, he did look like he knew what he was doing. To the guards probably. Maybe even the magister and the captain. "Are you going to tell me a story?"

The captain stroked his beard slowly. "Aye. The way I see it, you wandered out here on a late-night walk." The man tossed a small pouch. It landed with a loud clink just before Ataashi's feet. "You had a wonderful stroke of fortune and found a small pouch of coin. Then your feet carried you home."

The captain waited. Most likely expecting the man to bend over, retrieve the coin, and be on his way. Ataashi did eye the pouch, but did not move to grab it. "Not a very interesting story," he quipped.

Feladara covered his eyes and shook his head. Now would have been a good time to make them think he was going to slip away, then, when they were at ease attack without warning. Ataashi chose to provoke instead.

"Interesting?" The captain said, smiling that dangerous smile again. "Perhaps not. But it has a happy ending. There's another way the story can go, but it's a tragic tale." Ataashi crossed his arms and nodded, waiting on the captain, calling him out. "Poor man, just out for walk, ran afoul of some muggers. Beat him to death. Took his coin. Only left the empty pouch."

Ataashi bobbed his head slowly. "That is tragic," he agreed solemnly. The guards on the ship seemed to have been bored by the exchange. Their eyes wandered, some picked at their nails or teeth with the point of a knife. Feladara could see some of the guards on the pier losing interest in the exchange as well. They were probably all used to this kind of transaction for dealing with unwanted attention. All the sweet summer child had to do was take the coin and act like he was leaving.

But did he?

Ataashi toed the sack with his boot, flicking it back over to the captain who caught it against his chest. "Not particularly interested in slaver's coin," he spat.

Feladara winced. Well, now he'd see the man in action, at least. The captain sighed, stepping back and signaling the closest goons. They closed the gap and strode toward the assassin. He didn't seem fazed but a slow smile split his face. Creators, the man looked positively delighted. When the guards were within weapon's reach the assassin moved. Well, at least he was fast if not subtle. The two guards went down before anyone really realized what was happening. Blood bloomed hot and fast across the dirt white of their loose shirts. It seemed Ataashi favored stabs to slashes. How interesting. Stabs took more effort and more time, but it seemed the Dragon had an intimate knowledge of anatomy, piercing deliberate spots as opposed to placing the blade anywhere it would stick.

Of course then the captain signaled and all the remaining guards, about seven braces by his count, charged from the dock and down the plank from the ship. Swords, knives, clubs and spears all turned toward the assassin who, because he had slid between the smaller threat of the two guards, was now right in the middle of the pier's thrust. Feladara's hands slid back, drawing his twin-bladed daggers.

Ataashi now had precious few options. He could go into the water. He wouldn't be able to stop them after that, but he could get away. He could move backward down the dock, hoping he didn't trip on the bodies he had made, or slip on their blood. That, at least, would offer him more maneuverability. He could try to climb onto the ship. He was probably more likely to fall into the drink than actually make the leap, but it was a choice.

Ataashi chose to walk backward. A good a choice as any. Provided he had decent proprioception and could navigate the dock without having to take his eyes off the advancing threats, it might even be the right choice.

The guards pressed in as the assassin steadily placed one foot behind the other. He stepped over the bodies effortlessly but the goons circled around. Half avoided the bodies all together, half surged forward.

"Dammit," Feladara hissed to himself. "They're flaking you, Da'isenatha."

He waited, watching and hoping Ataashi would do something clever and impress him. Prove him wrong. Maybe even not get killed. The assassin backed down the pier and set himself in a corner. It was smart. Ataashi thought he was all alone and with no one to guard his back at least this way they couldn't charge him from behind. But he couldn't free himself either. Even from his perch Feladara could see the Dragon's eyes had gone wild, like a trapped animal. He reached out, pulling on the edge of the glove on his left hand.

Feladara didn't wait to see what trick he was going to try. There was little chance of his survival if the elf didn't intervene. He'd given the assassin the job to see him in action, not get him killed. He slipped from the rooftop silently and made a bird call. The guards looked up but Ataashi, to Feladara's great relief, actually looked in the direction of the sound. He caught the assassin's eye for a mere moment, and gestured for him to cover his eyes. Then, without waiting to see if the sweet baby assassin did as he was told, the elf tossed a flash flask in the center of the group.

Bright white light bloomed, making the guards call out in confusion and cover their eyes. Too late. Feladara slid in, dancing between them with nimble steps and graceful spins. His dual-bladed daggers slashed through the air, blurs of red and black in the night, connecting with flesh that offered no more resistance than soft cheese. Crimson splattered around him from cuts both shallow and slick. Cries died in strangled gurgles as throats split open. Some of the guards lived – those who turned to flee. He let them. The ones that stayed to challenge him, however, those ones found their death slow and painful, covered in scores of cuts as they bleeding out. A blood mage could have a field day with this massacre. Good thing the magister had already fled.

Feladara stopped moving at last, his breath coming hard. To his left the baby assassin looked a bit moonstruck, but he hadn't been blinded and he held a stance of readiness. There were still some guards down the pier, and the captain to dispatch. At least, it seemed, Ataashi knew the fight wasn't over.

Feladara sauntered over to the captain and knelt before him, lazily wiping the blood from his daggers' blades with a clean spot on the tunic of one of the guards Ataashi had felled. "I didn't care much for your story," he drawled.

The captain drew his sword as the elf stood and held it out in a shaking hand. One blade he tucked away, the other he spun idly between his fingers. "Don't much care for you, either, Frederick Livingstone. Got a bit of dwarf in your line? You look it, all square and muscled. And that name, that's a Deep Roads name if I ever heard one."

The captain looked confused and frightened. Good. "Wha… why are you talking about my name?"

"Because you shame your ancestors," Feladara said. "Slaving? Good coin, sure, but hardly honest work." He could hear Ataashi moving behind him, coming closer. "Order your men below to unchain the slaves, then order them to leave. If one lifts a weapon or hand against me, you all die."

The captain growled. "You don't honestly expect me to part with my cargo," he scoffed. "I've been in business this long because I adhere to one rule: I don't part with money or goods I don't have to."

The shuffling of Ataashi stopped somewhere to his left and back. "You've been in this business for this long for one reason and one reason only, shem," Feladara laughed wickedly.

"Oh," Captain Livingstone asked disdainfully, "and what reason is that?"

"You avoided me," the elf hissed through his teeth, dangerous and sharp. "Now, do as I say."

He did. From inside the ship's hold came the rattling of chains, sounds of confusion and dismay. Then the guards came out, walked down the plank, and, after double checking their orders, retreated down the pier to find a tavern. They were lucky. Feladara smiled and turned around to face Ataashi. It put Captain Livingstone at his back, a move that was almost guaranteed to provoke the man into attacking. Ataashi's eyes went wide a fleeting moment before he charged past. Feladara spun just in time to see the assassin bend down, tuck his shoulder into the Captain's abdomen, tackling him. Before the pair fell into the bay with a loud splash, Feladara saw a blade slip between Livingstone's ribs. A few minutes of splashing later Ataashi, wet, dripping, but unharmed, hauled himself back onto the dock.

He flopped over onto his back on the wood. "I hate the docks," he panted. "I hate the ocean."

"Then why did you choose this moment to take a swim?" Feladara asked, amusement crinkling his eyes and coloring his words.

"Wha," Ataashi objected rolling over and climbing to his hands and knees. "Because he was trying to run you through with his sword!"

Feladara let out a soft breath of air that was almost a chuckle. "Of course he was, Dragonling, I turned my back to him."

Ataashi stood. "Yeah, that was dumb. Rookie mistake. Don't beat yourself up over it."

He barked a short laugh, gone as soon as it had come, but he was truly tickled by what he heard. "Oh, sweet summer child," he said, walking forward and meeting Ataashi at the end of the pier. "I really wanted to kill him. Better to let him think otherwise. Cockiness often overcomes good sense."

"I am not a child," Ataashi huffed. "I've got to have at least five years on you!"

Feladara smiled, just a tiny quirk of his lips, pulling up at one corner so quickly it was little more than a twitch. "You'd think you could have used some of that time to work on your sloppy footwork, Da'isenatha."

Ataashi opened his mouth to object again and the elf just couldn't help himself. He took one easy step forward, placing his foot behind the taller man, distracting him by moving into his personal space. He was all batting lashes and innocence looking up at him. A hand, coy and flirtatious, lingered on his chest – and then he pushed. Ataashi's face became a mask of confusion and then resigned understanding as he tumbled back into the water.

Ataashi reemerged eventually, dragging himself back out of the water and onto the dock, soaked and sulky, looking like nothing so much as a puppy who had been forced to take a bath. The elf snorted, vaguely charmed by the sight, and leaned down, offering him a hand up. "Sorry," he said, still chuckling, "I couldn't resist."

Ataashi nodded, looking contrite. "I probably deserved it."

The shuffling on the deck of the ship drew their focus. The cargo – men, women, and children of varying ages and races – emerged and looked down at the pair of them. "I have to take care of this, Dragonling. Won't take but a minute. Go down to the Ebb and Flow. It's a dive, but I know the owner. We can talk there."

Honestly, Feladara had expected the man to argue, but he must have been truly miserable, covered in seawater as he was, because he just nodded and trudged off down the pier.

…

Ataashi sipped his ale. It was sour and terrible. Wet and hungry and cold as he was he must have painted quite the brooding picture. When he took the seat in the corner all tables around it had mysteriously cleared, leaving him in a perfect half-circle of emptiness. Which was fine by him. This night had not gone as planned. He kicked himself, staring into his mug. For a night to go as planned you had to have a plan. He shouldn't have taken the job. He's almost resorting to blowing his cover, he almost let the traders get away, and he had ended up taking a swim. Two swims!

"Oh, you shouldn't drink the ale," a voice said, close but Ataashi hadn't heard anyone approach. On the rough wooden bench across the table sat the elf who had contracted him. Who had saved him. He didn't know if he wanted to punch him or thank him. As a compromise he passed the elf a second mug.

"Ataashi," he said by way of introduction.

"Feladara," the elf replied, raising the mug and drinking from it. He grimaced, as he swallowed the acerbic liquid. "Quite the display, back there."

Ataashi barked a bitter laugh. "A comedy of errors," he agreed. "Clearly you didn't need me. So what was the point? Why go to the trouble?"

"I've been in Tevinter a while," Feladara replied. "Been doing work like you saw tonight. Got to know the players. Then, suddenly there's a new player on the scene. Pre-vetted. That was bound to draw some attention." He sipped again, barely grimacing this time. "I've got to say, I'm impressed with the things you've done in Tevinter. The contracts you've accepted, the world is brighter for their deaths. Buuuuut," he drawled, "that drew attention too. Most assassins don't care about the target, just the pay."

"So, what," Ataashi asked, turning the wooden mug in his fingers. It was leaking. "You contracted me because you were curious?"

The elf smiled. Hardly a twitch of his lips, but his blue eyes twinkled and for a moment his breath caught in his throat. "There's a better reason?" Ataashi smirked. "Besides, I was curious. Those hits were impressive, actually. Elaborate. Every inch of them screamed accident. I kinda expected them to look too coincidental, but you made them messy enough. How many since you arrived in Tevinter?"

Ataashi tried to suppress his smile. "A dozen," he answered, drinking. Why am I just telling him these things? It was a good question. He could have said anything, refused to say, offered a re-direct or an outright lie, but he didn't. There was something about the elf that made him speak true.

The elf let out a long low whistle. "Impressive indeed," he said sincerely. "I'd only pegged your for seven, eight maybe." Ataashi felt oddly pleased, warmth spreading through him.

"But there's a reason you only take contracts like that," the elf continued, and he felt his stomach knot. He couldn't know about the Slates, could he? "You're good at planning," he whispered, a conspiratorial glint flashing in his eyes. "Given time, even if it's a crunch, you can plan something that is juuuuust right. But in the moment?" Feladara smirked, letting the question hang.

"That's why you gave me the information," he said, realization dawning. His jaw fell open, his eyes went wide. "You wanted to see how I handled improvisation. It was a test." The elf nodded. "And you got your answer," he sighed dejectedly.

"Oh yes," Feladara chuckled. "You proved your youth," he agreed. "But you're perceptive. I'll give you that. The jab about my gloves? That was well-placed."

Ataashi felt the little bloom of pride returning. Somewhere, far north of him, his lover was amused. It mingled with the pride, forcing him to smile. "Well," he said nodding to the worn leather that covered the elf's palms, "You could use a new pair."

"And elf in Tevinter wearing a pair of new gloves, Ataashi?" he scoffed. "I might as well wear a sign that says 'I'm not a slave. Be suspicious of me!'" Well, he thought, that's a good point. There were not many free elves in Tevinter, and there were even fewer slaves with masters generous enough to keep their clothing in good repair.

"You," the elf continued, "on the other hand. You're dressed well. Not richly, but leather armor, dapple-dyed cloak, gloves so new the black suede isn't worn down, not even on your palms. If I didn't know better I'd just assume you're a good enough assassin to have made considerable coin." He sipped, letting the quip linger between them. Ataashi furrowed his brow. Hadn't he just been complimenting him?

"But twelve jobs in four months? Even with the rush charge you aren't making enough for this ensemble. And, let's be honest, I saw you in action tonight. You haven't been taking other jobs on the side. So, I do know better." Feladara winked at him. "Those clothes say something else to me."

"And what's that?" Ataashi asked a little defensively.

"You're used to having money to spend," the elf replied easily. "You're not from Tevinter, though. So you're not some revolutionary from a high house. From the south then, I'm guessing. Some minor noble family. Money enough so you don't wonder about where your next meal comes from, but not enough to convince you being an assassin is stupid."

There was something oddly comforting about the way Feladara talked to him. He wasn't resorting to empty flattery, like the Alta, nor was he lying. He was friendly, almost. Making small jokes that landed without the heat of insults. He seemed… genuine. A genuine assassin. Who knew such a creature existed?

"'Guessing', he says," Ataashi smirked.

"Educated," the Feladara admitted, that amusement lighting his eyes once more. "That being said, I have a proposition for you."

"Oh," Ataashi said raising his voice ever so slightly and looking around the room. "You hear that? He's propositioning me. And we've only had one date."

Feladara barked a short laugh, an actual smile there and gone in a flash of white teeth. "Tempting," he said into his tankard. He took a long pull and set it back down. "But until you learn not to announce yourself to the targets, I probably shouldn't become too emotionally invested."

Ataashi felt the blood rush to his face, hot and red. "That was not my finest moment," he agreed, ducking his head and hiding the red face in his mug as he let the sour ale pucker his tongue.

"That's okay, 'da'isenatha," Feladara said soothingly. "We all started somewhere." He reached out, resting his hand on Ataashi's wrist briefly. It was gone in a second, back on the wooden tankard. "Look, clearly you had a good teacher. But you left them behind?" Ataashi nodded. "So, run with me."

Ataashi blinked. "What? Why?"

The elf let out a low, long-suffering sigh. "Creators, it's a good thing you're pretty." He shook his head before leaning low over his mug and fixing Ataashi with a serious gaze. "Okay, cards on the table. There's precious few good people in this cesspit. Even fewer are clever and good. You took one look at that manifest, worked out the truth of what I had handed you, and jumped right in. No plan, nothing. Smart? No. But you had to do it.

"Now, I figure it would be a waste if you got a blade between your ribs just because you don't know how to watch your back. So, let me watch it for you. Until you can do for yourself," Feladara assured.

"You saw the part where I fell in the bay, right?" Ataashi said dumbly.

Feladara's lips quirked up to the right. "Best laugh I've had in weeks. But you did fall in because you were trying to protect me. Didn't need it, of course, but intention counts for a lot," he concluded somewhat awkwardly.

Ataashi smiled, a candid, unrestrained grin. "Humility is a new sensation for you, isn't it?"

The elf rolled his eyes and finished his ale, scraping his chair across the wooden floor as he stood. "Let's go somewhere that serves real food."

Ataashi focused his attention on the bond. Amusement, a hint of longing, and a great deal of exasperation. He wouldn't be missed at home for a while as his lover was clearly still otherwise engaged. "I bought the ale," he said, standing to follow, "food's on you."

"You paid for that ale?" The elf exclaimed as they left. "Did you let the server flank you too?"

They walked. Amused laughter and embarrassed grumbling mixing with the slow slap of sea waves on the pier.

AN: A wild elf appears!

*SQUEEEEEEEEEEE* OMG I have been waiting to give you this chapter forever. For. Ev. Er. *bounces*

I am sure you have all the questions and theories now. *mwahaha* Thank you for sticking with me. I hope you're love our new addition as much as I do.

Also, please visit the page, if you feel inclined. There are tons of levels but for as little as $5/mo you will get access to author's posts, chapter drafts, and doodles! I will, of course, continue to write regardless, this isn't for the fic just a show of support :). ( rikkitikkicathy)

Thank you for reviewing! *Heart*

~Love!