After a long, unplanned hiatus due to real life issues, Failed to Fail is back again. :D Thanks to all wonderful people who supported me, poked me, send me lovely reviews. Even if I didn't reply, each of them was like a little ray of light that made my day nicer. :)
Special thanks to ShebasDawn for her help and comments and the title. :D
The character introduced in the last part is not so completely knew - more about her, Erwin and how they met Air is in the chapter 10 of Ice and Leather - Enchanted Life.
I hope you'll enjoy the chapter. :)
Shockwaves from the Past
Nobody right in their mind would ever confuse Airam with a dwarf. And as Alistair and Farren insisted they wanted to come as well, the visit to the dwarven camp had to be planned differently. As a result, the next day started much better. They could get up at a more normal hour (though still disgustingly early, if someone bothered to ask Zevran, but nobody did), have a proper breakfast, and, most importantly, get there in Arl Eamon's cart. Alistair's legs were apparently too royal to walk at any distance bigger than between his suite and a dining hall, as Farren noted, which turned Alistair's face into a lovely shade of crimson.
The dwarves had better intelligence than the humans, as they were already expected when they arrived. Well, expected might be a too weak word for it– the road to the commanders' tents were lined up with dwarves. All casteless, as far as they could see.
"How peculiar," Airam drawled, looking at Farren.
"Indeed, Commander," he replied, with innocent wide eyes, "I have no idea how they found out we were coming."
"Of course you don't, Farren. I'd be very annoyed and disappointed if one of the Wardens did things behind my back that could ruin my plan completely," Airam said in the same innocent voice. "How can I think of managing an army, if I can't control two people?"
Farren had at least enough decency to look embarrassed.
"But, maybe we could use it," Airam continued, before his wayward recruit could start apologizing. "You and Al should go and meet them. They love you as their heroes for your amazing work in Dust Town. They'll be more open to you." He leaned out of the window to give the driver a sign to stop.
"What about you?" Alistair asked.
"I'll go meet the generals." Airam sighed. "I'd much prefer to join you, but we don't have time for that. Don't forget we're going to visit the elves in the afternoon. So it's better to split up. Have fun, but keep your eyes open. I don't trust Bhelen and I want to be sure casteless warriors are treated well."
"Let me guess. You intended to send us off from the beginning, anyway." Alistair frowned, but before he could start another poorly-timed argument, Farren put hand on his shoulder.
"Understood, Commander," he said, ignoring Alistair's glares. "When do you want us to report?"
"If you want to come with us to the Dalish camp, at lunch time. Al, you, at least, should come. If you want to stay here, Farren, just be back in the castle for dinner."
"Naah. I don't miss the Dusters that much," Farren replied with a grin. "We'll come to Kardol's tent for lunch. I bet he'll have much better food than common soldiers, anyway."
Zevran peeked through the window to watch Alistair and Farren's glorious welcome. They both seemed to enjoy it quite a bit. "That went well. Farren really didn't know about your plan?"
"No. And I had no idea about this. He's quite resourceful, I'll give him that, but his cheeky comments and silly ideas are sometimes real trouble."
"Oh? You know that description reminds me of someone," he said, arching his brow.
Airam laughed. "Really? Whoever do you have in mind?" But then he sighed. "That's why I'm so worried about today," he admitted. "I hate these negotiations. There's a thing that needs to be done, or people will die. There's a way, and people willing to do it. I'll never understand why that is not enough. Why do we always have to beg some stupid nobles to let us do our job?"
Zevran had several answers to that, but now was not the time. "You'll do fine. Just stick to the plan, yes? Think of it this way: if we're successful today, then tomorrow will be easy – and then you'll be free to do as you wish, without any interfering nobles. Yes?"
The cart stopped. Zevran peeked through the window again. There were several dwarves waiting outside – and one of them was Kardol. Good.
"Head up," he said to Airam. "And if things go badly, don't forget your trump card."
"What trump card?"
"That the barley doesn't grow underground."
Finally, he was laughing again.
oOo
An hour later, and they had only managed to get through the greetings and some small talk about Orzammar. Why did dwarven nobles always have to be so proper? Good thing Kardol and his men were there as well. He was sure he heard Airam softly muttering 'barley tax' twice or thrice. If those noble pompous fools continued like this, Airam would forget all about the plan and say something true and sincere, but undiplomatic. He shot a pleading glance at Kardol.
"I apologize for my improper manners, Warden Commander," Kardol said. "But I believe you had more a pressing reason to visit us than polite talk."
Bhelen's generals glared at him indignantly. Zevran carefully schooled his face into a neutral expression. It wouldn't do, to start laughing now–but these four dummies made it quite difficult. There couldn't be more difference between them and Kardol's men.
The Legionnaires were stern and tough warriors that made one believe in the legend that the dwarves were born from the stone. They were dressed in simple black tunics with the delicate silver brand of the Legion on their chest, though Zevran would bet they had chainmail underneath it. They were not armed–the dwarven protocol forbade carrying weapons to the negotiations–but even without their axes, they looked formidable.
Bhelen's generals, on the other hand, were a display of colours. Egill Guirson, the general, even had gemstones weaved into his beard. They looked like deshyrs primped for a ball at the royal palace, not generals at a war council. If they had hoped that showing off their wealth and power would gain them respect from the Warden Commander, they were in for a dire disappointment.
"Yes." Airam smiled gratefully at Kardol. "But first, I'd like to ask about the former casteless. Do they have their own general?"
"They are happy they know how to hold the sword, let alone lead the army," muttered one of the pompous fools. Airam's eyes narrowed, but before he could comment on it, Guirson silenced the dwarf with a stern look.
"There is no separate army of casteless, Warden. All warriors are a part of King Bhelen's army, regardless of their origin or social status before their enlistment. One army, under one commander. Again, it is not due to our disregard for these men, but merely a necessary measure for the sake of efficient management and control of the army."
Airam beamed. "One army under one commander? How intriguing! That's exactly what I came to discuss with you..."
oOo
Two and half hours later, after a lot of sweet-talk, a bit of mild threatening, quoting from the contract with King Bhelen, which Airam wisely took with him, and a lot of defamation of most human nobles, the agreement was finally reached.
The dwarves were not exactly jumping with joy, but in the end they admitted that it was indeed best to have one army under one commander, and that it would be more advantageous if said commander was a Warden, not some human noble twat. Nobles rarely knew anything about warfare, and were full of racist prejudices, Airam declared, which made the dwarves shift uncomfortably. But, he added with an innocent smile, dwarves were different. They had an entire caste of Warriors! Not like humans, who had no idea how to fight–just look at the Ostagar fiasco–and yet they felt superior, calling the other races humanoids.
Yes, it was for the best that Alistair went with Farren.
Kardol's men mostly watched, amused. They didn't have any problem temporarily submitting to the Warden Commander, for the sake of stopping the Blight.
"But this idea you have of everyone working together, humans with elves, dwarves, and even mages on top of that..." Kardol shook his head. "To tell the truth, I can't imagine it. If it was anyone else, I would say it's impossible. But, if it's you..."
"Thank you," Airam said, with a serious face. "I am honoured that the leader of the Legionnaires believes in me so much. But this time, I can't do it by myself. I will need your help tomorrow, Kardol. You know best what's at stake; you know the most about what a threat the darkspawn are. We must make the others understand, and focus all our force on stopping them, or all is lost. If we are not united tomorrow, we won't stand a chance against the horde."
"Do not worry, Warden–or should I say, Captain General. You will have my support tomorrow... and I think we can do more than just tell them about the danger..."
"What do you have in mind?" Airam asked, but Kardol just grinned. "Leave it to us, Captain General. I have few ideas, but as I don't know what will be possible in such a short time, I will not say it now. Grant me an audience an hour before the council tomorrow, and I will explain everything."
Airam stared at the dwarf as if he had said he wanted to shave. "You know, in the almost year that I have tried to fight the Blight and gather an army, this is the first time ever that someone said, 'leave it to us'."
Kardol chuckled. "Don't be mistaken, I'm not doing you favour, Captain General. Soon you won't have time to piss, with all the work that's expected of you. You may yet yearn for the return of those peaceful days when you were travelling around the country, with nothing more to worry about than a few darkspawn."
oOo
"So, can the two of you explain to me why those dwarves were talking to me as if I were a retarded mabari pup?" Alistair demanded.
It was early afternoon, and they were headed to the Dalish camp. Here on the surface, Zevran found the dwarven kitchen much less satisfying than those in the depths of Orzammar. Must be the lack of nugs. The rattling of the cart didn't help at all. That was the sole reason why Zevran decided it was safer to keep his mouth shut, for once. It had nothing to do to with the urge to laugh at the future king's adorable perplexedness, yes?
Alistair gave him a suspicious look. "Nothing to say?"
"Nothing to say," Airam confirmed with a shrug. "They were nobles and Bhelen's men. What other explanation do you need?"
"I guess that's true..."
"Of course it's true. Now, better tell me if you have a plan to convince the elves that they should work with humans and dwarves."
There was a moment of awkward silence and exchanged glances.
"I thought you'd use your standard plan," Alistair said. "You know–improvising."
Farren snickered, but stopped quickly at a furious glance from Airam.
"Oh, ha... Ha. So funny, Al. Just wait till tomorrow. I'll leave everything to you. You're the crown prince, after all. You need to practice these things."
'You wouldn't!"
"Wouldn't I?"
"As your king, I forbid it!"
"As your commander, I order it. And remember Al–being Warden has priority above everything else."
That was too much even for Zevran. "Ah, Alistair. Surely you know by now that starting a skirmish with our fearless leader is almost as futile as with Morrigan, no?"
Alistair sighed. "I will learn, one of these days."
"What do you mean, almost?" Airam demanded. "And besides, it's not a skirmish and it's not a joke. I won't leave everything to you, don't worry, but you will have to greet them, support me, butter them up or be adamant, as necessary. We'll go over that when we're back at the castle, but I suspect you will have to improvise tomorrow. A lot."
It was a sensible idea – though Zevran doubted Alistair saw it as such. The Crown prince's expression could be used as a textbook illustration of 'utter terror'.
"And you're only telling me now? I need to prepare!"
"That's why you're here," Airam replied. "You met the dwarves, you know what their soldiers need; now we'll meet elves. All that will help tomorrow. And you'll have a whole evening to prepare your opening speech. It doesn't have to be long – no, it mustn't be long; just a few diplomatic words about how great a help all of them will be in the Blight, and so on. I'm sure Leli will help you."
Alistair didn't seem much reassured, but he didn't protest, either. Zevran was impressed. The two young Wardens were growing up...
"All right. Just don't be surprised if I give them a lecture on the best Fereldan cheeses."
"No, I counted on that part. Support of domestic production has a significant role in providing funds for the army."
...Well, maybe not that much.
oOo
The welcome in the Dalish camp was much less spectacular. Two grim and taciturn guards informed them that the Keepers wanted to meet them, and led them through the narrow paths that wound between the clutter of aravels. Anyone without a guide would have a hard time finding where the Keepers were. Zevran frowned. A good tactic against shemlen, perhaps, but not so much against darkspawn. And too different from the others – it would be more difficult to integrate into one army.
This was the visit he was most worried about. Humans and dwarves were easy to deal with, if you knew what worked on them. Proud, stubborn elves were much more difficult to appease. Oh, they would be polite and friendly; they would act like wise, kind parents that only had your best interests at heart, up to the point you dared to disagree or question them. It was like that with Zathrian and it was like that with –
Brasca! Zevran cursed, as another name and face emerged from the mists of the past he was trying to forget. If that guy appeared at the meeting, things would go much worse... and would Airam believe he didn't keep it a secret on purpose?
With each step, he was becoming more and more anxious, though he didn't let it show on his face, naturally. He kept chatting with Farren, explaining the little he knew about the Dalish to him, much to the annoyance of their guides, judging by their stiff shoulders.
Finally, they came to a big clearing, cleverly obscured from view by the aravels. In the middle, a big campfire was lit, and twenty or so elves sat around it. Most were in their fifties, serene and distinguished, talking in hushed voices. When the guards announced them, all talk stopped. The Keepers and their Firsts got up and introduced themselves, but Zevran didn't pay much attention. He searched for the one face he knew – and there he was, chatting with a man next to him as if he didn't care about the arrival of the Wardens. But his stiff posture and determinedly avoiding looking in the Wardens' direction told Zevran everything he needed to know.
The man saw him. And remembered all too well who he was. And wasn't happy at all to see him again.
When it was finally Keeper Benat of the Ellarian clan's turn to introduce himself, he pretended not to know who Zevran was; in fact, he acted as if Zevran wasn't even there. Naturally, Airam noticed, and shot a questioning glance at Zevran, but when the only answer was a slight shrug, he let it pass.
Oh, this should be fun.
oOo
At first, everything went smoothly. They were sitting around the big fire, drinking delicious mead; and when, after the obligatory chatting about weather and bad crops, they moved to the main topic, the Keepers all listened without objections. Yes, they understood and approved of the need for a united army, following the commands of a single commander. It was a wise decision – unity, after all, was always the key to survival.
The only problem they had was who should be that commander. There were a few – and Keeper Benat was the most vocal – that insisted it should be a Dalish.
Zevran watched him, surprised. Physically, there wasn't much difference. His hair was more grey, the eyes more watery, and the stern lines between the eyes and around the mouth were deeper. Other than that, Benat looked exactly like he had eight years ago. But... had he always been such a pitiful fool?
Eight years ago he was so majestic and noble. Everything he said was like a word from Dirthamen, wise and true, and nobody dared to question it. Now... now he was just an unkind, shrewish old man. Average, at best. How could he change so much? This was the man he begged on his knees to let him stay, who decided his destiny with one word?
Airam was slowly losing patience with the man as well.
"As I said. The Commander must be a Grey Warden – a neutral party, acceptable for all allies," he said for at least the twentieth time.
"How convenient that there are only two – you and the human king," Benat snapped. "At least have enough courage to say you want it for yourself, Warden."
There was a moment of silence after that; some of the Keepers shifted uneasily in their seats. Benat had apparently said aloud what they were all thinking.
"Convenient?" Airam asked softly; Zevran couldn't help smirking when he heard the tone. It was the tone their fearless leader used to shut up Morrigan and Alistair when their quarrels went too far.
"Convenient?" he repeated, as he stood up and looked around himself. "I and my companions have spent almost a year travelling across the land, negotiating with humans, dwarves and elves, doing the dirty jobs they didn't want to do themselves, just for a chance of standing against the Blight-"
"That's right, Warden – you shouldn't forget that it's you asking a favour from us," Benat cut in, followed by the approving murmur of several other Keepers.
"I. Am asking you. For a favour." Airam glared at Benat, then at the others. "No, you deluded fool. I am here because your ancestors were intelligent enough to realize they don't stand a chance against the Blight. That is why they signed a contract with the Grey Wardens to provide forces as necessary – here, read."
He pulled out a leather sleeve from his breast pocket and handed it to the nearest Keeper. "Third paragraph, if you please. The first two are just opening phrases."
The Keeper blinked, but obeyed. She took out the old parchment from the envelope and carefully smoothed it on her knees. "... we, the Keepers of – ah! they – they are all named here! All the clans! Even Merilinor and- "
"Yes, they are all listed there," Airam cut in. "You can read it all later. I can even make a copy for each of you, but would you please be so kind as to skip to the oath now?"
The Keeper gave him a disgusted look, but nodded. "we... hereby declare and affirm that we will be faithful and bear true allegiance to the Grey Wardens, and in times of need, provide all necessary support to vanquish the darkspawn evil that is a threat to all races and nations of Thedas. Should Grey Wardens call, we hereby swear that all Dalish able to fight will hear the call and come, follow their lead, and fight until such time as the Archdemon is slain and the lands safe from its hordes again, or until we perish and all hope is gone."
There was dead silence after she finished; even Benat and his supporters didn't have anything to say. Airam carefully folded the parchment again, returned it to the sleeve and tucked it back into his pocket. Then he glared at Benat again.
"I am here because I was told the Dalish, the keepers of the lore of their ancestors, are honourable people who keep their word. The time of need has indeed come, and the Grey Wardens called. If you wish to break the oath and cancel the contract, then say so. Ferelden will fall if you do. All the forests here will rot with taint. But I swear this: I will make sure all the nations and races of Thedas know the part the Dalish had in it."
"There is no need for such harsh words, Warden Commander," one of the Keepers said quickly. "We don't intend to break the oath. You called and we arrived, as you see."
"Not all of us are with Keeper Benat," Lanaya added. "We did not forget what you did for us, Warden Commander."
"And what exactly has he done? He caused the death of one of our most respected Keepers, and it had never been properly investigated-"
"That is enough." All murmuring died as another Keeper stood up – the oldest one and one of the few whose name Zevran had bothered to remember. Rannor, the keeper of the Ralaferin clan, had the posture and authority of the king of Arlathan. Three words, without raising his voice, and everyone sat silently with their heads bowed, like kids scolded by a caring but strict grandfather.
"I'm sorry you had to witness such a shameful scene, Warden Commander. Keeper Benat apparently takes us all for fools," he said, with a sideway glance toward Benat, who cringed but didn't dare say anything.
"Years ago, Keeper Benat couldn't overcome his personal grudge. He broke the tradition of our people and caused a grave injustice," Rannor continued. "I believe his behaviour today is another attempt at admitting his error."
Zevran froze, staring at the man. He couldn't possibly mean – no, that was ridiculous. How would he even know what had happened? Besides... was it truly an error? Back then, it hurt, yes. But if Benat had decided otherwise, he would have brought danger to his clan. The Crows wouldn't-
He blinked, as the old man looked directly at him and gave him a sad smile. "What was done cannot be rectified; but I am glad that you found a way to change your fate. Still, know this – our arms will always be open for you, child."
Everyone was staring at him now, some confused, some with pity. He squirmed on the bench, trying to think of anything he could say to that, but thankfully, the old Keeper was not waiting for a response.
"I give you my word, Warden, that the Elvhenan will fully support you tomorrow. You have more than proved yourself worthy of our trust. If we have to work with humans to defeat the Blight, we shall do so."
Airam bowed his head. "Thank you, Keeper Rannor. I will do my best not to fail your trust." He looked at the man, smiling. "It would be my honour to welcome you at the meeting tomorrow, Keeper," he said. "Now, please excuse us. There is still much left to do."
They left followed by surprised looks and hasty murmurs; nobody tried to convince them to stay a bit longer. A pity. The mead was good.
oOo
"What was that about?" Alistair asked the moment the door of the carriage closed behind them.
Zevran shrugged. It was all in the past. Rannor's words were touching, but didn't mean anything. "My mother was Dalish. As I child, I used to dream what it would be like, to live in the forest, hunting wild beast, travelling around the world... Very exciting, no? Eight years ago, after I became a full Crow, I found out a Dalish clan was camping near the village where my mark lived. I visited them, asked them if I could stay with them. The Keeper let me stay with them for a week, but then he came and told me I am not suitable for such life. By that time, I came to the same conclusion. So when he told me to return to the Crows, I did. Truly, it was not worth of today's drama."
Alistair and Farren were placated by his casual tone and smile, but Airam was livid. "That bastard," he hissed through clenched teeth. "What kind of a sick man sends a child back to the Crows? Good thing I didn't know. I don't know if I could control myself. I'd freeze him solid."
"Ah, bello mio, I appreciate the emotion, but that man is not worthy of being upset. Besides, if I stayed with Dalish, I would not get the mission to dispose of two Grey Wardens in Ferelden-"
"You know, Air, he's right. They would have sent someone competent instead – we could have been dead already," Alistair cut in.
Zevran coughed and continued as if he didn't hear it. "And what would you do, without my marvellous self? Without my ridiculously awesome work with daggers-"
"You mean ridiculous," Alistair cut in again.
"my unmatched wit-"
"That one is true, yes. I've never seen any smaller."
"or my massages?"
"Yes, because – what? What massages? Air, what is he talking about? You mean you and him are – ewww! And ewww again!"
"I'm not sure I understand, Your Highness. Every Friday, I give the Warden Commander a massage of shoulders and back – very helpful after walking and fighting, yes? But what could you mean? Do tell."
Alistair blushed and stuttered, so cute in his embarrassment it was impossible not to laugh. He watched Airam tease his friend, and the last trace of the bitterness he still carried in his heart melted away. If he had stayed with the Dalish, Airam would be a stranger to him today... No. It was better this way.
oOo
It was only late afternoon when they returned – the visit to the elven camp was much shorter than expected. Airam welcomed the few extra hours, and immediately called for a meeting with Bann Teagan, Erwin and Alistair. Zevran was also invited, but decided his presence was not necessary. He was neither Fereldan nor a politician, after all. He had retreated to his room and had just taken out his alchemy kit to work on a new poison, when there was a knock on his door.
To his surprise, there was a nervous mousy maid he had never seen before, who insisted that Lady Daria invited him for a late afternoon tea and wouldn't take no for an answer. It took him a moment to remember who the name belonged to. Erwin's pregnant wife. What could she want from him? Curious, he accepted, and followed the maid to the chambers of said lady.
Well... 'lady' probably wasn't a precise term. Ladies didn't have a shock of pale blue hair that perfectly matched their blue eyes, a pink tattoo on their nose, and big earrings that seemed to be made of the bones of some creature. Not even in Orlais. And they didn't pour brandy in their guest's tea. All his jokes and the tricks he normally used on ladies seemed out of place here. For the first time in his life, he, the best lover in Antiva, had a problem conversing with a woman.
"Am I that stunning?" she asked with a cheeky smile. "Come now, il signore Zevran. Shouldn't you try harder to impress me? I am the closest thing Airam has to an older sister, you know."
"Dark violet for male members of the family, vivid blue for females? Doesn't Erwin feel left out?"
She snorted. "Oh, the hair. It is just for Lady Isolde's sake. She was also stunned by my appearance, you see. Except in her case, it was the shape of my ears that bothered her. It seems my husband forgot to mention that detail when he was arranging my stay here. So I decided to give her a distraction. You may bet she does not look at my ears now."
But the rest is your usual appearance? No, it wouldn't be a good idea to ask aloud.
"But the rest is my usual appearance," she said with a wide grin. "Even the tattoo – I've had it since I was fourteen. I couldn't know my future husband will be so important that the great Arl Eamon himself would be willing to offer him assistance one day. Back then, he was just an unimpressive dolt obsessed by books and study. It still amazes me how someone like him, without the slightest hint of imagination, ended up being the best illusionist in Ferelden." She laughed, then gave him a stern look. "Of course, if you ever repeat this to anyone, I'll kill you."
"I swear by Maker's naughty body parts, I shall keep it secret even on my deathbed," he said with a grin and put his hand over his heart; then he become serious again"But I have a question, if I may. You and Erwin seem very close to Air. But you only knew him as a little child, years ago. Or am I wrong?"
"There are some bonds that don't weaken with time, Zevran. We may not be related by blood, but Air – and Jowan, too – are our family, make no mistake. I can't believe Jon didn't come to us, when he got out of the Tower," she said, shaking her head. "What did he think we'd do to him? Even if he betrayed Air… he'd be alright, after a week or two…"
"So foolish of him, yes." Zevran made a mental note to never cross Erwin and his wife. "But how did you meet? In class?"
"In the corridor, and in the closet," she said, giggling at his confused face. "Airam was in the Tower only a few weeks, and he was still afraid of every Templar… I was told you know why?"
"Yes," he said coldly; he did not intend to discuss it with her.
"Interesting. You know, you are the only one he's told. We heard a very brief version from Irving, and found out more when we left the Tower. The nobles may have forgotten the Suranas, or they pretend they have, but any mage would immediately recognize Air's surname. The death of his parents caused quite an uproar, you see – Shwara being a war hero and a court mage, and the family having the royal promise that they could live where they wanted… Mages took it as a betrayal. They took it as a sign that no matter what social status they gain, mages are still just second-class citizens at the mercy of the Chantry. As was the intention of the Grand Cleric, I believe… But I digress. You wanted to know how we met Air."
She sipped her tea, staying silent for a moment before she continued. "As I said, it was a few weeks after Airam was brought to the Tower, unconscious and covered in bruises… At first he refused to communicate with the mentors, so they put him in a group with the smallest children, but Irving insisted on testing Air's skills by himself. And it was discovered that Airam's magic is on a rather advanced level, for his age. His parents taught him well, though they apparently used methods not approved by the Circle. That's how he was assigned to the Elites, the group of the most talented apprentices. Not all the mentors approved of it, but again, Irving insisted. Erwin was an Elite, too – the head of them, in fact."
"Ah. I see. But were they not in different classes? With the age difference-"
"Some mentors would hold separate classes based on age, but some preferred to have one class. After all, the group of Elites wasn't so big – when Airam joined, there were only nine others. But they didn't meet in class. As I said, they met in the corridor. Erwin was going to class when he saw Air hiding from Templars. But he misunderstood, and offered to introduce them."
"I think Air didn't like that."
"No," she sighed. "Air thought Erwin wanted to give him to the Templars to… well, you can imagine. He ran away in tears. Later that evening, Jowan came looking for him. He was so adorable! When he found out what Erwin did, he got so angry, scolded Erwin like a brat – you know, I bet nobody ever dared to do that before. So we helped search, and it took us the whole evening. Three hours at least. We found him in one of the unused classrooms, hiding in a closet. All wet with tears, poor darling. He was there the whole day. Ever since then, we cared for the two of them. 'Played the happy family' as some of our classmates used to tease us. Envious fools. We were a happy family. It wasn't an act, for any of us."
Unconscious. Covered in bruises. All wet with tears. In a way, Zevran was glad the culprits were not punished yet. He wanted to kill them with his own hands.
Daria gave him a knowing look. "You know, the Knight Commander will be here tomorrow. He will accompany the First Enchanter."
"Is that so?" A wide smile spread across his face.
"But you'll have to be much more convincing than today," she pointed out with a smirk.
"It will be my most convincing performance," he replied seriously.
"Good. Now, enough about that. Let's talk about you. I have a few questions, and I expect honest answers."
"Ah? This should be good. Go ahead, my dear. Ask anything you want," he said, certain it would concern his past life, Crows, loyalty and such.
"Wonderful!" She beamed, and settled down more comfortably in her armchair. "Well then... Is it true that you've been ogling my sweet little bro for some time now? Why haven't you confessed yet? When are you finally going to do it? And most importantly are you aware that if you hurt him, you will be reduced into a squeaking ball of pink goo?"
He should have gone to that meeting...