After a long and unplanned hiatus, Failed to Fail is back. :) And I hope I to have more reliable update schedule this year. Last year was... blighted. . I want to thank and apologize to everyone who reviewed the story and never got a reply, and for all who favorited this story and follow it. Your support was a part of killing my archdemons and finding my will to write again. Thank you.
Special thanks to Seika, my wonderful beta for her help, and ShebasDawn for her determined poking until I finished the chapter. :D
Army of One
On the day of the Council, Zevran was roused by loud banging on his door three hours before sunrise. When he opened the door, determined to kill whoever it was - except for Airam, maybe - he found Erwin's butler, totally unperturbed by an angry assassin glaring at him. He dryly announced that Zevran was expected in his Master's room. Immediately. Though he should make himself more presentable, the man added in the equally dry tone, after giving Zevran a cold stare.
Only then he did he realize he was naked. He quickly put on his everyday clothes, equipped his weapons and followed the butler.
When he strolled into Erwin's room a few minutes later, still feeling like a fish on a hook just pulled out of water, he found it crowded. Alistair was doing an fair impression of a sleepy hen on a perch, trying not to fall off his chair, while Teagan and Airam were openly drowsing on the sofa. Even Leliana's smile was somewhat sour. The only person who looked energetic was a little human man with an egg-shaped head, patches of amazingly black hair above his ears, and equally amazing black moustaches, waxed into perfection and twirled upwards. He sat in the armchair with his fingers crossed under his chin and watched the scene with slightly amused interest.
"Zev," Erwin said with a yawn, which earned him a disapproving glance from the unknown gentleman. "Come and join us, please. Ser Forbes, allow me to introduce you - Zevran Arainai, formerly of the Antivan Crows and currently the bodyguard of the Warden Commander Surana. Zevran, meet ser Phineas Forbes, the best accountant in the whole known world, currently working for the Warden Commander's grandfather."
The man nodded, giving Zevran an appraising look. "Two-thirty," he said. "Although I expect the actual paid amount was much higher."
Zevran arched his eyebrow at him as he seated himself between Alistair and Airam, who were giggling together like little girls. "Excuse me?"
"He means your clothes are worth two golds, thirty silvers," Airam explained between giggles. "Which is so not fair, by the way. Mine are worth only one seventy three."
Leliana pressed her lips together. The outfit Airam was wearing was one of those she chose for him in Denerim, for meetings with the nobles, and Airam looked dashing in it. "Monsieur Forbes' sense of fashion is a little bit… questionable. No?" the bard asked sweetly.
"No no no, mademoiselle, you misunderstood me. I do not speak about fashion," the weird little accountant retorted, apparently oblivious to the fact he had just earned himself a sworn enemy. "I talk about the economic value. All I said is the price I would pay for it."
"You're not making it any better," Erwin pointed out with a wide grin. "What he means is that's what it would cost you if he bought it for you… no need to look so sceptical, my dear Leliana. Cutting costs is what this guy does, and I have to admit, he's almost as good at it as I am with magic. I've been trying to bribe him to leave Shwara and work for me for years now."
"I do not work for youngsters. It is one of my principles. I will work for the Warden Commander since that is the wish of my employer, and only temporarily," the accountant said dryly. "And I better start now, if I am to win this Blight. From what I have observed, there is much to be desired in the management of the army."
"If you are to win this Blight?" Airam asked, amused. "No offense, but you're an accountant. You don't even fight, let alone lead the army."
The accountant sighed. "See? This is precisely why I reject employment offers from youths. They have a completely inaccurate perception of life. But, I was informed you have an interesting strategy in mind. Let us have a look if it is feasible..."
oOo
By the time Forbes had given the strategy his blessing, it was already time for breakfast. Three hours of detailed cross-questioning had reduced even Erwin to a shivering schoolboy trying to please a strict mentor. The accountant did not accept 'I don't know' or 'we'll sort that out later' as answers, and forced them to brainstorm plausible solutions for any possible issue he could think of.
"Bon," he said in the end, "now you should be more or less ready for the gang of Eamon's brown-nosers. But there is one more thing that you will need to succeed."
He turned to Alistair. "And that is your support, Your Highness. It is absolutely crucial that you use royal manners. Remember, you are the ruler of all Fereldans now, not a coy nameless Warden boy."
Alistair nodded. "I know. I'll do best, I promise."
The little man arched his brow.
"Uh, I mean… know your place, We did not allow you to speak?"
"Adorable," the accountant muttered, though it was obvious he wanted to say something entirely different.
oOo
Arl Eamon had his own plans. During breakfast Zevran discreetly studied the man, wondering what could be the reason for the smug little smirk plastered on his face. He knew about their secret meeting, that much was obvious. And Forbes' presence was annoying him. But he didn't look as worried as Zevran would have liked to see him. What was he planning?
The answer came shortly after breakfast, when First Enchanter Irving presented himself for the council - followed by no less than five Templars, including Knight Commander Greagoir. They apparently took for granted that they would attend the Council as well.
"Unfortunately, I have to reject it," Airam snapped. "Only the leaders of the armies and their assistants can participate. Templars do not qualify for either, I'm afraid."
Eamon's smug grin became even wider. "I invited ser Knight Commander-" he began, but Airam didn't let him finish.
"They can stay as the guests at your castle, then," he snapped. "But the only people with the authority to invite people to the War Council are His Highness Alistair Theirin, and me. The Templars are not allowed at the Council, and this decision will not be discussed."
Ah, now this was the expression Zevran liked on these two gentlemen: a well-balanced mixture of disbelief, shattered expectations and helpless fury.
"Unacceptable!" the Knight Commander burst. "Any meeting of several mages requires a supervision of the Templars. Especially as I understand that some of them are uncivilised apostates who will fill the heads of the Circle mages with Maker-knows-what nonsense. Have you already forgotten Uldred? Do you want another rebellion?"
Airam folded his arms. "See? This is exactly why I don't want you there. They're not 'uncivilised apostates', they're allies of the Wardens and Ferelden, and I will not antagonize them by the presence of Templars. Now could you please-"
"You're out of your mind! I will not allow it - I will not put innocents in danger again!"
"It is not yours to allow it, Knight Commander," Alistair cut in, in the royal manner. "We will remind you that the Templars have no authority over either Wardens or the Crown. We agree with the Warden Commander. The Dalish and their Keepers are allies of Ferelden, and we will not allow you to antagonize them due to old prejudices. The Keepers, and the Circle mages as well, have survived without succumbing to a demon's temptation this long; we believe it is safe to say they will resist one more day."
There was a shocked silence after Alistair finished; then Greagoir bowed. "As you wish, Your Highness," he said tersely, turning to leave.
Zevran grinned inwardly; Alistair had no idea how much he had just helped him. "Allow me to accompany the Knight Commander to a guest room, where he can wait until the Council is over, Your Highness," he said, keeping his face and voice respectful and humble. He could see Alistair and Airam were itching to ask what for, but they restrained themselves.
He led the man to a guest room nearest to his own. "Please, make yourself comfortable, Knight Commander," he said pleasantly. "May I offer you some brandy?" Without waiting for reply, he poured them both a glass.
"I assume you didn't play a servant for nothing. What do you want, assassin?"
"Tsk, tsk. Such suspicion." He grinned and handed the glass to the Templar. "I merely want to have a little chat. Who knows, we might find out we have many things in common and become close friends, yes? Please, sit down and have a drink."
Not even pretending he bought it, the Knight Commander sat down and took a sip. "What do you want?"
"Straight to the point. As you wish." Zevran leaned comfortably in the armchair as he continued. "I need information you have. Ten years ago, a group of five Templars found the hiding place of the family of apostates. You should know who I'm talking about - you nominated them for promotion. I want their names."
"No," Greagoir snapped almost before he finished.
Frustrating fool. "May I know why?"
"That should be obvious. I will not let you hunt and murder five people for doing their job ten years ago."
Zevran watched the old man's face. His self-control was almost perfect. But there was a slight uneasiness in his voice, as if he was trying to convince himself just as much as Zevran. "Ah. I apologize. I did not know the Templars' job included rape. Or the beheading of little kids," he said sweetly.
Greagoir's shoulders stiffened. "There was no evidence of any of that."
"Besides the testimony of one knife-ear brat, yes?"
"Are you accusing me of being a racist?"
"Aren't you?"
They glared at each other. The old man was the first to avert his eyes. "There was nothing I could do. One was the third son of an Arl, another a second son of a Bann; others were their friends and lackeys. Believe it or not, I did send a request to the Grand Cleric to expel them from the Order. It was brushed away, with the answer that the subject was out of discussion."
Quite convincing performance. One would almost believe him. "Is that why you promoted them?"
For a moment, the man's face twisted in the helpless rage. "Would you prefer me to let them stay in the Tower? Let them patrol in the corridors and halls, with him always within their reach?" Greagoir sharply stood up and started to pace around the room. "You all think it is so easy. Mages good, Templars bad, it must be wonderful to live in a world like that!"
Zevran snorted. "Oh, shall I give you a hug and say it's all right, that I understand your troubles? The simple fact is, those men committed a crime, in a way that even most of the Crows would find disgusting. You knew about it – you just admitted it. Yet you still defend them and won't give their names?"
"I don't defend them!" Greagoir bristled. "But I won't give them to a murderer like you, to be killed without a trial. That's not justice, that's no better than what they did. Think of me what you want, but I will not drop that low."
"Sit down, please," Zevran replied calmly and didn't continue until the old man reluctantly obeyed. "Now, let me make it simple to you. I can – and I will, if necessary – go to the King and make this official. A proper investigation will be started-"
"The Grand Cleric will never allow it," Greagoir cut in.
"Oh, but I think she will. A request from the new king, the key to end the civil war? And from the Warden Commander, the only one competent enough to stop the Blight? I don't think so."
"Airam Surana helped a maleficar!"
"And was willing to die for it," Zevran pointed out calmly. "What's more, since then he proved he's a loyal Andrastrian many times. He cleared the Tower of demons and abominations, succeeding where Templars – your men – failed, preventing the massacre."
Greagoir winced, but Zevran didn't give him time to reply and continued, ticking each item on his finger.
"He defeated the demons in Redcliffe; he rediscovered the long lost Temple of Andraste and her Sacred Ashes, which he proved by healing Arl Eamon, and provided a sample for further examination to Brother Genitivi; he founded the Chantry in Orzammar and negotiated royal protection for dwarven Andrastrians." He paused, giving Greagoir time to think about it.
"But, most importantly, he and the His Majesty, who was a charge of the Chantry, if I may remind you, before he was conscripted, currently have the support of two thirds of nobility. Come to the Oath Ceremony next month, if you don't believe me."
"You are an intelligent man, Knight Commander. Tell me, what do you think will be the reaction of the Grand Cleric, should the Warden's supporters find out exactly how his parents and little sister died? Even in Ferelden, I don't think people would be happy to hear the Chantry was involved in abuse of an eight year old child, or a beheading of a four year old girl who didn't even show signs of magic yet."
The Knight Commander didn't reply.
"Your silence is also an answer... We both know that the Grand Cleric will claim she never had any idea about it, that it was the fault of those five for doing it and yours for covering it up; you may be sure she will provide all the support to the investigation of such a horrendous crime. So. You have two options: force me to make this official and remain a pathetic puppet of the Grand Cleric, bearing all the blame; or, give me the names and help justice be accomplished. Yes, I said justice. I'm not an assassin any more. You have my word I won't kill them."
A quick death was too good for those five; he never intended to grant them that mercy. But no need to tell that to the Knight Commander, yes?
"I'll leave you to think about it," he said, as he rose up. He looked down at the Knight Commander, who looked few shades greyer than before. "I expect to have your answer after the Council."
oOo
Finally, the long expected moment was here. Zevran looked around. Everything and everyone was ready. The representatives of their allies were seated; Shale and Sten prepared to defend their position with their lives, should someone uninvited try to get in. Wynne had her healing spells ready, should the discussion become too heated. Leliana was already inside, making sure the guests didn't kill each other before it started. Alistair and Airam had wiped their tears after a shot of his Antivan brandy. Time to go. He nodded to the guards, who opened the door.
"His Highness, Crown Prince Alistair Theirin! Commander of the Grey Wardens, Airam Surana!" the guards anounced.
The two grinned at each other, and entered in their practiced, proud gait side by side, which earned them surprised looks by human nobles.
"Zevran Arainai of Antiva!"
He entered the room, flashing his most brilliant smile at the humans before standing behind Airam. They did not return it. They sat around the long table like clusters of different kinds of poisonous mushrooms, emanating such strong poisonous fumes that the air was musty and unbreathable.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Alistair begun when the murmur died out. "Allow me to welcome you, in the name of Ferelden, on this first War Council, and thank you for joining our forces against the evil of the darkspawn. Seeing you all makes me certain that we will defeat it, that Ferelden will not fail, and the evil will not spread to your countries. I will now give word to the Warden Commander Surana, who is the Captain General of this army-"
"You can't be serious!" A human noble so short and fat that he could have been a dwarf if his beard was neater, jumped to his feet. "We will not follow a knife-ear!" He looked at the men next to him for support; a few of the nobles murmured in agreement; Eamon's men, he assumed. The rest looked slightly confused, reminding Zevran of the young sergeant Tomas, who was surprised to find out Eamon wasn't the Commander of the army, acting in behalf of Alistair... It was about time Airam and Alistair settled this chaos
One of the Dalish, who Zevran recognized as the supporter of Benat, stood up to retort, but Alistair silenced everyone with a wave of his hand – he did quite a convincing performance as a king.
"May I ask who you are?" the future king asked coldly.
"I am Bann Arlos, Your Highness, and-"
"Bann Arlos." Alistair cut in. "Do not say any racial slur in our presence, ever again. The same goes for the everyone. We will not tolerate any racists in the Council.". Arl Eamon kept his face carefully neutral, but Zevran was sure Alistair had just ruined one of his little schemes to disrupt the Council.
"I apologize, Your Highness," Arlos said with a bow when he recovered. "But, I would like to ask you to reconsider this decision. There are undoubtedly better candidates – you cannot expect we will follow an elf."
"You do not have to, then," Airam retorted in a calm, bright voice. "If you think you have a chance on your own, you can leave," he said, pointing his hand to the door. "But before you do, let me ask you, how much experience do you have with the darkspawn? In fact, all of you. Have you ever fought the darkspawn before? Please, raise your hand if you have killed at least fifty," he challenged them. "Thank you."
"Not you and your people, Commander Kardol," he added with an amused smile, when he saw them raise their hands. "I'm well aware of expertise of the Legion of Dead."
Snickering, the dwarves lowered their hands again. There weren't many left, after that. Half of Bhelen's generals, a few of the Dalish and only one human - a handsome brunette in his late thirties, with athletic build and a face marked with sorrow and determination. It wasn't difficult to guess who it was.
Bann Arlos had a triumphant smile on his lips. "As you see, Your Highness, there are candidates with experience of fighting those creatures," he stated; several other humans murmured in approval.
"Is that so," Alistair said, not impressed in slightest. He turned to the human. "Teyrn Fergus Cousland, I assume," he said, not unfriendly.
"Yes, Your Highness," the man replied, standing up.
"He killed hundreds of monsters! And he has a proper education as a leader of the army!" Bann Arlos declared.
"Bann Arlos, please sit down and be quiet," Alistair snapped, before turning to Fergus again. "How big is your army?" he asked.
"They fell at Ostagar, my lord. Only a few are left; those that were scouting with me when the battle started."
"A fine leader indeed, and even better scout" one of the dwarves snickered, but fell quiet under Kardol's stern glare.
"What did you do after Ostagar?" Alistair asked curiously.
Fergus' face hardened. "With the help of Arl Eamon, I started working on weakening Howe's position and getting back Highever."
"Loghain's brown-noser," Alistair growled derisively, earning a surprised look and a little smile from Fergus. "He'll get what he deserves, together with his master."
"Thank you, my lord." Fergus bowed. He looked like he wanted to add something, when Kardol got up.
"We heard your rival's experience, Warden Commander. Care to tell us what is yours?"
Airam startled and looked down at him. "I don't know... I never bothered to count. Zevran, you always counted points, right? How many have we killed?"
Zevran stood up and bowed in respect. "Alas, I do not have exact figures, Commander; I always counted points only for that battle. But, if I take the total number all of us fought together – and taking into the account the Deep Roads and days we didn't fight... I would say it was ten. Per day, I mean. So that is, let me see... around two and half thousand. Of course, I have only joined you in Cloudreach, so the total would be by few hundred higher."
Amid the shocked silence, Kardol nodded, and sat down. "Thank you, Warden Commander. I think this ends any discussion on competences."
"Two and half thousand! You killed half of the horde? You will forgive me my doubts about it–" Bann Arlos started again.
"No, we will not," Alistair snapped. "Kardol, the Commander of the Legion of Dead, is right. This discussion ends now. In fact, this was never point for discussion. The Warden Commander will be the Captain General of the army; not only because of his experience with the darkspawn, but for the simple fact that without him, none of us would be here now. Anyone who has a problem with him, or with his race, has a problem with me."
There was an approving murmur between the dwarves and elves. "That is true," Egill Guirson said, standing up. "King Bhelen made a contract with the Warden Commander; we will not bow to anyone else."
Kardol was the next. "The Legion of the Dead came to the surface and temporarily abandoned our sworn duty to fight the darkspawn in the Deep Roads till the end of the day, because we saw his actions. We will be proud to stand at his side; but we will not follow any other surfacer."
"The same is for the elves," Rannor said, standing up. "We came to honour the contract our ancestors made with the Wardens, to answer the call in the time of the Blight; but we will only follow their Commander."
And then came the biggest surprise of all, when Irving caughed and stood up. "I agree as well. We are here because we, too, have a contract with the Wardens – and because we owe our lives to this Warden Commander, and his men. You make me proud, Air," he said with a smile. "But we do not owe anything to any human noble. If the Wardens are not in charge, we will retreat back to our common duties."
For a moment, nobody moved. Then Bann Fergus bowed and sat down, looking angry. He shot a surprised glance at Eamon. Ah… what did the Arl tell him? That Airam was just a pretender, who didn't know what he was doing? Quite likely; it was like Eamon, to judge others by his own petty mind.
"Thank you for your trust," Airam said with a smile. "It may seem to you that killing almost three thousand darkspawn in ten months is a ridiculously high number; but trust me, the horde was much bigger than that back then – and since then, the number has increased. More darkspawn are produced every day, but the number is just one one the three big advantages the darkspawn have over us."
He stepped away from the table, to the big board they had prepared, still covered by a cloth. "They have three advantages, I said. First, they outnumber us three to one, at least. Second, they have a collective mind. It allows them to know what happens in the half-mile perimeter, the position and number of their enemies, and to focus all their force on their target. And third – darkspawn are not racist. They don't care what race their broodmother used to be."
"What do you mean? What is a broodmother?" Fergus Cousland asked, frowning.
"I mean, there are no female darkspawn. To procreate, they need to take females of the untainted races. The woman undergoes a painful and irreversible transformation during which she is impregnated by multiple males," Airam explained, waiting a little to let this information sink. "When it is finished, she lays eggs, which gradually develop into cocoons, until the darkspawn growing inside are ready to hatch."
"Even if they change into darkspawn, how can they lay eggs?" one of the elves asked, face twisted in a repulsed grimace.
"They do not change into a darkspawn, they change into a broodmother," Airam corrected. "Here, let me show you. This is the broodmother made from the female dwarf. They are the most common type, because of close proximity to dwarven settlements. Leli, if you please."
They pulled down the curtain, revealing the one of the paintings Kardol's cartographers were working on since Airam's visit day before. For such a short time, the level of exact detail was disturbingly high. Everything was there – the sharp teeth, the tiny arms, large pairs of breasts cascading over the huge belly, huge tentacles swaying in the attack.
The effect was even stronger than expected – all except the Legionnaires cried in shock and disgust, followed by accusations of forgery, of a disgusting lie; they were not willing to accept it. Airam waited for a moment until they calmed down.
"Second most common. The broodmother made of a human woman." With Leliana's help, they put the picture down, revealing the one beneath it. It showed a creature with a human head and arms, but three pairs of huge breasts and an enormous spider back with several pairs of spider legs and tentacles.
The humans were all on their feet, shouting and protesting, as if it was somehow Airam's fault.
"The broodmother made of an elven woman," he announced after a while, revealing a picture of praying mantis with elven head, and, again, the several pairs of breasts and tentacles. The female Keepers all turned green in their faces, but they didn't scream, or become sick; Zevran couldn't decide if it was because they were determined to keep their dignity in front of humans, or if they were simply paralysed by fear and disgust.
The last one was made of a Qunari woman. It was huge, mole-like creature with pale, scary lilac eyes, and again, standard equipment of breasts and tentacles.
When Airam turned to the others again, there was absolute silence. Nobody moved; they all stared at him, eyes full of horror. But he would not offer them any comfort.
"This is what happens to women in areas the darkspawn conquer. This is what will happen to your mothers, wives, sisters and daughters if we fail. This is what will happen, if you don't overcome old prejudices. There is a chance. They outnumber us, but we have more experienced forces, and we're better equipped. They have the collective mind, but on the other hand, they are unable to think as individuals, to make quick decisions and reactions to unexpected situations. But, they have unity – and we don't."
He paused, looking at Fergus Cousland. "I do have a solution. But to make it work, all of you must fight, not just side by side, but together. As one army, under one commander. This Council can end only in two ways: you will agree to cooperate. That will mean reorganisation of the whole army. There will be no more 'human units' and 'dwarven units' or 'elven units'. There would be combined units of warriors, archers, mages, scouts of all races, led by the person most skilled and appropriate for such position, also regardless of race. Or, you can decide to let your pride win. In that case, I will resign, you can go home, and we will all wait till the Archdemon decides to appear. Men will be eaten, women turned into that," - he pointed to the board behind him - "and more broodmothers will produce more and more and more darkspawn. This Blight will turn into a bloody war that will last years or even decades, and even if non-tainted races win in the end, they will all be decimated. The choice is yours."
Zevran expected protests and heated discussion, but for a long moment, nobody said anything, all eyes turned now to Teyrn Fergus Cousland now. He stared at the board, frowning, then shot a look at Arl Eamon. His mouth twisted a little, as he stood up. "I believe your suggestion is the best way to win, Warden; you have my support."
Arl Eamon pressed his lips together, but he didn't say anything. He apparently did not expect this development – he didn't even have a chance to present his scheme. Good; at least others saw the king and the Warden Commander had things under control.
"Thank you, Teyrn Cousland," Airam replied with a nod of the head. "Now, then. If we finally settled this matter, let's focus on more important things. The plan is based on mixed unit tactics, as I'm sure you already guessed. But, Bann Arlos was right – I do not have experience as a leader of an army this big. So if you have a helpful idea that could improve it, say it. However I will not accept any suggestions based on racist prejudices, or comments that things should stay as they are now. And one more thing."
He turned to Leliana. "She will take notes of all agreements and conclusions that we will make. Here, you can suggest and discuss whatever you want. But once we're done, what we agree on is the law. I will not tolerate anyone who will try to disrespect it. Am I clear?"
Zevran barely suppressed a chuckle at the stunned expressions of the human nobles. An elf with that authority and confidence was something they could never even imagine. But, as huge a blow to their ego as it undoubtedly was, he could see in their faces they were glad there was someone strong to follow, who knew what he wanted.
oOo
The rest of the Council was much smoother. There were moments when discussion was too heated, but Airam had things firmly in his hands. Of course, the icy draft that wafted in the hall despite closed windows, and covered the beard of few loudest fools in hoar frost probably helped a bit as well.
In only two hours, they agreed on the members of the inner circle that would closely cooperate with the Warden: Kardol, and Egill Guirosn for dwarves; Rannor and Lanaya for the elves; Teagan and Fergus for humans; and Irving and the Senior Enchanter Torrin for the mages.
By midnight, they finally agreed that the new officers will be chosen from all races based on the test. The inner circle would set the test and supervise it, to guarantee that it was fair.
"Alright, then. We're agreed. We'll meet after we know the results of the test – which everyone will accept without any whining." Airam looked around at all the disheveled, exhausted people and smiled. "Good job, ladies and gentlemen. Please, enjoy the hospitably of Redcliffe. If you have any requests, our host will undoubtedly accommodate them."
"Of course Captain General," Bann Teagan said, when his older brother remained silent. "The Guerrins are honoured to host this Council."
oOo
Someone was banging on his door again. Zevran opened his eyes and glanced toward the window. The air outside was just starting to turn pink. With a curse, he crawled out of the bed and grabbed his daggers; if it was Erwin's annoying butler...
"Knight Commander," he said in surprise when he opened door. "What a pleasure. I didn't know you swayed that way... Please, come on in."
"Save your breath," Greagoir growled as he pushed a roll of paper to Zevran's hands. "Here. But I have your word you will not murder them."
Zevran looked at the paper and the names scribbled at them. His lips curled in a smile. "You have my word, Knight Commander. They will not die by my hand."
Greagoir gave him a suspicious look. "Whatever happens, I don't want to know." He turned on his heel to leave, but then stopped. "If you want to find them, start right here."
oOo
The next week was the busiest in Zevran's life. The soldiers, especially the humans did not like the changes much, and the existing officers refused to accept that they would be replaced. It took a week to calm down all emotions; and then the tournament started.
After another week, they finally had a regiment of soldiers skilled and clever enough to be officers. It was many more than needed, but Airam insisted on it. He had another test planned for them. They were divided into sixty mixed squads which trained together under the supervision of the inner circle and few assistants; in less than three days, one hundred of them were already outed for racism.
"It's no use if they can fight, if their brains are too small to lead their teams without racism," Airam snapped at one of the human nobles who tried to complain.
Airam himself continued to visit the army, and ordered all of his companions to do the same. Even the acerbic trio had to comply. They would visit the common soldiers, see what problems they had, what could be improved. At first they were met with suspicion and hostility, but Airam always kept all promises he made. The quality of food increased and even soldiers who couldn't afford it received good weapons and armors. Soon, rumours started to spread about his magical talent to solve all problems. Zevran suspected Farren, but he could never prove it.
In the meantime, Erwin's shadow team – Forbes, Teagan, Leliana, and, surprisingly, Fergus Cousland – worked on wringing more money from the nobles.
Slowly, step by step, the huge mass of people camping around Redcliffe started to resemble an army.
oOo
Zevran groaned. He should ask Daria to invent a spell that would made banging on the door impossible. Or ask Alistair to make it illegal.
"Yes?" he hissed from behind the closed door.
"Zevran, open the door. I need to talk to you about my grandson."
Grandpa Rashwash? In truth, Zevran had almost forgotten about the man; he was supposed to reach Redcliffe two or three days after them, but he didn't show up at all. And now he was suddenly banging on his door.
The moment he opened the door, the old mad pushed him away and stormed inside. With a quick wave of his hand, he froze the lock on the door.
"If you wish to be with me alone-"
"Shut up, fool. I don't have time for your blabbering now. If you care about my grandson, listen well. As it is, the chance that Air will survive this Blight is zero."
Zevran's knees buckled and his heart skipped a few beats as it squeezed in pain. No – no – not his Air. He stared at the old man, wanted to tell him it couldn't be true, things were going great, but he couldn't find his voice.
Shwara led him to the armchair and poured him a shot of brandy. "Don't worry. I'm here to prevent that. I already have half of the solution, but I need your help, if you're willing."
"Tell me what to do," he said simply.
oOo
By the time the castle woke up, Shwara was long gone; nobody even noticed he was there. If not for the small package now safely tucked in Zevran's inner pocket, he'd think it was just a dream. Now just to find a way to convince Airam-
The door opened a crack. "Zev? Up already? May I come in?"
Talk about the Warden...
"Of course, bello mio," he said with a wide grin. "In fact, I just wanted to speak with you-"
"Can it wait for a moment? The guards caught a Loghain spy. He's babbling that Loghain sent him to Ostagar."
"Oh? This should be good. Give me a moment." He opened his box with poisons, and took a few vials. "Don't worry, it won't kill him. Just in case he changes his mind. We need to make an impression, yes?" he said, when he noticed the look on Airam's face. "Let's go."
oOo
Zevran sighed at the pathetic look in front of him. A spy? This? First the elf spying on Redcliffe, what was his name... Berwick, yes. Then Jowan the assassin. And now this? All he did was tie the man to a chair and show him the vials, and the so-called spy turned into a pile of pork brawn.
Well, at least he didn't have to worry about Airam watching it. The crazy kid refused to leave Zevran alone. Sitting astride on a chair, he watched the whole interrogation without a single comment.
There was of course the possibility it was a lie. How probable it was that they would find a deserter from the king's army, after nine months? And that he would know the exact place where the important documents were hiding?
"I'm telling the truth!" the man swore for the hundredth time. "Loghain captured many deserters; he wanted to be sure no traitors go unpunished. The important guys are in Denerim, of course, like the Wardens, but the dungeons were also full, there was probably a mistake-"
"The Wardens?" Airam cut in "What Wardens?"
The man writhed on the chair. "I know nothing! I just heard some rumours – that Loghain captured Orlesian Warden conspirators that tried to sneak into Ferelden."
Airam got up. "That's enough."
Without another word, and ignoring the pleads of the spy behind them, they hurried out.
"Keep him in the prison, but treat him well," Airam told the guards when the door shut behind them. "Erwin will want to know about the Wardens," he continued, as they walked back. "And we need to get ready. We should leave as soon as possible."
"Leave where?" he asked, although he already knew the answer.
"Ostagar, of course. I want to see what documents are so important for Loghain."
"And there's no way I can make you change your mind? We could send someone else..."
Airam's only reply was a snort.
Brasca.