The party went from pillar to post for the rest of the day, with the first stop being straight to the library annexe to check on the survivors. It was hard to believe that it was only early afternoon when they came out, and of the same day, no less. Zevran had found it so implausible that he'd had to ask Pharamond out of the corner of his mouth, and even when he'd been advised that it was indeed only an hour or two past lunch, he shook his head. Every now and again, Alistair would shoot Zevran a glare, and Leliana a smirk. Business as usual, then.
The man in the green robes (he was the First Enchanter!) had taken Rhodri into his office shortly after. Rhodri had emerged some ten minutes later with a distinctly glazed look, and shambled over to where Zevran, Alistair, and Leliana were waiting for her.
"You all right?" Alistair asked worriedly. "You look like you're about to keel over."
Her eyes stayed fixed on a window behind him. "My mother," she whispered. "She's alive. My father found her."
Her hands pattered against her legs for the first time since this whole dreadful business had started. Weakly, but the motion was unmistakable. Some part of Zevran wanted to cheer.
§
The mages' request for a funeral was denied by the Knight-Commander. In a small act of rebellion, the remaining adults and teenagers flocked to the Chantry and prayed there, denying orders to bring the Circle into a fit state again.
Zevran overheard the Greagoir issue an order to the remaining Templars to 'strongly encourage' the mages to return to work cleaning up. Half the Templars pretended to see nothing when they walked past the Chantry, and the other half followed the orders to the deliberately unspecified letter. Zevran had caught one Templar, a stout fellow with flaming red hair, distracting the latter of these from entering the Chantry several times before he was called away by the Knight-Commander.
When the mages had been driven out of the Chantry and the door was locked, they sang familiar Andrastian dirges where they worked. The clean, scattered voices bounced down the stone corridors, some singing in harmonic, others descant, often punctuated by heaving sobs. It was one of the most haunting things Zevran had ever heard.
Rhodri had announced to the party that she, at the very least, would not be leaving the Tower until her students had learned a serviceable portion of the Litany of Adralla by heart. Zevran seemed to recall that a 'serviceable portion' was a short paragraph or two.
He, Alistair, and Leliana had elected to stay with the Warden, and an enthusiastic remark from Leliana ended up volunteering them to assist the class with the memorisation. Rhodri had insisted that all attendees wash their face and hands at the very least, and change their clothes if possible, before the lesson began.
This request of the class, he noticed, gave the party enough time to locate an untouched classroom and to set up a small, communal lunch that the fresh-faced class fell onto like wolves once re-assembled. (The party also had a handful of minutes that allowed them to freshen up themselves– even for Rhodri to re-emerge in a clean, black robe. Were children always so slow to do things?)
The party sat down among the students, most of whom squabbled to sit near the Warden, and Tara and Georgie, who had slipped into the classroom, took some of the children and sat them down with them. The young girl who had shared her cookies with Zevran had caught sight of him as she made for the Warden. She stopped dead in her tracks, marched over to where he sat, and plonked herself down beside him.
Her little hand reached up and clapped him on the back. "I'll sit with you, Uncle," she advised benignly. "Is Rhodri your teacher outside, too? Or are you new?"
Zevran chewed his cheek to dissuade his mirth from betraying him. "I am brand-new," he declared after a moment. "I do hope she'll go easy on me."
She nodded. "She's really nice. But if you act too silly, she'll give you a look," the girl hooked a finger into one of her eyebrows and hitched it up. "Like this, see? That's when you have to stop."
He hummed with plausible seriousness. "Good to know."
With everyone seated, the Warden got to her feet.
"Stelliculae? Are we ready? This is important, so you'll need to pay attention."
The class (adult party members included), answered that they were.
"Are y'back for good now, Rhodri?" A boy spoke up from Tara's lap.
She shook her head. "I'm not, no. There's… a lot happening outside the Tower. Dangerous creatures are wandering the country, and your uncles and auntie and I are out to stop them."
The girl beside Zevran gasped. "But Ma and Papa's farm is out there!"
Rhodri nodded. "That's right, Martha. That's why we'll have to go again soon. We know how to kill them, see? You're much safer in the Tower than out there–"
"There were monsters in here, too!" another girl protested. "They could come back!"
A handful of assenters spoke up, quickly forming a high-pitched din.
The Warden held up a hand. "Stelliculae. Stelliculae. Please give me your time."
The class fell silent again. She smiled and nodded.
"Thank you. Nobody is entirely wrong. There are monsters outside, and there were monsters inside, too. And today I'm going to show you the best way to stop the indoor ones from ever forming." She straightened up. "Who remembers what we learned about blood magic?"
Several hands shot up. One girl didn't wait to be chosen, shouting out, "Don't do it!"
"Absolutely right," Rhodri nodded. "Remember to wait until you're called on next time please, stellicula, but Cosima is correct. Why, then, Cosima? Why don't we do blood magic?"
"It's dangerous."
"Right again. What's so dangerous about blood magic? Who knows?"
The boy in Tara's lap threw his hand up again, and when chosen, loudly announced, "They steal yr brain an' a demon eats it! I seen it happen!"
Half the class tittered, the other half vehemently agreed.
"That's not what happened," Martha spoke up now. She looked at the boy with the weariness of an overworked tax collector; Zevran was quite sure something inside him everted itself from suppressing the urge to laugh.
"Oh?" Rhodri gave a gesture of invitation. "So what do you say happened, stellicula?"
Martha sat up straight and cleared her throat. "They summoned a demon, is what happened." She paused, face scrunching into a frown before quickly adding, "and then the demon ate his brain! And without his brain, he turned into an abomination."
That answer won far more concession than the boy's had. How Rhodri was keeping a straight face during all this was a mystery.
It took the Warden several tries to get everyone on the right track regarding the particulars of blood magic, mind control, and demonic possession (especially between several enthusiastic chains of jokes about brains and the lack thereof), but they got there in the end. When she was satisfied, she produced the Litany from her pocket.
"And this is what keeps them at bay." She opened the scroll and held her fingers an inch apart. "We need to memorise about this much of the Litany today, and I want you to try and memorise even more in your free time, yes? We'll make a game of it."
The class nodded and shuffled a little closer to her.
Zevran had been called a clever boy enough times to know it was true. None of the other children had taught themselves to read. They called the clavícula the 'shoulder bone', as though there was only the one bone in that area, and books, they had decided, were boring, even though they'd never touched one. It was lonely.
In the backmost part of the whorehouse yard, where an orange tree dropped fruit that the bats got to first, there was a gap in the terra cotta fence, just big enough for a curious child to peer through. Zevran rarely ventured out into the rest of the Alienage; he and the other whorehouse children weren't allowed outside unsupervised, and there was rarely leisure time permitting an accompanied excursion.
The crack in the fence looked out onto the main road through the Alienage, and on the other side of the road was a room with a handful of children, some older than him, some younger. They sat in a circle, with books in their lap and an adult walking around in the middle. A school, Cristofania had called it, not for whorehouse boys and girls. When Zevran had asked why, she changed the topic.
In the quieter moments of the day, Zevran liked to creep out and, partially under the guise of raking leaves or picking up the bat-ravaged remains of the fallen oranges, steal glimpses through the fence. The children had different coloured books depending on their ages; three different colours, at least. Some of the children grew into a different colour; others stayed the same.
Today, a smaller, dark-haired girl had graduated to a red book, and was reading from the first page in front of everyone. She looked to be his age; the envy made Zevran's chest ache.
"Zevran."
He froze. A hand went onto his shoulder and turned him around. Cristofania was watching him with a raised eyebrow.
"I was raking the leaves," he said quickly, gesturing at the neat little pile by his feet. "And collecting the peels."
She looked at the leaves, then back at him. "And you were looking at the school again."
Zevran stayed silent, curling into himself despite his efforts to keep his body straight.
Something between Cristofania's brows softened. She gestured at the leaves.
"You've been a good boy today," she said briskly. "Come inside, amorcito. Renata has a little time now. Going to take the charcoal and draw the back muscles on Amador, hmm?"
A surge of excitement put some posture back into him. "I can watch?" he breathed.
"Mmm, and this time you can ask two questions," she held up two fingers, "once she's done. Come now, inside. Don't keep her waiting."
Zevran dragged Cristofania back indoors by the hand. She chuckled from behind him and squeezed his hand tightly; the envy fell away.
Being in a classroom was an odd experience. Zevran half-expected Enchanter Rhodri to wave him out, distract him with orders to kill or clean armour, or simply tell him to his face that his place was not among academic learners.
Nothing happened. In preparation for a promised memory game, Rhodri had started guiding the class through the first lines she had written on the chalkboard, clapping to the rhythm of a song everyone appeared to know except him. The children were clapping and repeating her, the teenagers were participating… even Alistair and Leliana were joining in as though it was the most natural thing in the world.
That meant, then, that Zevran was the odd one out, and did not belong here. A pervasive, heavy cold settled in his limbs, under his eyes, pulled his chin down toward his chest like lead.
And then a nudge to the elbow scattered it. Zevran raised an eyebrow and looked at the source; Martha was watching him expectantly.
She leaned toward him. "You need to join in, Uncle," she whispered solemnly, "or you'll never learn it. Are you shy?"
Him? Shy?
He chewed his cheek, praying the amusement wasn't bleeding through, and shook his head.
"No-one's going to laugh at you," she assured him. "Rhodri doesn't stand for that. Just try."
She wouldn't stop looking at him until Zevran, at a loss to do anything else, joined in the clapping and mumbled made-up lyrics as he went. That appeared to satisfy the girl; she turned back to the board.
The game started; everyone went in a circle, repeating one word each, all the way down to the end of the first paragraph. The Warden was generous with praise for success. Mistakes were coaxed into the correct answer, which was then lauded like they had been correct all along. The second paragraph was memorised, the game went again, and the bag of cookies was passed around afterward until it was empty.
Rhodri's triumphant smile didn't quite meet her eyes the entire time. She clapped her hands once.
"Marvellous. I want you to repeat it in the morning over breakfast, and at night before you go to sleep. Leave this up on the board until you've written it down, yes?"
"We will," they echoed.
Rhodri nodded once. "Good. Well, I think it's about time we stretched our legs, sic? Let's go to the stockroom, then, pay a visit to Owain and Pharamond."
Zevran crawled with shame as the suggestion evoked what appeared to be genuine, pleased anticipation in the students. Even the teenagers, Tara and Georgie, were smiling as they climbed to their feet. In the hopes of dispelling guilt over the enthusiasm he couldn't summon, he glanced over at Alistair and Leliana. Their smiles had a sad, strained tinge to them; he decided to forgive himself.
There had been a short period as Rhodri ducked out of the classroom– to ensure, Zevran presumed, that the way to the stockroom wasn't still strewn with corpses. The sound of doors closing grew louder until the white-faced Warden was back in the classroom, beckoning everyone out.
In front of the stockroom, Owain stepped out and watched the group blankly.
Zevran's stomach dropped as soon as the empty voice addressed them.
"Welcome to the Circle's stockroom of magical items. My name is Owain. How may I assist you?"
The Warden's smile was genuine. "Owain, hello. We were learning about using the Litany of Adralla today." She produced the scroll from her pocket and held it out to him.
"We memorised two paragraphs!" A copper-haired girl announced proudly.
Owain took this declaration, as well as the Litany itself, with a nod. "The Litany will prevent mind control related to blood magic," he said simply.
The class issued various agreements and fell silent again.
"We're hoping," Rhodri pressed on, "to learn where to access the Litany in case of an emergency, like we've had here. Could we come in, please, a few at a time, and you can show us where it's normally kept?"
"Yes. The stockroom should be sufficiently clean to enter," Owain said. "Pharamond and I have removed all of the broken glass now." He paused and looked over the class. "Please come in four at a time."
Rhodri and three children accompanied him inside without hesitation. Zevran could hear them asking questions about how to reach, what the stick beside it was, why that bottle was green, and everything was answered.
They emerged; another group off three and the teacher went in with the same results, then another, and then several more.
Martha squeezed Zevran's hand as Rhodri came out and beckoned to her.
"Come on, Uncle." She tugged on his arm. "It's our turn."
Alistair and Leliana hadn't gone in; wasn't this for the children's reference?
Martha, as if sensing his hesitation, watched him patiently. "You don't have to be afraid of the Tranquil mages," she advised. "They just don't feel things. You won't catch it."
Mortified, Zevran followed her in, and the girl smiled. "See? It's not so bad. And Owain's really nice. He's just…" she paused, scrunching her face thoughtfully. "... Calm, that's all."
"Just calm," he echoed under his breath.
When everyone, including Alistair and Leliana had had a turn seeing the Litany, they thanked the stockroom mages and returned to the classroom. Outside in the corridor, Wynne stood waiting with a largish bag in tow.
Rhodri frowned. Before she could get a word out, Wynne declared that she would be coming with the group.
Alistair's brows shot up. "You want to… ah–?"
"One moment, please," Rhodri requested with an affectionate squeeze to his shoulder. She directed the children into the classroom with the announcement that there would be free time now ("and no dares on who can eat the most window spiders, if you please!" she called after them).
Wynne looked around behind the Warden. "Where are your things, Rhodri? Haven't you taken anything from your room yet?"
Rhodri blinked. "My things? Well, no, we've been with the children all afternoon," she gestured in the direction of the classroom. "They've learned the first two paragraphs of the Litany in case of a repeat even. Why, is there any need to rush?"
"We would do better not to linger," she urged. "The children will grow used to you again very quickly, and the longer you spend with them, the bigger the disruption will be when you finally go."
The Warden's eyes widened. "We hadn't planned on staying weeks, Wynne," she murmured imploringly. "One night, perhaps, to help them settle, and maybe leave after lunch tomorrow."
Wynne shook her head. "Today would be best. Now, even." The Senior Enchanter was unmoved by Rhodri's protesting stutter. She folded her arms and glanced over at the rest of the party.
Leliana took the hint immediately. With a careful touch to Alistair and Zevran's shoulders, she nodded at the classroom. "Come, we should give them a moment. We can play a game with the children, no?"
Rhodri frowned. "You don't have to leave. We're just talking–"
"I think Wynne would like to speak to you alone," Leliana soothed. She offered a small, kind smile and squeezed the Warden's arm. "We will not be far away. Come and get us when you are finished, hmm?"
Rhodri tensed, one hand fisting her robes and kneading them between her fingers. She rocked forward on her feet until she stood on her toes, rising and dropping until a pointed look from the Senior Enchanter made her fall still.
Zevran looked away from Wynne before the prickle in his guts could flash to a boil, opting to shoot a smile at the now pink-cheeked Warden.
"Or perhaps one of us could stay," he offered lightly, "if you would rather have company, my Grey Warden." Zevran winked. "I happen to be an excellent addition to any conversation."
The Warden stiffened, her face almost the colour of wine now. Her head tipped down until her chin was almost on her chest before she straightened up again.
"No," she said firmly. "Ah. That is, no thank you, Zev. I should, ah… no, it's all right."
"No?" He nodded obligingly. "As you like. We will await your call, then."
§
In the classroom, Alistair and Leliana had rounded up all willing children to play something Alistair called 'Silly Messages,' which sounded very much like a game he had made up on the spot. In all fairness to the Templar, however, it had been quite a success. The group sat in a circle (naturally) and Alistair whispered a message to whoever sat on his right. The message was passed on in a whisper, going around the circle until it had come back to him, and was invariably different (and sometimes nonsensical) when compared to the original.
The game had been a good idea, for the most part. It required quite some concentration, and the children were happy enough to whisper among themselves while they awaited their turn. Magesong still echoed vaguely, even from behind the closed door, and despite electing to sit as near as he could to the door to listen for any concerning noises from the Warden, Zevran caught nothing until the end of their fifth round.
The message Zevran had just passed on, so far as he knew, was, "I tripped on a nug and ate open cheese," and the Warden's insistent, damn-near pleading voice briefly drowned out the whispers.
"Of course I knew they would die, Wynne. What hope did they have?"
Wynne's voice grew audible and firm, "Then you ought to have more understanding for whoever will be left handling the aftermath of your coddling when you depart today. Again. "
"An absence of neglect is not coddling!"
"If you are to be a leader, Enchanter Amell, you must learn to control yourself. Your impulsive spellcasting and urge to parent anything younger than you are plentiful evidence of that."
Alistair cleared his throat and, with a little more volume than usual, announced that the original message was, "I slipped on the rug and hit both my knees," which to Zevran sounded like an odd sentence to begin with. Did people play this game sober?
The children, most of whom had paused to listen to the discussion outside, appeared not to have heard Alistair, and quickly snapped-to as the door opened.
Rhodri strode in with her shoulders back and Wynne following closely behind. She regarded the students with a smile first, and then the party.
"More free time, stelliculae," she announced evenly. "We have an errand to run and will be back in a little while. Please stay in here and amuse yourselves while the others are cleaning, sic? There are adults outside you can call for if you need anything." She turned to the party. "Uncles, Auntie, if you'd come with me, please."
§
"What's going on, Rhod?" Alistair asked as the party, now including Wynne, swept down the corridor.
"We have one more errand to do," Rhodri replied, "and then while that's happening, I'll take the last of my things and we will–" she gulped– "say our goodbyes."
She led the party down to the Great Doors (which were now much better lit, and not strewn with bits of mage), where Greagoir stood issuing orders to anyone within talking distance. His lip curled as his gaze snapped onto the approaching Warden.
Rhodri pulled up in front of him with her shoulders back and, though the difference in height was minimal, angled her head so that she gave the impression of looking down on him.
"I suppose you've come for those troops I promised you," Greagoir said, raising an eyebrow. "Well–"
"As a matter of fact," Rhodri cut him off, "I haven't."
His other eyebrow went up. "Oh?"
"I already have the First Enchanter's assurance that the Circle is ready and willing to assist, so I thought I'd be generous and decline your offer of an entire consignment."
The Knight-Commander inclined his head lightly. "Well, that is very generous of you, Warden–"
"I'll be recruiting you instead."
A series of admonishments issued from Wynne and Alistair (and Greagoir, of course, whose face was now contorting into all manner of enraged expressions). Even the Templars standing within earshot were mumbling uncomfortably.
Rhodri held up a hand to silence them. "You are precisely what the Grey Wardens are looking for, Greagoir. Devoted to a cause, no matter the cost. Protecting the innocent folk of Ferelden whom you're willing to lay your life down for." She tilted her chin a little further up, a blank, disdaining look sitting on her face like wax. "I couldn't give you a higher honour."
Greagoir's nose wrinkled in a snarl. "You cannot just whisk away a Knight-Commander to serve the Wardens on a whim, Amell!"
"Oh, I absolutely can," she shrugged. "And in case you think you can evade the call, let me make myself perfectly clear.
"Knight-Commander Greagoir," she announced, her voice clear as a bell, "as the senior Magewarden of Ferelden, I hereby conscript you into the Grey Warden fold, effective immediately. Should you refuse conscription, I will have no choice but to execute you."
Greagoir was hissing something about the impossibility of this; Rhodri spoke over him without a single hitch.
"As of this moment, you are relieved of your Templar title and duties, and owing to the political neutrality of the organisaton, you are forbidden from bearing or using any and all items bearing Chantry insignia. You have exactly fifteen minutes to remove all of your Templar armour and be back here with all possessions and travelling items you intend to take with you–"
"Fifteen?" Greagoir protested. "This is a full suit, Amell, and the travelling supplies are in the basement!"
"Then you had best ask someone to assist you," Rhodri replied coldly. "Fifteen minutes. Get to it."
The (now erstwhile) Knight-Commander appeared to be stifling something- what, precisely, Zevran couldn't tell, but the effort was giving life to a vein in his temple that was growing more prominent by the moment. With a sniff, he signalled to one of the other Templars, who hastily followed him out of the hall.
The Warden approached the redheaded Templar who had tried to keep his coworkers from entering the Chantry, who stood a little way off. He had been quiet throughout Greagoir's conscription and now watched Rhodri with a calm, curious expression.
Rhodri inclined her head to him. "My apologies, Knight-Commander Bradley, for the suddenness of your promotion," she said politely. "I hope you understand that it wasn't my intention to add to your stress."
The fellow smiled and shook his head. "We're expected to step up at a moment's notice, Warden," he said good-naturedly, if a little wearily. "I'd best excuse myself, though. Not sure if the Kn— Greagoir, that is, finished calling off the Annulment, and that won't keep."
The Warden held up her hands. "Please, don't let me hold you up. Ah– one thing, though, Knight-Commander."
"Mm?"
"The younger students have been learning the Litany of Adralla and have a serviceable portion of it memorised now. I expect this won't happen again any time soon. I have good faith that they will not want to see a repeat of today."
A weak smile came to the new Knight-Commander. He nodded once, and left.
When the Warden had excused herself and returned with another, smaller bag of possessions, the party was invited to say goodbye to the students. Zevran had almost declined the offer, but the thought of his would-be niece taking offence motivated him to choose otherwise.
With the way the younger children (the older two were nowhere to be seen) carried on during said goodbyes, though, he almost wished he'd followed through and refused.
Zevran had managed to follow Cristofania's orders to keep calm as she strapped his mother's gloves to his sides and then put a coat on him. He sniffled a little when his shoes went on, but a sharp look from her silenced him. When she slipped her battered wooden comb into his small bag, the words fell out before he could stop them.
"I don't want to–"
"No."
She took him by his hand and led him down to the front room, where a woman with a deep frown was sitting and nursing a glass of wine. Zevran didn't recognise her; the brothel had enough women visitors, but none with tattoos on their face.
Her eyes snapped onto him, and he froze.
"No–"
"Zevran," Cristofania's voice hardened. "Go to her."
Zevran shook his head and turned away, burying his face in Cristofania's skirts. He wrapped his arms as far around her legs as they could go.
She grabbed his wrists and pulled them off, dropping a brief kiss to his crown. "Zevran…" she murmured warningly.
"No-no-no-no-no," his voice raised to a shriek. "Tell her no–"
A sharp smack to the back of his legs forced a sob out of him, and he snapped her skirts up in his fists. "I'll be good, no please–"
There was a scramble. Footsteps from behind, another stinging slap to the legs, a hand wrenching material out from the grip of his curled fingers; Zevran screamed.
A hand shot under his mouth, pressing a cloth that smelled of alcohol into his nose, and in two breaths, everything went black.
Zevran stood as close as he could to the door without looking impolite, letting his gaze wander between bookshelves as the crying started up. The students were protesting and wailing and wailing and protesting, and Zevran heaved a sigh for all the good it did them.
"Uncle."
Zevran steeled himself and looked down at only half-unexpected visitor, and she looked back up at him.
He smiled. "Ah, Martha! You will keep practicing the Litany each night, yes?"
Her lip wobbled a little; she nodded. "D'you really hafta go, though?"
"I do," he nodded back. "There are all manner of nasty things out there, and we must keep your Ma and Papa safe on the farm, no?"
"C'n I come?"
"Not this time, no." He shook his head. "You must work hard here first, make good, strong spells–"
Zevran was cut off as the girl threw her arms around him, all but launching her head into his midriff as she did. His astonishment rendered him useless until a beat passed and he was able to summon a friendly laugh and give her a small squeeze back.
He took her by the shoulders and held her out in front of him, shooting her what he hoped was an encouraging smile.
"You will work hard here, yes? And if I see your Ma and Papa, I will tell them how good you have been."
She sniffled and nodded. "You won't forget me?"
Zevran chuckled. "Forget you? Ah, you are toying with me, Martha! You must be famous by now. Everyone knows you!"
Martha wiped under her eyes. "A little bit famous, yeah."
"There, see? What a question." In the corner of his eye, Rhodri was beckoning him to follow her (and the league of children still attached to her robes). He sighed. "And now I must go, but it has been very good to see you. Thank you for taking good care of me."
Zevran found himself wishing he had some small thing to leave with the girl as her eyes filled with water. What a thing it was to travel light. He compromised and pat her head, and left it at that.
Rhodri was the last out of the classroom (she had fallen prey several times over to the 'one more hug' trick), and stood in the hallway with a clenched jaw and unsteady breaths. She attempted to address the party several times but dissolved into a coughing fit whenever she began to speak. By the fourth time, she was stable enough to get a few sentences out.
"We should go," she said in a strangled voice. "S'been close to fifteen minutes."
Zevran, Alistair, and Leliana shared a glance (Alistair's was, of course, another scowl when his eyes met Zevran's) and nodded.
Halfway to the front hall, the party was stopped by the two older students.
"We just saw Greagoir walking around without armour," Tara said, her eyes like saucers. "Is he–?"
Rhodri nodded. "You'll be under the watchful eye of Knight-Commander Bradley now."
Georgie laughed breathlessly, and gave her a small shove. "You did it, Rhodri. You really did it!"
"I told you I would. Have I ever lied to you?"
They shook their heads.
"It won't be perfect, I know," Rhodri said after a moment. "Better than it ever has been, though, I think." She nodded in the direction of the classroom. "Keep an eye on the small ones, yes? For me?"
The request was met with nods and 'of courses' said with all the certainty in the world. It seemed to be enough.
"We're going now–"
"Now?" the boy echoed.
Rhodri nodded once.
At the first hint of emotion in either of the teenagers, Zevran preoccupied himself with adjusting and re-adjusting the buckle on his poisons belt. It would have to be replaced soon; after a good decade of service it was falling to pieces, and it wouldn't do to have twelve vials of lethal materials crashing around his feet with no notice.
The students left them, eventually, for the classroom, and Rhodri guided them (now with Greagoir in tow) outside and into the boat. The sun was hanging onto the horizon by the skin of its teeth, and Carroll rowed them through the scarlet water without a word.
Wynne sat at the front of the boat, facing away from the party, and Greagoir sat behind her. In the wider middle, Zevran sat beside Rhodri, and behind them, Alistair and Leliana sat with their arms around each other. Alistair had borrowed Rhodri's spare bag of clothes to give Leliana an arm rest. The late afternoon chill had set in, almost crisp enough to be instantly uncomfortable; Zevran didn't dare ask Alistair for one of the robes. He huffed a small, rueful sigh and forced himself into a fitful sleep.
"Zev." A hand carefully nudged his shoulder before his eyes could finish opening. "... Zev?"
Zevran's eyes flickered open. Whether or not he had actually slept was debatable, but the sky was dark, and in the weak moonlight, Rhodri was watching him carefully. She slid a little closer to him.
"You're shivering." She held a hand out. "May I use a little magic to warm you up?"
After today's display of magical exhaustion, it was hard to know if the Warden was terribly forgetful, or simply had a death wish. Could she even make her fingers glow without keeling over?
Zevran had no interest in finding out. He sat up and gave her a roguish grin.
"Do not trouble yourself, my Grey Warden," he shook his head gently. "No need for spellcasting on Zevran, no ser!"
Rhodri's eyes widened. Her hand darted back, and she slid away again. "Of course," she said quickly. "I'm sorry, of course I understand… ah…" Her fingers wrung themselves until she glanced at Wynne, and fell still again.
"Ah," she said after a moment. "You can't just freeze. Here…"
Zevran's eyes widened as Rhodri undid the fasteners on her robe and pulled it off.
"Ah, my Warden," he began. "No need to–"
"It's– it's all right." She held out the robe to him; his eyes darted down to her arms, bunched sleeves and bare skin and bafflingly thick muscles sitting like a caricature over thin bones. Zevran swallowed and lifted his gaze.
"The robe, it's– it isn't enchanted," she pressed, her cheeks going scarlet. "No magic, I promise, but you'll be warm in it. And I don't get cold in weather like this."
He chuckled weakly. "Ah, but your modesty laws. You are not uncomfortable?"
Rhodri shook her head. "It's– don't worry, I'm fully clothed, so it's–it's not so bad. I can roll down my sleeves and– and–" she hurriedly jostled her sleeves down and brought the robe closer to him. "It's not for you to worry about anyway," she shook her head. "Doesn't matter. Please, just take it. I–I–I," she paused and took a breath, watching him pleadingly. "I can't fix it any other way, and–and you need to stay warm. Please let me help you."
Zevran took the robe before the urge to hurl himself into the winy water overtook him completely. Rhodri looked relieved that he had, and with the sudden warmth creeping back into his skin, Zevran at least physically felt relieved.
He summoned enough brains to mumble his thanks to her. A tentative smile crept into the corners of her mouth. Her hand left her lap and moved toward his shoulder, only to be ripped back when she seemed aware it had moved.
She nodded quickly, apologetically. "Always, Zev."
Zevran caught the breathlessness in his laugh and didn't like it. He yawned and with a nod, curled into himself, pretending to be asleep until he managed to pull it off properly.