DAO46: Beginning's End - Briala, Rhion (2024)

Chapter 1: Pandora's Box

Chapter Text

“Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.” – Seneca

Voices of those that were Ferox woke him, one growling ‘Desire’, another rumbling ‘Love’, the faint memory of a third’s firm voice, ‘Zevran’. He lay on the ground, his mind fogged, ears ringing, eyes unfocused, he saw sets of familiar brown eyes, one mild and peaceful, another warm reflecting his love back to him doubled, the third was hard, yet no less resolved. Blinking again the voices, faces, and eyes became earth, sweet and pungent with the scent of composting plant matter. As the elf lifted his head and he looked at Highever castle, his eyes focused on a shovel stuck in the well turned soil and the geas which had been laid upon him activated, flooding him with adrenaline.

Quickly getting to his feet, Zevran grabbed the shovel and furiously began to dig into the soft mound of dirt knowing that his boy, every single one of them, was right now in a box under his feet. Painful minutes went by as dirt flew. He knew his heart would break if his boy was damaged, if it all happened all over again. When the spade hit the top of the box he wept and scrabbled with his fingers seeking the latch, clearing the heavy moisture laden soil from the lid.

Flipping the top from the crate anxious to soothe the one inside, Zevran reached in and pulled the bound child from the box. “You are safe mushu. There is no need to fear, your Zevran has come to rescue you. You are alright, I am here.”

The frightened child in his lap nodded, and loose mahogany curls tickled his face as he found the end of the linen bandages and unwrapped them revealing tough leggings and a tunic the colour of a blue summer’s day. The scent of Ferox in all of his guises washed over his senses - salt, sea grasses along the shore, so many little details each that he remembered, yet something was different, sweeter and he knew that a spell had recently been cast in the dark of the underground box. Familiar damp brown eyes looked up at him and Zevran smiled. Pretending that he did not know who it was he had saved, he introduced himself again and was genuinely surprised at what he heard.

“Thank you for saving me, Zevran. I am Freya A Cousland.” At the word Cousland, the geas ended. She looked at him with serious, still fearful brown eyes that held unshed tears and nodded decisively, the most formal of manners presenting themselves, “Zevran, you will be re-re-warded for saving my life. You will come home ta have dinner with me an’ you will be my bodyguard. I will tell Father so.” As she clambered from his lap, a young, strapping mabari came bounding across the fields barking his head off. Infectious laughter and squeals bubbled from the girl as the hound sniffed her to make certain she was well. “Horsie, this is Zevran. He’s my Hero, ‘cause he saved me! Zevran, this is Horse. Horsie is a mabari an’ he’s a good dog.”

Tugging his hand, she led the way to Castle Highever chattering the entire way telling him of Nan, her big brother Fergus, and her parents Bryce and Eleanor, and a horse she was learning to ride, and the new bow she had just received for her birthday, and how her favourite cookies had raisins AND cranberries, and about an upcoming trip to Orlais...and...and...and...

....

Zevran finished tucking Freya into bed after she had fallen asleep wrapped up in his cloak, smoothing the blankets down and gave Horsie a boost up. Not that he needed it, but he remembered how the faithful hound’s hips had gone. Too much hopping when a little help could ease it. The mabari lolled his big tongue at him before licking his cheek.

Patting the head just so, “Hello my old friend, it is good to see you again. Now I must go speak with our girl’s father... You keep her safe and sleep well.”

Seeing Castle Highever in all its drafty un-glory set his teeth on edge. However, he could tell where old grandfather Cousland had recently gone off the roof with his fireworks. Zevran sighed, knowing the hallways as though he had lived his whole life there, Twadd and Cyni’s memories guiding his feet. The place needed renovation, desperately. He kept himself busy with those thoughts, rushing as he had ever since digging Freya out of the ditch in the ground, trying not to feel the sadness gnawing at him. There was time for that later when he was alone.

Knocking on Bryce’s office door even as he casually entered with a bow, “Your Grace, I have come as you requested.”

Bryce Cousland looked nothing like Bryce Algere thankfully - Zevran didn’t think his heart could take it if he had. A gesture waved him to take one of the plush chairs, “Yes, Zevran was it? Have a seat.” Teyrn Cousland stared at him long and hard. “My daughter has demanded I make you her bodyguard, a request I’m inclined to honour. However I wish to know who you are and how a foreigner like yourself arrived here.”

“I was travelling from Antiva,” Zevran told the truth as he made himself comfortable. “And due to various unforeseen circ*mstances, was nearby when I heard and smelt a child in distress. I am unsure of how much you know of Antivan culture, Your Grace, but culturally, we value children. To most of us, it is nothing more than instinct, no looked for rewards - we are a cramped together country, not spread out like your wild Ferelden. To get along we have certain...taboos and habits that rule our day to day lives. It takes a village to raise a child just as surely as it takes a village to put a barn together. So, basically, I heard Freya’s fear and sought it out.” Spreading his hands, “Before that is unimportant - just a man travelling looking for a place to fit.”

“Hmmn,” Bryce’s expression was deep and pensive, fingers woven together and chin tucked onto the platform they created, elbows on the desktop. “The reason I ask is that your weapons and armour are quite fine, above the means of most elves from around here, even the Dalish...”

“You wish to know if I am a Crow?” Zevran crossed his legs at ankle and knee, leaning back. “I assure you I have not been sent here on a contract - being a rogue and fighter might be what I am, but it is not who I am. Even so, I am aware of the dangers Ferelden can pose, and the proof of a fighter’s skill is not just in his continued breathing, but his physical wealth is entirely tied up in his weapons and armour.”

“Very well then,” even if Zevran could tell that the teyrn was not completely satisfied - not that there was anything Zevran could say that would not make him sound completely touched in the head that would satisfy Bryce at all. “A room in the servants’ wing, board, and a small stipend for personal needs is what I can offer you for your services. What other skills do you have besides poaching?”

Trying not to snort at the ‘poaching’, “I can read and write every language spoken in Thedas, Your Grace. I am conversant in archery, dual wielding, one handed, and two handed weaponry - including staves and broadswords. Poisons, poultices, minor surgery, equine care and riding. Enough about horsebreeding that I could have made that my sole trade and been wealthy for it, tradescraft, statecraft, animal husbandry and how to run a plantation - which is a very large farm, Your Grace. Vinters’ arts, leatherworking, and enough metalworking to get myself into serious trouble. Science and alchemy of the metallurgical type...” He couldn’t help a smile, “Honestly? There is not much that I have not been schooled in, Your Grace. It is not said to be arrogant, but anything short of magecraft, I have a knack for it or at the very least enough knowledge to teach the basics.” By way of explanation, along with a shrug, “I get bored easily and sleep little.”

During his monologue he watched the noble’s stern facade crack. There came an unsurprisingly Twadd like gesture - a heel rubbed vigorously into an eye socket. In disbelief and awe quite clearly.

“Try me, Your Grace and you will see that my words are no simple boasting of a rogue seeking anything of you,” wryly. “Set me a task to complete within those parameters and you will find that I am not merely talking out both sides of my mouth to gain favour. Keep the stipend and put it towards buying me supplies for a few inventions. You will quickly discover that you can make a great deal of coin for your household off of these ideas.” A full blown grin broke out, “And the keep requires some renovations, as I saw half a wing’s roof burnt. Something about fireworks, I was told? Nasty things when not used properly... So further wealth to line the coffers for the safety and comfort of mi preciosa would not be out of place.”

Aplomb was struggled for, “And what do you request for these services?”

“I am but Freya’s humble servant, Your Grace,” shrugging. “A place to fit is all I need. We have a saying in my homeland - once you save someone’s life, you are always responsible for it. I will eternally be responsible for her, any leave taking of her would be in violation of it. Now, I am honourbound to serve her unto my death. Her goals, are my goals. Her needs, are my needs. I have found what I was searching for - it is no more complex and no less complex, than that.”

Bryce rubbed his chin thoughtfully, “Very well then. A task you ask for, a task I’ll give you. Planning the renovations and how to fund them - that is your task.”

“And what do I have to work with?” relaxing - this was something he knew how to do.

....

Freya was beside him at the alchemist’s table, helping him assemble the little frost- and firerock prototypes. Once they were ready, he would show them to Bryce and they would be tested. Knowing they would be considered a ‘marvel’, the ability to keep a room, tent, or bed warm or cold at will would be considered quite valuable. There was also the memorized runestone schematics he had written down to keep water pure. Ferelden had a very large natural set of deposits for fire-, frost- and lightningrocks that would be the basis of local wealth quite quickly and he would hold back on the water purifying rune until later. No need to flood the markets with wonders.

Two weeks in, and he had taken over Freya’s education in full, mostly they discussed in meandering paths while he drew out what was needed, made lists, and spoke with the local craftspeople. A heretofore ‘unknown’ mine was found that produced silver and silverite, and business would begin to boom. Zevran cautioned Bryce - not that it was needed - to first build before allowing production to be begun. It merely took talking with Lord Cousland in such a way that his ideas were thought to be Bryce’s own. It was not that Lord Cousland was unintelligent by any means, he just was not working with the amount of knowledge that Zevran was. For that, Cyni’s memories were plumbed, ones gained secondhand from Gaeaf. Loans were taken out, but taxes left unchanged, the Antivan moneylender convinced quickly that he should give a good rate to the Couslands - perhaps because of a fear of a certain Crow’s presence. But Zevran could not say...

Three months in, the prototypes were in production, enclosed fountains made to be heating and cooling apparati. First to nobles, then the first sales to Kirkwall and a few Orlesian nobles. A certain mystique was built around them - on purpose. Zevran made sure to sell ‘schematics’ for them, ones that would not work at best, and at worst, exploded. That ensured the local production would have to come from Highever and their ‘ingenious’ smiths.

A patois formed between he and Freya, a mix of Common, Orlesian, Antivan, and some elvish words. Few could understand a full conversation between them and that was the way he wanted it. And at night he would hold her in his lap by her little fountain in the room, installed on the wall, telling her stories, as she cuddled in his greatcloak made from snowcat pelt and drakeskin.

He could smell the magic growing in her though, and he worried. And so, even though his knowledge was fairly limited, he taught her how to focus her mind. How to keep it quiet. They would be going to Orlais soon enough, Orlais with its Templars. Orlais with its Chantry stranglehold. Orlais - the place where enemies would be on all sides. The trip was delayed time and again. First for Freya to recover, afraid too often of small spaces, to risk a trip by boat. Then it was a wait for harvests to be brought in, renovations to be firmly underway, and profit built.

Sometimes at night Zevran would go into the Cousland treasury and count it all, fanatically keeping track of the physical wealth rather than what was written in the books. Freya’s security required a strong starting point. The next time Bryce offered him a stipend, it was more than ten silvers a week, but a sovereign. Zevran took it that time, putting it away, knowing that soon, hiding Freya’s mage talent would be impossible. It would take one slip, that was all, and then Templars would come to take her away.

Or they would try at least - and they would fail.

....

In the quiet of the night, it struck. Up until then, Zevran had held it off. But now it was quiet. Completely so, or as much as a castle with people ever could be. Laying in his scratchy bed, he cried. He could not feel Twadd. Could not hear him. His soul was alone in his body. There was no Cyni, Singing constantly. No ‘Love’ or ‘Desire’ whispered or growled or moaned at him. Their souls were gone from him, from this plane. They had been reassembled, subsumed, devoured by whatever magic had sent him here. Zevran wanted to howl, to scream, to cry. Freya was a comfort, he could see them in her, but she was a different individual entirely.

Never again would he feel a hairy chest under his cheek, huge hands cradling his hip and shoulder in the night. They were gone. Was the cost too high? He didn’t know. He would do anything for them, had always wished desperately that he could have saved them from the box. Had worked to do so, to heal them, and be given purpose and healing in turn. Here he had that, but he didn’t have them.

They were gone.

Curling into a tight ball, alone and cold in the bed, he broke, shattering. Centuries he had been with them. Now all he had was memories and a girl who embodied parts of each, or that they were nothing more than a part of. Even when he had been searching and waiting for the hope that Cyni would bring, he had had Twadd’s presence and constant loving warmth, not just the memories, but the fact.

Three pairs of feet, two with clicking toenails stopped outside his door. The knock came as the door opened, leaning around the door frame, her eyes wide. “Zevran? Are you ‘wake? Horsie says he’s lonely and there’s scrabbly sounds that are scary,” Freya whispered holding Horse’s collar a small spell wisp floating around her head.

Jerking he quickly wiped his face clear, “A moment, preciosa, I am not decent.” Leaning over he snagged leggings, tugging them on under the blankets before sitting up and patting his bed, “Come here my little ones, I will keep you both safe.”

He opened his arms as soon as Freya clambered atop the bed, having once more stolen his cloak that night, its huge size far too much for her little girl’s frame, swallowing her up. Soft fur met his hands as he held her close. Mahogany curls tickled his nose and under his chin as she tucked her face into his throat, snuffling at him. The familiarity of the action soothed and broke his heart simultaneously. Horse draped himself over his legs, little stub tail wagging at him, the small eyes with their funny brows looking up at him worriedly, asking him if he was alright - the one who likely made said ‘scrabbly noises’ so that Zevran would not be alone. Reaching down to rub the spot between those eyes with his thumb lightly, he knew he would manage, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t miss his loves - he couldn’t help it, couldn’t help but hurt for their absence. Freya had been given into his care and he loved her already, but she was not a replacement - no one could replace them. Each was loved and impossibly important to him.

Kissing Freya’s brow, “Now, did anyone see you with your little wisp, preciosa? Hmn? Remember what I said about such things...”

“No, but it was dark... I needed light...”

“That is why you have the little lightning ball, remember? Right on the bedstand,” reminding her gently and firmly. “You have to be careful, it is our secret, others cannot know.”

A gulp, “I’m sorry, Zevran.” She sought to distract him from any lectures, “How do you smell like sunshine all the time, even in the dark?

Leaning back against the headboard, “I use oils to make it so, chiquita. But I have used them for so long that now I always smell like it, even when I do not have them.” Twirling a fat, fluffy barrel curl around a finger, “In the spring perhaps I can convince your parents to send for supplies to make some for you, hmn? What I wear would be too strong on you.”

“Can I smell like you?”

“We will make something that smells how you like it, princessa,” the soft peachy skinned cheek tucked against his tattooed collarbone. “Hmn..perhaps a little rose and tea...? Little girls should not smell like grown men, yes?”

“But, I like cloves,” the stubborn streak in all of them showed through.

“Well, we could certainly add some clove, cinnamon too,” smiling in the dimness. Reaching into his bedstand he tugged out his own lightning ball to put on the small table, the glass globe that held chips of lightningrock in a saline mix, carefully stoppered by parchment, then cork, then waxed to finish the seal off. Glass making in Ferelden was not so fine as in Antiva, but he worked with what he had. “But never fear, we will craft something just for you, my sweet one.”

“Cinn-a-men-no-men is nice too. I like it on toast and bessert,” a sigh.

“And what of that rabbit I made when we went out in the forest?” feeling as her head began to droop, gangly limbs wrapped around him. Letting his voice go soft and soothing, “You liked the rabbit I made, did you not? And those potatoes, hmn?”

Sorrowfully, “Poor ribbet, now he is mittens.” Freya yawned.

“Hmn, yes, but it was a tasty one,” chuckling. “I rubbed it with cinnamon and salt before putting the mud on it so we could bake it in those coals... You remember?”

“I ‘member. He was good with the ‘tatos...all crackly and juicy. An’ the berries...razzleberries.”

Resting his cheek on her fluffy crown, Zevran tugged the cloak around her tighter, “Hmmhmm, with the honey oat cakes.”

Kissing the hollow of his throat sweetly, she sighed, “Love you, Zevran.”

“And I, you, my precious Freya, always,” as he pet her hair aside, tucking it out of her face so it wouldn’t get gummy with sleep drool. “I promise.”

....

Eleanor sighed, obviously vexed, “Zevran, truly, why does she not stay in her room?”

He shrugged as he frowned at the teyrna who had insisted on taking his measurements so she could knit him some woolen leggings. “It has been my experience that children do not always stay where they are put, m’lady. They crave closeness, yes? Think on it - not so very long ago they were carried in the safety and security of the womb, then held close to be fed milk, and then suddenly they are expected to sleep alone? Adult logic has little meaning to them. Usually when they hit puberty they finally get to a point where it is ‘No, I am big, and wish to be alone and have my own space.’ How my people handle it, is to provide whichever it is they require so that they have a strong base to grow from.”

Lady Cousland jotted down her notes, “She is a big enough girl as it is, Zevran. You are too indulgent with her.”

“M’lady, whatever she requires of me, then that is what she receives. I have said this before and shall continue to say it. There is nothing untoward going on, nor is how she is, abnormal in the slightest. Surely you are aware that most families have but one bed? The common populace do it for warmth and comfort as well as economy of space,” he shrugged as he tried not to make a face at the boring yarn on offer. The leggings were merely to keep him warm - not look good. “People require connection, m’lady. And according to Fergus, she was in that box long enough that she could have died. While she may not understand that fully yet, her psyche searches to make sure that it has not happened. If it had been yourself, Fergus or your husband who found her, she would be glued to someone other than myself. It is nothing complex.”

“While I understand your logic, young man, it still is slightly scandalous you know,” she tutted at him.

“If it comforts you at all, it is a fairly well documented fact that I have responded positively to young Harold’s advances,” saying offhanded as he poured the teyrna tea from the wild mints he and Freya gathered.

The elegant woman paused her rummaging in her yarn basket, “Pardon?”

“I have found that my taste for Ferelden men is a long standing tradition,” as he picked up a tunic for mending. “Ones with broad shoulders and large hands and a surfeit of chest hair, whilst being cleanshaven. Harold is an attractive fellow and the body does have needs...”

It was obvious his easy statement of being attracted to men had taken Eleanor aback. In his experience, Ferelden was not comprised of those beings who were narrow-minded, but they tended to not be very blatant about such preferences. But it was the truth - Ferox and he had been together for...centuries. Quashing the thoughts before they could drag him down - while in company no less - he edited.

“My husband died not so long ago, it is part of what put me on the path here, dear lady,” the needle flashed silver in his hands as he went to work. “I am not interested in the women here by any measure anyway, so set your fears aside. While some will voice concerns over my perversions, children and shemlen women are not particular to my tastes. That is not to say that if the right woman came to me or I came across her that my mind would not be changed, but that is not going to be anytime soon, hmn?”

A quick knock on the door before it opened and Horse stuck his nose through the gap, obviously being ‘held back’ by a hand on his collar. The hound seemed to enjoy interrupting him - the tricky beast. Freya was next peeping around the heavy door. “Umm, Moma. Can I borrow Zevran? Nathaniel’s here, an’ there’s an archery contest and my hair got caught in the string, an’ everybody laughed and Nathaniel an’ Thomas said I could pick anybody for my team, ‘cause Thomas says nobody can beat Nate...”

Eleanor laughed, “My girl, they made a mistake in granting you that...”

Zevran snickered, setting his mending aside, “Well then, let us grab my mother’s bow, and we will give them a reckoning they shall not soon forget, hmn?” Leaning down as he opened the door the rest of the way, he picked her up, “Or shall we be magnanimous and give them a shadow of a fighting chance and I use your bow?”

The solemn brown eyes were worried, “Nathaniel’s really good, Zevran, but his bow’s not as nice as yours.”

“Ah but has he ever relied solely upon his skills to keep himself and his family fed rather than as mere sport?” he asked even as he sidetracked to grab the Sorrows of Arlathan. “Not only that, but a true archer can use two twigs to hunt their meal, the bow only facilitates it.”

As the young Howe was now, Zevran knew he could likely beat Nathaniel even with Freya’s bow which was much too small for him. It would take many years and hard living for Nathaniel to gain his peak performance. As that was some years away, he would be easy pickings as it were. He would give the boy the choice. Or ‘win’ using Sorrows and then to prove his point - and ‘avenge’ his girl’s honour - her own bow. Nathaniel he didn’t mind, the boy was stern and quiet, it was Thomas that grated on him so foully. That boy was a slug and a dirty worm. At least not as bad as Vaughn Uriel was at the moment, whom he had had to haul off by the scruff of his neck several times for a sound tongue-lashing for having been caught trying to take advantage of the serving girls.

Young Howe was as stiff as he remembered him. Or as Cyni and Twadd did. Shoulders constantly squared as though someone had pounded a steel rod into his back in place of a spine, hands held tight on the bow, but fingers loose, stance wide, gaze turned inwards. Thomas was bragging while Fergus sought to keep things equitable, his voice level. He was the oldest, other than Zevran, on the field of ‘battle’. It was odd to see Fergus, knowing that on one hand he was still childish enough to have thoughtlessly locked away a precious sibling and child, but also man and lord enough to mediate. In the months since Zevran’s arrival he had taken a more serious bent beneath the warm and friendly exterior. Zevran took the blame for that - a quiet discussion had driven home just how dangerous his foolishness had been. He had gone over every detail of what it was like to die in a box, strangling and choking, and the consequences of what could have happened - brain damage, a scarred sister, unable to realize that this was reality. From then on Fergus had taken an extreme zeal in being a ‘good’ lord and was fiercely protective of Freya in all things.

Freya slid from his arms and stepped forward pulling on her ‘proper role’ for the game complete with curtsy. “Fergus, um, I mean, Lord Cousland, I have chosen Zevran ta be my Champion for this contest of skill.”

“A dirty knife ear?” Thomas brayed with a nasal laugh. “Couldn’t you have found a challenge?”

Fergus gave Thomas a mild look, a copy of Twadd when dealing with the particularly dumb. “My sister has chosen her Champion - and you did say she could pick anyone. If she had chosen Nate himself, by your very words, you allowed it.”

Nathaniel’s muted grey eyes took in Zevran, “There’s no shame in pitting myself against a Dalish, brother. They live and die by the bow.”

Bowing to Fergus and then Nathaniel, “My mother’s people live and die by Vir Tanadhal - not the bow. I am no great archer, but my skills are not particularly poor either, my Lords, my Lady.”

Hearing the rules of engagement, Zevran nodded his agreement and swiftly spun an arrow in his fingers before nocking it. It flew true, slamming home with a fine vibration as it wobbled through the air, the sound tickling his ears. Nathaniel had talent, more than he did, but his skill was not where it would be someday. Continually Zevran won, until Thomas threw a fuss after demanding to see Sorrows. He watched as the boy wanted to do damage to the precious and ancient weapon, but wouldn’t dare, not with the eyes on him. Not only that, but as soon as his hands began to make a wrong move, Zevran would be hauling him and throwing him away from his mother’s bow so fast the youth wouldn’t know what hit him. Thankfully no such faux pas was necessary. To satisfy Thomas’ ire, Zevran accepted the various bows the younger Howe pointed to. Even the horrid practice one was easy to use in his hands. Soundly, every round, Nathaniel was beat once more. In the background Thomas’ rage increased, until he was ready to howl with it.

Nathaniel on the other-hand was much more gracious, bowing deeply, “I concede I am beaten and fairly, ser. I hope that one day my skill is sufficient to beat you.”

“When you have only your bow and skill to rely upon, m’lord, then you will best me,” as he passed Nathaniel the Sorrows to inspect. “So, you are an admirable archer - what of your skill with blade?”

Zevran knew the answer to that, but he had noticed something odd in Nathaniel’s stance finally. An odd hitch, a side favoured. Of course it could be nothing, but with the extreme difference between Thomas and Nathaniel, he had to wonder. While Nate would not thank him for what he was about to do, Zevran had plans for the youth. The title of Warden Commander would have to go to someone in the future, as there was not a snowball’s chance in the magma pits of Orzammar that he would let Freya become the Warden Commander. At least, not of Ferelden. Perhaps Antiva if it came to that.

Encouraging, Freya piped up, “Nathaniel likes daggers and he dances really well. It doesn’t have to be a contest, does it, Fergus?” She may have asked her brother, but she looked at Zevran as if trying to figure out what game was to be played next and what the rules were. Probably thinking that if she did, she would have an advantage over the boys when the game expanded to include everyone - a way the small or weak could beat out those bigger and stronger.

Fergus shrugged, “Zevran - you’re the weaponsmaster. Howe could use some training, so, just a friendly match then.”

“Not a contest at all, but I am truly curious, m’lord Howe - your archery skills are quite superb, has your strength of blades had to suffer for it?” plucking live edged daggers from his sides. “A true artist is able to use their weapons without cutting, even when they are edged. However, you need not pull back on my account.”

Winking at Freya, he silently promised he would tell her his secrets for this game soon.

Nathaniel had been hesitant, but quickly fell into a rhythm. Across the yard they danced, Freya clapping and cheering, while Thomas yelled ‘tips’ to Nathaniel. All the while Fergus watched intently. Zevran did not pull out the stops, in fact he was very careful, but he watched and watched. The young Howe was obviously walking wounded, muscles pulling and moving poorly. Providing and taunting with openings, he waited and then let Nathaniel take one, a novice mistake, one that was exceedingly sloppy in its execution on Nate’s part, so that it was the most natural thing when Zevran ‘slipped’ and cut a slash through the young shemlen’s leathers, opening a gash over ribs.

Cursing convincingly, after all it was a complete ‘accident’, Zevran set his weapons aside quickly and caught Nathaniel who swayed after straightening as he stared down at the blood beginning to flow. Barking out orders in the tone of voice that all would follow, “Freya - get my office ready, Thomas, go get hot water from the kitchens, Fergus, kindly inform your parents that Nathaniel is being tended!”

If the young Howe had intended upon protesting, Zevran had moved far too quickly for it to happen. Thomas of course had run to tattle about the ‘filthy knife-ear’ who had ‘tried to kill’ his brother. It was rather expected, which was why he had sent Fergus to the adults immediately. Freya was with him as he pulled off Nathaniel’s upper garments and gasped. Black and mottled bruises were all over the youth’s back and chest along with the clean slice. Zevran said not a word, merely holding out his hands for the various tools he would need after pointing to each. As Nathaniel stared dumbly at his flying fingers, cleaning, packing and then stitching the wound closed, his already pale sallow skin was paler with horror and shock overlaid heavily by embarrassment.

When Nathaniel had begun to protest as Zevran slathered stronger poultices over the heavy bruising, he finally spoke, “If one is wounded at all, it is tended, no matter the source and cause, young man. Letting yourself remain damaged is a sure way of getting yourself dead. I do not care how or where you took this thrashing or who delivered it. Fighting in this state outside of pure necessity is folly and stupidity. Whomever your instructor is should be hung for allowing it.”

Nathaniel drew himself up, shoulders squaring, “I am a Howe and take my punishments.”

“You are mortal and being stupid if you sit there and let this be done,” he grabbed Nate’s chin, tipping his head to stare him straight in the eyes. “Only a coward beats someone like this. Freya - go see about that hot water if you please?” When his girl hesitated, he jerked his chin, expression stern and she scampered off to do as he said. “No father has the right to do this to his son, not unless the boy is a rapist, murderer, or monster. And one does not torture monsters, rapists or murderers - they are simply put down like rabid animals.”

“How -”

“Do not ask questions you do not want to know the answers to, Nathaniel,” brows furrowed. “Besides, it was only a guess and your reaction told me. Now, the question is - what do you intend to do about this? But it is one you have time to mull over. The answer is not for me, but yourself. What is your breaking point? When will it go on for too long, push you too far? Now, we have no more time as your father and Bryce are coming down the hall right now. Put your shirt on else your father will blame your instructor for his abuses to Bryce.”

....

That evening, Zevran set up storytelling in the vegetable garden between the newest wings of Castle Highever. Horsie was a fortuitous backrest, and Freya was tucked up between Zevran’s legs, her ear to his chest listening to his voice. Fergus, Thomas and Nathaniel were there, as well as young Delilah who wanted stories of girls being saved. In light of what he had observed and knew already, he spun out stories of the Free Blades rescuing merchants’ daughters. Thomas wanted stories of uprisings squashed, which Zevran accommodated - and then went into gory detail of how the Crows had tortured the upstart merchant prince for having brutally slaughtered his slaves for refusing to work without rations.

“Savagery can be met by two things - further savagery or with style. Personally, I have always favoured the iron hand with the velvet glove,” as he summed up, waxing poetic. “To rule properly - from a workshop to a kingdom - one must be fair as well as strong. Happy workers work harder. Of course the short-term profit margins are not so vast, but renewable resources are always a premium commodity.”

Of course that was lost on Thomas, but Zevran would never be accused for not trying to limit the amount of monsters in the world. He comforted himself with visions of the smug little prick being devoured by darkspawn, or going mad while changing into a ghoul. Fergus nodded as he ladled mulled cider out, as Zevran’s words echoed things Bryce had said before, if couched in terms of honour, right and wrong.

“These...Free Blades, what are they?” Nathaniel asked finally.

“Mercenaries actually,” as Freya stole his mug to get a sip of the hot cider. He didn’t let her take too much, just a little bit, and to keep her hands warm around the mug. “Antiva has no standing army, nor need of one. When we require fighters and guards, they are hired out to fulfill such needs via contract. It is a good living, everyone wins, and they are better supplied than most armies. Healers are always on hand to deal with wounds, food is plentiful, gear is made specifically to each Free Blade’s needs and skills. Anyone freeborn can become a Free Blade, whether they are from Antiva or not. Following the rules and their individual contract to their unit is all that is required beyond being freeborn. Nothing more. Well, other than the ability to fight. However, they do take raw recruits, but their pay is much less until they are skilled.”

Fergus finally spoke, “You’re rather familiar with them...”

“My father is a Free Blade,” which was the truth. “Being a warrior is a family tradition for me, just as being a fighter is in yours. Why, even your mother has a bow that is well cared for.”

“Moma has a good bow, I would’ve picked her next...” Freya murmured so Thomas couldn’t hear, her cheeks rosy from her little sips.

Taking the mug from her for a sip of his own, the lip of it covering his mouth as he agreed, “It would have been a very good choice, chiquita.”

Once Freya was safely in bed, passed out from stories and a little bit more than half a mug of hard cider in her tummy, Zevran headed off to his own bed. A note was on his pillow in Bryce’s hand. He tried not to smile when he read it and put on a solemn air as he went to the teyrn’s office.

A quick rap and he entered, one of the few who never had to await an order to come in. He was no one’s vassal, his tenure there nothing more than a brief stop in time, and he refused to stand on excess ceremony. Besides, they were business partners, equals in many regards, and Zevran was accorded that respect, even if his room was nothing great and his pay modest.

“You wished to speak with me, m’Lord?” flopping in his customary chair. “Your note sounded rather formal, is there some problem?”

Bryce steepled his fingers before his mouth, “About the incident earlier today - with Nathaniel.”

“Ah, that was an accident, I should have been faster,” shaking his head woefully.

“No, as I understand it, all who saw what happened, there was nothing you could have done - frankly, it is amazing you did not kill him,” Bryce set his hands flat on the desk, expression grim. “Freya said that as you were tending him, that there was...a great deal of ‘ouchies’ all over him. When I told her to describe them... I must admit I am shocked by what she told me. Bruises upon bruises, not a patch of skin that wasn’t brown, purple, or at the very least, yellow. The image she depicted is...unacceptable. Tell me - did my child make it all up, were there just a few marks?”

Leaning back in the chair, Zevran tipped his head, eyes closing, “I wish she was, Bryce. Truly, I do.”

Grimly, “How bad is it?”

“...It is as though he is wearing a tunic without sleeves. I imagine if his leggings had been pulled down, there would be similar there as well. Someone has systematically beat him,” keeping his tone level, lips pursed, his anger and distaste on display. “Repeatedly. Likely for years, otherwise he would not have such an easy time moving around as he does.”

“Did he say who did it?” the weary demand, the desire to know who would damage another human being like that was present and at the forefront. “Some instructor? Someone with power over him?”

Picking his words carefully, “It would be highly unlikely to be an instructor, Bryce. He would not say who had done it, but the embarrassment that someone had seen it is...familiar to me. I have witnessed such wrongs perpetrated by others. A family member is invariably the culprit of such...repeated and ongoing abuses when paired with such shame. Unless it is a lover, but I doubt young Howe has progressed to that state of interest in sex enough to submit to a single person doing so much harm to his person.”

“It won’t stop then,” fingers were drummed loudly on the walnut desk. “Unless he is removed and I take it he is unwilling to say who did this?”

Zevran nodded, “Usually they protect who do them harm, yes.”

“Unless he is willing to level accusations, there is little I can do...” Bryce leaned back heavily rubbing an eye socket madly, obviously a headache forming.

“Fergus has very limited opponents,” Zevran pointed out. “It is not uncommon for families to foster out their children to friends and relatives. It would remove him from the situation. As for Delilah and Thomas, they are far too favoured to be considered targets. They do not do anything considered distasteful, following every direction they are given.”

Bryce hmm’d, “While Nathaniel is...considered headstrong for his devotion to where his talents lay. Yes, that would work. And you can train him better than most, being a proper rogue as you are.” His beard made a scratchy sound as it was rubbed, “Well. That is one weight off my mind. The other is...”

“Yes? What can I do for you, my friend?” waiting patiently even as he prompted. Bryce had been holding back, sometimes looking as though he wished to confide, but had always stopped short. “What good are these ears of mine, if I do not listen?”

A bark of a laugh, “Ah. Yes. You are far too crafty and insightful. Hmn... In the time you have spent with Freya have you noticed anything...odd about her?”

“Beyond the seriousness, stubborn streak, penchant for stealing my favourite cloak, and picking locks, I take it?”

“Mage - is she a mage?” the question asked with a gust of a sigh. “Before you arrived there were...a few...instances. Has she worked a spell around you?”

He was surprised. Taken aback. While he knew Freya was definitely mage talented, he hadn’t thought anyone else knew, let alone suspected.

Thinking rapidly, “This will sound odd, Bryce, so forgive me. It is not abnormal for children to work some small charms in Antiva. It passes quickly. Usually it is something like a rapid healing of a broken bone, or in one case I saw firsthand, there was an instance where the child was able to set a table to trembling when hearing that a parent had died. Something brought about by duress or great stress or trauma. Seeing something or hearing a spirit or...similar. Such things usually pass as soon as they feel secure again. It need not be mage talent at all. Mage talent is explosive and obvious, not little things, else half of Antiva would be mages.”

Bryce put his head in his hands, shoulders sagging, “Kirkwall is filled with insanity, unstable mages and Templars. Kinloch - I know many of those guards there, and I, personally, would not trust them to guard a sheep without brutality. Rivain is by far too strange. Tevinter -” Bryce’s laugh wasn’t a laugh at all, more a frantic grasp at laughter, “is what it is. Nevarra does not even have a Circle, all their mages are priestly caretakers of their mummies. Or they are burned as soon as they are found, or made into Inquisitors. Orlais...Orlais’ Circle is... Did you know they are allowed to have families amongst their numbers? It breeds true and when it doesn’t, the children often become Sisters or Brothers or Templars.”

None of this was news to Zevran, “You did not mention the Antivan Circle. So I will do it for you - in its own way it is good. In many others, it is bad. The abuses there are not of mind or body, but of the fact that the only mages who reside there, are those who are...too dangerous to become healers.” He waved a hand, “But, this is not important, now is it? A handful of odd occurrences in early childhood mean little, yes?”

Hands were scrubbed over the handsome features, echoes of Ferox there, “I’ve been praying for a miracle, Zevran. If she was a mage, she would have to go to Orlais to be safe and have some chance at happiness. It is all I would be able to do for her.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, there are no thrown fireballs, electric bolts, or targeted snowstorms coming from her hands, at least - not that I have observed,” attempting levity.

And of course Freya had done none of those things. He kept far too close an eye on her for that. Not only that, but he kept a small needle dipped with a tiny amount of magebane on him at all times. One tiny prick would stop any accidental casting before it did more than start, thus hiding such a slip. He was more worried about the spellwisps, but at least the lightning balls helped with that - ‘oh the girl just had one in her hand to light her way’ was the excuse given once. It helped that Fergus had been seen with one and a guard reported worries of magecraft that were quickly allayed.

“Well...that’s good.” Bryce’s relief was palpable. “But you will tell me if anything...similar to that happens? I can trust you on that? There have been mages in the family before, on my side, you know, so we have to be vigilant.”

A small splinter of guilt stabbed him, but Zevran smiled, giving the reassurance, “If she was ever to be a danger, of course I would tell you, my friend.”

“In any event, we go to Orlais in the spring, she should be examined, just to be sure. And I would like to tour the Circle there, not only that, but there are some trade contracts to see to...”

....

Eleanor had finally had enough. At least, that’s what Zevran surmised from her pacing and scolding. Freya was half hiding behind him, face buried in his backside.

“...And if you continue to persist in this, well there is nothing to do then! He will just have to sleep in your room, we cannot have you constantly parading around in your nightdress and sneaking off!” Eleanor turned, hands on her hips. “Is that what you want? To rob him of any personal life by having to sleep in a little girl’s room?”

Tipping her head to see his face as she leaned around him to look up, Freya inquired, “Do you have ah person-all life, Zevran? Wha’do you do with one?”

“Not one of any particular worth,” he shrugged. “But usually it entails seeing friends alone time to time.”

Chin up, the girl prepared to face down her mother, “There’err scary scratchy things in’tha dark, Moma. Scrabbly things that make Horsie cry. Scrabbly like in’tha’ box...” Freya was trying to ‘protect’ her ‘brother’ even as she played her trump card.

Eleanor immediately straightened, face going soft, “Oh, my dearest.”

Stroking her hair, Zevran tried not to glow with pride at her sneaky little statement, even as he worried too, knowing she still had nightmares. “Chiquita, do not worry, I will keep you both safe, I have sworn it, hmn?” Mildly to Eleanor, “If that is what she requires of me, then it is not much to suffer at all - Harold is becoming rather boring. Besides, her bed is larger than mine, and it will be harder for her to hog it all from me.”

“An’ it’s not scratchy, an’ cold, an’ dwafty either. An’ I don’t hog the covers, Horsie does when he makes a nest at the end an’ lays on yer feet. There’d be room for everybody in my bed, an’ nobody would get squashed when Horse runs in his sleep.” She imitated Horsie’s ‘booufing’ and other noises he made chasing animals in his dreams while paddling her arms and bouncing on her toes.

The teyrna laughed throatily, “There is that then, hmn? Very well. Zevran, my dear, it appears you are truly stuck.”

Shrugging, “She will let us know when she wishes less crowding. As I have said - children know what they need, if only we listened.”

Arms around his thigh, Freya waited until her mother had gotten out of earshot, “I need you, Zev.”

“And I need you, preciosa,” falling to a squat, smoothing her wild hair down, a sad smile co*cking his lips. “You are all I have beyond memories.”

Eyes large, expression and tone solemn, “They are good for stories, but not snuggly in the dark.”

Embracing her tightly, “Very true, my sweet. Very true.” Plunking kisses on each cheek as he picked her up and set her on his hip, “And you are extremely snuggly with those knees and elbows as my ribcage and spine can attest to. Now - shall we go find some tea and hot milk before bed?”

“An’ a cookie? Horse likes cookies, but he spits out the raisins.”

“An’ a cookie, yes,” grinning at her as he copied her. “But then you will have to brush your teeth, hmn? No stinky breath for you.”

“You can still have’a room too...to keep your person-all life in.” An offer ‘generously’ extended, “‘Sides if you sleep wif me there’s more room an’ nothin’ scary can come in the door...like bears.”

“At least not without sprouting a dagger hilt in its eye,” saying happily even as he thought of the attack that would eventually come. “And then I will make sure that it cannot do a single thing and will be your shield and your sword, hmn? Defending you against all the scary things, chiquita.”

....

It was harder to hide some of Freya’s more queer actions while on a ship. She had a penchant for trying to talk and call dolphins, and if she had been truly a rogue, he would say it was just a ranger’s talent. But no, that was not what it was. And there was a storm, that was the last straw. Because of the danger, he couldn’t stop her from casting, couldn’t stop her frightened cry and she clung to him, as a glowing shield was thrown up and spread outwards from their little cabin, to swallow the entire ship. Lightning was turned aside again and again as the wind blew, blunted by the shield, and he kept up a steady stream of encouragement as they continued on their way to safety. Whenever he saw her energy flagging, he would cut his fingers, and it was too dark for the rest of the family to notice the wounds, the blood magic that flowed from him to her as he willingly offered up his strength to her spell. It was him who downed the lyrium and elfroot potions, masking things as best he could - the sailors could be convinced that it was the witchy and strange Dalish elf that had been the mage.

Bryce’s fear was realized and when the storm finally broke, Zevran set Freya to bed, guarded by Fergus and Horsie as he had to go with Bryce to ‘discuss’ what had happened.

“You hid that from me,” it was almost an accusation.

Pouring himself a strong brew of elfroot and other healing herbs and covering the whole mix with liquor, he took a long sip before flicking a glance up at Lord Cousland. “I told you that there had been nothing obvious before. No fire, no ice, no lightning. Everything else I have seen is no different than the strangeness of any traumatized child. Many children remain that way for some time, calling upon the world around them to protect them from the dark things that have hurt them, until the fear is outgrown.”

“Like what - tell me precisely what you have seen her do,” Bryce’s stance was stiff, reminding him of an angry mabari, lacking only four legs and a raised neckruff.

“When we have gone out on our trips to hunt and track,” he made himself sit comfortably and continued sipping his drink, “she has called out for little animals, made a few excellent insights, sensed deer when there were no visible droppings or tracks. Nothing extraordinary. If she were an elf, I would say it was nothing more than her ears and nose telling her things. Once she said someone died in such a place, that she could feel their anger, and so we did not sleep there.” Finishing the drink, eyes closed, his head tapped the bulkhead as he stretched his legs out. “I had a cut and it healed before I grabbed the poultice to bandage and seal it. Yes, she has some small talent, that much I knew, something that, at most, would be simple hedgewitch abilities if she continued to develop. Nothing that would open her to Templar issues, let alone blood magic. Sensing weather, a cantrip to heal, perhaps enough to make a weapon’s blow slightly less... That was all I saw her do.”

He didn’t mention the spellwisp as he had never seen her cast it.

“Maker, she’ll have to go to the Circle now,” the shemlen sat heavily, defeated. “This can’t be explained away. This was no simple hedgecraft.”

A growl escaped, “You think I will let her waste away in a Circle, do you?” His lips firmed into a hard line, letting the mask of being friendly and ‘nice’ slip away, the dangerousness of Guildmaster coming into full, poisonous effect as he straightened, though his tone was not angry. “Is that what you believe? Hmn?”

In that moment, Bryce had no idea just how close he was to death.

But he had some inkling as he stiffened once more, “What is she to you that you would do that? She is my daughter - as her father I would do anything to keep her from such a fate. But I can’t risk her being accused of being a maleficar!”

“She is everything,” finally revealing something. “She is mine. Your flesh and blood means nothing to me, Bryce. That claim is without more than a small amount of merit. She belongs to me, and always has. It is what pulled me here. That day in the ditch was her last day as belonging to you and then she became mine. ”

“Who - what are you?”

“I have been called many things, Bryce. ‘Love’, ‘husband’, ‘Demon’ and ‘Desire’ by the ones who held my heart.” He set the cup down carefully on the table. “Guildmaster, Crow, Hero and slave by others. Commander, General, I could have been a king, but chose not to. To me - you are nothing but a tool for what I want. A friend, yes, but still - a tool. You do as I will. And you are a tool that is threatening the one thing that is of worth. You are lucky she values you enough, and that you remain useful to me - as I have few qualms about killing you if you get in my way or threaten to ever get in my way again, Bryce. It will be tolerated this once.” Slowly he rose, his frame might not be tall or impressive, but he had centuries to draw upon, filling the room with the power of his personality and experience, “I have suffered loss beyond what your simple human experience can understand. I have held in my arms the only men I loved as they died. Outlived my offspring, seen Ferelden smashed by Qun’ari, seen the Fifth and Sixth Blight begun and ended. I am not from here, your realm is not my own. My Ferox, your son in another time, sent me here when he died, sacrificing his very soul so that Freya could be kept safe, and so that I could do the one thing I had always wanted - to save him from the box that was nearly his coffin. To heal him. Your desires and claims are nothing in the face of that and my anguish.”

Bryce believed him to be deranged, this much was clear. And yet Zevran always knew things, things that shouldn’t be known. Things that were impossible. The locations to mines, to people and lost items, finding them unerringly as though he had been there before. He knew what people would ask for in trade before they made their requirements known. What things were needed to trade with the dwarves, who to see, who to speak with, and they obviously didn’t recognize him at all. And when he asked after such and so, or would smile enigmatically and tell them to prepare for this or that new arrival - Bryce stared at him in dawning horror. The evidence was there to see if looked at.

Baring his teeth in a smile, “Yes, I am quite mad, I see that. But know that Howe is a viper, and upon the night you are to leave for Ostagar in twelve years, as King Cailan calls upon you and your men to fight the darkspawn there, Howe will betray you. He will stab you in the side, you will drag yourself to the pantry where the hidden room is, Eleanor and Freya will have fought their way through the halls, and you and Eleanor will die there. Yes, I know about the pantry escape route. Freya does not know of it, no one but you and Eleanor do at this point. When we reach Orlais, there will be a young woman named Oriana, daughter of a tea and spice merchant, and Fergus, when lost in the streets, will meet her. They will fall in love, and in three years your first grandchild, Oren, will be born. But on the night Howe betrays you - Oriana will wind up raped and murdered before her own son. Oren will also be killed. Fergus will go missing after Ostagar, healed by Chasind for nearly two years. There is a young Templar in training named Alistair, he is the bastard son of Maric. Send a letter to Arl Eamon, ask how Alistair is doing, and if he has had any proper training for a prince. His response will be most shocked, I assure you, but it is better to know where that pawn is, hmn?” Smile widening, showing the sharpest look he could, and that was a very sharp and cutting look indeed, Zevran didn’t stop there, “Do not believe me for now if you must, shem, but when Fergus disappears when we are about and he comes in boasting of a pretty Antivan girl - you will know. And to ensure you do not think it my doing, I will remain with you and Freya and give no notes or indications to your son.”

Bryce shuddered, unable to hold his ground, backing up until the bulkhead brought him to a halt, “Just who are you?”

“Zevran Arainai, once and future Guildmaster to the House of Crows, in another time and place. Theoretically your son-in-law twice or thrice over depending on one’s point of view, but such thoughts break and bend even my mind. Now, summon Fergus, and I will return to my proper place and post.” Dusting his hands off in satisfaction. “And I will take Freya to Antiva, she will be trained and safe there. And we will return in time for the Blight. Perhaps if you are lucky, we will be able to save you, your wife and your grandson and all the inhabitants of Highever. In the interim, there will be problems with Mercud - he will be having a stroke or heart-attack right around...hmn...now I would say. Instead, you will be dealing with his daughter, Liora, do not let her youth fool you into thinking the bargaining will be easy. Also - buy the bloody spyglass when you find it, as that was always a sore spot with Ferox.”

The ever convenient bark was heard in the hall, a summons of a sort, from someone who listened much too closely and knew more than he would ever tell.

As Zevran began to heed that call, Bryce stopped him in the hall, hand wavering for a moment before it pressed to Zevran’s chest, “What did I do to anger you so badly, my friend? I am unsure of your sanity, but angering you, whom I count as a friend, was not my intent.”

“You threatened to have her locked away in a box,” the answer that came readily was an intuitive leap. “And that would kill her just as surely and foolishly as Fergus’ stupid actions nearly did.”

....

Bryce was pacing in their lovely hotel suite’s sitting room. Fergus was missing and had been gone quite some time. Zevran was calmly playing visual games with Freya, training her in control of her ability, learning to mute it so that no nearby Templars ‘heard’ her. At the same time he rifled freely in memories, seeking to find the ‘time’ Fergus would return.

Finding it he smoothed Bryce’s worry, “Oriana and her guard will guide him here in about two hours, my friend.”

“First Mercud and Liora...” Bryce sat heavily, shaking his head. “You knew the exact terms she would argue for...”

Mildly he sipped from his teacup, “Did you buy the spyglass?”

“I’m debating it,” a familiar growl issued, nearly making his hackles rise.

Freya approached her father, unafraid of the growling distemper, “Papa, you can see so far with it. You can see the bears comin’ a’fore they got inside. An’ then they couldn’t do anything scary and hurt anyone...” Moving a hand, an arm, she made room to crawl in Bryce’s lap looking up at him hopefully.

“Ah, Pup, this is true,” giving her a hug and receiving a kiss as the girl snuggled in, knowing she had already won.

Those brown eyes were deadly and could make anyone melt when turned on with full force. Or at least they melted Zevran, loosening the stranglehold of pain around his heart. Horse was nearly as bad though - perhaps his girl had learned it from the hound? Likely, as the entire posture and expression were identical.

“Or Fergus can see the mountain goats coming over on the sea. Everybody could get inside, an’ be safe before their long black pots go off. BOOM!” throwing her hands in the air with the sound.

“Goats?” Bryce frowned in curiosity.

“Kossith,” Zevran supplied as he wrote down a list of instructions and locations for things Bryce would need. “The Beresaad, and other aad units. And cannons.” Grimacing, Zevran debated giving the knowledge to make the cannons. “Qun’ari weapons can demolish a wall rather efficiently. But I am unsure if imparting certain knowledge is wise... No, some of the pieces, yes, and then I will send you instruction on how to assemble the items. Also, you have mages, but this will be beyond your time, so it is nothing you personally need worry over...”

Bryce’s voice was low, “My friend, have you any idea just how you sound when you -”

“Quite,” even as he finished sketching. “But you will see the truth of it. Fergus will have a hicky on the back of his neck if that helps prove it without a doubt.”

He and Bryce had argued off and on several times, until Zevran told him flat out that he had two choices: Either Zevran would take Freya away completely and not return until after Bryce and his family was either dead or missing, or he would work with Zevran on the needed preparations and he would still take Freya with him, but they would return in time. Either way, Zevran got what he wanted, he made that very clear. Beyond that, there was obviously little to argue about, as the answer was inevitable. Bryce was still Freya’s father, still loved her, and would do much to keep her safe and happy. And remain a part of her life. So, when Fergus showed up, utterly besotted, Bryce went to his son, and checked the back of his neck looking for love bites, in spite of the young man’s surprise and squawking.

After that, there had been no choice at all, and Bryce had been resigned as he accepted Zevran’s packet.

“I will send word once we have reached our destination. When word gets around about the incident on the boat, blame it on me, say that I am a Keeper, Dalish and sovereign, beyond Chantry rules so long as I did not work magic in general. Freya is being fostered out to the Antivan royal family, for finishing, possibly to find a nice prince to wed, and garner you fat trade agreements,” he shrugged. “So long as no one knows that it was her, then we will be able to return. Oh, and tell Duncan that Rory Gilmore is too soft to be a Warden, and not to worry about a recruit. Freya will return as one. Also, lay in stores for the Drydens, but not let anyone go to the Peak. When Levi asks how you know of the Peak, say that a little birdie told you and that for now, he should leave it be. When we return, depending on time constraints, that will be the first place we go to solve an old problem there. Also, Nate will likely disappear soon for the Free Marches, or hopefully Antiva. If you see him before that happens, make sure to remind him that the Free Blades are always ‘hiring’ the freeborn.”

“That’s it then...you’re taking her now?” Bryce stared at the bedroom door, worry and pain on his face.

Empathy won out, “She will write you regularly, as will I. But the people I intend us to hide with are nomads, and so we will not always have access to a ship to send word.” Clasping Bryce’s shoulders with both hands, “My friend, you have been good to me, but that has never been my goal here. Freya is, and always has been, will always be, why I am here. I can, and will do anything to see her safe, no matter what. Crazed and lunatic you may think me at worst, a harbinger of doom at best, but no matter what - I will keep her safe. This I swear. There is no other succor I can give you beyond that, and the tools to prepare for the times that are upon the horizon. What you do with them is entirely up to you.”

....

He had picked the ship because it was Antivan - swift, strong, nimble, and the sailors were also fighters as any proper Antivan crew would be. The captain and crew were grilled, questioned lightly here and there so that he could find the ‘lay’ of his land. Though it wasn’t truly his Antiva. That was of little matter, it would serve his ends. Because Twadd had loved Ferelden and had loved Antiva - Zevran would do what he could for both. Freya was at the prow, rolling and bouncing on her feet, the gesture so familiar, that his heart was in his throat. Time to time she would spin in a circle or roll her head to look for him, flash a grin then go back to her play. It would be years yet before he could be anything to her beyond the place he filled. And even after that, she was not a replacement. He knew, he understood his husbands’ thinking, intimately. Knew that he had been dying, that a stupid miscalculation had led to his ‘demise’ and thus Cyni and Twadd’s actual deaths, the complete change of soul, a death beyond that of body.

He had to honour their sacrifice, when he would have been perfectly content to die without their souls being devoured. An afterlife would be possible, but now he doubted it. They had been destroyed, cobbled together into something else perhaps. But still, the individuals he had known were never to be seen again outside of his heart and mind and the occasional flash from a little girl.

Small hands snuck under his tunic in bed, “Zev?”

“Hrmn?”

“When I grow up, you’ll still be mine, right?”

“Always, chiquita,” reaching back to pat her hip.

“Will you still be sad then, too?”

Zevran rolled over, cuddling her close, “It is hard to be sad when I have you, hmn?” Stroking her gently braided hair, “I am glad I am here with you, princessa, but I have lived a long time, and sometimes I cannot help but be sad. You miss your parents, brother and Nan. Well, I have people I miss, but I will never be able to see them again. So, this makes me very sad sometimes. But we will see your family again, I promise.”

“I was very bad - ” which was quickly amended to, “ - not careful on’tha boat.”

“That was not bad, preciosa. You did a very brave and good thing, you kept people safe,” he reassured. “People would have been hurt, probably even died, if you had not done that. Sometimes we have to do things that are not always safe, careful or ‘good’ when it comes to protecting others. Like when I cut Nate - now, that is not good, yes? It was dangerous. But I saw that there was something wrong, I suspected that he had been hurt like we saw when we were fixing the gash I put on him. And because I cut him, we were able to find out that yes someone was hurting him. What happened then, preciosa?”

She thought about it, mouth pursing, “We’err able ta have him come stay with us?”

“Yes, and that kept him safe,” he nodded. “So, he got hurt and it was dangerous and not careful, but it let us help him.”

“A little hurt to help.” That day reminded her of the story told afterwards and a question she wanted to ask then, but there were other questions, “Commod-id-dees are things we trade. Why would we trade people?”

Resting his lips on her brow, “Because skill and strength are things that can be traded. Slavery is useful in Antiva. There are so many people that they become like...a herd. They are individual, but they are also so many, that this is what we do. It works for us.”

“Sheep or chickens?” a giggle. “Ooo, or goats!”

“Well, Thomas is a chicken, my father would have put him in a soup pot long ago,” snickering at the truth of it. Nune never did tolerate assholes well. “Vaughn would have been put on a spit like a goat to be roasted.”

She giggled, “Ewwww... You don’t eat people! An’ Vaughn doesn’t wash.”

Rolling his eyes, “Tell that to my father. He likes liver. One will eat anything if one gets hungry enough, princessa. And at the least he would get his first bath ever that way.”

“‘nora washes, your papa can eat her. She’s cranky, ‘specially when I don’t play ‘tea party’ right.”

“Yes, but she would be all sour,” making a gagging noise. “There are not enough onions in all of Thedas to make her edible. And that brat has no idea what ‘tea’ is supposed to be like.”

“Well, I did make the last pot with mud and sticks...but then I got’ta go play with tha boys after gettin’ ‘tea’ sprayed on me.“ Freya was snickering as she rubbed her face in his neck.

Laughing joyously at her, “Ah, my sweet, I love you ever so much, do not ever doubt that.”

Giving him a fierce hug, the solemn brown eyes had returned to dancing. Trying to stop laughing and barely keeping a straight face, “Tha boys all wanted to come ta tea after that, hopin’ she’d drink more. Came up with new recipes too - really icky ones - boys are good at that.” Sighing with theatrical sadness, “But I ‘been banned from all tea parties’ ever since. Moma said she wasn’t happy ‘cause I didn’t play nice, but I heard her tell Papa, an’ they were laughing too.”

Squishing her to him until she nearly squeaked before loosening his hold, “Ah, that is my girl.”

“It’s too bad, ‘cause I wanted to make her the dog poo mint tea and Horse even said he’d help!” She collapsed into complete giggles.

Right then he wished more than anything that he could press his love to her mind, envelope her in that safety and feeling. Instead he settled for laughing with her and discussing different ‘teas’ that would have gone over in varying ways. And Anora’s reaction to them.

“‘nora says she’s gonna marry Cailan and be Queen. I don’t think she’ll serve any of those teas though.”

Settling in for the night completely, Freya draped and tucked how she liked, his arm around her back, “Hrmn... Well, I shall let you in on a secret. She will be queen, but not for a very long time. A queen serves the people, just as a teyrn or bann does. So, whether she serves some tea or not, even if it is unfortunately not from our lists of good recipes, does not matter. Any tea she serves will be as bitter and sour and not nice as she is. Thankfully, she will not remain Queen of Ferelden for very long, so any yucky tea she serves will not be inflicted upon others for all that long.”

Covering a yawn, “Zevran, when did you meet ‘nora?”

“A very long time ago,” as he tucked up the covers.

“Was I there too?” She squirmed settling herself into the mattress.

Closing his eyes, “Yes and no, my sweet one. Shh, now it is time for us to sleep.”

“Love you, Zev, very much.”

“I love you also, Freya, I always have and always will,” placing a last kiss atop her crown.

....

Freya was perched atop his shoulders as they approached Antiva City, one hand wrapped around his forehead, the other waving wildly as she bounced and waved a pointing finger at all the sights. Cyni had thought it was the Golden City, even when they walked it or ran over rooftops. Twadd had found it to be ‘home’ and ‘peace’. Freya was pure excitement and glee. Now would be difficult though, because those other times, he had something to start from, and his loves were adults and could be trusted to take care of themselves. He only had two plans to work with from here. Find Zamitie and convince her to take Freya on and find Nune. They would have to avoid his counterpart, until Zamitie explained the situation, but even then, he was unsure if any of that would work.

What information he had managed to glean overall was that yes, there was a Nune in charge of the Dust Wolves. That was what he had to start with, and it would have to do. At worst he would turn to a life of pickpocketing to keep them fed and housed at first. He did have all the money he had saved from his stipends, there was also the pouch of money that had appeared with him and his pack in this Thedas. Truly how he had wound up there in the first place was mindboggling. And why, if it had been possible, why hadn’t he shown up in nothing but his skin? That would be the most logical outcome. But he suspected it was Twadd’s doing. Every detail had been paid attention to, even the scuffs on his armour, and his body was only changed in that he was ‘young’ again as far as he could tell. He had all that he needed physically to take care of himself and ‘prove’ that he was a traveller. Zevran hadn’t brought himself in the year that he was in this Thedas to dig too much into the pack’s contents beyond finding that all his best gear was
there. The gifts, the belt, several strange pairs of perfect camel hair and silk socks that he had always meant to buy if he were to go back to Ferelden... The pack was huge, just this side of comfortable carrying weight, loaded down with even heavy silk tent materials and fine lengths of rope. But he couldn’t make himself dig beyond that fast, cursory inspection. The pain was still too great. So he had two packs as well as Freya’s to deal with. Horse at least happily shouldered Freya’s and his smaller pack brought from Highever.

Unloaded from the ship, he told her to hold his hand and not let go for anything until he said it was safe. Even though her neck craned this way and that, she kept close amongst the jostling crowds until he found a rickshaw to carry them to Zamitie’s crimson door. Upon spying it, fear rose up in him, but it was forcefully quashed. If she turned him away, or was not there, they would take refuge at an inn and then he would make plans to go to the Dust Wolves hall.

Knocking, knowing it was not a time she was open for business, he waited, masking his worry. Eventually the door opened and he caught sight of his Zama. She was beautiful. Slate green eyes were startled, looked from him to Freya to Horsie, then ushered them inside quickly.

Bowing to her deeply, he intoned formally, “This seeker searches for an oasis, has it been found, ga’ni shedu’ni Zamitie?”

“Yes, you have found water and safety,” her words were shaky. “Be at peace.”

Unslinging his pack, then freeing Horsie of his, he helped Freya from her low boots and pointed to where they went, even as he set his aside. When they sat at the table once taking a sip of tea and Freya had done the same, “I am Zevran Arainai Eu’rai’ddvinnen, raised by Zamitie and the Crows.”

“I...did not raise you, young one,” her long hands lay on the table.

“But you know me?” he raised a brow, worriedly. “You recognize me?”

“I knew a man like you...yes...”

Zevran coasted his fingers over the tattoo on his cheek, “Did Arainai not touch me this way...?”

She shuddered once, “Yes, holding her dead son in her arms before life fled her as well.”

Rocking back, Zevran stared. “You were unable to save the me that was born here?”

“No...I was...too late or not strong enough, these things are not known.”

Freya was frowning, trying to follow the conversation, and he wrapped his arm around her comfortingly. “What do you know of Kirkwall?”

“That it is strange and people say that anyone can meet other versions of themselves there that do not exist where they are from originally,” she paused. “You are such a one?”

“I am no demon,” he shook his head. “I come from a different Antiva at...great cost. But I did not come by Kirkwall’s route.”

Zamitie stared at him intently, “Why are you here?”

“Twadd and Cyni sent me here upon our deathbed... To be there in time to save someone,” Zamitie flicked a glance towards Freya and he nodded. “Their souls are gone,” the depth of his sorrow flashing to the forefront before he could stop it, tears springing forth and falling down his cheeks. He took a deep breath, slowly releasing it. “She is a mage and needs training. Cyni was ga’ni shedu’ni, your heir. First your mantle was passed onto Anicada, my daughter with Fewrlin, then upon Cyni’s arrival, eventually it passed to him. He was able to...Sing it into being unlike anything I had ever witnessed ga’ni shedu’ni do and he was not zam’lin. She is likely to be strong in ga’lin as well as zam’lin. You are the only person I knew of who might be able to train her safely.” He stopped, shook his head, “It sounds impossible. It is...far too much to swallow. I am sorry for that - but I had nowhere else to turn to in this.” Pulling up his shirtsleeve, “You can taste your blood in this Work.”

She swallowed, fingers curling over his forearm, lids sliding closed. Zamitie let out a soft gasp, hand tightening on him. “I had thought I failed you, mushu. What can be done, will be.”

Freya held back most of her questions, but the biggest one broke through, “Are you Zevran’s mama?”

Zamitie looked uncertain for a moment, but then nodded firmly, “As much as anyone can be his mother.”

His lips twitched, “I called her Zama, as she did not wish me to forget Arainai’s contribution to my life.”

That made Zamitie laugh, “That does sound like something I would do. It is well then, if it is your wish, then that is as it will be.”

....

Zevran was in Sa’id’s library and Zamitie poked her head in, then leaned against the door frame. “You know where everything is, do you not?”

“The house is much smaller than the one I grew up in,” he waved the book in his hand vaguely. “But his library, the bathrooms, the common area, the Work room, your weaving room and the garden are all the same. No salle, but then again, there was no need.” Sighing as he stared at the writing on the page, “Bah, I have read this fifty times if I have read it once. Ah, being so old has its bloody drawbacks!”

“And just how old are you, mushu?” she approached, taking the book from him to look at it before handing it back.

Zevran put it back on the shelf, searching for Sa’id’s book on Templars, mumbling, “I know the book on shamanism and Templars is somewhere - ah. There it is. Hmn...” He grunted, “Centuries. I stopped counting around five hundred. It just got too depressing after surviving two Blights, Qun’ari invasions between the two, the Tevinter trying to make a comeback, Rivain deciding they had delusions of grandeur - mostly desperation due to the entire place being poisoned from the Sixth Blight. And now I get to do it all over again.” Pausing he leaned against the shelf, “Without Twadd’s soul comforting me constantly, without Cyni’s dark warmth and... And they are gone. I cannot feel them.” Struggling, “I see them in her, but they are gone. Forever.”

Zamitie touched him, pulling him into a hug, and he broke down and sobbed. “Do you know what they did?”

“No, no just that they burnt their souls to send me here, using everything, so that I would be in time to save her from the box,” choking on his tears and pain. “She is safe, I am grateful, but they are gone forever with no hope of ever...”

She guided them to the floor as he cried like a child, clinging to her skirts. Her hands were familiar, coasting over the back of his head and his shoulders as he released some of what had been pent up. They had never consulted him on this course of action - they had even somehow managed to keep it a secret through many, many years. While Zevran was glad to have made it in time for one soul, it did not change the fact of the cost. The cost was too steep. But if it hadn’t been paid, how much would Freya have suffered? The Zevran of her Thedas had never drawn breath. Not that he could pin everything on himself, but he was not going to deny the fact of what he had been able to do and devote himself to. But his Twadd, his Cyni. Gone. Gone... Gone without ever any hope no matter how feeble...

Wafting in the window, the barking of a playful game of tag in the garden and teasing sing-song, “Nanner, nanner, can’t catch me!” was quickly followed by the squealing laughter of being caught. “No fairs, I can’t jump over that! Four feet on the ground? No, I’m not gonna put four feet on the ground. ‘cause I only have two foots, that’s why, silly! No, you can’t use teeth, an’ I won’t use them either.”

Zevran made himself straighten up at the sounds of Freya’s play, but Zamitie kissed his brow, pushing him to remain. “I will see to your hope, mushu. She will be sad if she sees you like this.”

Pulling himself together slowly, he eventually made his way outside, catching and throwing his running girl in the air as Zamitie playfully sent little blood pixies bobbing about for her and Horse to chase. “Gobeithia, what is this, hmn?”

“Gob-y-te-ya? That’s not my name silly!” Freya squirmed in his grasp.

“It means ‘hope’, and that is what you are, hrmn?” kissing her temple before letting her back down.

“That means you’re Pandora,” arms flung around him looking up grinning.

Pinching her cheeks gently, “Well, I am an uncommon rogue and open many boxes, no?”

“So what’d else was in the box, Pandora?”

“Everything of worth, preciosa,” leaning down to hug her to his waist.

“Noooo.” Rubbing her nose against his, a Chasind kiss, “All of the bad things were in the box and they flew out first. Hope was last. I me-mimber.”

Snorting, “They do not matter - the only thing of true worth was Hope. For hope is precious and the thing worth protecting from anything.” Kissing her head, “And hope is all I have and all I need anymore.”

....

As Sa’id had never had to provide a second bed, there wasn’t one. However, Zevran’s pack was finally raided, Freya sitting beside him and cataloguing it all. Each thing she handed him, he lay out gently, fighting the shaking. For once she wasn’t in his cloak, he was wearing it and he hugged it about himself, though he wasn’t cold. When he saw the silver and pewter white braid he nearly lost it. And then there were two thick journals at the bottom of the pack, wrapped in heavy silk clothes that would have been too big for him. For him, that was the last straw, and he released a wail, unable to stop himself, falling upon them and clutching them from Freya’s hands. She made a startled noise, but he couldn’t help it, he really couldn’t, and hugged the items to him. Zevran knew she was scared but couldn’t fight his way out.

Brokenly he sobbed “Twadd...Cyni...” over and over again.

Scooting over quick, Freya hugged him and petted his hair. “Don’t cry, Zevran. You are safe. You don’t hafta be afraid. You’re all-right, M’m here,” much like he had done for her when the box was opened and he pulled her out.

If he had been a different man, he would have been angry, but couldn’t be. For her and for him, they had given up everything. Zevran had thought he wanted to die that first night when he reached for Twadd and then remembered he was alone in his mind. But now with this, the books that faintly smelled of them, the thick braid of Twadd’s pewter hair, he could only wish his soul was destroyed - it would hurt less. When Elissa, then Eleanor, then Ani, then and then and then and then...had died...each blow had been a nightmare. But he had had Twadd there, had had Cyni there. Now he had Freya, but Twadd and Cyni’s very souls had been consumed to buy him this place. It was a nightmare, not a paradise, no matter how much he loved Freya.

In that moment, if he could die or destroy every shred of his being and be assured that Freya was taken care of - he would have done it. How they had expected him to go on like this... Zevran was broken once the tears finally stopped falling, mixing with blood from the force of it, his arm curled around Freya too tight to be remotely comfortable. Mutely he stared, nearly blind, crushed to the point of numbness. What should have been a selfless gesture, what was a selfless gesture, left him in agony so great he couldn’t breathe, even as his body did it anyway. Zamitie was there, Horse was there, Freya was there, he felt them.

But they weren’t Twadd and Cyni, and even if they were, the men he knew and loved and gave everything he had for - no longer existed.

Haf’cath was the lucky one, no doubt still connected to Gaeaf, purpose given and accepted freely. There had been choice for them, continued to be choice for them. Cyni had taken choice, something so important to that one, away, and convinced Twadd, somehow, to force this ‘gift’ on him. Zevran had only cared about ‘choice’ in terms of making sure that those things his loves had professed to value so wildly were always available to them, as he had promised. Again Cyni broke a promise not to leave, as Twadd had predicted he would, and this time it was permanent, with no recourse or hope of reunion. How could there be?

The old magic in his Work did its job, his eyes healing and tingling through their burning, before Zamitie added fresh power to it. Poor Freya’s lap was covered with his tears and blood. Numbly he wiped at it, trying to clean her up, until Zamitie’s hands stilled his. Both females looked at him sadly, neither saying anything, not really moving, letting him find his way.

Croaking, “I need to be alone for a bit.” Giving what comfort he could, “I will return, I promise. I just...need some time. I swear, I will be back by dawn at the latest.”

“But you aren’t done. It’s not all on the list, Zevran.”

“I am sorry, chiquita...I cannot. Not right now.” Not ever, but he would have to.

“But there’s letters...” she nearly matched his wail.

He had thought his tears were through with him, but they fell anew, “What fresh hell is this? Why did they do this to me who loved them above all? Fate is an evil whor* who mocks me.” Resigned to his torture, “Very well, let me see these things.”

“But, you’re wearin’ them...they’re in the pockets with the diamond. I think it’s a diamond...”

Panting in pain Zevran pulled the thick sheaf out, hidden by all the padding of the cloak. He hadn’t thought to search the pockets, hadn’t wanted to know if there was anything tucked away in there. The pack’s contents, even as far as he had gone when he first glanced and felt around in it, had been nearly enough to destroy him. Finding them and then the stone, he looked at that first. It was beautiful, nor was it a diamond. It was what all the precious stones of the earth hoped to be. Something plucked from the Golden City, the soft glint of what Cyni had imagined his sliver of soul to be, fitting in his palm. Keening at that, he warred with the desire to fling it away from himself, the soul finally given up, but at the same time, it would be rejecting a part of Cyni, and that he couldn’t do. Not for anything, no matter how painful it was.

A familiar shaped piece of paper, folded into a flat lotus, much like the one that had been an apology to Twadd when he had planned on allowing Cyni to kill them, but it was not that letter. The writing was far too precise to be his own. Warily he unfolded it, staring at the words, unable to make himself read them. What could be said that would justify the absolute destruction of self that they had put themselves through?

Desire - go stand in the Circle. Take my soul and his flesh with you.

Staggering to his feet, stone and braid in hand, Zevran went, almost falling down the stairs, Zamitie and Freya following, Horsie ready to intervene. But his body was young and nimble again. Or younger and nimble once more. Blowing past Zamitie’s wards, the magic resonating with that in his skin before she even had to say a word, he shoved aside her workbench and collapsed.

The runes blazed bright, lighting the stone in his hand, glinting and flaring. The voice of a lone singer filled his mind with instructions to touch the stone and the braid together and get back quick. He didn’t know what he was expecting, at the moment he was expecting nothing beyond perhaps a last message of love. Instead there was a cross-legged body. Cyni was there, older than he remembered him, but not by much. A hale man in his fifties physically, the ga’ni shedu’ni wellspring had kept him alive along with his own massive ga’lin powers, the efforts of the whole family having been poured into Cyni’s body during their life together. When one family member was ready to die, each added their Song to him, granting strength, before their souls slipped onto the next plane of existence.

Gasping, panting, Zevran crawled back through the circle, sobbing afresh, in relief, in joy. “Cyni...Cyni...”

’I’m here too, Love,’ a contented rumble.

“See, I told you - it’s all a dream. Just the f*cking Fade.” Cyni growled, snarled really, “Desire, why the f*ck are you all bloody? And why the f*ck is Twadd still in my head and not yours?”

Eyes wide through his tears, Zevran grabbed Cyni after a brief moment’s hesitation. “Cyni, Twadd...my hearts...oh... I love you both...I do not care who is where. You are not destroyed, Maker, oh f*cking Maker, thank you.”

“I’ve been tellin’ you for years there’s no f*ckin’ Maker, Andraste’s not gettin’ any. Unless you’re the Maker, an’ if you are, well, I ain’t gonna let you f*ck Andraste. She’s a f*ckin’ bitch.”

Laughing, Zevran clung to his husbands, “I am not He, and Andraste is not my type.”

Cyni wrapped his arms around him, gruff, “This can’t last, you know. I passed on the mantle, I only have my own power now.”

“It does not matter, you are here now, querido,” breathing in the familiar scent, deeply.

“How long have you been here, Desire?”

Thinking, “A year, just over, why?”

It was a rare moment, usually heralding something very bad, when both Cyni and Twadd swore at the same time.

’I thought you said you could fix this?’

“Well I can’t fix it now, can I? We talked about this. It was a possibility.”

’He was unconscious when we finally decided. I bet he didn’t even read that tripwired note...skirting around it like a trap in the middle of a path. Damn rogues, always sneakin’ past sh*t,’ Twadd cursed again.

“Desire! I put the written note in that favourite cloak of yours. Although why’d you wear that in Antiva is beyond me, but Twadd said...’Put it in the cloak he’ll wear it in Ferelden’ - ” Cyni ranted until he was interrupted.

’Hey! He looks ridiculously awesome in that cloak - and mighty tasty too. And it’s cold there, of course he’d wear it!’

“‘Course he’d wear it, it’s damn cold there even in the f*cking summer!”

Mumbling, “Freya stole it all the time... It helped keep the box away.”

On cue, there was hiding going on behind Zamite.

“Who’s Freya?” ’Freya?’ simultaneously.

“Girl in the box - Hope,” he answered. Leaning back enough, he held out his arm, “Chiquita, please, come here. It is safe, I am not angry or sad, please, my sweet...”

Freya scrambled up to him, tucking close to his side, staring up at his husbands with big brown eyes, “I’m sorry I stole the cloak... It was warm an’ smelled like ‘im. An’ I thought he knew all ‘bout the pretty stone an’ tha letters. An’ I didn’t read nuthin, ‘cause it’s Zev’s, an’ private. I did touch tha stone, an’ it hummed real pretty.”

Kissing her temple, “Shh, it is done. Do not worry, your Zevran loves you no matter what.”

Twadd swore again, but Cyni did not, as he usually tried not to when children were present, little demons or not. But he did growl and heave a deep sigh. Zevran couldn’t help but turn his face up, kissing the growling mouth.

“Your growling sounds like Papa’s. And you look kinda like Fergus an’ Papa.”

Zevran explained as best he could, even as he kept his face tucked into his spouses’ throat, “Do you remember this morning when Zama said in Kirkwall people could be met that were the same and different of yourself? Cyni and Twadd are...one but not the same. And you are one with them, but not the same.” With one arm he cuddled her, “They sent me to you, because they love me. So that I could be there for you when you needed me. And so that you could be my hope.”

’Well, at least you figured out that much...Maker.’ Twadd groused, ’I told you we should have told him sooner about your harebrained plan, back when you hatched the thing!’

Cyni growled again, “We didn’t find the last piece until the end, don’t you lecture me, just ‘cause you couldn’t keep his eyes open and read when he’s sleepin’. ‘Sides that, we didn’t want to give him false hope.”

“He cried lots... He’s been real sad,” Freya said solemnly. “I tried to keep him happy... Horsie too.”

Squeezing all three of them close, soothing as he begged, “Shh. It is done, that is enough. Please...just...just let me have this.”

Cyni began again, taking Twadd aside, still within hearing, ’’Sides that it’s in my notes in the...’

Again simultaneously ’Backpack!’

’Three places. One in his skull... Damn it, Twadd, I told you to mark it ‘Drink this or eat me.’’

Zevran heaved a sigh of his own, “I wanted to -” he paused and instead used the amulet. ’I could not bear to search through the pack beyond taking a single look. It was...I thought your souls were obliterated. Destroyed. Utterly. It...I could not...I could not touch what to me was worse than ‘blood money’ as it was paid for by the coin of your very souls! Even looking in the mirror, I wished to be destroyed as well, and if I had thought Freya would be kept safe and happy, I would have done anything to see myself to the nothingness...’

’Love, that’s what we thought it would cost at first, but Cyni found the last piece - after you fell and we couldn’t keep you awake long enough to tell you...you hit your head. I didn’t think we were going to send you in time.’

“Even then, that cost is too high, even for...even for that,” whimpering.

Cyni rumbled, “We debated it, and knew what you would say, which is why we didn’t bring it forward. We weren’t going to do it until the last bit fell into my lap and the Song was corrected...the only problem after that was staying in there too long...which apparently we did.”

Swallowing, “Can we leave the Circle? Or do you have to stay here, anchored?”

“Get up. Move around. Go where you want. I’m hungry.” Getting to his feet, Cyni saw a familiar face, “Zama! Twadd says some greetings I don’t understand, something about water and a desert and can he ...err we come in, Zama-mama - though it’s a bit late, we’re already here...” He held out his arms, palms up so she could taste his ink, if she wanted.

Zamitie shook her head wonderingly, laying her hands over his wrists, taking in the flavours of the Work on his flesh, “None of this should be possible, however, the day of spirits has come, and I bid you welcome. Now, let us see what might be found to feed you.”

....

Horsie had taken one sniff of Cyni and Twadd then one of Freya, head twisting almost two hundred degrees to the left, rotating on his stubby neck. Then he had woofed and spun in a prancing dance, hopping this way and that happily. He didn’t care - his person was there, even if there was more than one of them.

Cyni reached down to scritch above Horse’s rump, “I don’t know you, but Twadd says you look great. I think you look like Gwir...um, one of your pups, grand pups I think. If she’d been a he. Go on, follow the girls and guard them tonight. We’ll be fine here.”

Zevran had piled up the bedroll, a spare borrowed from Zamitie, and Freya was getting her bedtime story in Zamitie’s bed, for that was where she would spend this night. Not that the mother of his heart would mind. And she wasn’t above keeping Freya comfortably asleep so that he could have time with his Cyni and Twadd. Once she finally passed out, he kissed her cheek one last time before tucking her in. His husbands had waited patiently, so patiently, when neither was known for the trait. As soon as they were in the other room, he clung to them afresh.

He pressed his love, his anguish, his despair, his relief, his joys, all of it, to them, filling them up so they knew how much he needed them, no matter what.

“You thought I left you and drug Twadd kicking and screaming after me!” Cyni laughed.

Zevran shook his head emphatically, “No, not...kicking and screaming. No, I thought you convinced him of the wisdom of this, I can see the logic, I can see how he would think it would be wise, even at such cost...” Staring up at them, “I thought you broke a promise again...”

“I admit I thought about it. Twadd did too, thankfully we never did on the same day at the same time and already we knew your vote was ‘no, it wasn’t worth it’.”

’You shoulda...nevermind. I love you and you are absolutely beautiful. Frell, anything is beautiful after putting up with Cyni, he’s such an old man.’

Lips twitching, “You beat me to proclaiming beauty. And was it not you who said that you would have never been so young as him? Hrmn?” Teasing Zevran pulled them down to the pallet with a sigh, twisting close, “And I am still the oldest person in this place. How does this keep happening? Also - Ferelden men that are not named ‘Ferox’ are very boring, far too hairy, and do not smell as good, just so you both know. And if Rory ever stares at Freya’s bottom when she is grown, I will rip his eyes out. Just felt that you should know that.”

’Love, I believe we’re both agreed that Rory doesn’t hold a candle to you and if you were there, well, Rory, as much as I loved him would have to find some other tree to climb.’ Twadd hugged him with mental arms and made Cyni help with the real ones.

Not that it took much prodding.

Squirming free of his clothes, Zevran reveled in the feel of their arms around him. “I missed you so badly, mis amores. Every time Bryce growled or Fergus laughed...like a knife in the gut. However, I have done what I can thus far to ensure that night does not end with Highever aflame.”

’Love, we need to talk, full disclosure,’ Twadd’s voice held warning.

Nodding as he wrapped his arms around them tightly, flesh to flesh, “I am sure, I just...need to feel your skin against mine...” Whispering, “I doubt I will have much chance beyond now.”

“Desire, I think we have a few days, a week at most, depending on how much Twadd’s been holding out on me...and I don’t think he has. You need to take everything you can get from us.” Cyni never did believe in hiding facts when he was ready to lay them out.

He hadn’t expected more than a voice wafting across time and space, a week sounded like an impossible dream. “I will take whatever I can have of you both. I could...I could always pull you both in? That has always been an option and one I am more than willing to do.”

“I don’t mind, I’ve put up with this...oh let’s be Twadd for a moment, ‘son of a motherless goat’ - happy old man? - for a year. I think we’ve progressed to being two old men sitting on the porch and arguing about who killed the most darkspawn - I finally trumped him with an argument. We agree that you killed the second most of either of us, so that means you win,” Cyni grumbled while rambling.

Shivering at the sound of it, Zevran laughed brightly. “Have I told you both how much I love you? Yes? Well, hear and feel it again.” With that he opened the link, summoning the joy he felt at this single moment and all the ones long in the past and before, “I love you Ferox - in any guise.”

’Maker, how does he do that?’

’No clue.’

’At least you can blast him outta the water by Singing - me, I got nuthin’ and have to sit here and listen to you both.’

“Not true, not true,” Zevran sent and sing-songed, kissing them all over their face. “You make me laugh with joy, amora. You are my Maker, Twadd, and I am but your not always humble servant. It is you who gave me purpose and love, so much love... It is your warmth, your support, your arms that gave me love and acceptance and friendship and purpose and everything...”

Twadd snorted, ’You sent me to my room for arguing with you over Cyni.’

’At least he didn’t make you walk there. I got to walk to my room. You just got muted and locked in with good memories. I got a screaming Wrath in my skull,’ Cyni snorted back.

’Shut up and kiss him, Maker - do I have to tell you both when it’s kissing time? I’m tired of being in the Fade with just you and I can’t operate the mouth, because I’m not rude enough to take over.’

The mouth on his tasted and felt right. Sighing through his nose, Zevran took the kiss, giving himself up to them completely. They were his everything. He supposed now he could read the items and go over them without soul crushing agony rocking his being. Sadness would be there, bittersweet, but he would have them. They wouldn’t leave him ever again. Not truly. He would hold their souls safe within him. A thousand million years was not enough of an eternity to spend with them. He was greedy and selfish and didn’t care, refusing to apologize for it. Cyni wouldn’t be taken in against his will, but there would be no destruction of the soul at least, so there would be hope if he refused. Twadd would come easily and happily, he knew that much. But Cyni’s permission was a gift, just as their presence was beyond infinitely precious.

There were pleased rumbles filling his senses at the touch,

SEX HAPPENS HERE TOO TIRED TO THINK SEX THROUGH RIGHT NOW

....

Freya was curious and solemn about Cyni and Twadd, as was Zamitie. His girl was a completely different sort of curious to Zamitie though, which was to be expected. She wanted to know why they were similar, but she grasped it with a child’s easy trust. Zamitie was only slightly more cautious. But it was the taste of blood in the Work that convinced her. No Work of her own was upon Cyni’s skin, but she tasted Zevran, Ani, and others, diluted versions of her own and his in the mix. She had shook her head in amazement at the raw power that implied, the effort and sacrifice of others pouring into the Work.

“You have been in my mind before, Zama, but this time I’d rather you didn’t go there. It was your touch that sent me away and it would do it again.” Cyni was firm, “I promised I wouldn’t leave Desire ever again. I may’ve been willin’ to break it for his benefit, but since it is unnecessary, I won’t be doing that. So please, stay outta of my head.”

Zamitie shook her head, “The worry is not necessary. Your mind is your own. I will not touch it...” She paused, taking in how he was aging since the night before. It wasn’t heavy or noticeable unless one were looking. “But I might be able to slow this...slightly.”

“The problem is the thread holding us to both places, if it’s touched it might snap back or snap and break...never done this before. Don’t plan on doin’ it again. We’re dying back there, bleeding out in the Circle...I feel it, but neither of us wanted to go on without him...Twadd made the dream and I brought it all together... What you can do might buy a little more time or lose us completely. A few days here or there that could cause us to disappear...can’t do it,” he twitched a shrug, the motion hindered by Zevran remaining plastered to his side.

“Then it is not worth the risk,” she nodded. “What may I do for you otherwise?”

Zevran mumbled from the vicinity of Cyni’s armpit, “I am going to need gainful employment so that we are not a drain. But if it can wait, that would be best. However, someone drummed up five thousand sovereigns...”

“Enough to get me to Kirkwall and then some, as you said,” Cyni rumbled. “Unfortunately, I couldn’t carry metal, only organics as we were working alone this time. And Twadd ate the brownies on the way over.”

Twadd send amusem*nt, chuckling, ’I blame Varane’s cooking - it’s hard to resist...’

Cyni had a unexpected wrench in his gut. Through the amulet it felt like the ground shifted in a sharp lurching earthquake and then dropped him suddenly several feet. Cyni put his head in his hands, elbows on the table, “f*ck. I wasn’t supposed to miss that...her, Varane...all of them.” His voice was shaking, “I know you said it was a bad idea in the very beginning for me and her to have children, to have them grow up, and one or more to have to take over the Work. You said that we’d make our own mistakes, but dammit, Desire, I wouldn’t change a minute of that.” Cyni’s shoulders shook as his voice broke, “You were right, it was a bad idea, but only ‘cause it hurts right now. Didn’t when I was Singing in the Maker’s f*ckin’ Fade...”

Zevran sucked in a breath, gathering Cyni up closer, rocking him, “I am here, shhh...it will be alright. You are mine, I keep what is mine, I take care of what is mine. I take care of what is precious.”

His boy who had never cried, was weeping. “Just a dead man in a box, in the Fade. It’s not real. Zevran, it can’t be f*ckin’ real. Please, I can’t do it if it’s real...I’m just a deadman.”

Freya flinched, with horror she stared at Cyni, “Boxes are bad. They’re really bad. Don’t go in the box.” But his damaged boy, who had become a man, didn’t hear her, was so overcome with his grief and couldn’t hear her. “I thought we was jus’ playin’.” Freya bolted out the door, “I don’t wanna be dead no more!”

Attempting to reach out to her, Twadd was stopped at the girl’s lack of amulet and called out in his helplessness, ’Maker, someone find and comfort that child.’ Turning his attention back to Cyni, whose body he inhabited, the spirit man began to ‘threaten’, threats that were really words of comfort, ’It’s not real, Cyni. Never has been. Only a dream. Just stuck in a box. We’re all just demons trying to trick you, and I’m the worst of all, cause I’m the demon in your head trying to take over. Don’t give in now, ‘cause if you give up, we’ll just eat your soul right in front of ya and you know how tasty that would be. And Desire over there, he just loves little boys’ souls. Wrath always said he’d get you in the end.’

Zamitie was already up almost as fast as Freya could move, likely allowing her the ‘run’ necessary and Zevran had his hands full. “You are with me, you gave your soul to me, I gave my existence to you. You stay with me, you cannot go until I say you can.” He paused, “You promised.”

It was Cyni’s turn to cry wrenchingly, his tears falling over Zevran’s neck. “This is the Fade - you built me a Golden City. Demon - you showed it to me before. Then you made me come with you.”

Freeing the long braid of its confines with one hand, he stroked along the seams, crooning, “Your soul is mine because you gave it to me. I am yours, your own personal guide, who wants you to himself, who keeps you. I built you everything, so that you would stay with me. Brick by brick. Even I know how to love. Just for you.”

Twadd added, his voice softer, ’Keep fightin’ us, ya’ ol’ goat, just a few more days. You could live with your hand in a vise for a couple of days. Come on, you’re stronger than all of us, Cyni.’

Scrubbing his face, “It’s never been real.” Cyni hugged Zevran and Twadd both, “Yer right, I can’t let you win. Sorry.”

It didn’t stop the tears, but Cyni was gathering the pieces.

“Good,” Zevran kissed the chin he knew so well, the corners of eyes, the side of a nose that had been broken one time too many. “Your Desire loves you and has waited a very long time. I can lay in wait a little while longer.”

“You’re finally gonna take it, aren’t you?” Cyni whispered in his ear, almost relieved.

“And you are finally going to take my life,” cradling him. “I gave it to you, soon it will be time for you to take it. But you are strong enough to resist me a little while longer, hmn?”

“I’m real tired, Desire, but there’s some more somewhere in here to fight you.”

“Good, I hate to win so easily,” voice tender, pouring his love and his sunshine into them both, giving them his strength, however he could. “Well, what can I do to taunt you a little while longer? Hmn? Shall we go for a walk in this City I have made for you?”

A quick laugh contained in an inhaled breath, “That’s tempting, might even give in to a bite of fig, but that’s all you’re gettin’.”

Smoothing his hands over Sa’id’s clothes, “Well, let us work up a sweat on you then. Figs and dates and the plums are in season.”

....

Cyni’s body was flagging before his very eyes. Zevran did not let himself sleep. Only doze. He had to capture every single second possible. Freya was frightened, as the first night Zevran had been so distraught, a sight a child should never have to see, guilt having eaten at her for not asking him about the soul and the lotus shaped note, let alone the veritable book of letters that had hidden in the padding of the cloak. His loves had thought of everything and then some, in some ways, it was that very thoughtfulness that had ensured the agony it took for him to look at the contents of pack and cloak. That so much care and love had been held for him that there was not a single thing that was not hefty with tenderness and detail - and the ‘knowledge’ that he would never see, hear, feel, smell, or know them ever again...

No, Zevran was just a man, an old, beaten down man. He hadn’t had the strength. Not for that, not ever.

Now, because of that, his loves were paying. All three of them. Freya thought she had been bad, Cyni and Twadd had to share, when Cyni had never wanted to house another voice beyond his own ever again... And the worst: they might have been able to stay in body for a year, perhaps more...had they returned sooner to Antiva. Truly, Zevran only cared that their souls had not been burnt to cinders, the ash sprinkled over Freya’s to give her the ‘right’ flavour. Though the guilt assailed him for his sentimental weakness.

’Love, are you taking this stuff down? Cyni’s got holes everywhere from the Taint.’

Zevran tapped his temple, “Yes, but you know I have always taken it down...” Soothing, he had noticed that even Twadd was having issues recalling the basic facts, that Zevran never stopped cataloguing. “But what is it that I am missing?”

’I’m holding a packet for the girl. He made me box up the Songs. But, Maker, I’m gettin’ worried about it.’

Holding his mind open, “Here, give it to me, it will be safe. I promise.”

Twadd pushed it over, it was everything Cyni had heard and annotated as to what everything was. Music detailed not only with handwritten notes and comments, but with colour and in sound itself. ’Granbaby got the real deal, but this seems to be as close a copy to the real thing...I couldn’t see the difference then, probably only something he would’ve seen.’

For all that Flemeth had meant Cyni to be nothing more than a toy, her actions had made him incredibly powerful. As much as Zevran hated the old bitch, her curse was what had given Zevran and Cyni and their family centuries together. That and the daily efforts of the healers in the family and the wellspring. But none of it would have worked if it hadn’t been for Flemeth’s misdeed.

’True...’ Cyni was napping, they had just eaten, and he had been tired, Cyni’s head tucked into its customary spot on his shoulder. Zevran didn’t fight anything, other than to make sure he was there for every single second that Cyni and Twadd walked. He ached to see them in pain, the joints of Cyni’s hands hurt him badly, but Zevran’s massages helped some. ’It will have to be soon, yes? Before he slips away too... You will come with me, Twadd? At least?’

’I am yours, Love. And Cyni told you he’d come. Was already decided when we pushed you out to find the box.’

Stroking the loved body beside him, “Yes, but I have unfair advantages. Not the least being the fact that when he agreed, you both were tired and I was covered in snot and tears and bloody tears... And might I remind you that I have little idea what you both had decided?” The last was said lightly as he kissed them.

’Zevran, my love, just step in the damn trap. It’s still there.’

Grumbling, “I do not see a trap...where is this ‘trap’...? Honestly, I am too ridiculously awesome by far if I can continuously avoid a trap that I am not noticing at all... Must be all the damnable centuries of practice. Also your father, Bryce? Well, our father I suppose if we are going to be all legal and technical - almost swallowed his tongue and did not believe me when I said I could do this or that and yet could not deny it, and then I went and made him stinkingly wealthy. I thought he would have the proverbial litter of kittens. Was rather amusing. Also, he thinks me a complete lunatic.”

Twadd laughed. ’I love my father, he really tries, but you are a creature unlike all others. Frell, I didn’t know what to do with you either, and you hadn’t turned all snowcat on me.’

Rumbling, “He threatened to put her in a box.”

’And after you explained that, I bet he saw it. They’re not stupid, they just don’t think like that. They would have done anything to keep me safe, and I can’t believe that any pair of them for any of us are any different. For Maker’s sake - Cyni became Flemeth’s living science experiment and he was still loved and cared for as best they could. Thought he was brain damaged, but they woulda done anything to fix it, of that they had no doubt they already had.’

’True,’ conceding. ’My personal experience with having parents is very limited. And no matter how much my own parental figures loved me, they either died, did not get there in time, or gave me up for my own good.’ Freya had come out into the garden, her big eyes sad, missing him, and Zevran smiled, “My sweet, come, be with us awhile.” Holding his arm out to her, “I miss you, will you come here?”

Freya chewed her lip uncertainly, “I won’t make you sad?”

“Only if you do not come and let me hold you,” waving her close and as she made a few small steps he snagged her and tugged her in. “Ah-ha - I got you,” kissing her face all over even as he made sure not to jostle Cyni awake, “and I am not going to be letting you go, preciosa. Thick, thin, change in the Fade, whatever, I will always love you.”

A sigh, a sound not unlike taking off a heavy pack at the end of a long day, reassured, “Love you, Zev, very, very much.” She looked over at Cyni, “Whatcha doin’ watchin’ him sleep?”

Stretching his legs out on the baked tile of the garden, his bare feet browning in the sun’s light, “Well, you see, he and I have a special way of talking. It is only possible because he is a Warden. But being a Warden has some costs that are not very fun, you see? Now, you will hear stories of Wardens who only live thirty years being a Warden. But in special cases, they can live a very, very long time. Very long. Right now, I am the oldest person in this city. I am the oldest person you will know for a very long time. So, right now, because he and I are so old, we have this thing we do. My mind, it is like a library, books and books and books of memories and knowledge are in my head.”

’I miss books...a whole year of paintings and music. I’d kill for a story,’ Twadd griped.

Chuckling at Twadd, ’You will have books upon books in a day or two. I need some straightening up.’ “So, you see, the Warden thing, when you get very old in it, makes it hard to remember. So, I am writing down their memories in my library. And when it is time for Cyni and Twadd to give up this body, they will come into mine. So we will never be apart ever again. Also, you like watching me sleep, lil’miss, thinking I do not notice. Sometimes, you just want to be near the people you love, even if they are sleeping and not doing anything fun.”

Eyes met his for a minute trying to figure out how he knew about her watching him sleep, she had been very quiet. Looking back at Cyni, “He’s dyin’ inn’t he?”

“Yes, he is,” he nodded solemnly. “That is also why I am watching him. So he can feel me be close and will not be scared and so I can be close to him.”

“Grandpa died after he fell offa the roof. An’ all’a the fireworks went off, an’ they were real pretty an’ we were all watchin’um, an’ then there was a fire. The fireworks were pretty, but the fire was scary.”

His lips twitched, “I know that story very well. We would call that ‘going down with your boots on’ - doing what you love and having fun.” co*cking his head, “Back where Cyni, Twadd and I come from, I slipped and fell. I was dying too, and then they sent me to you. So I could save you from the box. It was a mistake, me slipping, a minor miscalculation, an accident. But, I slipped while doing something I liked doing, so, that is a good way to go.”

“Axe-a-dents happen. Fergus didn’t mean it neithers...’least not the forgettin’ part. But how did they know I was in the...in there?”

“Because they were stuck in a box too,” he explained gently. “They are like you and you are like them. All my years with them, do you know what I always wished for? That I had gotten to the box in time to save them, so they would not be scared.”

“But I was in it...was it an axe-a-dent that you weren’t there before? If you came before maybe the Hero wouldn’ta won.” Freya sighed, “But the Hero’s supposed ta always win.”

He felt Twadd napping with Cyni, or at least dozing, he could hear the faint mental snore. “There are many kinds of winning, chiquita. And not every hero is a good man, nor is every villain a bad one. There is very little that is black and white in this world, or any world. Do you think I am a bad man, princessa?” She shook her head, expression serious and yet adoring and accepting all in one. “Well, would you say that killing people because you were paid to, is bad? Or hurting people because it got what you wanted done, is bad? Many people would say these are bad things to do. But I have done them. Do you still think I am not a bad person?”

Confusion was all over her face, “But the Hero is always good and saves people.”

“Sometimes. I know it is hard to understand right now, but in time it will make sense. Good and bad are ideas we use to make sure that people have rules to live by. Otherwise there would be pain and suffering for everyone.” Next to each other on the chaise, he rolled his neck so that his jaw rested atop Cyni’s crown. “A hero makes the hard decisions, the ones that no one wants to make, as some of those decisions cause pain for other people. They do this not to be a hero or be thought of as good, but because someone has to do it. Like stablehands. Mucking out the stinky manure from the stalls. No one likes doing it very much, but it has to be done. It is messy, it is thankless, and it is necessary. If no one did it, well, then the horses would get sick and then that would be very bad. Stablehands are little heroes, but they are still heroes.”

In his sleep, Cyni made a grunting snort, almost awakening before quickly settling back down after Zevran slid a hand beneath the long vest, stroking the sagging flesh on his back, soothing him down. But Twadd was groggy and awakening, burrowing his mind closer to Zevran’s, the arms of his mind reaching out to pull him in tight, rumbling with happiness that he was there. The sentiment was shared, along with an ebbing and waxing tide, that was the lapping of his love for them.

“Heroes do not always get to wear armour and have statues made about them, my sweet girl,” he gave her a tight squish. “But that does not make them any less heroic for what they do. But, they do not think of themselves as heroes, meldicion they likely piss and moan about the duty they have to do. ‘Oh, braska, this stall smells like too much peeeis! Why, oh why do I have to do this?’ Or ‘I hate the way darkspawn smell, ugh, it gets all over my armour, why can they not stay in the holes underground, why must they bother me?’ Or ‘Ugh, this man is famous and has done good public works, but he is standing in the way of progress, so he has to be removed. Aiee, sucks to be him then...’ And they just do the job. Because it has to be done. Reluctant or happy to do it - good or bad. So long as the job is done... Does this make sense, bebe?”

Giggling at his examples and voices, “Did you haffta take care of the horses when you were a Hero?”

Making a disgusted sound, “We had to do it without horses. Tromping across Ferelden. Ohhh...I was so cold. I swear though, I could have simply used Twadd. Man was big enough to give most horses second thoughts about walking on all fours. But that was before we went to Antiva and he realized that wearing massive plate and weighing two-hundred and seventy pounds of muscle made him too slow to deal with we fast Antivans.”

There was deep laughter in the link. ’And if you’re thinkin’ about doing it for a statue or two, they never get the face right - could be anybody - not worth a two year walk.’

’Well if you just sat still for the sculptors... But no, you wanted to go play in mud. And you were too cute by half, I could not tell you ‘no’,’ quipping as he kissed him.

’I didn’t sit for any of them’ Twadd snorted. ’...Play in the mud, the bare root trees needed to get in the ground. Harrumph.’

’Hrmn, yes, that must be why they got the face wrong... But the body was right - why they kept insisting on putting armour on all those sketches I sent them... Ah, too bad.’ amused. ’What do you think of mi chiquita?’

Twadd rolled his eyes, those sketches weren’t dressed at all, a fold or two of cloth or some ‘virile’ jewelry notwithstanding. Zevran did hope that those drawings had been included the packet at least, he hadn’t searched thoroughly enough yet to find out. Other than a rumble, Twadd let it go, if there was a surprise, he wasn’t one to ruin the fun.

’I think your girl’s gonna pick up your flagging steps, old man. Give her a few years...I hope you don’t mean to take her back to the Blight...but then we know what happens if we don’t go - things get all frelled up and that takes longer to clean up...Cyni, damn it...’ Twadd shifted in the mind. ’I swear those widening gaps are lookin’ for me. Anyway, we’ve already done it wrong once, take a page from Haf’cath and Gaeaf and do it right the first time. You’ve got enough information from everyone to do it without being terribly surprised...still it wrecks havoc and the end game’s not pleasant. I don’t know, Love. There’s not enough over here to see much...I take that back...it’s like being dipped in your tanning vats full of stink and colour and bubbling sound, but nothing really useful for me.’

Holding all three close, ’I am already changing how things go. If Bryce will continue to listen to my instructions and follow the directions I put in place, then Highever will not fall. Once Freya and you and Cyni are settled in, I will seek Nune. He is the commander of the Dust Wolves and has access to that legion... Even a brigade or two in the right places might turn the tide. Also, bringing in the Arlathanlen into the fold soon enough...’

Mumbling, ’You gotta stop the contract. She shouldn’t have to live under those obligations.’

’They will not be able to send anyone any good. Besides, I am going to petition for Free Blades, Ga’hals and Crow Wardens to join us...’ Freya yawned as she burrowed into his side. ’If she is an Antivan Warden, that will give us clout and there is no way the Crow Wardens would allow Howe to succeed.’

’A new contract then, to keep her safe, they wouldn’t take a conflicting one, would they?’

Grunting, ’They would, however, they would make sure it is set up for failure. Or they would put it on offer, but no Crow would be stupid enough to take it... I did not survive here, amora. Zama could not save me. And any Crow suicidal enough to take such a contract will die very quickly.’

’Just going with the really bad feeling I have, but you’re gonna see Taliesin and Rinna. They’ve got something to prove, and without you, I’m betting it’s difficult for them. I don’t know how, could be Cyni leaking over, but it’s in my gut.’

Pursing his lips, ’I will kill them if I must. If I was willing to kill Bryce to keep her safe, trust me in this, I will kill anyone... Even Zama.’

’Subvert first. You’re best at making people buy in, if you’re not running on fear, no sleep, and Cyni’s headache, that is.’ Arms held him securely, within and without, ’You know what’s coming, just spin it and make it work for you. Once we get over there, I’ll have what I need. That reminds me, do me a big favour, make a big room that Cyni can paint all over. Man’s got no respect for books.’

Smiling, ’Of course.’

’Miss you, Love.’ Another tight hug. ’You know you shouldn’t spoil her, right? Might wanna let Zama-mama be the mother. Might take off that curse of you being the only available ‘parental figure’.’

’Hrmn... Well, I do plan on speaking with Nune... And seeing if I can haul him by his butchered ears over to Zama. Also definitely need to keep an eye out for Mio. Before she gets taken to Vaughn’s dungeon. Toss her at Armand, so on, so forth. I want my little sister to show up eventually...I miss that little brat...’ sighing.

’If you catch her before, she might not need to take it out on Armand or your face. If Ignacio knew, he’d pull her out early. Park some Crows in the Alienage and get the interruption out early...or frell take out Vaughn...although the other son isn’t nice either.’

Grunting, ’Hmmn...such information might get us some favours... Oh, I do like that.’ Laughing, ’You know, with what I know, I could make us all filthy, stinking rich?’ Rubbing his chin, ’Actually if we show up soon enough, we could solve the problem before it starts...’

’You should check the bank. Gaeaf said so.’

Making a face, ’I hate Kirkwall.’

’No...a bank’s here. Gaeaf helped at the end and gave some information. Something about seed accounts for Zevran and somebody’s got a soft spot for her Zevrans. You’ve got the memories, if you took them when we got here...’

....

Cyni was in pain and Zevran wasn’t going to ask him to keep the body going on any longer. In truth, his love had long pressed on past the mark Zevran thought it wise. But Cyni, saying he had had worse, stubbornly wanted to make sure everything that could be done, was. That morning had been filled with lovemaking that overflowed with long touches, tenderness, and tears that were not sad, but bathed the pain and filth of life away. In the Circle, Freya and Zamitie were at Zevran’s back, their arms wrapped around him, knowledge and experience from his mother, raw and untrained power from Freya, and Cyni facing him, their foreheads resting against each other as Cyni’s Song began. Everyone’s hair was loose, tangling in a woven net, and Zevran opened himself up, gently but firmly weaving around the strands of Cyni and Twadd’s souls, providing location and anchor. Zamitie guided while Freya gave strength, Twadd’s knowledge of going through this before pressed himself and Cyni forward.

Crooning, “Come my loves, for my life has always been yours.”

A last kiss, all the breath Cyni could take in, pushed into Zevran’s lungs, the last exhaled note of the Song filled him. Zevran held it, refusing to breathe out or in again until Cyni’s body sagged, the beat of his heart going silent. He hung on even as his head rang with the need for oxygen, refusing to let go until he was certain the last shreds were held and caught. Around him he heard and felt Zamitie seeking all the loose ends, sealing them up tightly. His body began crying out with its natural demands, but still he fought it down, even as his vision darkened, spots swimming in the dimming. His knees gave out, the impact almost driving that last breath from him, and still he hung on. He had to, for their sakes - he didn’t know what the distance might do.

’Breathe, Love.’

There was a crash of ocean against a rocky shore that did not fade even as it was followed by a growling, ’Desire, I hate bein’ in a box. Breathe dammit.’

Explosively Zevran let it out, the pounding between his ears a rhythmic beat and he gasped, sucking in lungfuls of deep, clean air. Pressing his face into the stilled chest, relief buffeted him. It had worked.

A hand flailed out for Freya’s cheek, “Thank you my sweet. You were very good, very helpful. I love you.”

She rubbed her face in his hand, “I love you too, Zevran...”

Rolling onto his side, tangled with Ferox’s corpse, “I need a moment, please. It will take a little while for them to settle in.”

“Come, let us have some cookies, I will show you how to make those ones with oats and fruit, with the chocolate bits, mushu,” Zamitie guided Freya after she took the time to kneel and kiss his temple.

Twadd settled back in much quicker, after all, he hadn’t just left his body, wasn’t arguing if this was real or not and whether or not he was dead, and he already knew where his space was. ’I was hopin’ that when Cyni got here, it would be quieter. The ocean’s not too bad, it’s the other sounds that are...well you’ll have to see for yourself. I think the sound of the water makes him Sing better. However, it does explain why he couldn’t hear you for so long.’

Zevran took one of Ferox’s physical arms, wrapping it around himself with a sigh, ’It is fine, querido. We are all sons of the sea.’

Twadd found his favourite spot to stretch out and looked over at the trap and snickered.

’What?’ cuddling down in the center room and in the Circle. He didn’t care if others thought him morbid - what did they know? ’I keep telling you that I have not noticed any traps...’

’So Anora’s portrait has always hung on that wall?’

Glancing at it, he made a moue of disgust, ’Bleck...’

’It wasn’t like you were going to look at a book or any writing in here unless you wanted something, so I tried to put something so obviously out of place, that you would absolutely hate and try to get rid of. It’s all worked out one way of tha’ other though, so, eh.’

Cyni groused as he looked around, arms crossed, ’Told ya, ‘Eat me’ or ‘Drink me’ or a pink striped cat. I also said ‘how about a rabbit with a hat?’ But, nooooooo... Anora and a bloody note in a cloak!’

Bouncing up he rushed over to Cyni, taking him in his arms quickly. Joyful, happy, relief, all of that and love flooded his body and mind, exploding brightly within his soul, ’You are here...I knew...but...you are here...’

Disjointed and more than a little disorientated, a growling Cyni hugged back, ’’Course I’m here. Not every day a Desire demon invites me in for tea. Varane and I had to be careful releasing the Zama’s threads from her loom...so nothin’ snapped.’

’I love you so much, so much, so very much...thank you,’ he knew he was babbling, he couldn’t help it. He really hated blubbering, but it wasn’t everyday that he lost and regained everything in the span of a week. ’So much, you are both so precious to me, mis amoras. Without you both I have been so utterly lost...so lost without you both.’

’Was never our intent, Love.’ The three of them, arms wrapped around each other, kept Cyni still while he settled in, ‘We would’ve gone out with you with no complaints other than Cyni fighting with himself. But he found another box...’

’It glowed like a shard of a soul and there was music in it. Someone had to open it before Flemeth got it. Twadd read up on the mirrors and I looked at the loom and started to play with the threads. The scents are like colours on the threads and everybody’s got a thread...the girl’ll figure it out. I can’t see it all right now. But our threads are touchin’ yours.’

Basking, he let their words flow over him, ’We will find it. You will have to pardon me for not being a better host, but right now, I just need to hold you both.’

Twadd, practical as usual, ’We’re gonna need a bed you know...’

’Faugh, it can wait. I slept on the ground for years, a week or three on tiles is nothing,’ scoffing. ’Besides, we will likely have to go to the horseclans at some point anyway.’

’But those pallets are comfy,’ Twadd protested. Information flying to his fingertips, he found the message from Gaeaf, ’‘Bank account and safe box likely in Zevran’s name.’ Numbers and everything signed with a fancy looking ‘D’.’ Twadd hated losing information and it bugged him until he found whatever it was that had gone missing. Tucking it in a shirt pocket, he was able to let the problem go.

A naughty thought occurred in spite of all the seriousness on his love’s part, ’You realize that now I always get to be the meat in the sandwich?’

Cyni let out a rare laugh, ’Out pleasing Desire? Impossible - but existence with you is good.’

....

Freya and Horsie settled in and Zamitie went about the quiet bustle he remembered her always enjoying. During a moment alone with her, discussing what he had observed of Freya’s skills, including Cyni’s reference to the box glowing like a piece of soul, much like the gem Zevran took to carrying with him always, Flemeth’s altering of Cyni’s mind, the effect that had obviously had, so on, so forth. What surprised Zevran most was the fact that Zamitie had remained in the city even after Sa’id’s somewhat recent death, along with the fact that she had little contact at all with her clan. She purposefully stayed away in all matters, knowing that she had to remain within the city, but since she had ‘failed’ in saving her Zevran’s life, she had found little to replace what was lost. No foster children, nothing. Just work and Work, charity on the street, nothing more.

She was lonely, that much was obvious. His heart broke for her - he had never wanted his mother in all but body to ever feel so sad. He did think overall though, having to constantly bring himself up short on the thought, that it was not his doing that life went one way or another. Yes, in his Thedas he was effective. Yes, there he had accumulated power, doing every single task he could turn himself to. But just because he was there and had done it, did not make him personally responsible for it or important. Someone would pick up the reins if he, or some version of himself, hadn’t been there. He was just a grain of sand in a desert.

Zamitie was beside him, rubbing and oiling equine hooves, “Even a single grain of sand has importance.”

Grunting as he shaved off a bit of excess from Jathals’ hoof, “Yes, but there are...countless grains of them, Zama. Another would take my place.”

’Dog woulda saved her,’ Cyni muttered.

Twadd argued, ’Still, she would have been Gaeaf without a Zevran to save her from freezing. Or worse, because there would never be a thaw.’

’Manipulator would have used the Alistair demon,’ finished Cyni.

Scowling, ’She has better taste than that...’

’Love, without you, we don’t make many good choices like that. True, Rory, Leliana, and Alistair aren’t bad choices, but without your sunshine, who would know? Even the little healer made a similar mistake, and you were there...well her Zevran was. Speaking of which, we should send a message that you made it.’ Twadd was back to flipping through their combined memories like he had never left.

He couldn’t help but smile, ’I live but to serve you my loves. My life, it is, and always has been, always will be, yours.’

Zamitie co*cked her head, “It is very strange to see this happening, this thing that is done between you. Your gaze, it goes flat, internal, like a trance or meditation. Something deeper than thought or memory.”

Blinking back fully, “I have three souls and minds within me. It is like...my mind is a house. Or that is how I have always envisioned it. Even when I was young and in training to be a Crow. Some things...you have to shut down. You find a safe place to hide your essence while your body and mind continue to do whatever task is assigned.”

Cyni mused thoughtfully, bearing pensive and intrigued, ’After being on the outside and now on the inside of you, and no this isn’t my typical ‘it’s the Fade’ crap’, but it’s using your connection for dreaming to the Fade. We’re in the Fade, but the thread to you, that connects you to it, is wide open, it’s...a hallway instead of just the slim twisted thread. We can come and go, similar to the way a demon could possess someone.’

“Oh well that is reassuring,” mumbling.

He passed on the information to Zamitie who mulled it over. “This is a thing I wish Sa’id were here to study. My understanding of it is instinctive, his would be...scientific?”

’It’s not wide open for anybody, you are attuned to us. Twadd can’t see everything, which is why he can’t do this all the time -’ Cyni caused Zevran’s little finger to move and curl into his palm, ’ - unless Twadd’s angry or frightened. Even then, I’ll bet that he doesn’t have any fine motor control. He may have stopped you from skinning yourself at one point, but he couldn’t operate a needle and tap hammer.’ Releasing the finger with a reassuring squeeze to his hand, ‘But then your memory books don’t speak to me, so I ‘spose we’re even. ‘tween the two of us, we might be able to fool somebody who knows you for a few minutes...if you take to growling.’

Zevran rumbled, ’It is not that I do not do it, it is just that yours sounds far more enticing.’

As they moved on to the other horse, Fymataf, “She will have to try very hard to keep your attention?”

“Pardon?”

“Your Hope, will you blank her out as you do the rest of the world?” there was no judgement or recrimination in her eyes or tone, that was simply how Zamitie was.

“For now? Yes, that is unfortunately some of how it will be,” he shrugged. “It is not intended as such, but Cyni must be acclimated... And so must I. A year versus centuries...it is a shock to have relief, but I must become reacquainted with it. However, it will not take too long, or, at least it did not last time.” Reassuring her, “I will not abandon or shut her out, she will gain everything she requires of me. It was a thing I promised her and I always keep my promises.”

Zamitie’s hand on his cheek was soothing and he couldn’t help but lean into the mother’s touch. “If you step poorly, she will be confused when her feelings grow further. You must come and you must go, so she has the separation necessary. She is not like us, or where we spring from - relationships are not fluid to them, they do not change to suit situation and need. I will become her parent - you must be only the protector and friend ‘ere your heart be broken or her mind confused until she finally stumbles upon the truth of it.” His chin was held and she leaned down, kissing his brow, “Do you know who your father is?”

“Nune, he is...Arlathanlen, a mountain elf, a cannibal, and commander of the Dust Wolves,” his lips pursed faintly, worried. “Does he know that the child Arainai -”

“No, I did not tell him that the babe was his, I lied, in fact, and said that Arainai died and the child taken before I could name him. You will seek him then?” Fingers smoothed over the tattoos on his cheek. “I can feel Sa’id’s touch in this. Mmmn. Very well, I have waited a long time to continue my Work, the bones said it would be important...”

....

Freya liked baths. She liked showers. She liked water in general. Which was good, as Zevran preferred people around him to be clean. Nor did he mind sharing a bath or shower with another. But his loves and his mother were correct - Freya would all too easily put him firmly in ‘family’ position if things were too ‘family’.

That, and he had found her snuggled up with one of his shirts during a nap time, busily exploring herself as was natural. So, there was absolutely no need to allow her to put him in such a confusing status in her life - baths could be family but not other things yet. And she was trying to clamber into his bath at that very moment.

“Freya, come now, you can have a bath later,” using a firm tone.

She was trying to sway him with that pout and the sad Horsie look, “But your bath smells good. Dun-not wanna waste tha water neee-thur...”

“No,” as he rolled up onto his knees, Zevran snagged her tunic dress and tugged it back over her head. “There is plenty of water, plenty of it will be hot. And you can use some of my bath oils for yours. Now - off you go.”

“Zev...” nearly a whine. “I promise not to splash...too much.”

’Stand firm, old man.’

Releasing a sigh, thankful for Twadd’s presence at his back, “Freya - no. I am a grown man and you are a young lady and young ladies do not take baths with their bodyguard.”

“B-b-but...I used to sometimes...” she was making that face at him.

“And you also were still a very little girl and if we were in the public baths, that would be a different story, but this bath is private. Which is as it should be,” he straightened her dress, fussing over it. “Now - go on, hmn?” She looked like she was going to cry, so he tugged her in close to kiss the tip of her nose, “It does not mean I do not love you, chiquita. It only means that sometimes a person has private time. A private bath is for private time. A private nap is for private time.”

“Like private papers,” she sighed a heavy sigh.

The concept was common in the Feroxes having grown up in the Cousland household. Probably drilled into their heads by Bryce, as they seemed to have spent much time in their father’s office. According to the memories, Cyni had broken the rule of private papers often, to ensure that the demons weren’t planning something behind his back, but if the documents didn’t pertain to him, it was not important and was promptly discarded. With Twadd and Gaeaf, one could put something in their very own space, tell them that it was private or not to be read, and there the thing would stay until it was removed. Freya didn’t read the papers hidden in his cloak even though she knew they were there, so it was plain she had at least the foundation of this privacy rule, however whether or not it was taken to the extreme of being able to invade their space with it remained to be seen.

He smiled, nodding, “Si, pequena, just so.”

“Being a‘dolt is stupid,” she looked on the verge of pouting.

“Ah-ah-ah-ahhh... None of that,” tweaking her nose. “Being adult and grownup has its merits. Smile for me, my sweet and you get another kiss, hmn? Besitoes make the frowns turn upside down.”

Freya couldn’t help a giggle at that and got her kiss on the cheek before she went off, closing the door behind her.

Flopping back in the tub, Zevran groaned, ’I am going to have to install a locking bar on that bloody door it seems... And now I do not know whether to wish time sped up so that she would stop with that look that says she feels as though I am abandoning her, or shove time back enough when there was no worry! Why can she not just stay a little girl...this in between thing is very aggravating.’

’Love, you always want to skip ahead to the good parts.’ Twadd’s hands on his shoulders began to work at the frustration that had built there tightening the muscles.

’Patience is not a virtue I have much of,’ ruefully. ’One would think at my age... Ah. But mostly I wish I could just simply sit her down and tell her that when she is in her twenties that I am there and available and until then I am her friend and protector and not to be all...strange with me.’

Cyni snorted, ’Twenties? Right. I give it six years, seven, tops. You were what? Fifteen?’

Expression going dark, ’Four.’

Even Cyni was horrified, the question blurted out, ’...Please tell me you mean fourteen?’

Rubbing his temples and sagging against Twadd’s warm touch, ’I was born in a brothel. There are always those who have...strange tastes. Zama protected me from the worst of it, but there was only so much she could do. She did blunt my mind for it and would put me into a trance so that...I would not notice what was happening. It was mostly all bad dreams, hmn?’

Twadd rumbled, pulling Cyni back to look at actual memories rather than written ones and explained, ’Not all boxes have sides and a latched lid, nor are all locks physical.’ With Cyni occupied with catching up, something which would help in the settling process, Twadd continued his massage. ’He’ll fall into step soon enough. I didn’t waste the entire year in his head just looking at his pictures and listening to music.’

Smiling faintly, ’Hrmn, have I told you lately that I adore you?’ Proceeding to wash up, ’It will be preferable if she figures out what she wants from life, rather than simply throw herself at me when in her teens. And I will count on both of you - heavily no doubt - to remind me that just because at fifteen or sixteen that while she may look adult and be rather adult...she is still too young to know what ‘playing for keeps’ truly means...’

’Just be the one she comes back to everyday, Love. She’s a bright girl. I wouldn’t be surprised if she practices her flirting on others just to see how you’ll react.’

A growl was quashed almost as soon as it started, reminding himself, ’Little girls explore.’ Snorting, ’The first time I saw Cyni kissing Varane - I was unsure who I wished to beat stupid. Varane for messing with my man or Cyni for touching my granddaughter...’

’Difference is, neither of them were playing, but you’ll notice who Cyni chose to be with in the end. Doesn’t mean he’s not still mourning his separation from Varane and the time given up so he could be with you. Truly, it was her presence that kept him from throwing his soul into the pit to light your way to the box, though I don’t think Cyni’ll ever tell you that.’

Sighing, ’I miss Moira occasionally, this is true. Though, sometimes, I wonder. Why would he come to me at all if he had her?’

Twadd ran a hand over a familiar book fondly, one that contained memories of Moira, absently, ’I think this time you should save Edric.’ Returning to Cyni’s loss, the book of their dark haired lass was left in its place, ’In Cyni’s mind, or if he believes dead men have hearts, you’re first, and most important to him. And of course, there was little problem of us actually sending you, without him coming. That thread thing he keeps going on about. He thinks Zama-mama’s loom is something more than I do. Not like he makes much sense when he talks about it.’ Shaking off the odd thoughts, ’Anyway, Cyni loves both of you, but he never promised Varane that he wouldn’t leave.’

’I will miss the girls, but they should have Edric, at least in one plane,’ he agreed. ’Also, Moira never did go for women, no matter how I tried...auck, well. One cannot have everything...’ Saddened, ’There is no me here. That means no Ani. No Varane, Fymie, Uailil will be with someone else... Everything is the same and everything is so different. At least, in Cyni’s there are bits of Ani.’

’You’ve already had everything, this everything is just different. Ferox is Freya, this Zevran isn’t here, frell, Maric might be king during the Blight for all we know and Cailan might be the one who catches your girl’s eye. You’re making your own set of changes to this reality, too, Love.’

Shaking his head, ’No, I mean that Ani - she has a right to life. But due to...things, she will not be born. I do not say it out of selfishness, but it is that I, that, that my daughter deserved a chance, even here. Ani has none. Nor do Fymie or Varane, or any of them...they will not be born.’

’Okay, think back. Why did you go see Fewrlin in the first place?’ As the question was asked, Twadd began looking for the references.

’So that I would know my mother’s people,’ he shrugged.

’You can still do that, unless there’s a major change we don’t know about. You slept with her because?’

He shrugged once again, ’Attempting to get her with child was the price of safety and guidance to the Dalish. Traversing the Drylands alone is...unwise.’

’So, what will you need this time? You’ve thought about bringing an army of sorts to fight the Blight, so Ferelden doesn’t get hit so hard and the recovery time is shorter.’

’There is not enough seed in my loins to earn that sort of thing,’ laughter bubbling up. ’No, I was thinking of speaking to my father and seeing what could be done on that count. As to Fewrlin, well... Freya will need to learn to fight in ways that I do not fight in.’

’Riddle me this, Cyni became a Warden and then ‘The Zama’ as he says, yet still reproduced afterwards...frequently. I’m bettin’ there’s a reason.’

Making a face, ’That did always confuse the blazes out of me. Unless it is...hmm... I summoned milk from Zama. Perhaps it answered ‘my’ need? Varane in...many ways was the one of our family most like myself... Perhaps the wellspring was already attuned to ‘me’ due to saving my life at birth and recognized her as ‘me’?’

Twadd gave a shrug, ’Makes better sense than anything I’ve thought of while looking at his artwork. He’s so convoluted, only way to know would be by asking, and even that might not answer the question. If you need a child, and make that need clear, despite his words to the contrary, Cyni doesn’t deny you.’

’It is not that I ‘need’ a child, querido,’ slowly rising from the tub and pulling the plug. Sniffing his various oils and unguents he picked the one that made Twadd perk up slightly and began massaging it into their body. ’I have been a father how many times over? Functionally as well as biologically? I lost count. Each time is no less joyous, but I do not need a child. It is just sad that this world will not know their laughter and their triumphs, their contributions, large or small... That is what hurts.’

’This Thedas will never be the same no matter what we do, but this choice is yours to make, Love. I miss them too, but they do exist, or have already existed elsewhere, just as you and I have and have not. Do not make the choice based simply on missing them, we have them with us here, if that is the only need.’ Twadd ‘helped’ spread the cream and rub it into his skin, more playful and teasing rather than actually doing anything useful, as phantom hands could never really touch him.

Stretching and twitching under the caresses, ’Oh, you are seeking to use logic on me! Evil man - stealing from my arsenal, who is the rogue now, hmm?’

Twadd’s laughter and love filled him. Touched by it, Cyni returned, drawn out of the world he was building. Unlike Twadd’s constant presence, Cyni appeared to come and go, taking his mental noises with him. Perhaps, as his boy had tried to explain, there was a path to the Fade and this was where he was going? What frequently drove Cyni to the Work room was the needed silence in his mind, it was the only place he sought solitude - the rest of the time was spent in the presence of Zevran, Varane, or Ani. It was possible that this silence could be achieved where he traveled. Even if Zevran would have been perfectly happy for Cyni to not run off, as he had been looking forward to that constant presence and joining, Cyni had always been his own person, which he would never change, not for anything. Even if it was a bit of a sore spot - but it was nothing personal or a ‘fault’ with him.

Not displeased, just unused to being on this side of the body, Cyni growled, ’You two are pleased with yourselves.’ A roaring waterfall nearly covered the ‘sound’ of his voice.

Zevran purred, twisting towards him as he leaned languidly against Twadd, ’And should we not be? There is always room for you and your presence is never anything less than supremely welcome...’ Teasing, Zevran eyed the tub, debating, ’You know...oh just come here, amora!’

With that he hopped into the shower, arms open to both of them, sharing the full range of his senses. The weight of his hair tugged by the water, streaming down his back and hips, the way it struck his face, the traces of minerals that flavoured it, the smell, the texture of it on his lashes, tickling his ears, swirling over his nipples and down his chest, over his belly. How it pooled in the thatch of hair at his groin, pouring along his thighs. Zevran shuddered happily, revelling.

Happy to be returned to his place, Twadd’s rumbled approval and multiplied phantom touches were expected. As Cyni said, Twadd was the dreamer who had imagined the backpack of items, Zevran’s body, as well as what he wore the day he appeared. Cyni, however, never was really comfortable using the Warden’s amulets and did so only when it was necessary, or when he was very distracted and was not aware of doing so. That said, it was Cyni who gave form to Twadd’s dream. Almost as if Cyni’s body was superimposed upon his own, the slide of hands and the press of lips over his skin were more realistic, weight intentionally behind them, and even went as far to employ Zevran’s hand to give actual touch to ears, face and abdomen. Groaning, Zevran hadn’t expected the intensity given, and echoed it back, kissing both even as his physical body stirred to wakefulness along with his mind. Pressing his desire and the sensations they gave him to them until it was all twisted up and shared, Zevran had to brace a hand on the tiled wall, as Cyni and Twadd crafted their pleasure with him.

Cyni, in his frenetically coloured and sound filled existence, was Twadd’s opposite. His husband was calm, and easily left behind that which wasn’t important, gentle, but was no less protective for it. Twadd was more playful and relaxed in how he shared and gave his love. Actual contact, which Twadd used to gain attention or give reassurance, was more real to Cyni. Perhaps it was because this was new, or it was a way to confirm a reality he professed not to believe. At this moment, the sounds of what must be the Waking Sea were calm as Cyni slipped on Zevran’s hand like a glove. Twadd was everywhere, could be everywhere all at once, applying memory and phantom touches, filling him, while Cyni was almost physically present, realistic except for the crashes of waves on a rocky shore. Whining as he gave himself up to them, Cyni was slow and methodical, testing his way, Twadd merely stroking and heightening as he basked. Bottom lip bitten and sucked between his teeth as sem*n flowed over his hand, the one being controlled by Cyni, the grip nothing like his own, even if it was his own hand. Zevran’s thigh and back muscles trembled as they worked. Twadd gave him strength striking a hard cluster of nerves, as Cyni, who was surprised by the shared pleasure and its force, rumbled next to his ear and Zevran released another long moan of relief and ecstasy.

Laughing over the fact that he would have to reapply the protective salve, Zevran readied himself to go down for a good long nap. One that would no doubt be interrupted by someone tackling his pallet, gaining ‘revenge’ for the missed out cuddling earlier. And he would have Horsie probably laying with his huge head on his shoulder, pouring dog breath into his face, probably to ‘hold him down’ for said ‘revenge’. Shaking his head as he finished toweling off and fastening another around his hips, he had to hope the large mabari could be convinced that just because Zevran slept on the ‘floor’ did not mean that he needed an extra ‘blanket’. He didn’t think his nose could take it.

Pausing at the door to his room he saw the hound and Freya already curled up in the center of the pile of blankets and pillows, his own tightly held. Zevran rolled his eyes, narrowly stopping himself from muttering about the predictability of short people. With a flick of wrist his towel was draped out the window to dry and he pulled on a pair of loose silk pants and began shuffling Freya and Horsie around as his girl ‘slept’. He didn’t call her on it, but big brown eyes were far too alert as they blinked up at him when he plucked his pillow from her grasp - after all, why take a pillow when a heartbeat was nearby?

Wrapping an arm around her, “You said you wished for a bath, chiquita.”

“M’sleepy now...an’ you’re here. I wanna be with you.” Freya squirmed to get ‘comfy’.

“Hmmhmm, very well,” as he curled his other arm under his pillow. “No - Horsie, you do not get to drool on my pillow today, I am old and need no pinning. My legs will have to suffice.”

Reasonably, she pointed out, “You aren’t old, Zev. You’re jus’ older than me.”

“Well, when I am tired, I feel old,” yawning theatrically. “Alright, my girl - if you are sleepy and I am sleepy, then it is time for us to be sleepy and well...sleep.” Zevran stroked Freya’s head where it was nestled, something Twadd had said earlier coming back to him. “Princessa - Anora says she is going to marry Cailan and be queen. What do you think of Cailan?”

She began to list his attributes, “He’s a boy. He likes to be clean and not have mud on him. Umm, he spars with a buckle-i-er and sword.”

Thinking about the sort of two-timer the king had been and knowing what sort of ass his father had been as well, Zevran struggled to not growl. Though he was sure some of his distaste for the prince came through, “You like mud though and playing. And you do not like it when the boys tell you you cannot do things because you are a girl.”

“Well, Thomas isn’t nice when he says that, Horse wants to bite him.” Rising to the Prince’s defense, “But Cailan tries to ‘splain it and isn’t mean about it. An’ Fergus lets me play anyway.” Freya sighed having remembered what she had forgot about because they had been keeping her busy, “I miss Fergus.”

“Ah, my sweet, you will see him again soon enough, we just cannot be where there are many Templars right now,” he rolled over, facing her as he gave her a fierce hug. “They would try to take you away to the Circle.”

“The Circle makes it sound like they’re holding hands and ‘Going ‘round the Mulberry Bush’ or playing ‘Duck-Duck-Goose’. But I saw the Tower in tha’ lake when we went to see Arl Eamon once. It was really tall and everybody said that mages don’t play outside.”

He nodded, “Yes, they get locked away at the Circle. That is why we are here - so you will not be locked away. I promised I would keep you safe, Freya. And that is why we cannot be where Fergus is right now. I have to keep you safe, because I promised and because I love you, yes?”

“Then I don’t wanna be a mage, can I be som’thin’ else? I could promise to braid my hair better so it doesn’t get tangled, then I could shoot the bow better.”

“Shhh, it is not that,” soothing her as he tucked a wayward curl aside. “There is no shame in being a mage. But we are here to get you good and trained so that you can be safe and then we can go back and see your family and we will have things to do, but I will keep you safe, by any means necessary. There is nothing wrong with you at all or with being a mage, it is just a skill you have, it is not good or bad, only the way it is applied. And you will apply it well.”

“But if mages get locked up, then I can’t help Papa, so I haffta be something else.” Freya rummaged looking for somebody else she would like to be like. “Oh, a bard came and sang songs and told stories one time. I could do that an’ wear pretty dresses like the ladies do here, an’ ride horses, an’ do the dances with the shimmy belly, an’ wear charms to be shiny in the light, an’ have long pretty hair like Zama-mama, an’ Horsie can have lots of puppies an’....”

Freya was quiet for a long time, her eyelids fluttering closed and her breath slowed. Just about when she should have been asleep, she muttered, “I wanna be like you, Zev, an’ save people, an’ make everybody happy.”

Chapter 2: Gersemi's Garden

Chapter Text

Several weeks in Antiva getting Freya settled in, comfortably, a few things for the house, minor repairs done, and his husband and his boy settled into their shared accommodations, Zevran was finally prepared to do what had to be done. Even if Cyni did think it odd - all this preparation when all he was going to do was march up to the Dust Wolves, a general who, in times of war, had more clout than most of the nobles when it boiled down to it - and make the man believe him. Of course it wouldn’t be so easy as that. He had to observe the local methods, find out what could be sussed from other sources, see how this Antiva may, or may not, be different. Already there was a lack of worry about the House of Crows. To them, he had never existed. He was just a person of no interest. However as soon as he spoke to Nune he just might become interesting - it all depended on who the Crow attache was to Eu’rai’ddvinnen.

In the evening he slipped into the austere office that was also his father’s room, having waited until Nune went to the messhall for dinner and made himself comfortable at the window, staring down at the training field. Zevran heard the familiar tread, barely a whisper of a boot on tile. His father had never cared for hard-soled boots - barefoot or in moccasins, he was silent to the point that Zevran couldn’t hear him move other than the slight clacking of bones in his topnot. And that was only after he had been convinced to let what would grow of his hair to finally sprout.

“Who yoo?” gruff, the voice he hadn’t heard in a century rang out.

Turning from the window, “Aneth ara, Eu’rai’ddvinnen. The barbarian mask is unnecessary with me, Father. I know you can speak Antivan, Common, Tevinter, and Orlesian fluently, and with barely an accent.” Slipping into elvish in full though he had to think more about it, “You and I must speak of deep things. Will you hear my words?”

The office door was closed and locked carefully, gold skinned face impassive. “How do you know that name?”

“My mother was Arainai and I bear your blood,” Zevran moved away from the window and hitched his hip on the desk, awaiting the inspection, while studying his father in turn. He waved a hand at his face, “Will you deny what your senses tell you? There might be one or two Arlathanlen who escaped the searches for uhalamlin, some traders who bred true to Dalish and the resulting ‘demon’ offspring sold off to slavers. So yes, there are likely a few of our people in Antiva at large. But have you come across any who have your eyes - the same as Dorf’adahl’s eyes before he was blinded?”

A mouth full of filed teeth were bared at him, the wild blond hair wound through with fetishes hanging past heavy shoulders as Nune leaned forward, “I will not deny that I have lain with women in the past. If I got one with child - I could not say.”

“Arainai is who you got with child, Father,” he kept his tone level. Nune looked good - he had never been mad with grief and dashed hopes. “The Arlathanlen need to be brought into the fold. Him’harel’lin has to die for the curse on you to be banished.” Zevran paused, thinking over what the next piece of information would do. Once, long ago, his father had been deep in his cups, drunkenly telling him the story of how he became uhalamlin and how he had managed to reach the city. “El’atisha died trying to save the shemlen women. Ddryfha’s -”

“Enough!” it wasn’t loud, but it may as well have been a roar. A huge hand smacked Nune’s pectoral, the sound sharp and dull at the same time, “Spirit creature - what reason do you have to call upon me?”

“The curse Uth’vir’vehnan put on you caused me to be born dead. Zamitie revived me at the last,” wobbling a hand side to side, “so I was born with one foot in the realm of the dead. I know things I should not, but I am alive. Like you, my personal luck is good. But only due to a great deal of spirit magic. And until Him’harel’lin is dead, those I love will never be safe. I will never be able to have a family here. And unlike you, I do not have a legion at my beck and call. You may have caused my life to have a spark - but it is your duty as my sire to ensure that the world is safe enough for your line - our line to continue.”

Lips peeled back, not denying, “Thedu’enan’sal Zam’ie’taie said you were taken before she could name you.”

Zevran shrugged expansively, “And what would you have done with me, neh?” Nune was close enough for him to forcefully nudge his father’s shoulder with the back of his hand, a gesture of challenge and derision, tossing the fears and doubts his father had admitted to at him. “A Free Blade? With a Free Blade’s pay? Neh? How would you have been a father? What way would you teach me? Provide for me? Can you grow teats that make milk for a babe to feed? Would you keep me in a barracks room?” Rolling his head so his chin jerked dismissively, “No - she did what had to be done and you had no ability to do. It would have only made us all suffer. I was provided for where I was. You did not suffer, I did not suffer - she took the route that must be taken.” Copying Eu’rai’ddvinnen’s chest smack, a sign of emphasis and demanded attention, “I am a warrior, a man grown. But still Uth’vir’vehnan’s curse hangs heavy.” Leaning in he sniffed at him, echoing the animalistic growl, “I can catch its stink on you. How many Antivans die on the borders to feed Him’harel’lin’s appetites? If not a duty to your son and your line and freeing our people from barbarism - then what of the demands of leadership?”

Nune snarled, “They would be wiped out.”

“Only a fool would do that. Or some other commander who heard of the mountain home,” crossing his arms over his chest and assuming a ‘relaxed’ pose - the one Nune took when his point had been proven and he knew he had won. “You have obligations by threes. Will you continue to deny it?”

“Ga’hals Iuni’mas’ilsh protect them - would you set us against Zam’ie’tai’s people?” a brow bounced high.

“They can be convinced,” dismissing the worry. “A thedu’enansal will not be denied. Honour would be kept, face saved. They value the blood of the people - I have seed aplenty to spread if that is the coin they demand.”

Nune rumbled, “My son is not a whor*. It is my responsibility, if that is the trade they demand, I will see to it myself. I am still man enough to do that much and easily. My honour will not be insulted, nor my child made a whor*.”

“I was born in a brothel - what fate do you think I had?” it wasn’t meant to prick Nune’s honour, the question was one that merely came to him on his own - his father had never answered it before, never given an indication one way or another of shame.

Broad shoulders sagged with sudden defeat, “One that I did not know how to avert, abelas, em’len.”

....

It took some doing and several visits before Nune would accompany him. They made an odd pair, Zevran in Sa’id’s old finery altered and belted down, Nune dressed in a Ga’hals vest and pants, soft wrapped kneeboots keeping the light fabric close to his calves. They could be brothers, as similar as they looked, one as an Antivan gentleman, the other a wilder man. Nune had oiled his hair, braided it in sections and attached different fingerbone joints at the ends, his skin brought to a glowing sheen with the fat of some animal - sheep by the smell of it. Not that his father stank or was dirty, he was just pungent in a very different way than himself.

Upon entering, Horsie was waiting and eagerly greeted Zevran, welcoming him home, before turning to Nune who solemnly squatted for inspection. Great respect was conferred onto the mabari, a hefty paw offered up. He tried not to let too much of a smile move over his face - the mabari had always fascinated and thrilled Nune, who said they reminded him of the bearhunting hounds the Arlathanlen used.

Freya had come from Zamitie’s Work room, smelling of her daily practice in listening and finding the flows. “Zevran!” she bolted into his arms and he wrapped them around her, straightening as he hugged her fiercely.

“Ah! Chiquita, you are too quick by far, my sweet,” smiling broadly as he got his tight hug and a kiss at the corner of his mouth before letting her slide back to her toes.

Eyes quick she looked at Horse then to Nune before looking back at him. She was waiting to see where she stood, if an introduction would be made or if this was someone she should not ‘know’ so no introduction would be given. An archaic custom, but there was protection as well as permission in it. If someone was purposely not introduced, there was little social responsibility as that person had been found to be unsuitable to be known.

Nune fired off a fast question in extremely old and formal inflections of elvish, “Yours?”

co*cking his head as he ran fingers over Freya’s hair, responding in the same archaic format, “Yes, but not my child. The future comes for us all.”

“They live so briefly,” full, scarred lips thinned. “Good, have as much time as you can then.”

He almost thought Eu’rai’ddvinnen would protest or find fault with the status of what Freya would be to him. But upon a time his father had loved a human woman and been cast out for it. And then he had found love again with another one.

“This is my Papa, Nune,” he gave introductions. “Father, this is Freya A Cousland, and I am her bodyguard.”

Nune pressed a palm over his heart, spread-fingered and bowed deeply, “What you protect, so too will I, as a father should.”

Freya slipped into her role of Cousland daughter and gave her best curtsy, “It is an honour ta meet you, Papa Nune.” To enlighten Nune of her place with Zevran, she briefly explained, “I chose Zevran when he saved me. He is my hero.” She looked at Horse who also shifted his gaze indicating he had not been introduced formally either, but since Nune was now ‘known’ it would be proper to introduce the brother she was responsible for. “Papa Nune, this is Horse, he is’a mabari war hound an’ a good dog. Horsie, this is Nune, Zevran’s father.”

His hand rolled from its place on his chest in acceptance as he straightened, “A faithful companion to hunt with and guard one’s side is a thing without price as no coin can buy it.”

The air hummed as Zamitie finished whatever shutting down of wards that were being used, the faint crackle of sweet blood and cactus blossom wafting out, preceding her. “Greetings to you, old friend. Hope, a pot of tea please to make him welcome.”

Command and pride, the weight of it carried effortlessly, radiated from his father as he went about the simple task of removing his boots and setting them aside after having presented his gift of a handsomely carved bone to Zamitie. She was normally unsurprised, but when she touched it he announced that it had come from the thigh of a sandtiger, while the hilt had come from a dustdrake. Individually the beasts slain were impressive and not the feat of a coward or even a brave man. That Nune had faced such creatures and come away from the encounters whole spoke of his prowess. Zevran tried not to laugh - such a gift was the sort a man gave a woman that he fully intended to court a great deal of favour from. Miolanai had received similar, a set of swords from a landwyrm that Nune had killed with nothing more than some sharpened and fire-hardened javelins and a stone knife. While the Arlathanlen had fallen from the great heights of technological and magical advances, they were still brutally efficient killers. And his father was definitely efficient when it came to dispatching ‘troublesome’ creatures.

Business was not discussed at the meal table and Nune was not quite comfortable, overly formal and reserved. ‘Friendly’ was not a word that could easily be applied to him. But he did answer Freya’s questions, refusing to eat until Zamitie and Freya had already tucked in. It was an old habit, that much was obvious, that even being a guest could not dissuade him from it. He did drink first because it would have been rude not to. Zevran settled back to watch the interplay, satisfied that the pieces would fall into their proper places with a little nudge here and there. Upon finding out that the Crow attache to Nune was Salvail, he couldn’t help but laugh.

“Slick like a river eel, that one be,” Nune didn’t quite complain, but it wasn’t necessarily a compliment.

Sipping his chicory laden coffee having picked some up specifically for his father, “And what of the ones before?”

“Worse - dim or useless,” the large right hand twisted at the wrist from where the bowl was held between the two. “The one before did not deal well in the jungle, a leopard ate his corpse before the meat could be of use.”

Cyni rumbled, ’Desire - I like this father better.’

’I believe that statement translates into he killed the last Crow?’ Twadd asked. ’He’s much...less polished than the other one.’

“Papa Nune, what’s a leper?”

“A leper is someone with a sickness of the skin and they must be kept away from others so the sickness does not spread. A leopard is a big cat of the jungle,” he explained, correcting without cruelty. “Leopards are spotted and are to a house cat what a mabari is to a rat.”

Trying to picture one, Freya reached to the closest example she knew of, “Are they as big as your snowcat cloak, Zevran?”

Zevran shook his head, “Not usually. But they are much faster than a snowcat and climb in trees and leap down from them. Much of their life they spend in the lower branches to hunt. Snowcats like to leap from up higher, yes, but usually a rock outcropping. Their fur is much thicker and they have a much different build - more power, less flexibility.”

His father set his bowl of coffee down and took Zevran’s hand, setting them side by side for Freya to inspect, “See how Zev’na’rane and I are different? It is the difference between us. His hands are large, but nimble and long, suited to many things. Mine are -” he flipped his hand, palm up, making a fist, the hardened scars all over them displaying the easy brutality they had dished and received, “what they are. Weapons. I am short and powerful, he is tall and multi-talented.”

“Tall?” laughing at the description. “That is a new description, Papae. No one has ever described me as that.”

“The beholder’s eye is the perspective of which I view. You are taller than I,” his shoulders twitched a shrug. “You are young - another growth may make you taller.”

Zevran didn’t correct him, averring, “Possibly - but I am half Dalish. There is shemlen blood in me, I have grown all I will.”

Small brown fingers had reached out and were following a scar on Nune’s hand and the ink stains from constant writing, “You make things too, so they’re not just weapons. Your hands can do lots of things.” Freya sighed as if she had already started counting all of the thing he could do, “But it is hard to learn everything Zevran can do and will take a very, very long time.”

“There is very little need for you to learn everything someone else does. Learn a little from all you meet and make it your own. But baskets are soothing to weave,” Nune’s lips quirked carefully, not showing any teeth. “Mine are not very good, but it is relaxing.”

She perked up, “I can make pine needle baskets tight enough to carry water, but I haven’t seen any pine trees here.”

“In the mountains to the west, but there are none here. It is too warm,” Nune said sadly. “Reeds, roots, palm fronds - they are sharp though,” as he pointed to a thin white scar that ran from his index fingernail to the middle knuckle of that digit.

“Ow. Sea grasses are sharp too, but not poky. I forgot and pulled one.” Freya hissed shaking her hand as if the memory hurt and she was trying to get rid of it. “I ‘membered to bring my knife after that. Um, Papa Nune, are there birch trees? I know how to make folded birch bark baskets too ‘cause we use them to catch syrup from trees...”

Zevran was well-pleased as Nune and Freya discussed basket making materials and went to take care of the meal’s dishes - with help from Horsie of course, while Zamitie added to the discussion in the background. He was glad that things would move as they had to. First the Arlathanlen would be dealt with and courted. Then would come the Wardens - and then the Guild. From Salvail he could find out who to lean on, where and when. He was half-tempted to find out where Rinna and Taliesin were at the moment, subvert them or remove them if necessary, but he could go slow for now. Ten years was so short a time, yet it also felt like such a long time...

....

Letters came, a packet of them, in response to the one he had sent out upon arrival in Antiva. Bryce, Fergus, Eleanor, and even Nan had written to Freya who was happily skipping around the house rereading them. Zevran had his own set, of which he had to read between the lines in some cases. There was trouble brewing - Maric was suspected of slowly going mad. From the description, Zevran frowned.

’Taint - but he is no Warden,’ cataloguing the details. ’Amora, you are more familiar with Ferelden’s recent history than I, when would he have been exposed? How?’

Twadd peered at his father’s handwriting, musing, ’There was some fiasco when the Wardens were allowed back into the country... They went to the Deep Roads. But why would it be showing up now?’

’Yes, that is what I wish to know as well...’ growling as he set pen to paper.

’He’s supposed to go missing on the way to Wycombe...

Surprised, ’Wycombe? What could draw him there - ah... The old Blight... Hmn.’

Twadd gave his pet theory first, which he had come up with after they received Gaeaf’s memories, ’Well, I have a theory that he took one of Gaeaf’s ways out of dying of the Taint.’

’Or worse - succumbed to it before he could carry it out,’ Cyni’s voice was dark. ’If he’d really meant to do it, he’d have jumped off a handy tower - plenty of the things in Denerim.’

’The other option is all of those rumours about him being in an Orlesian prison,’ Twadd offered the second reason, which he didn’t believe. ’Although, wasn’t Alistair’s supposed mother a Warden from Orlais?’

Plumbing their combined memories, Zevran set his pen down for a moment to pace, ’I need to go to the Warden Compound... See if I can gain access to their library. It would be interesting to know if anyone knew who was sent on that Warden expedition. Names, dates... Even if the information was not shared, I would not put it past the Crow Wardens to know and have recorded it.’

That puzzle catalogued and set aside, he focused on the other one. Nathaniel had been recalled by Howe. For ‘training’ to be arl. The letter about that was more important - at least in the long run to Zevran’s plans, what did he care about Maric, who was just another shemlen king who was easily replaced or removed when a better pawn would eventually be presented? - and he sent his recommendations as well as saying that Maric sounded as though he were suffering from the Taint. And that someone had best help Cailan put on his big boy drawers and right quick about it too. He preferred having the young Howe where he could keep an eye on the boy and Freya would be heartened by a familiar and friendly face. Another letter was posted for Nathaniel also, one asking after his studies and discussing the fine weather and ‘lamenting’ the shipping schedules of ships from Amaranthine to Antiva City, giving the necessary information for an eventual getaway.

’Nate won’t tell anyone she’s a mage either,’ Cyni firmly stuck a finger on one of their worries.

Snorting, ’That boy can keep a secret better than anyone else I know - likely as he barely talks.’

’Nathaniel would’ve been real helpful during the Blight...’ Twadd mused.

Zevran rubbed his chin thoughtfully, ’Sten needs to die...he is too vast a risk, even if made Arishok. He will know Ferelden, its people, they will think of the Qun’ari Sten too fondly as a Hero of the Blight. Our good Howe can take his place, if only Lelianna was not relatively innocent... That leaves us short a heavy fighter though... Unless Freya leans quickly towards an arcane warrior and such - Nune will have to train her if that is the case, or I will have to do my best to mimic your movements, Twadd.’

’You could pull Loghain early before he gets mixed up in what he shouldn’t. Oh! Better yet, still subvert him, leaving the army its General, but take his favourite second - Ser Cauthrien herself, I like that!’ Twadd nearly bounced.

He laughed, ’I will have Cailan order it. At Ostagar. Or...even better...whatever ranking Warden from here that shows up, besides Freya, Conscript her. Splendid...’

Concern came from Twadd, ’Will she pass a Joining? Would be nice to have Avernus onboard with Haf’cath’s notes and be able to have a better idea.’

Zevran tapped his skull once as he walked in the kitchen, Nune only sparing his son a curious glance, ’It is in there.’

Cyni rumbled, ’I’m bettin’ I could tell.’

’She is of a line of farmers - in areas where darkspawn are known to have travelled, there is likely a Mother somewhere in the line,’ grunting.

’And match her with the blood she is to drink. That’s the hard part. ‘Blood sings to blood’, if I’m quoting the Songbird correctly. If it’s true, singing I can hear,’ Cyni pointed out.

’We will have to bring Joining supplies then and not commence it officially until Ostagar or upon reaching Ferelden - the Mother you are all related to is unlikely to be linked at all to the Antivan darkspawn,’ rubbing his forehead. ’Braska! If only Duncan had not Conscripted Daveth. Bah. He would be useful in a city...’

’So move him too.’ It was difficult to tell who said it first.

Growling, ’Too many pieces...too - Ignacio!’ Snapping his fingers with epiphany. ’Ignacio... Miolanai is a key, information on her safety, set Daveth to bring her here as a job. That will keep him out of some trouble...hmn? Or at least to keep them under Ignacio’s more watchful eye rather than as a street tough...’

Twadd approved, ’I like it, Daveth had potential, just not as a Warden. Although why Duncan picked Jory, I’ll never know. Probably a good soldier.’ He could tell that his husband wasn’t certain about that either. ’But freedom of thought, or being separated from his wife, frightened him.’

’He is the sort of man you point at a dragon and give a large shield and tell him to keep shouting,’ making a face. ’And not mourn overly when they get eaten.’

Cyni snorted, ’Too soft spoken, wouldn’t keep its attention.’

’Well he could cry for his mamae,’ rolling his eyes.

He quickly set aside his letters once they were done and began to inspect Freya’s, she, much like Twadd and Gaeaf before her, kept a journal of her daily activities. Painstakingly, she copied what she could share without revealing their specific location or certain activities which would cause harm if known. Presenting a copy of her sanitized and abbreviated journal, she had Zevran proofread them and her letter to check for her carefulness as well as spelling. They were as sweet as she was and as thoughtful. A passage or two of the journal raised a brow on his head - but there was nothing strange in them, just the awareness and observations of things changing, just not the why. In time, truly a few years at most, she would start to figure some of those things out, as it was, he could smell her starting to blossom and knew that in a year, two at most, her monthlies would begin. From there it would be all downhill and he would have to curb the urge to beat any male senseless that made eyes at her. She deserved to have all the things he hadn’t had and some that not even Ferox had had. Freya would grow as she would and he would make sure to keep the weeds away from her roots.

Dear Moma and Papa,

As you can see from my jernal I am busy evry day. I have lots to learn still. Zama, who you will remimber is Zevran’s mama, and I listen to music, sing songs, and dance. She say I am a very good dancer. There are pretty ritings on the floor. The floors here are cold, but that is good be cause it is hot outside. Sometimes I lay on the tiles on the floor to get cool after playing outside with Horse. I was worried cause Horse lost some of his fer, but Zevran says it is just be cause of the heat and it will grow back when he needs it again. We sleep in the day time be cause it gets so hot and there are the cool things Zevran makes, so the room is nice for me and not so hot. I met Zevran’s papa, Noon. He knows how to make basskets too and showd me how to make some with reads. Noon had old owies on his face and someone hurted his ears but Zama has tatooos. Many people have them here, men and ladies both. Be cause it is hot here, they can be looked at on bare arms, legs, and bellies. I have said that I want to have some tooo and wear cloothes like the ladies do here in pretty silks with shiny jingly jewlry in their hair. It is said that children do not dress like this, but Zev says that I am getting to be a young lady in other things, but that some of these other things are not ready for me yet. He did not tell me what he ment. We walk to the gardens and play and pick fruit from the trees, figs, mango, gaava, and lots of other things that do not grow at home because their roots would get freezy. Zev says that we will go on a trip soon and I will get to ride a horse. I love you lots and lots and miss you lots too. Papa remimber to use the scope to look for the bear and don’t let him in, please. I don’t want evry body to get hurted.

Give kisses from me and squeezes too betwen you and share with Nan and Fergus and Oriana and evry body. Horsie sends licks, wags, and snuffles.

Freya

A few gifts and the letters were readied to be sent out on the next ship out. A bolt of silk, a few skeins of camel hair, fine carded wool, each hand dyed by Zamitie, several kilos of proper coffee beans (along with instructions, however Oriana would know what she was doing with it), and a handful or three of trinkets, all tucked into a basket Nune and Freya had made together. And books, several on plantation and tiered farming, some Blight histories, and a medical journal or two. When Nune had spied the books, he had been confused - he thought everyone could read, but Zevran had to explain that in Ferelden, that that was sadly very far from the truth. Nune had thrown in some seeds and a few pieces of rootstock for hardy tubers and such and they wound up having to pay a higher shipping price.

Nune waved it off, “I am the Commander of the Dust Wolves. Like they will do more than charge the accounts? Bits of metal are useless, barter is better, but you people are strange with all this ‘coin’.”

Whimpering, “Papae, am I going to have to go over your bookkeeping?”

His father brightened, with childlike hope, “It would be good - one less thing for me to constantly balance!”

“Would I get paid at least?” envisioning a nightmare of frightening accounts.

The look the powerfully built man gave him plainly questioned his observational skills and intelligence. “You are my son. I will provide for you. People here use coin, so coin you will receive. Is ten sovereigns good?”

“Ten sovereigns for how long?” rubbing his forehead.

“A week,” stated simply.

“No - ten sovereigns is good pay for a month at least,” Zevran growled. “The contracts and taxes and -”

“Nepotism has its place,” Nune was adamant. “And I do not take pay for myself beyond some clothes and writing materials and the occasional whor*house visit. There is plenty.”

Zevran whimpered, unable to stop himself, “Change of subject then...?”

“The girl sighs after you,” his father stated simply. “They live so briefly. Like a flower that lasts a single season. Beautiful and sweet, fast to grow...faster to leave. To us, she is a child, to them, she will soon be a woman.”

Like it was any better a change of subject.

Expression darkening, “You would be surprised how long they can live.”

“Blood stink? You would make her demonic?” obviously intrigued. “You can put up with that smell?”

“Does Zama smell?” countering.

“Like menses and cactus blossoms and wind,” he shrugged. “It is not bad - not burnt and sulphur and poisoned blood.”

Zevran pulled out a pouch of tobacco and ganja, rolling a blunt to share. “It will give her some time. Barring accidents and the curse -” Nune hissed in distaste, indicating that that would not be a problem soon, “- she will have as much as many Arlathanlen.”

“You know this of a certainty?”

Zevran tapped his temple, “One foot in the other realms.”

“Still, she sighs after you,” Nune let the short span of years drop. “She wants pretty things. Let her have them.”

“She is a child still,” watching as Freya skipped over chalk lines drawn in a game with some of the neighbour’s children. “Let her stay one as long as she can.”

“Papaes want their girls to feel precious, neh? Like ah...princesses? This is the word they use here? Princesses?” Nune awaited his nod of confirmation. “Let her be a princess then - I will buy her things for this. A papae spoils his princess and a mamae helps her daughter scheme to gain her prince.” Zevran was about to protest, but his father halted him, “You cannot protect her from being herself. Let her play while she wishes to. Do not become a villain by seeking to keep her from knowing what she desires - she will be confused and in the end you will have hurt her more. Or even sent her to another.”

’I like him. He’s a smart man.’ Twadd put in his two coppers. ’Your path is narrow, Love, because you can’t discipline or spoil her.’

Heaving a sigh, ’I only wish for her to be happy and not rush her onwards.’ “It will be too easy to simply allow whatever she wishes when she finally comes to me - and it will be too soon.”

“Too soon for her - or too soon for you?” with that Nune walked away to scoop Freya up and toss her squealing in the air, leaving him to his growling and quandary.

....

To satisfy her craving for pretty things, Freya had followed his example and taken to slipping into Sa’id’s closet. Everything was far too large for her, but it didn’t stop her from finding a tunic to wear as a dress then wrap a belt or long scarf around her middle until it ‘fit’. Freya had gotten leggier, so not all hems were dragged upon the floor anymore. And much like Twadd, she was drawn to the blues and greens of a peaco*ck, but a day of being a rainbow was not uncommon. But when he came in on Zamitie applying henna stains upon Freya’s oiled form, a vest having been altered into a midriff and back baring skirt and top - Zevran had had to fight off the angry growl. She was dressed up like a dancing girl, replete with bells and charms, ankle and wrist bells, her hair loose and wild while woven here and there with glittering bits of glass, brass and steel beads. If it had been his daughter dressed that way, playing and hopping about the home, it would not have bothered him. But Freya had laughed and done a hip roll and serpentine twist of her arm, a move perfected from Zamitie’s teachings, it reminded him a touch too much of the girls who had been only slightly older than himself at the brothel.

To her it was just a game with pretty things, and that was what it should be. Yet he could see the woman she would become and he had no wish for her to rush to adulthood in that way. At least they would soon be heading out on the expedition to the Hundred Pillars. That would keep her from diving into chests of clothes seeking to dress herself as a girl half again her age.

The sound caught Cyni’s ears and eyes when he checked in. ’Damn, I look good. And look, she’s learning to Sing by using the henna. The Zama is clever...I wish I woulda thought’ve that. Wouldn’t’ve had to take those colours outta my arm...’

Twadd soothed him. ’She’s her own person, Love. Freya’s never seen anything like the pretty things here and like Cyni, it catches her attention. Cloaks are all well and good, but remember when Varane started putting more charms in her hair? I thought Cyni’s rumbles were going to cause you to pull him into a closet or forcefully separate them.’ Many more hands made possible by memory massaged his back while arms wrapped around him. ’Smile and tell her that she looks pretty. She’s doing it for you and learning what catches your eye.’

Making himself praise her, which wasn’t hard, Zevran knelt to kiss her cheeks and get one at the corner of his mouth, “Ah, what a vision you are growing into, chiquita, soon you will be running off and ignoring your faithful Zevran.”

“Why would I do that, Zev?” innocent and guileless.

“Because you will become bored with me, hmn? Too pretty for the likes of me, any with eyes will wish to steal you away!” laughing as he soothed her, teasing. “Or shall I become a pretty bird for you too? Dress like a thunderbird to your peaco*ck?”

Freya snorted, “You are not boring and not pretty. You are handsome.” Looking at him, she appraised what she saw. “You already wear nice colours, but - “ not limiting her options, “ - What do thunderbirds looks like?”

“Like sunshine and lightning,” he spread his fingers like feathers, the heels of his palms pressed together and his thumbs linked. “Streamers of witchfire in all the shades of a fire’s light shoot from their tail feathers during the mating season. It can be a bit of a problem if they are found outside of the jungles.”

Three sets of rumbles, two low, deep and purposeful, the other unconscious and more of a hum, and three sets of brown eyes turned on him. “That would be very pretty, I mean, very handsome, Zevran.”

Chuckling, “There is nothing wrong with being beautiful - male or female. Fereldens have a hard time with the concept sometimes. Come - but you need some purple if you are going to be a peaco*ck. Let me do your face, Zama always makes you look like a raccoon.”

Zamitie laughed throatily, mockingly indignant, “I do not!”

“Come but it is out of style!” as he selected from the palettes of face paints. “She should be fresh and pretty, not over gooped.”

’She’ll be a heartbreaker when we get back to Ferelden.’ Twadd laughed.

’Do not make me second guess myself, amora, or I might make her look like a matron,’ making a sour face at his husband.

’Nah, that wouldn’t work out too well - Fereldens like matronly battle bitches,’ Cyni scoffed. ’Or tarted up Orlesian chits.’

....

The Dust Wolves moved out, half the mounted units of the legion that were stationed in Antiva City were ready for war - a total of three cohorts - just over a thousand warriors. Salvail had got the House to foot the bill as it were, as when they were told of just how dangerous the Arlathanlen were when they put their minds to it, the stops were pulled out. It would be a war of obliteration or absorption. Not even the Ga’hals Iunimasilsh who protected the Arlathanlen would risk their status as a protected indigenous people of Antiva to guard the ragged elves. Nor would Zamitie’s clan try to kidnap her, not with the amount of cavalry and fighters on hand. His old friend was strange, as warm and effervescent as Zevran remembered him to be, but with a lighter bent than he had been expecting - almost as though he had taken on some of Zevran’s aspects, filling in the gap his absence in this Thedas had caused. It gave him hope that Rinna and Taliesin were better off, but he had not questioned Salvail yet to see if they were known.

He was still only one man and had only so many arms to juggle everything.

Their supply caravans were already underway, guarded by a single cohort, blazing the trail for nearly three weeks. The rest of them would catch up soon enough as Nune had wanted the slow moving group to get a head start. They would be unaccosted by the nearest clans, guarded even as they were guided from oasis to oasis that would be able to support their needs. Zevran didn’t say that he thought that it was overkill - Him’harel’lin’s clan was the one that needed taking down. After that one, there might be a bit of fighting, but he hoped there wouldn’t be much at all. Why fight and kill when what they wanted was to bring the Arlathanlen in to parley and made members of Antiva? Removing the filial curse was important as well, but Zevran was sure that being forewarned and forearmed against its effects would keep the trouble it caused to a minimum.

During the first few days of travel, they stopped where they could, camping in the middle of the road. It was rare for so many to go out at once, or when they did, they went by barge first. However with so many horses and it being a congested period of time for the water route from Seleny to Antiva City, it was best that they merely go the hard route and hoof it. Once they reached the steppes, the light yurt for him, Nune, Zamitie, Freya and Horsie, proved invaluable. Outside of the huge protective basin, the air became stiffer, dryer. While there were still plantations, these were vast and huge, owned by the supremely wealthy who churned out coffee, sugar, silk, wheat, rye, sorghum, cotton and all manner of goods that didn’t require constant water and could cope with less protection. For those not used to the difference, Freya and Horsie namely, it was difficult. Or would have been if Zevran hadn’t made sure to lay in a stock of necessary elemental rocks.

Freya slid into his bedroll, wriggling to tuck herself into his side, the sturdy silk pantaloons and tunic traded for a no less sturdy, but far lighter, sleeveless shirt that went to her knees and a pair of smalls. With the mass of frostrocks cooling the yurt, only Zamitie was even faintly uncomfortable - which Nune readily solved by offering to let her take his bedroll, stating that a covered floor was more than he lived with over the bulk of his lifetime. Not that she took him up on the extra blankets per se, instead simply tossing hers atop him and sharing. Horse sprawled out happily, rubbing his back on the felt flooring, wriggling side to side with canine glee before settling into his contented snores.

“How fare you, preciosa?” asking as he stroked her back, soothing her towards rest.

Scootching up to kiss the corner of his mouth where his cheek quirked into a grin, “I’m with you, Zev,” as if that answered the question. As she snuggled next to him, her sneaky fingers traced his dark markings feeling the difference in the skin with and without ink. “How’re you?”

“Tired,” he admitted. “I will be ready for rest after this...”

Freya knew that he didn’t mean sleeping now, “We were restin’ before at Zama-mama’s house, Zevran.” Although it was a gentle reminder, it also carried a question wondering how he could be tired after all that resting or did he just forget. “Why are you so tired? Are you still sad ‘bout Cyni?”

“No, not truly,” settling in. “I have just lived for a very long time, chiquita. One gets tired eventually and wishes to set the burdens down for those who come after to pick them up. There is so very much to do, in so little time and yet it is so much time... I am just tired occasionally, not sad. Just tired.”

“So why are you doin’ it?”

“Because it has to be done and if I do not do it, then someone with less skill will do it...if it is done at all, it will be done...poorly,” he explained. “Very grown up worries, hmn? Everything I do, I do in service to the ones I love.”

She poked him in the ribs, “You can’t do everything ‘cause that’s too much.”

“No, I cannot. But I can make sure that everyone that needs to be where they should be, are in place. Like a game of chess, yes? Move them here and there so that they can effect the best outcomes,” he kissed the top of her head.

After thinking about this, for a minute, she asked quietly in a voice that gave indications of what it would soon be, “Does it make you happy ta’do all’a that? Or just tired?”

“Hrmn...most of the time I do not think about it. But when I do - then I just feel tired,” normally he wouldn’t talk with Freya like this. The subject was deep and not truly something one would wish children to be exposed to. But his girl was growing and far more serious than most her age. “And then someone comes along and reminds me that everything will be alright, giving me the required kick in the pants.”

“Even if you’re gonna do it ‘cause you can’t let go, I don’t think you have ta’do all’a it by yourself.” Returning to tracing, “Whose helpin’ you?”

“Right now? Papae and Zama, Cyni and Twadd too, but the only hands they have access to are my own,” rolling over Zevran provided his arm for a further pillow.

“I have two hands, Zevran. You can have them.”

Reaching beneath the covers to pluck one of those hands, he kissed the knuckles there. “And they are very useful hands, preciosa. But I do not want you to rush into being too big, too soon, hmn? You learning and taking your time and figuring out what it is that you can do - these are things that come first. While you do that and grow, I make sure that things are in place. Did your Zevran not promise to protect you? And make sure you are happy and never doubt that you are loved? Well - there are things I have to do for now that ensure that there is time. Work hard and be happy and take your time growing up... That will be the most helpful for me right now, my sweet.”

“I am happy, Zev. An’ you love me an’ Horse, an’ Zama-mama, an’ Papa Nune, an’ Moma, an’ Papa, an’ Nan, an’ Fergus, an’ there’s lots more, so I didn’t ferget.” Freya sighed, “But it doesn’t mean I can’t help some too, just ‘cause I can’t stop growin’.”

Zevran gave her a tight hug, “Freya, you do help, hmn? You give me strength and you give me hope. They are very powerful things. If it were not for you, I do not think I would bother continuing on - because what hope would I have? What joy? You are those things to me.”

Hugging back tight, knowing that she was wanted and loved, “You are silly, Zev, an’ I love you.”

....

A few years had put extra inches on Nathaniel’s frame, broadened his shoulders, and some meat on his bones, turning him from lanky youth, to whipcord lean young man. But he was ragged. In the time it took him to get to the city by ship, he had obviously healed, but there was enough damage still that Zevran was tempted to take out a contract on Howe. He didn’t ask Nathaniel what had happened, what the breaking point was, he merely checked over the ugly lash marks, and when he decided they were too much for his simple surgeon’s skills, called in Freya. Cleaning the tools of the trade, Sa’id’s old silverite scalpels, needles, clamps and the tins of hollow point syringes with glass chambers to deliver medicines, he watched Freya pull magic from herself, pouring it in weaving lines, swaying in place as she Sang softly.

She wasn’t Cyni, wasn’t Ani, or Zamite, she was herself.

Once she was finished she gave Nathaniel a tight hug in warm greeting along with a kiss on each cheek, “I’m glad you came. Zevran complains that he doesn’t have enough hands and look, now there are two more.”

Zevran poured the young ranger a stiff drink, “Work can be had later and I know just where to put him. But let him have some time to relax, mmn pequina?”

“I didn’t say put him to work right now!” Freya grinned up at him cheekily, sometimes still such a little girl, even as she struggled towards womanhood. “Only commented and counted.” Turning back to Nathaniel, she wasn’t happy that there were too many things that shouldn’t be asked, shouldn’t because of where it led to, right back to Howe. Usually she could find something to say, some common ground to reach, but in this case what was common would only be painful.

Brushing a quick kiss at the corner of her mouth, “Go on and see what Papae has in store for you today. He was pulling out the chain and plate mix Bryce sent. Best not let it go to waste.”

A snorted laugh, “Oh no, it might spoil, then what will I do?” A quick hug and Freya, his colourful peaco*ck, bounced with quick steps to see what was today’s lesson.

Once Freya was out of earshot and Nathaniel had stared at the glass of rum for long minutes, he finally spoke, “How long did you know she was a mage? His Grace wouldn’t say what had happened - just that she went to Antiva for schooling. If it was just schooling, she would have visited her family for the last two Saturnalias.”

“How long have I known or how long they believe I have known?” Zevran hitched a hip on his table, watching Howe casually. “The truth, my young friend, is that I have known since I pulled her out of that box. But I was not going to tell Bryce such a thing, not when there was work to be done. She had just been traumatized, no need to throw that atop the heap of things that would keep her pinned, hm?” Gesturing at the glass in Nathaniel’s hands, “Drink - you need it, my boy. Drink and know you are where you need to be, which is away. Here you are your own man, yes? Loyal only to that which you choose.”

Dark brows furrowed, “You knew I would come.”

It wasn’t a question.

“I did not know for certain, but had hoped.” Unable to help from laughing outright, “And what? Did you think all those rants about shipping, captains and costs was something I did for fun? Haha - no my friend, no, not at all. The information proved useful for you, did it not?”

“All the stories of Free Blades, the mercenaries guarding cargo, the letters, Teyrn Cousland’s talking about how Freya was adjusting to Antiva...” Nathaniel drew the lines out between the points of reference.

Shrugging expressively, “I always knew you were a clever young man. Thedas is always in need of such as yourself, if only they knew it, and if only the ones who would serve well survive. There are dark clouds on the horizon, young Howe. Thedas will need all the help she can get - and so do you.”

Finally Nathaniel knocked the glass of rum back, swallowed it and let out a surprised gag. “What is that?”

“Ron miel, normally we add a little lemon or lime juice to it. But it is better than that rotgut that is so readily available in Ferelden,” Zevran leaned forward, patting his back firmly, but without force. “Under most circ*mstances it is sipped. But come - let us get you unpacked for now. Once you are on more even footing, we will take a walk to the Dust Wolves hall and discuss contracts for your service. I am sure we can find something that would appeal to you.”

....

“Zev, if I knew some ice spells, this wouldn’t be so hard. It’s too hot, even Horse says so.” Strength training and climbing in ‘heavy’ armour was not Freya’s favourite activity.

Said hound after climbing everything he could and finding a way around what he couldn’t, apparently thought this was a great game. He had lapped them twice then flopped in some shade waiting for them to catch up. Occasionally he barked encouragingly, or taunted them, frankly it sounded like the latter.

Zevran was laden with armour a great deal heavier than what he used himself and repressed the panting. “If it is easy, then that is bad, mi cielo. Practice should be harder than actually using the skills gained.”

Nearby Nathaniel and Nune were also weighed down, the obstacle course being run and worked through. The only one who seemed to have an easy time was Nune, who streamed sweat, but that was the only indication of discomfort. Then again, anything would be easy by comparison to making one’s way from the Hundred Pillars while gravely wounded, staggering through the Drylands until finally being found and mended as best as could be. After they were done, Zevran planned on taking an ice bath, exposing himself to temperature extremes on purpose, ones that would force his body to cope with what it would have to face in a few more years. He refused to be unprepared this time. That, and Freya, even if she would be a tall woman, would never be as heavy as Ferox - and thus not generate as much body heat for him to siphon. As it was, there were times last winter when Antiva had gone through a startlingly strong coldsnap that she came running to him seeking to get warm in a complete reversal of traditional custom. This may have been caused by having very little stores on her form. About the time Freya had some, she hit another growth spurt, eating slowed down and she began all over again. Or, like today, when she worked off any excess. Cyni would appear, grunt approvingly admiring ‘his’ form before eventually wandering back into the recesses of Zevran’s mind.

There were times when Nune would question him, seeking to find out just how much he knew and how. But he kept his mouth shut, cagey, for while Freya and Zamitie would understand it, he felt his father, even as intelligent as he was, would not accept the situation. So instead he played on his ga’lin and the odd circ*mstances of his birth to explain away his awareness. Of course Zevran’s knowledge wasn’t infallible. Last winter was a prime example - in his Thedas the uncommon winter that even had born snow to half a man’s height - had taken place while he was in his twenties. It made him wonder if time would be thrown off or not. Would the Blight be delayed, even by a few years? Would that mean there was more time to prepare? He couldn’t say, wouldn’t count on it at all. In fact he drove them all hard - he couldn’t be certain that the Blight wouldn’t start in a few days. They had to be prepared for it to happen at any point.

’Glad I didn’t train here. I’d be passed out in the shade next to Horse, a large sweaty puddle in the grass. Armour, sword, pack...Maker...throw a helmet on top of that and stick me in an oven. Bad ‘nough in Ferelden. That reminds me, you’ll need to fatten up this time before going back, just so you’ve got something on your bones, old man.’ Twadd, the ever present observer and companion, thankfully didn’t weigh anything. Nor could he help beyond bolstering strength, relaxing a tightened shoulder, or giving a pep talk.

But his love was all Zevran needed and wanted - anything else was extra.

’If you had trained here, amora, Urthemiel would have sh*t his or her pants and rolled belly up immediately,’ laughing. ’And you likely still would have paraded around in full plate and used the two-handed Starfang, hmn? This is how we toughen horses and riders. A real test would be going through the course five times in full gear and pack.’ He paused, ’At noon. In the summer.’

The Crows did similar training and when Salvail came out, he had whistled, impressed. “Every damn time I see you folks, someone is training. What is this? Is there some war? Or do you revel in torture?” Nimbly Salvail caught up, finding handholds on the carved rockwall. “Fifteen hundred Dust Wolves go through this. The same fifteen hundred, over and over again.”

Rubbing his forehead on his shoulder, trying to remove sweat when there was metal in the way was useless and earned himself a scratch for his trouble. “It depends upon who is asking, my friend. The House or yourself?”

“Any question I ask is one the House finds the answer to,” Salvail hung effortlessly in position, comfortable as he was in plain street-clothes.

Enigmatically, “How long ago was the last Blight?”

Salvail made a face, “What of it?”

“It has been a long time. Let us just say that I am suspicious and it is the Dragon Age, is it not? An Age of Strife,” he tossed a grin at the chocolate skinned Crow. “And there is always the Qun’ari. One of the two things will cause trouble, hmn? Best not to trust life to lackadaisical relaxation.”

When Zevran reached the top, he waited for Freya to get close enough and then grabbed her hand, helping her to the top. She smiled tiredly at him, her dusky skin flushed and glowing. In armour she looked older, already was blooming. Seeing her like that made him feel a thrill of warmth - happy that she was growing up well, happy that she was safe, happy that she was going to be prepared for the travails that would come.

Once done, they walked and stretched, sipping water laced with juice and honey, when Salvail spoke again, “You train like a Crow.”

“Hmn,” Zevran only grunted.

“There are no Crows that look like you,” Salvail probed.

“I trust you looked deeply then, lined a few pockets, dug through some libraries...?” passing off his skin to Freya who leaned against him.

The assassin grabbed his arm, unfastening the vambrace and Zevran didn’t fight him. The tattoo above his elbow was tapped, “I know this seal. But there is no mention of you. Who purchased you? When?”

“You have found no records of me, as there are none,” lids drooping. “That which you seek does not exist. Leave it.”

Salvail stared him down, the pale blue eyes narrow, “You are a Crow. Who is your Master?”

“I am my own master - none here would know me. No Crow Master in all of Thedas will know me. Not in the hidden cells, not in the open ones, none here can make a claim on me,” Zevran waited for Salvail to relinquish his arm with moderate patience.

“Impersonating a Crow is -”

“Punishable by death, yes, yes, tell me something that is not only common knowledge, but is of any actual importance,” nose crinkling in distaste mixed with amusem*nt. “Truthfully, do you think that if the House could devise its training methods, that no one else might? Do not be foolish - you are smarter than that. I am what I am and that is all you are required to know.”

....

Thirteen was a hard year. Fourteen was worse. Zevran dreaded now, fifteen. Moody at times, Freya would stalk off to be alone. That he understood. But the riotous changes in Freya’s body were such that there were times when her self-control left...much...very much...to be desired. Some rant about not being understood and a glass thrown at his head had done very little for his current mood. At least it wasn’t like a few weeks prior when she had called him a selfish bastard because he wouldn’t let her get her nipples pierced. He had had half a mind to tell her why his own had been pierced. And it had very little to do with being pleasurable for him and much more to do with making his body acceptably whorish to get his jobs done. Honestly, he didn’t understand why she wanted that done and why she would ask him to do it. Zamitie and Nune had both shrugged, both agreeing that they didn’t care one way or another. But it was him she had wanted to do it. Which of course led to him putting his foot down rather firmly and saying he would do no such thing until she reached her majority.

Today it was a thrown glass over the fact that he had gone to a brothel. He had bathed well before returning home and thought nothing of it. The body still had needs and he wasn’t going to deny himself. It wasn’t like he was stopping her from pursuing anyone for her own enjoyment either. He had repressed his distaste when he came upon her flirting and leaning against Salvail, playing with the Crow’s downy ebony locks. Zevran knew that Salvail would at least make any encounters good - more than good if he knew what was best for his continued breathing, which he did - for Freya. It was that Salvail was a Crow. No, it was not that actually, when he thought about it. It was that Salvail, like any Crow, didn’t particularly respect their partners. If Zevran could choose someone, other than himself of course, to facilitate Freya’s sexual explorations, he would squarely put Nathaniel in her bed and give them his blessing.

Not that he had to like it.

At all.

Even a little bit.

With Nathaniel it would be friendship, care, attraction and respect. Not just...lust and simple f*cking. Freya should have good things, things he hadn’t gotten. Things she more than deserved, but things he knew she wanted, having listened to her complaints often enough about the ‘boys’ who flirted and made overtures. She knew that they were only out to have a good time.

Grumbling as he swept up the glass, Zevran blinked as he realized he smelled his own blood. With a frown he touched his cheek, sighed as he found a tiny fragment of glass and pulled it out. He would have Zamitie heal it so that Freya didn’t feel guilty. After all, her body was changing so quickly, and unlike a Crow she wasn’t taught the sort of iron control and lack of emotion that they had beaten into them from a young age. Nor would he reward her outburst either by apologizing for whatever had triggered the tantrum. Instead he would merely go on as though nothing had occurred.

’Okay, I amend a previous statement and will apologize to Cyni. I was never that young,’ averred Twadd.

’Ah, yes, but you never did bleed from your genitals for five days whilst having small razorblades spinning within your womb, bloating, tender breasts, headaches, and swollen feet, querido,’ Zevran sighed. ’All we need do is look to Cyni to see what prolonged discomfort can do to a person. Or even how I changed when sharing the pain with him. Granted, she just came off of hers a few days ago... Still. Monthly discomfort and constantly looking forward to it, while having such rapid changes of body? No, I understand how she could be so...difficult.’

His husband protested, ’Still, Eleanor? Elissa? They weren’t like that.’

’They came from much more even tempered stock, querido,’ he reminded him gently. ’Not a single one of you was what one would ever consider mellow. Even you had your issues. Why would she be any different? Simply because she is female? As much as I love you, and as sweet and calm as you are, in your youth, you were not always the easiest person to deal with. Loss or no loss, those things are not born strictly from bad experience. It is something in how the body is made. As evidenced by Bryce and his daughters, Helena and Evia - it is something in your line. Even Fergus is capable of being ornery. My blood just makes us stubborn... Moira lent a more even temper... Yours granted brooding and mood swings. She will grow out of it as you did.’

’You are right, I see it here in the recorded memories, although I wouldn’t have agreed with you initially. There is much to be said for havin’ a well balanced elf around.’

Zevran snorted, ’Flattery gets you anywhere you wish to go, querido.’

’Love,’ Twadd was rumbling, ’I already go wherever I want to go.’

Laughing, ’Tis true, true indeed.’

Discarding the glass, he went about preparing dinner.

....

Freya was ‘punishing’ him. Or so Zevran suspected. Likely still angry over the fact that once more he had said ‘no’ to piercing her in ‘interesting’ places. This time it was her genitals she had asked for. After he had just done her bellybutton. Salvail had come to dinner upon her invite and she sat beside him, occasionally giving brushing touches. Nune was impassive as usual, Zamitie smiled to herself slightly time to time, Nathaniel appeared oblivious as he was sitting on Freya’s other side. All of which left Zevran at the end of the table and nowhere near his girl. If he were young and stupid, any of this would have affected him, but he was neither young, nor stupid. She was testing boundaries, seeking to find out what he would do. Would he seek to control her? Or would he allow her to find herself? The answers were no and yes respectively. If that was what she wanted, then she could have it.

She wanted to know if he would treat her as a child and stop her from her actions, which he would not do. He had to remind himself of that when she reached under the table to stroke Salvail’s thigh. The interested quirk of lip and brow on the assassin’s face made him see red, but he was very good at hiding his irritation and Freya wasn’t really looking at him. But Zamitie was, her slate green eyes dancing.

After dinner, Salvail escorted Freya on a walk. Zevran gnashed his teeth and smiled, reminding her to be safe and let him know when she came home. The flash of anger on her face was worrying, but she had agreed. He lay awake waiting into the night to hear the telltale sound of her entering, aware that it likely would be closer to dawn if anything happened between she and his fellow Crow.

But she didn’t come home. Not when it had been an hour, not when it had been two hours, or three, or after midnight. He thought that at least Salvail would spend a walk or two ‘courting’ her. At least for the sake of not having his heart or liver ripped out and eaten before his eyes by Nune. Finally driven from his bed, Zevran slid out the window, sniffing the air seeking a scent trail. There were still the nighttime party-goers and suchlike in the streets, but that was mostly on other streets. It was usually only the end of the week that had many people along the sleepy family area, rather than the middle of the week. Closing his eyes, he attuned himself to her scent, her sound, her taste. If the trail wasn’t too muddied he would be able to find her. Flowing over rooftops as the evening breeze brought hints of her perfume to him, Zevran went to the block’s garden. There was little of Salvail’s lime and turmeric scent nearby, causing him to frown as he slunk into the jardine, stealthed. But he did catch the smell of salt and of quiet crying near one of the fountains tucked away.

Alarmed he slid from the shadows, kneeling beside Freya on the bench, “Preciosa, what is wrong? Why do you cry?” Declaring, “What did he do? I will bring you his heart on a silver plate!”

With the side of her thumb, Freya rubbed the tears from her cheeks, but more tumbled when she blinked. “He didn’t do nuthin’, didn’t do anything.”

Mightily confused, “He...turned you down?”

Zevran could think of no logical reason for that. Unless Salvail believed that Zevran would kill him for touching Freya. He wouldn’t - only for hurting her and rejecting her.

“Nooo.” A hiccup. “I don’t want him, Zev. I turned him down.”

Smoothing some of the moisture from her cheek, “Why? He is attractive, intelligent, skilled...” He chewed his lip, “If you are uncertain of his skill, I can attest he is quite proficient. True, he is a Crow, so of course he knows many things... But he would be far from a poor choice for a short term dalliance. He is even good with men, no matter that he prefers women, as being a Crow requires a certain open mindedness... In my Thedas we were bored once and -”

Freya cut him off with a sob, “I don’ wanna know ‘bout you an’ your whor*s!”

Taken aback, Zevran flinched, “As you wish, princessa. If it is not his rejection that has you crying, what is it? Who do I have to kill or what must I do to still your crying and make things right? Tell me and it shall be done.”

“You wanna know what I want?” Shuddered inhale as she wiped tears away, “Fine, I want you to kiss me.”

She had never asked him before, there had never been a need to. Kisses were for any time. Cradling her cheek in one hand he brushed his lips over the softness of her forehead, working his way down and clearing the tears away. Zevran finished with the by now customary press at the corner of her mouth.

“Mi cielo, you do not need to ask me to kiss you,” as he ran his thumbs over her still wet cheekbones. “Now, is that better?”

“No! It’s not better!” The brown eyes filled with tears again as if a knife in her side had been twisted, and the pain in her voice reflected the same, “Zama’s wrong. You don’ want me. Just go away, Zevran.”

Seeing her in pain hurt him and he didn’t know what he had done wrong or done to cause her to think he didn’t want her. He loved her. Zevran made sure to tell her daily, to hold her daily, to tell her she was precious so she would never doubt it.

“No, I will not.” Struggling to keep his voice level, “Why would you believe that I do not want you? Is it not said each day? Chiquita, I am confused as to...as to what I have done to impart such an impression upon you.”

Freya’s near hysterical laugh mocked him, “Oh yes! You say it every day, which is why I hoped Zama was right. But I didn’ ask her how you wanted me... What do you want? A perpetual daughter? A little sister? Just a friend? Someone to be in charge of?” A gulped sob, “Be honest. I’d rather know tha truth.”

Pained Zevran shifted to sit on the edge the bench, taking one of her hands, “You are not my daughter nor my sister. Nor are you some...charge.” Pausing he rubbed at his forehead. “You are my hope. For all things good. I can be no more clear or honest than that. I love you, I am here for you, and you are important to me, and I do not understand what has happened that...whatever it is that I have or have not done to cause you such pain. Please, have pity and explain what you mean about my wanting or not wanting you.” The thought was not quite comfortable, but he voiced it anyway, “Surely you do not mean wanting you as a man wants a woman? If that is what it is... I will, allow me to explain.”

Freya pulled her hands away, “No. Stop.” Afraid that what she would hear would hurt more than not knowing, of just thinking that he might not want her, “I don’ want to hear it. I’m checking in now an’ going to bed like a good girl.” She moved to get to her feet.

Licking his lips nervously as he cleared his throat, reaching out to hold her in place, “No. We are having a very obvious breakdown in communication. And I am not going to let you go to bed believing wrong things.” Zevran took a deep breath, held it for a moment before releasing it finally, “You are fifteen, your sixteenth birthday it is...not that close. You are young. And I am old. I am patient, well, relatively patient. I want you to have what you need and want. I want you to have choice. The choice to do and be what you want. To choose your experiences in life.” Stopping her before she could protest or pull away, “No - hear me out. Please. You should have the chance to be innocent and not forced to be someone you are not. When...when I was of a similar age to yourself, I had already had...hundreds, if not thousands...of sexual encounters. Nearly all of which were with people I did not like, let alone want. As a Crow it was just something that had to be done, something I had to learn to enjoy no matter how distasteful the person, setting, or act. That is not for you. Ever. I will not allow you to be hurt like that. And so I have sat back and thought you would...do as you wished. Whatever you wanted, whomever you wanted. And eventually...when, if, you were interested... I would be there. You are my hope, Freya. And I love you and I wait for you.”

“No.” She sniffed, “You’ve always been older than me, an’ I’ve never cared, an’ I’m never gonna catch up. I chose you a long time ago an’ I already told you all I want is you, Zev.”

“So, the recent strangeness...?” He wiped at her tears again, allowing his fingers to linger on the underside of her trembling bottom lip. “The throwing things, yelling...?”

“You don’t listen, an’ ignore me or pretend I’m sayin’ other things.” A shuddered hitching breath, “An’ Zama says it’ll all work out an’ all I wanna know is what’s wrong with me?”

Sighing, he shook his head, “Ah, I am sorry, but I regret to inform you that there is nothing wrong with you, amora. I am... I have become used to being your protector. Including from myself, which has not always been particularly easy. In my eyes you are perfection - moodiness included.”

As Freya began to cry again, a sound not unlike a rockslide filled his head announcing Cyni had returned from his ‘travels’, which couldn’t have been far as usually he knew what was going on. ’Desire. What did she ask you to do?’

Twadd was bouncing on his toes, waiting eagerly to be called on if his husband didn’t know the answer. A mabari crossing their legs and dancing waiting to let out of the house would have been more patient. Under most any other circ*mstance, Zevran would have found it endearing.

’Yes, yes, someone is always ordering me to kiss this or that or that it is kissing time...’ it should have been amused, but he wasn’t. No one had warned him. Or if they had, they hadn’t been saying it in such a way to get through his state as ‘protector’. Gently he glided the backs of his fingers over her cheek once more, pushing aside the tears, giving her another out, “Querida, do you still wish me to kiss you?”

“Not if you don’t wanna,” voice still thick with tears, she shook her head. “I can wait ‘til I’m as old as you.”

“Tschhhh, silly,” he shook his head and leaned in.

Moist lips, sticky with saline tears, clung to his limply, unsure of what to do. That was not important, he didn’t expect skill. Just the taste and texture as he kissed her slowly. Slipping a thumb to her chin, he opened her mouth, tilting his face so he could show her the difference. Humming, Zevran scooted closer, releasing her hand so he could wrap his arm around her waist as he straddled the bench, focusing his attention on just holding and kissing Freya, tasting her sweetness that reminded him of fresh quince dunked briefly in saltwater, a little sour, a little tangy, light and fresh.

She shuddered another breath and pressed a hand to his chest, not pushing away, rather her palm rested over his heart. Purring at the slickness of her tongue as he licked it with his, Zevran gradually deepened it, taking care to not rush. Her scent filled his head, the smell of sea and whiskey and saltgrass, the tingle of ozone from her mage talent and a hint of blood, just barely there, enough to add a sweetly copper tang.

Parting from her lips, Zevran rested his forehead against her temple, “Now - is that better, amora?”

The tears had stopped with the kiss and Freya nodded. “An’ I’m sorry, ‘bout throwin’ stuff at you.”

Chuckling, “Do not worry over it. I have been threatened with the removal of limbs, thrown against walls, received a broken rib or three and at least a handful of concussions when I displeased a loved one. A bit of yelling and a thrown cup or two is nothing.”

“Doesn’t make it right, though.” Uncertainty, “Um, Zev, you know that I don’t want Nathaniel either, so you can stop arranging time to be alone with him...that’d be like bein’ with my brother.”

Sheepish, “Well I was...seeking to provide for you, amora. It is what I do. And I knew he would be kind to you and respect you.”

“Probably, but he’s scared of you and wouldn’t do anything anyway.” The quick breath was almost a giggle.

Making a face, “I am not ‘scary’!” Quickly amending, “Well, not to people I like, hmn? Salvail was someone I truly wanted nowhere near you. He is ‘icky’, even if he is attractive and good in bed.”

“He could be a nice person ta somebody he really liked. But Salvail doesn’t really like me, an’ I don’t want him, so I don’t care how attractive he is or good he is in’ner out of bed.” To emphasize her point, she kissed him, not on the corner of his lips, but as he had kissed her. Slow and tentative, feeling her way. She really hadn’t kissed anyone before, other than family kisses, even though her ‘family kiss’ to him was different from everyone else’s. Parting his lips quickly to show her that he was receptive, Zevran slid the tip of his tongue along the edge between lip and normal flesh.

“Hmn, well, then. I suppose that this has been worked out, if sooner than I expected, shall we return home, pequina?”

Going back to the townhouse, Freya seemed to be more herself than she had been in some time. Perhaps it was another introduction, a finding of place. The others had needed that same tasting kiss from him as well, grounding them, even as they described him as sunlight. Backwards or upside down, no, it was opposite. If they continued in their similar dissimilarity, then these tasting kisses would provide additional time - time for her to grow up and time for him to become accustomed to the change. Although Twadd pointed out that knowing Freya, it wasn’t going to purchase much time. Cyni grunted in agreement - which sounded more like approval.

Freya had kissed him again before going to her her own room to sleep the remainder of the night after they returned from the jardine and no more was said about it. He was relieved that she had gone to her own room rather than his, but he wouldn’t be overly surprised by her slipping into his bed at some point, as it was a frequent occurrence. In the end it didn’t matter much, as some time had been purchased, no matter how long that time would be. Some time was better than no time and he would do his best to continue ensuring she had what she needed most, in the same loving environment he had always strove to provide.

....

There was a sneaky hand roving his side as it did so frequently, tickling his ribs. Grunting he rolled over, earning toned legs tangled with his and lips pressing to the apple of his throat. With sleepy theatrics, Zevran purred, stretching his neck, then his spine and an arm before quickly grabbing Freya tight and close, which gained him a quick exhaled laugh over his skin. For years Freya had watched him ‘sleep’ whenever she caught him. Granted, there were plenty of times when she had caught him sleeping, as in safe places with ‘safe’ people, he slept heavily. He had the advantage of having the equivalent of a guard dog in his mind and if Cyni was about, an extra few minutes, if it was needed. So, frequently enough, the sleepy theatrics weren’t feigned, and Freya seemed to enjoy them, real or not, anyway.

Head on his shoulder, tickling hair was wild and loose, she had forgotten to braid it to avoid tangling while she slept. There would be growls worthy of Cyni later this morning as snarls were worked out, but in the meantime Freya was still in a pleasant sleepy state. Petting the mahogany mess, he settled in comfortably, their limbs completely tangled up.

“Zev?” A kiss pressed to his throat again, “You sure we haffta go back home? We could stay here...this is nice an’ everything’s gonna be different there.” The conversation was probably sparked by the latest influx of correspondence that had arrived earlier that week.

“Other than the weather, how would it be different? Hmn? Well, food, yes that would certainly be different, coffee would be quite scarce,” as he slid his hand around the small of her back. “And there is your nephew, that would be different. What is it that troubles you, querida?”

“Well, the babies are fine...children, they’re not babies anymore. But they’d expect me to be me and I’m not that me anymore. I mean, Moma, hasn’t come straight out with it, but she’s been ‘lookin’ at prospects’ an’ I don’t want that.”

Zevran pressed a kiss to the side of her nose, “Chiquita, she knows you are a mage. In Ferelden that is not, as we would say here, ‘going to float’ with any of these supposed prospects. It is not an illness one throws off after a season, it is like being born with red hair or blond hair or black hair or brown. If she were Antivan, I would say that Eleanor had been hitting the pipe a little too hard to even entertain such notions.” Making a face, “She is obviously not thinking clearly. You would not be able to hide - nor should you even have to - your abilities from a fiancee or spouse. Then there is the political scandal. There is far less... Well. Eventually making such a union between myself and yourself official...that would be a scandal as well. However it would be considered eccentric rather than political suicide. Whatever is Bryce thinking, encouraging her with this thing?” But then he grinned impishly, “Unless of course it is not a bloody thing for you to worry about and they are simply keeping up the charade. You may have to talk to a few young men, but they would be easily put off in other manners.”

“You’re probably right,” Freya gave a grateful squeeze. “Probably with a minor bann son or someone who wouldn’t ever really be considered as a match even if I was ‘alright’ - “

Expression darkening, “There is nothing wrong with you at all! Do not - do not think for a single moment that being a mage is wrong or an illness! Do not say such things, they are untrue!” Growling, “You are perfectly ‘alright’ as you are. Any who say otherwise will have to deal with me.”

Freya was startled for a second, almost taken aback, but she recovered neatly with sarcasm, “Tch, so we don’t lock mages up after all, ‘cause there’s nothin’ wrong or scary about ‘um? Not like they’re gonna light anything on fire, spontaneously glow blue, or lower the temperature of a room with a thought and a few words. They’re ‘perfectly alright’. Just because some can make people really sick or dead, that’s nuthin’ ta worry about.”

“And have you ever hurt anyone with it? No - Freya. I can kill someone faster and far more efficiently than you can, have done so, will do so again, I have tortured people and such - and with far less thought than you would put into it. No... It is not the blade that is ‘wrong’ but how it is wielded,” snorting at her.

“So what we should really do is put magic types on one island and those with swords on another and those without either on a third. That way nobody will be scared of the other. Oh and there’s plenty of room for each race to have their own as well to take care of those stupid fears too.” Even though Freya was the one ‘suggesting’ it, the whole subject made her angry, anger which covered fear, fear of being boxed up and shipped out.

Brow furrowing, “Amora, that then discounts the fact of personal choice. Also, there are natural things that people need defending from. What if the people with weapons get hurt? Who will heal them? What if the people without magic and without weapons have darkspawn attack? Who will keep them safe? Who will grow food for the mages and fighters? No. People must learn to live together. Diversity is a strength, not a weakness.”

She snorted, “Choice,” as if there wasn’t really any. “Well just so ya know, I don’t care if ‘nora’s mother is dead or not, I’m not marryin’ the Teyrn,” referring to a particular piece of news in the letters.

Lips pursed, “Over my dead body will he even lay a hand on you in such a way.” The noise rousted in his mind agreed, Twadd snarled and even Cyni had a thunderstorm for the occasion. “As it is I have plans for Teyrn Gwaren, none of which are overly pleasant.”

Truthfully, Freya and Loghain was another unlikely pairing tossed about only so that it would be rejected. The reason given would be that the age difference was so large, not that such a difference was unheard of, certainly, but as it had been made known that Freya was ‘independent and headstrong’ - almost a curse in Ferelden now that the generations of civil war were through - she would be ‘unlikely to accept such a proposal.’ It was not that Ferelden didn’t have strong women, rulers and leaders, or fighters armoured ready to rise and stand with their husbands to defend their homeland, family, children...yet at the same time, probably due to trying to become proper landed gentry, this ‘fairness’ between the sexes was fading. Was it the outside influences of Orlais? How a proper lady or woman should be, should act?

Even he, an Antivan, carried some of this baggage. A great deal of it actually. What he considered an ‘Antivan’ woman did not fight unless she was a Crow. The ethnically mixed, round hipped and breasted, shorter than the Ferelden shemlen women - he thought of those as ‘Antivan women’. And seeing one fight, or the very idea of it, had almost always made him laugh. Mainly because he wondered where her husband-brother-son-husband-uncle-father-nephew-cousin was, as women were usually too smart to bother with such vulgar actions as fighting. Common knowledge was that in a fight, an Antivan woman would win. Always. Because they were so fearsome they would make any man with a speck of intelligence, rollover, show their throat, and piss themselves. Antivan women held the real power, men did their bidding. So why fight? Let the men have something to do. Antivan men had to be wily enough to cope with how smart their woman was and figure out how to keep their head down and do as their wife-mother-sister-daughter said, else they would have a Tranquil’s chance of laughter of getting through the day.

Freya, while still acknowledging the rules, flowed over and around them, blurring the lines depending on who she was with. She was opposites, a proper teyrn’s daughter, polite, almost demure, inquiring as to the health of wives or children. Then suddenly she would pull on the mantle of Bryce, when Nathaniel made a thoughtless and unfortunate remark as they practiced their archery. Her words given with firm authority were meant to correct, her head held high as she looked up, meeting the gaze of the taller Ferelden, a noble of near equal footing to her own, since Amaranthine’s arling was one of the richest in all of Ferelden. She was graceful in her dancing, wearing pretty things and strong in the heavy armours as they trained. Polite, obedient, and loving to Zamitie and Nune, she had regularly tested and pushed Zevran, while true as her confession in regards to Nathaniel was, treated the young man as a brother with gentle teasing and a light touch when it was allowed or needed. Underneath, Freya was always and essentially herself, subtly mutated without question as she stepped into different roles, roles learned as a child, fulfilling needs of those around her even as hers were met.

The packet of letters and accompanying packages from Highever had arrived before the Summer Solstice, which was celebrated as her birthday as was customary to attach a birthday to the nearest celebration for easy timekeeping. Although he was very aware, painfully aware, that according to Chantry Records, and confirmations from Twadd, Freya’s sixteenth birthday was actually several weeks later. It could have almost been equally celebrated with the Autumn Equinox and the first of the Harvest Festivals. The Feroxes had always counted from Summer’s Day and as they pointed out, why change a long standing tradition just because she was a girl?

Freya had cajoled him in the last few weeks, begging him to promise that he would take her out late to participate in the various parties and activities going on in celebration of the Festival of the Sun. As Salvail had not returned to the townhouse, except to see himself or Nune, the Crow had been returned to the status of an authority figure’s business associate, there was no one else she could ask. Nathaniel didn’t seem interested in going, even to make it a group outing, so even that was out of the picture.

With the mention of the impending celebrations, Twadd had begun a rumble, a hand flailing to reach for some very explicit memories causing Zevran to seek private time with his Feroxes. As they were climbing the stairs, Zevran racing to find that solitude, Cyni found a very interesting place in his mind that had probably been puzzling him for years, and, with the other two distracted, played with the lever. Zevran’s body spasmed as several pleasure centers of his mind unexpectedly fired off a full force org*sm and Twadd had a rare moment of fright and took control. Steadying his feet on the stairs, his husband enabled a controlled sink to his knees, resting on a step so he could recover. Twadd’s fear turned quickly to anger landed squarely on Cyni. They had already lost him once to a fall - granted one that had been assisted by someone seeking his position as Grandmaster - his husband was not going to allow that to happen again. Zevran had held a bigger-than-life status with Twadd and that sudden leveling had struck his loves hard. No wonder they kept searching for a means to save him, one that carried a side benefit that he could save another of their number. Zevran rapidly returned his thoughts to his girl so that he did not start a mental discourse, argument or apologies regarding their actions during that time not something that needed going over.

After the night where his reality had been unexpectedly sped up, Freya still had the occasional outburst of frustration or anger, but it was lessened. Thankfully, she was learning techniques to reduce the effect of her rolling cycles, which had been made worse when combined with the see-sawing anger and despair common to the Feroxes, but having restated her intention and finally receiving what she deemed as ‘an appropriate response’, her position had been secured and was acknowledged by him. What must have been insecurity in the form of rages had been calmed. Kisses had changed, but her frequent slide of arms around his waist and leans into him had not. Since age thirteen, Freya mostly slept in her own bed, although most mornings she still snuck in to wake him and to be reassured that he was still present. This had not changed, over the months that followed her reaffirmation of having already made her choice, she became more confident and more intimate with his person. The role of protector and bodyguard were still needed and would be welcome each day, but the role of lover was new between them. Each day presented another little step forward, steps he was gradually becoming more comfortable with her taking.

All of this was unexpectedly thrown out of his head because this morning, Freya’s stride was longer than anticipated. A long brown leg slid up his to hook around his hip, tightening and pulling him towards her, the knee length gown riding up to expose a well formed thigh. Her eyes were hooded as she purred, “Aren’t you going to wish me a Happy Summer’s Day, Zev?” The sneaky fingers that had woke him by sliding over ribs to play with marked skin, had not been idle, as they were in fact slipping under the loosened tie at the waist of his silk trousers.

Seeing where she was going he played ‘along’, choosing his words to be more in line with the old role, even as he stroked the side of her hip and down her thigh, “Ah, there are of course the customary presents, but you will not find them in my trews, amora.”

“The unusual and unconventional presents are often the best remembered,” Freya murmured, pausing to look at him, she waited for his decision on the matter.

“It is your day, amora,” his thumb pressing firm circles atop her thigh as fingers curled around the back of it, stroking. “Anything that is your wish is to be fulfilled.”

’She has already said - ’ Cyni began.

“I have already said, - “ she interrupted unknowingly, “that I need you, Zev.”

Tutting gently, “You have me and can always have me, querida. I will always be here for you in any manner.” Zevran took advantage of the bare expanse of her thigh, his palm smoothing over it, “The question then that is being asked is one for clarity - what do you wish of me?”

A blink, realizing she had not said straight out, only hinting and throwing herself at him, at least she did previous to their midnight talk in the garden. Patiently, with good natured humour at seeing her own failing to communicate clearly, “I wish...I mean, I want you, Zevran, to make love, have sex with me, Freya. Not later, but today would be nice, very nice.” Her eyes laughed at him and a grin was beginning to quirk a cheek. “Any more questions?”

’Cyni! I am going to blame this on you - because I can. Planting ideas, someone has to take the blame...’ grumbling. ’Kissing, oral sex - these things I was expecting...’

Cyni rumbled back, with a wild wind accompaniment, ’The Zama is the shaper. She is a better choice for that blame, Desire.’ A moment of rare teasing, humour much drier now since he had been taken within Zevran’s mind, ‘And you live with me.’

Even while he leaned in enough to kiss Freya, teasing and amused while slightly nonplussed, ’Yes, I do live with you. You still owe me for the stairs. And do not think that I have not observed you playing in the Fade, Singing Songs at her. And you call me a demon...’

A wince, ’The stairs were an error, and Twadd has said many, many words on the subject.’ But with a shrug he was corrected, ’I Sing Songs with Hope, not at her. She is the dreamer. I am only a deadman who assists those dreams. I do not see that the girl has asked for anything that is harmful or anything that each of us have not asked for and received from you - that which was given willingly.’

Twadd finally butted in, ’Cyni, he’s merely grumbling, you of all people should know when he’s just pissing and moaning - you do it more than he does. The man was hoping for a few years to get used to the idea, lucky he had a few months, frankly. I mean, it wasn’t that long ago that he was kissing skinned knees and putting her curly hair into two-braids like corkscrew pigtails...’

Tuning them out after giving them strong embraces of their own, Zevran worked his way over to Freya’s pierced ear to give it a playful nip. “Whatever you wish, amora.”

Squinting and willing herself not to cover or hide her ears, that was distracting play that led to tickling and squealing, which, although fun, was not what Freya was trying to listen for. Cyni would say that the rules of this game were different and she was trying to learn them, “What do you wish for, Zev?”

Thoughtfully, “Hmn...” He rolled them over, hovering for a moment before gradually sinking down, covering her body with his, “I have everything I wish for, right here, amora.”

Uncertainty coloured the edges of her again, “Everything?” Although he was being careful, she seemed to be picking up his concern.

“Well there is no magically appearing cafe con leche and a pile of a hundred churros floating in the air, but I have Cyni and Twadd in my head, I have you, right here, in my arms, I am in my home, I am in my comfortable bed,” listing easily. “Everything beyond yourself, Cyni and Twadd - it is not necessary.”

Before she could ask questions or become grouchy at being ‘slow’, Zevran rolled his hips against hers, bearing down as he nibbled beneath her ear. While she didn’t have anywhere near the amount of nerves there as he did, it still was a sensitive spot and whether it was a fingertip or a set of lips brushing over it, there was always a twitch - usually a giggle too. However Zevran hadn’t lined their bodies up before and ground down at the same time. Hands quickly went to his shoulders with a surprised gasp and Freya’s legs wrapped around his reflexively. She did not giggle or twist to escape, but her laugh was low and pleased as if Freya had expected that he would say no or put her off.

Cyni had wandered off taking his howling wind with him. How he had lived, and continued to exist that way, had always been a question for another day. Twadd however, was always present, not in the forefront, but perpetually had his back or was just supporting him. Today was no different, as he struggled with his girl still being a child and her very specific request - believing that she had given him an out, but it wasn’t really one at all. They would go to one of the Festival of the Sun’s parties, which was all well and good, but anything on offer would be laden with potent aphrodisiacs, not to mention the burning ‘incense’, and since she made her desires known... How he had thought he would handle the evening, even if there had been no declared request for sex, well, he had thought perhaps some oral gratification at most would be all that was needed or wanted.

Following the well known ink on his back, her hand came to rest on the small of his back, while the other skirted to play with his ears. This play had happened before often enough after he made an interesting twitch or rotation which caught her eye, but this time she was copying his contact with her ears, even so, it was a familiar game of follow the leader. Humming his approval Zevran happily and slowly made his way over her neck and chest, spending long minutes teasing with breath and mouth through the thin silk gown. Freya’s fingers skimmed over his skin, circling a darkened nipple, and tugging on his gold piercing when he tasted hers through the material, to coax hitched breathes from her throat.

Visibly Freya exercised restraint and it was effortless to read her desire. If she had any experience, she would have rolled him to his back, shoved away the intervening fabric barriers, and enveloped him within her in one long shuddering slide. Rough, as she was not quite ready for him, it wouldn’t have mattered, her hunger was almost too much to keep waiting. It wouldn’t surprise him if on future mornings if he woke up to Freya already astride him, especially if the others became more involved. He had wanted a Ferox who would have dropped everything to have him, who would not stop kissing him to fold or put something away, one who would have done anything to have him.

They certainly seemed to be taking their revenge.

Which was why her ‘out’ wasn’t one at all. If they waited until she was crazed with no inhibitions at all, she would be hurt. Now if it had been some other person sharing her first time and it was done in that manner... Well they didn’t love her like he did. The irony wasn’t lost on him that he had become the ‘putterer’ as it were. At least just this once. Beneath him Freya shivered, her legs locking tighter as he moved slowly down, a purring growl coming from the tanned column of her throat, urging him to go faster. He wouldn’t - some other time, but this was their first, and it wouldn’t be their last. So - he puttered.

Rumbling amusem*nt came from his husband, ’So, you like begging do you?’ Twadd would not rush him, their sharing with Morrigan and then Moira being excellent examples in taking the time for slow pleasures.

’A few pleas here or there are not a bad thing, amora, but you know as well as I that this is her first time...it should be good.’ The hand in his hair tugged, demanding when he inched her nightdress up.

’I would be remiss if I didn’t point out that she seems to have a few ideas of her own on that subject.’ Tilting an ear, ‘At least on the topic of teasing.’

Tutting at them both, ’Yes and can you not smell what it does?’

Freya was fragrant with want, growling at him as he meandered. The expected wetness his fingers encountered was there, the fuzzy hairs of her lips springing against the pads of his digits, dewy. He kept his own want repressed, only echoing her sounds with some of his own, not allowing himself to focus on how his own blood heated in response to her desire. His teeth found the side seam of her nightdress and while she was focusing on the slippery newness of another’s hand on her sex, Zevran hooked a canine into the threads, nipping a few loose neatly. She would want some powerful display, a proof of want and dominance, he could read that, and he knew from experience just how difficult it would be to actually rip the quality of silk she wore. So instead of ripping, making a neat incision at a seam would allow what she wanted with relative ease.

Twadd snickered, ’Far be it from me to correct one who has mastered this skill. I am admiring your technique, truly. However you may wish to acquire some rope, as she seems a bit - ‘ laughter beginning to shake him, ’ - squirmy.’

Chuckling into a soft hip, ’Oh I know my business in this, querido. There will be time for that play some other day.’

His few sheets had been thrown off the bed in his sleep so there was no interference from them. All of the distraction came from the hands and legs urging him on and Twadd’s running commentary. Which, while helpful in aiding his control, was making his progress go even slower. The legs locked around him were becoming a hindrance, even going so far as to be slightly annoying - as they were keeping him from his goal. Growling at her, Zevran slid back up, kissing Freya until she relaxed beneath him and whimpered breathlessly into what had been called time and time again sunlight kisses. Satisfied she was placated, he had a moment and dove low before she could lock up again maddeningly. When his mouth met her sex there was a startled yelp and if Twadd had said she was ‘squirmy’ before, well, Zevran was forced to hold her still even as he struggled not to chuckle at Freya’s antics to twist away and then into his mouth. At first the sounds were surprise and embarrassment - for a few seconds at least - but in short order there was rolling hips to cope with. As much as Zevran loved the taste and smell and texture of a woman, as he enjoyed the same with men, having a pubic bone shoved into his face wasn’t very comfortable.

And laughing wouldn’t be received very well.

Even if her enthusiasm was delightful and vaguely humorous.

Rolling his tongue over the ridged softness of her cl*t, then beneath it in steady and long licks, Zevran used an arm to pin her hips down as he settled into the rhythm. Overhead there was another whimper which turned into a keen as he continued his stroking of her channel, muscles fluttering around his fingers, the resulting relaxing of them post org*sm enough that he would let her rush from then on. At least a little. Truthfully his body was plaguing him, her sounds, her tastes, smells, touches - even with his control and patience he wasn’t going to be able to hold back from joining their bodies.

Freya was panting, staring at him, her brown eyes glowing, face flushed as she reached for him. “Zev -”

Purring, Zevran knelt between her spread thighs, pressing his palm over her mound and rubbing possessively, “Mine.”

She shuddered, biting her lip on a moan, a clear bolt of desire wracking her frame. What Freya had been trying to show from the very beginning, stuttered into words, “Para siempre, Zevran.” [Until the end of time]

Approval - or was it thunder over the mountains? - rumbled.

Grabbing the blue silk near the little split he had made, Zevran ripped the seam open, baring her to his appreciative gaze. His uncharacteristically dominant display caused a dual reaction of want and uncertainty, but his touch was gentle as he pushed the nightdress free, his hands roving her breasts and belly with their customary love, banished that flash so that instead it deepened her desire further. The trust that was always there was unwavering even then in spite of a momentary twinge of insecurity.

Sliding a warm hand up a forearm, Freya tugged just above his elbow. “Zev, please. I still need you.”

“You think I plan on stopping, preciosa?” teasing even as he hoped she knew that he would stop if she asked him to.

Eyes dazed with desire, she shook her head, ‘no’. “I don’t want you to stop,” and continued to pull on his arm to encourage him to come closer.

With an easy arch, Zevran nuzzled at a breast, revelling in its softness and at the way the hard rosy brown peak bumped over his face with each pass. “Mmmn, good, because it would be a shame to, yes?”

Fingers tangled in his sleep loosened braid slid against his skull, “Terrible, horrible, very bad, awful shame.” Freya was trying not to whine, still intent on restraint, “It would be double plus ungood.”

He did laugh over that before kissing her. Bracing his weight a moment longer, Zevran worked at his cropped pants, pushing them down as far as he could manage until Freya’s attention was gained and she assisted with squirming legs and a hand that wasn’t busy plucking at his braid, releasing most of it from its remaining confines. Freya’s healthy sun-kissed skin welcomed him and it was his turn to shudder. Guiding himself into her body Zevran had to bury his face in her throat, silently praying she would let him do this part slowly, for her sake.

Freya reassured quietly, “Zevran, it’s alright. Zama said it broke already when we were riding out on the plains.” She was referring to the thin membrane barrier that he knew would have long since torn if she had even been born with one in the first place.

“It may be gone but,” sucking in a breath as he partially sank in, “but still - first times...” Zevran trailed off, focusing, “Difficult. And you are shemlen and I am elven...there are...differences.”

Distinctly, even through his windstorm, Cyni snickered. ’O ye, of little faith, I think you’ll be rather pleased, Desire.’

He ignored his own need, Cyni’s ribbing, and Freya’s impatient pulling at his hips. Twadd’s warmth and curiosity were present, but as usual, his beloved was nothing short of supportive and noninvasive. While it was likely things had been done to make their coupling easier, he would be damned if he took less care with her than he had with Cyni and Twadd’s first times with him, or all the ones subsequent. A harsh groan was released as wetness and clinging silk enveloped his length in a tight, wet slide. Freya whimpered, hanging onto his shoulders, her hips jerking to finish what was started, and Zevran was too aroused to slow her down further.

Hips tilted under him for a better angle as her legs hooked over his. Stuck on one word, over and over, Freya whimpered, “Zev. Zev.”

Moaning with each slow, circling thrust, Zevran murmured to her encouragingly, hungry to hear her voice rise and peak, “Yes, amora, just like that... Beautiful.”

Freya’s joyful sob and thrashing pulled him over, long and hard, heat dragging along his nerves in bursts. Shuddering against her, Zevran found his rhythm once again, plump lips beside his ear chanting his name like a prayer, said so many different ways and yet all the same. Strong muscles clenched and released around him working with his tempo. Pulling and drawing him out again as her own rhythm unraveled and fell apart, only to pick up the pieces and begin again. A second then a third and as the fourth neared, knowing that she would reach for healing to soothe away the soreness, he finally slowed.

Attempting to change his mind, she played with his ears as they sprawled, giggling when they twitched or curled. It was an old game renewed by a tasting tongue and soft whispers. Unable to roust him to action, Freya teased, “Zev-ran, you will need’ah baa-th,” with a grin of pure wickedness, “Will you need ‘pri-vate time’ to-day?”

The look he gave her was arch, “It is the Festival of the Sun, amante. If I smell of sex, then I must have already gotten into the spirit, hmn?” Grumbling he wrapped his arms around her, “Insatiable, are we?”

She kissed him, laughing, “I need you, Zev.”

…

Freya stepped into his room and his hands twitched to reach for the heavy snowcat cloak to cover her. He didn’t care that it was the first of the hottest days of the season; Freya should at least wear something to cover her. Fresh henna wrapped around her body which was overlaid by brilliant blue scarves held in place by a beaded belt slung low on her hips. It looked fragile and easily…discarded. It was an outfit straight from days of dressing up in Sa’id’s accessories, but this time the body in it filled it and there was no under tunic to hide anything. Curly hair long and loose contained musical charms and bits of glass beads to catch the light. Her face painted lightly, excepting her eyelids coloured to draw the eyes, made to be the plumes from a peaco*ck’s tail feathers. The many thin gold bracelets chimed as her arms moved, as did those on her ankles and one could not help but want to kneel at her feet to tongue the gem at her bellybutton. Freya meant to attract attention and entice.

’Maker. You are going to have your hands full keeping everyone off of her. Sure you don’t want to reconsider going out...just have her dance for you here.’ Twadd’s rumble was deep and very interested.

’She asked to go and if I were to ask her to stay or ‘cover up’ at all, she would only be embarrassed or think that there was something wrong with her...’ Even as his fingers still longed to grab something voluminous. ’Deep down she would question her worth in my eyes.’

Cyni’s earlier wind storm had settled down into a light breeze that rustled through autumn leaves causing them to occasionally loosen their tenuous grasp on birch, maple and aspen trees and with a dry whirling dance, drift to the forest floor. ’I am beautiful and should not be hidden away. The time for keeping secrets approaches quick enough on its own,’ the everlasting growl cryptically intoned.

Zevran reached out to pull all of them close, ’Yes, you are beautiful. You always have been.’ Carefully so as to not smudge the lip paints - they should be in place for at least a little while, as it would be a shame to waste all that effort - he touched her lips with his. “You are a treasure, amante.”

“Treasure?” Impishly she grinned, “Playing pirates on the beach and ‘x’ marks the spot kind of treasure?” The reference of his digging up and finding said treasure was left unspoken.

“Arr - Pirate Zevran reportin’ fer duty,” affecting a ‘pirate’ voice before biting the side of her neck lightly. “Plunderin’ booty be what I do.”

Laughter from within and without for different reasons, filled and washed over him. Twadd hugged him before explaining the joke to Cyni and Freya hooked an arm in his to descend the stairs ready to go out into the moonlit night. Of course Nune had to ‘ohh’ and ‘ahh’ over Freya first, his parental role firmly entrenched. There was an agonizingly comical moment when he was sure his father was going to say something annoyingly typical and call him ‘young man’. However Zamitie was there to his rescue, stopping Zevran before revealing that while the Arlathanlen was his father, he wasn’t his father, but a stillborn babe’s. It was a narrow thing to not snap that he had children older than Nune - and it would have been needlessly hurtful. His father was just doing his best, ‘correcting’ an old wrong the only way he knew how. As they made their escape, both Twadd and Freya were laughing, for different reasons as usual. Likely over the fact that Zamitie could get away with calling him young man and he wouldn’t bat an eyelash.

Zevran was subtly armed and armoured, while his clothes were hand tailored in the shimmering colours of flame - from yellow to red to orange to white to blue - they were made from spell and rune treated silk. It would stop any cut, help him void certain poisons, and regain strength and stamina, it could do little for a long drop with a short stop. Or someone large and determined with a blunt object. The thin metal bands that wound over his torso were weapons, not decoration, even if they looked far more like the latter. Urumi whip swords were tricky to use and something flashy and ambitious - it took him many years to master them, a task he had set himself out of boredom and seeking a challenge, only to find that as flexible as he was, he had to become more so to cope with the winding and twisting, his whole body trained to move like the whip. Like a sentient flow of liquid metal - much like the wild jungle’s thunderbirds did when on the wing.

The last few years’ Festival, he and Freya would go to the Dust Wolves, at least for the earlier parts of the evening, leaving before the true carousing began. Tonight was to be more in keeping with the plantation parties he and Twadd had frequented - but in Antiva City everything was bigger. The streets were an explosion of effects, performers of every stripe loudly vying for attention. People wove in long lines, street to street, singing, dancing, dressed in their finest - even the poor were painted and draped as beautifully as could be managed. The Festival of the Sun was the one night when no target ever had to fear the Crows, as even the House had its rules. The only ones with anything to fear were the assassins themselves and each other. Some things just had to be sacred.

So he didn’t worry about Freya sampling random wares of food and drink, only making sure she didn’t become dangerously intoxicated. The cobbles beneath their feet were pounded as they were sucked into a dance, between alleyways and byways. Zevran watched Freya’s delight and how her lithe form sinuously slid through the simple steps, the eyes of those around them praising her and upraised voices, the occasional grope here and there. But none of it was with intent and by now she was used to the periodic pat of her bottom or a light pinch from man or woman, having given him several of those little appreciative touches herself.

Although Freya smiled or laughed for others, she flirted only with him. Fingers dragging over his shoulders, a hip bumping into his thigh, intentionally stepping into his space - not that there was much of it, everyone was touching someone, the city’s populace turned out in full force - a foot placed between his as she stepped closer though was an action which sparked recognition from Twadd. Checking Gaeaf’s stored memories, his husband confirmed with a snicker, that Freya was being possessive.

“Hmn?” plucking the cup from air as Freya forgot that she had been holding it, her face aglow with hints of perspiration, dewy makeup, and her own rosy appeal. “Need something, amante?” Zevran teased waving the cup in a circle before taking a deep draught of the honey wine.

Visibly swallowing, his girl blinked to focus on him. Leaning in to taste the sunlight infused mead on his lips, she murmured huskily, “I am with you, Zev.”

Quirking a faintly tipsy grin at her, “Hmn, so you are? I had not noticed...” Zevran stroked the small of her bare back, thoughts wandering, “You are precious, querida.”

Idly playing with one of the silverite chains on his chest, Freya looked up at him, tilting her head. In that purring voice, she asked, “Do you often misplace things you find precious?”

“Mn, my mind tends to be lost rather often,” laughing as they teetered to sit by one of the low garden walls. He only vaguely knew which street they were on, but it was a night when everyone celebrated raucously. Children stayed up far too late, guards were nowhere in evidence - for a population so large, they were rather well behaved when throwing what few inhibitions they had to the wind, even without supervision. “The flow of thoughts...but otherwise misplace? No...”

“That explains all of the note taking, so you don’t lose anything,” she laughed softly, “and why you say your mind is a library.”

It wasn’t really all that funny, or possibly it was, but Zevran couldn’t refrain from throwing his head back on a laugh. Freya made a face at him, her nose crinkling and much like he hadn’t been able to resist laughing, he couldn’t resist kissing her. Not that there was any reason to. Face dipping close, eyes hooded, but still open - only Crows were never granted sanctuary on this holiday of holidays, and he had too many years habit to give up his awareness of the surroundings - languidly kissing the fullness of Freya’s mouth. Humming as he pulled away, quite pleased with himself, something niggled, some familiar motion from the corner of his eye.

Gripping Freya tighter, who was busily finding a spot on his neck that she had found favourable, he watched. It was eerie. Unsettling. In some ways he hadn’t been expecting it. Had been avoiding it - for years. Antiva City was large, large enough that no matter how many people one knew, how much of it had been seen, no one could know it all. Not even him. Two people could hide there, avoid others...

Twadd gave a warning growl, ’I’d know that dark one anywhere, Love.’ Memories of Denerim caused his husband to twitch and remember that incident with startling, heart stopping clarity. ’I’m thinking somebody put him on your tail. I place good odds on Salvail.’

’I am not sure he would cross Eu’raidd’vinnen,’ warily. ’He has found no proof of my being a Crow or not, nor documents as to that effect. And we have spoken to the House on several occasions... Not that that would guarantee anything.’

’But if you took any action, it would indicate your status. Perhaps he’s watching for that? I’d rather believe in happy accidents, but Cyni’s starting to rub off on me.’ Twadd muttered, ’I like dreams, but if I start going on endlessly about this being the Fade, just kick me.’

Tilting his head forward to be better able to hide slightly in the mass of Freya’s hair, nuzzling at her throat as it thrummed a purr, he watched which direction Taliesin was going in. And kept an eye out for Rinna. If they were anything like the ones he knew, then she would be up above, watching, while Taliesin flushed the quarry - being the largest of the trio, the most obviously dangerous, that was his job. Infiltration and seduction were Rinna’s, while Zevran balanced between the two, able to remain unnoticed or glide through the situation by any means available.

But whether these two were like his...

He couldn’t say - Salvail, Nune, his own ‘death’, Zamitie, Ferox in his four guises.... Things could change. People could be different. Time was mutable. People were too. Dassan, a very altered Zevran of another place and time, was proof that what was concrete and normal to him, wasn’t to Dassan or his Thedas, producing a virtually alien personality as well as physique.

Masking his shudder, Zevran kissed Freya fiercely. She opened herself gladly to the searching, tasting kisses. He wouldn’t ever make the same mistakes with her as he had with those who had once been his trusted friends. Nor would he let his guilt and pity stop him from dealing with Rinna and Taliesin - frankly, it was their call as to what welcome they would receive.

Cyni had entered quietly enough and sprawled out in his mind. His boy wore a tune that would have blended into the music around them easily enough, had he been physically present, ’Hrm. They’re early. Who are they?’

’How can you say ‘they’re early’ if you don’t even know who they are?’ Shaking his head, Twadd decided it would be more productive to find a memory then to wait for an answer. Cyni had gotten worse with words of late; they believed it was because of the amount of time he spent in the Fade, or wherever it was that he wandered off to. ’Here, Cyni, a picture book just for you. Names, faces, memories...’

Zevran focused and sent both of them his love, Freya too, but she wouldn’t feel it for several years yet. For now, without an amulet, she was numb to it. But Cyni and Twadd, his loves, his life, his world, Maker and Purpose - they could feel it. Freya was his Gift - as well, sometimes, as Burden. That did not mean he loved any of them more or less than the other. Bundling up that love, he concentrated on enfolding them both warmly with that embrace, loving each difference and similarity without end or restraint. Sometimes they were like little old men bickering, others they were brothers, overall, even when Twadd and Cyni made his head hurt, he couldn’t help but worship them with his heart.

Three words, one from each of them, each saying and meaning the same thing, Cyni’s growled, ’Desire’, Freya’s murmured, “Zev.”, and Twadd’s rumbled, ’Love.’ Neither Cyni nor Twadd called him ‘Zev’ and from Freya it was unprompted. He had not introduced himself as such to her. Although Twadd had pictured him as a Desire demon in what amounted to daydreams, only Cyni called him Demon or Desire. However, regardless of the word used, Cyni and Freya were actually saying ‘Love’ in their own way.

His equivalent of a guard dog was still on alert, ’Love, you have regretted that betrayal with Taliesin and Rinna since before I knew you. It can’t hurt to try to fix one more broken thing. We are here with you and you’re not on your own this time.’

Cyni, still relatively relaxed, and inner noises at a minimum, only grunted. It was unknown if he saw or knew anything, other than what had already been said.

He and Freya strolled a meandering path home and finding someone with little bowls made from a shell of chocolate, filled with some chilled fruit and iced cream, he shared one of the melty treats with her. ’Querido, this is true. But what is also true, is that they are Crows. As much of me as you have seen, as much as you have witnessed - you still cannot understand. I love you for it, but you only think you know. In this... No matter how valued someone is personally, sometimes the only thing to do is kill them if they cannot be avoided. The likelihood is that they do not wish to be ‘saved’, nor ever have. Cyni was looking for something and so something could be gained and given, a way out. For them...there may be no way out. Do not be surprised if I have to be, and do, what I am. They are dangerous and a single false move will mean I have less than a fraction of a split second to kill them.’

Freya tasted his thumb where some of the sweetness had melted and kissed him to share the flavour.

Twadd acknowledged the truth of it, ’It would unwise to take her to such a meeting, but I would support your choice to have that conversation.’

’The triangle would be incomplete. Three sides are strong, but it is the center which holds them - Father, Brother, Lover.’ Cyni hadn’t turned the page beyond the two faces of those observing them.

’I will do what must be done, as always,’ shrugging. ’Alone or not.’

’No words of leaving us behind, Desire,’ almost fearful, Cyni reached out for him.

Going to him easily, Zevran hugged him fiercely, ’It is not I who would ever leave any of you. Not ever.’

A cheek twitched the precursor to a smile that rarely arrived in full, ’Ahh, my Desire does have words on the subject. Good, I am tired of Twadd’s.’ Arms tightened around him. ’Do not be afraid - our time together is long and our fate is your own. No separation, only joining, provided another takes what is offered.’ Looking pointedly at Freya, ’I cannot fulfill that obligation.’ As usual, Cyni was not making sense, as if broken pieces of memory were falling off again, yet he was as whole as he had been as ‘The Zama’. Yet, each time he came back from his wanderings, he brought back a glimpse into something strange and was becoming more and more distant.

Zevran didn’t want to admit it, at least to either of them, but he was afraid he was losing Cyni. Each instance of further strangeness, he saw as a personal failure to Cyni, whom he had fought for so hard, for so long, because someone had to. As horribly as it hurt, he almost wished Varane were there, perhaps she would have been a better anchor, as he, himself, wasn’t sufficient for the task apparently. Swallowing the pain of failure, he smiled instead, squeezing all three of them tightly.

In a singular moment, repeating himself, Cyni said again, ’Remember, no separation, Desire. Only joining. Accept the offer.’

Brushing fingers over the strong jawline, ’Which offer? There are always so many. But for you, I would do anything, you know this and it will always be true.’

Lips pressed against his, his boy’s focus firmly here, ’The offer is the only choice that makes a difference to you. To say more would draw eyes that should not see it. I say only this, you knew it then and will see it again.’

’Of course,’ acknowledging with a squeeze, accepting rather than questioning.

....

On the roof of the Dust Wolves’ hall, Zevran waited for Salvail, juggling a few pieces of fruit. His fellow Crow was suitably calm and amused, watching him. Yet Zevran had caught the brief flash of surprise - which was telling.

Taking a bite of the soft peach, Zevran sucked the juice from his lips, “So, you and I need to have a talk, I take it? Sending Taliesin during the Festival, hmn? Serendipity comes in many forms. Very well. Ask your questions my young friend, once upon a time apprentice - and I will answer them.”

“I do not know you, nor do you know me - so it would be rather difficult for you to have ever been my teacher,” Salvail’s mask of amusem*nt didn’t waver, but there was that tic again.

Right now, Salvail was no doubt questioning Zevran’s sanity, wondering what game he was playing.

Licking the peach’s nectar, “That is not a question. Well, actually it is, an odd habit I always have had - a statement inside a question, a question inside a statement. Very well. Tell me - who went to Kirkwall to deal with Varric’s eldest brother?”

Salvail’s eyes narrowed slightly, “That is not your business.”

“Ah, so it was you who left the elaborate present,” he flashed a grin in earnest. “You took my place here to some degree. My own Salvail...was not as you are. True, you are out for yourself, but you actually believe in serving the Guild. Your life is a cage, one that you understand, one that has bounds, that while confining, is one you are relatively comfortable in. There is no one that you love enough that would make you wish to leave. My own was only out for himself, craved power, and did not care who he had to step on to get it. In Kirkwall...did you feel the strangeness? The queer reverberations?” Tossing a pear at Salvail who caught it neatly, expression wary, Zevran grunted. “You did. All roads lead to Kirkwall my friend. From Kirkwall anywhere can be reached. Another town, another city...why even another Thedas!” Pausing for effect, “If one knows the way.” Scratching his chin, “So, allow me to take a guess as to what your questions are - am I a Crow? Yes. Am I a renegade? No longer - I was Guildmaster for quite some time until I was...retired. The nature of it required I leave entirely. So, being the good Antivan son that I am, I sought another place, another Antiva. And well - here I am.”

“Now that is a fine story you weave,” Salvail said thoughtfully, mulling the entire chunk of information over - including its implications. “The question that remains then is this - are you still a Crow? A renegade? A Guildmaster? And if the former-most or the latter-most...do you need to report directly to someone? Or are you completely mad, cracked from the training and need to be removed?”

It need not be said what would have to happen - technically - if he was to be considered a rogue agent. But he had taken one Guild and he could take down another. At this point it wouldn’t be that hard. Not knowledge-wise. Logistically? It would be a nightmare. Nune would feel the need to intervene, which no legion general had ever done without hefty consequence. And then there was Zamitie - a pintore operated with only two protections. The House’s tolerance and the population’s need. The moment they became political... Then the Chantry could easily come down upon them all, using the handful of pintores who put their weight behind something in particular as scapegoats. Freya wasn’t registered with anyone, not with the Circle or the ones who watched the pintores, and it was doubtful that her status as daughter of Teyrn Cousland would protect her for long. As the House jealously guarded Antiva’s sovereignty, they would have to act swiftly to prevent an Exalted March and string the perpetrators up. Publicly.

No, taking over the House was not something he wished to bother with at this time, if ever again. He was long past ready to retire, had been centuries before Cyni and Twadd’s endeavours to send him here. Zevran would rather not muck with politics more than absolutely necessary. Eventually he would likely need to become Grandmaster. Or at least have someone groomed to it that was close to him take that mantle. Ignacio first would be good, Armand or Salvail later. Taliesin and Rinna didn’t bear contemplating in that position - unless they were very different than the ones he knew, they didn’t have the scope of vision necessary, or the overreaching inclination to duty hanging over their heads to force them to be truly good for Antiva.

“Ah, then let me say this - there is a Blight in the very near future. And then a Qun’ari invasion,” ticking his fingers off. “And then another Blight. The first two items come in quick succession. Twenty years from now at most, the Qun’ari will have done their best to squash Ferelden, will have already torn through Rivain, and Tevinter falls not quite as quickly as Rivain, but they last no more than five years under the full onslaught. My Ferelden waged a war that lasted a century and a half before they were able to be free again. The Free Marches, Nevarra, even Orlais had to fend off massive incursions, with the Free Marches falling last due to Antivan interference. Antivan sons and daughters, the legions active, the Arlathanlen, the Dalish, Ga’hals - all of us. It took two centuries for the Qun’ari to be fully driven from our area of Thedas. And then we turned to Seheron and Par Vollen. That took a decade, the Qun’ari fighting nearly to the last woman and child. The slaughter was... Breathtaking. At one village, the hall where the children are raised and trained - all dead. Killed by the Tamassrans.” Gaze going faraway, seeing small broken bodies, butchered cleanly, but butchered nonetheless, frozen forever in agony from the poisoned juice they had been given. “To save them from our barbarism, the Qun’ari killed their young. Kossith, human, elf, the few dwarves... Beresaad, traders...everyone. Nearly total genocide, Salvail. Can you even imagine it?”

His gaze slid to the ripe piece of fruit in his hand and he found his appetite for its sweetness had fled. “There are a handful of things that our training instills in us above all things, Salvail. Protect Antiva from Blight, invasion, and Qun’ari. Anything is forgivable to attain that goal. But we are still men and women, amigo. We make mistakes, we are not immortal, we do not know everything. I know more than anyone here, because I have lived it. In two to three years when Urthemiel rises, the Tainted Old God’s siren call will croon to our older Wardens and mages will slowly go mad if they are not prepared for it. The Circle will have a slew of suicides and true maleficarum seeking power. For now, I will watch the half-Ferelden bastard and the little chit tail me. But know that if I fall, many more mistakes will happen, Antivans will die by the millions, people in other countries by the tens of millions. You kill me - or even try to, as I can assure you, any you send against me will fail - and you will lose the one person who knows what is truly coming for us all.” Laughing suddenly, “Ah, now that does make me sound self-important, does it not? But no, ‘tis true unfortunately, and I am far too fond of survival to break and spill all that I know.”

Salvail ate his pear in a few quick bites, “So, what happens if I do not help you, but decide that you are quite mad and a danger?”

“The answer is easy enough - Nune will eat you, piece by piece while Zamitie keeps you alive for it, hmn?” Smirking, “And, I am afraid, you will have Freya let loose on you.”

There was a wince, “Aiesh, now that little hellbitch of yours is not my idea of a good time.”

Cyni and Twadd snarled at the insult but Zevran didn’t. It was more of a compliment than an insult, at least to his way of thinking. With a shrug, “Whichever puts you at ease.”

...

Nune reached out, clapping his massive hand around Zevran’s wrist, halting him from grabbing a kofta ball in yogurt. “No meat.”

“Pardon?” giving his father a strange look.

“Meat makes you fertile, she will catch your seed eventually if you eat so much meat and sleep so often,” the parent who was actually younger than him - a thought that nearly broke Zevran’s brain - had taken The Tone with him. “Right now she is in season. You will not eat meat.”

As a long time parent himself, Zevran knew The Tone. And he hated using it and hated it even more when it was used on him. It was an arch sound set of nuance that stated firmly that the Parent Knows Best.

Freya looked from him to his father, “Papa Nune, there will be no children...least not ‘til we’re ready and the tasks Zevran keeps putting in front of us are complete.“

His father scowled, “Em’da’sha [my little girl], you are a healer, but cycles do not always obey. Not when there is a proper mate around. Zev’na’rane gets no more proper than that. True elvhen are much more fecund than the a’las’lin’en [dirt blood]. His woodpile may be mixed, but he is more true than most. If he is very careful and does not spill inside you, does not eat meat, does not sleep deep - then he will not get you with child. My son is young, healthy, and you are in the space in your cycle. It can be smelled, it makes him more careless, that is what it is supposed to do, and does well.” Nune shook his head sadly, “I would be the first to welcome littles of your union, none would be more joyous than I. But making the mistake my own parents did, the cost it bore them to produce me when times were not troubled, but they were inexperienced... That is not a thing I am wanting for you, him, or them. It is a worry.”

Scooting closer, Freya kissed his father on the cheek, “I love you very much, Papa Nune, as much as my own Papa. As I would promise to him, I give the same to you, there will be no children.”

“No children? Ah, not even someday?” Zevran found it in himself to pout. Just slightly. “Then I shall continue to take the foul powders every day... Sigh. The things I do...”

Brown eyes turned on him and it was her turn to use a formal tone, the voice tart like a green apple, “I chose you, ser. You may have made the arrangements to bring me here and keep me safe and yes, made promises to my father to do just that. And, while I support your claim to my person wholeheartedly, formal arrangements of this type have yet to be made with the Teyrn.” Firmly, almost frostily, “There will be no children, not until tasks are complete.”

He could have been a naysayer. Could have. Bryce was well aware that Zevran had made a claim upon her, even as a child, one that Bryce not only was disinclined to deny, but was ultimately terrified of denying, lest Zevran ‘remove’ the problem. It was better to have a madman on your side whose insanity was useful, biddable even - so long as the few demands he made were met. And what could be cheaper than removing a mage talented scandal off of one’s hands? Others could be told that it was a marriage of business as well as family, as others well knew who the inventor of the Couslands’ renewed fortune was. Best to keep Zevran happy and if the child in question was amenable? Well, the Couslands were known to be eccentric.

Zevran took Freya’s hand, kissing the fingertips, “Well, there appears to be some courting gifts necessary and ones of a filial nature for your family so that privately, intentions can be made clearer.”

Squeezing his hand, she melted, “Silly, you’ve been sendin’ back presents with our letters. All I want is for you ta just ask him.” Freya grinned at him saucily, “An’ good news, Zev, Papa probably bites less than I do.”

Zamitie let out a nearly girlish giggle, “It is certain that this would not be a difficult thing, mushu!”

Coffee was poured, Nune’s massive hands elegant in an almost carefully ponderous fashion, “Soundproofing, that is a project that must receive at least half as much effort as is put into making all that noise...”

“Tchk, as though you and Zama are quiet?” scoffing as he made a rude gesture.

His relationship with this Nune was much different than the one with his ‘actual’ father. His Eu’rai’ddvinnen was older, psychologically scarred and closer to ruined than not. Zevran knew that his father had always held a great deal of pain that they could not act as more than friends, either they were too alike, or too different, the middle ground being the family and Antiva’s stewardship. With this one, half the time they were brothers, the other half, definitely father and son. That pleased him, even if Nune would likely never be told of the entire nature of what was going on around him. If anyone told him, it would be Zamitie, who knew him best and could break it to him without a huge rift being torn through them. And as fulfilling as their personal relationship was, Nune was ultimately another piece on the board for Zevran to manipulate this or that way.

Zamitie had the grace to blush while a throaty laugh issued, its sound like low, mellow bells, “It cannot be helped! I am naught but shemlen! Those rumours are small tales and untruths...”

Curious as to what would make the older woman blush, Freya naively asked, “What do you mean, Zama?”

Remembering Leliana and her ‘requirement’ if anything were to happen, “It is said that we elvhen have - “

“Puny members,” Nune interjected. “That we are so small that it is not possible to satisfy our women, which is why they are supposedly always looking for sex with shem’len males. And it also prevents shem’len women from finding elvhen males appealing.”

“Thus making it so that human males have a wider repertoire to choose from, partner-wise. Variety is proof of status across many Ages and there is also the fact that if the slave-race were desirable, there would be more of them and it would be difficult to keep them contained and in their place.”

Freya snorted, “Any trip to the public bath would answer the question of size, if one has eyes.”

“Em’da’sha, I would hope that a man in the public baths does not walk around with his member stirred to fullness,” sardonic and mild. “That would be embarrassing as well as improper. One learns to look without looking, and most men are able to repress the urge for it to...become obvious. And so what others would see is not the fullness of possibility, but merely at rest.”

“True, eyes should not be inquisitive,” quoting Zevran on their first trip to the baths. “But Zev...” Freya paused as if earlier training had caused her to be cautious about what she was about to say. Then remembering who she was with, proceeded, with what she did know, “Zevran is not small.”

Chapter 3: Liza and Mawu's Orbit

Chapter Text

So much was done in the short years that followed, it was a wonder he had a moment to breathe, let alone thoroughly enjoy his girl. Freya’s strength training, riding lessons, and sessions with Zamitie continued as well as things which weren’t presented as lessons, care of animals, equipment, cooking, mending, languages, and hundreds of other little tasks that needed doing every day. Every morning he strongly suspected Cyni of initiating or accepting intimate contact with Freya as he would awaken to a pounding rush of clutching, straining, and moaning to her whimpered pleasure. In some dream he would thrust deep into her, taking or being taken by her again and again until satiated for a short time, she was able to part from him. Complaining to Twadd that he was only loved for his body and elven physiology, his blighted husband had laughed with good humour, apparently having been enjoying himself as well during the morning trysts.

He, Cyni, and Zamitie discussed ways of lessening the Taint before it was taken on, as he had decided that it would be best if Freya took the Joining in Antiva and brought Antivan Wardens with her back to Ferelden. This was another difference, if she took the Joining prior to the Archdemon’s waking, then perhaps the dreams that the others suffered from would not haunt her sleep. Or at least not so badly. They wanted to wait until the last minute, but didn’t actually know how long they had, beyond his and Feroxes’ memories and gathered stories from Wardens who had survived, ones who had been sucked into that strange place called Kirkwall. Most Wardens were in their mid to late twenties, some of the oldest were in their early thirties when the Blight struck, but according to the memories of the Feroxes, consistently they were nineteen when the rains supposedly delayed Howe’s troops and Duncan came to Castle Highever.

Nathaniel Howe would come with them, and a handful Antivan Wardens hidden amongst the Dust Wolves. A contract was being negotiated with the Crows stationed in Ferelden, through Master Ignacio for Freya’s protection. In addition, Taliesin and Rinna would accompany them as Twadd insisted that they be kept close as that first betrayal had cut Zevran so deeply - this was his chance to save them. If things went well that is. Zevran didn’t hold his hopes all that high though. Everything put into place, everything ready. They had to get to Ferelden to put the last pieces into play before the army gathered, before Loghain fell into despair, before Cailan made a stupid plan, before Mio’s wedding was arranged, before...before...before...and... and...and.

Zevran was tired.

He felt old, run to his limits not only mentally, but physically as he kept up with Nune, Freya, Nathaniel and two thousand Dust Wolves. He was older than all of them, no matter what his body looked and acted like. The only thing that kept him going were his Feroxes. His husband, Twadd supported him, giving endless love without question, researched what they knew, giving balanced opinions, enigmatic Cyni, always distant and at arms’ length even when he was held close, looked ahead into the future, guiding with puzzling words, and Freya who gave him joy, a form of youth, keeping his mind focused as to the reason this was being done - she was their purpose. Everything that he did, they did, was done to make her happy in the long run, to keep her safe, and to keep her world safe. Pulling her from the unearthed box had been only the first step in their overly grandiose journey. His loves were damned lucky that they missed out on the long ranting and swearing he had gone through in the first few days of finding himself back in Ferelden without them - their ears would have burnt right off when it boiled down to what he thought of going through all of it all over again.

Twadd hadn’t wanted Freya to become a Warden, but Cyni indicated that it was necessary that she follow the path, without her as a Warden they would fail or as it was put, ‘Desire, the dream will unravel.’ With Zamitie’s Work covering Freya’s back, wrapping around her hips and and down her legs, his girl trustingly took the Joining. Cyni began to Sing as the cup was handed to Freya, Sang with one foot in his mind the other in the Fade until she woke hours later, isolating the Taint until the barest amount remained, easily controlled.

And so, the fall of her eighteenth year saw them on a ship to Highever, he had hoped that if they retrieved the treaties earlier and took care for the stumbling blocks to the dwarves, humans, and elves meeting their obligations under the treaties sooner, that the whole affair could be shortened. So many balls in the air and all of them somehow rested on the girl who had been chosen by his loves and in turn, had chosen him. She rocked on her heels and toes, just like the Feroxes before her, seeking him out though the new amulet, her eyes verifying what she learned from it, and Zevran took every moment to wrap himself around her mentally and physically. Freya was nervous about returning ‘home’, although ‘home’ at this point really meant Antiva to her, Zama-mama and Papa Nune her parental figures, and Nathaniel as her brother. She was trying to change her thinking, to revert back in some things, so she did not hurt her parents, brother, or misstep using ‘inappropriate sentiments’ and rustic language. As it was, she would do many things that would no doubt startle them or cause them to look at her strangely. Freya did not move as Ferelden women did, did not dress as them, and would be unlikely to change either. Nor did she speak like them and had even developed a bit of an accent, which he had not pointed out. That hurt would not be caused by him. She had never said, ‘in Ferelden we...’ and if she ever did this at all, it might be to point out how things were different in Antiva.

The question of what would be made of his constant appearance at her side and in her bed would be interesting. Granted it was nearly that way before he left, taking Freya with him. However, she was no longer a child and her preferences would no doubt be labeled eccentric or peculiar and she would be again cursed with the brand of being independent and strong-willed. Freya tried to be these things, but not in an offensive way, as the labels were meant to be taken. Given the information sent back in letters, Bryce and Eleanor might believe that their daughter was whole and that the entire mage thing was behind her. Or, if they acknowledged that Freya was a mage, which he was fairly certain they recognized, hopefully they did not forget merely because her talent had been hidden to such an extent that she appeared as one with Templar training, that it was no longer necessary to keep her return private. Parties and ‘courtings’ were not what either of them wanted. But they knew she would have to play a game while they were there, hopefully no one would be hurt by it, the Blight would be stopped nearly before it started, all the pieces would fall into place, and they could return to Antiva as quickly as possible.

If everything went as planned, Brother Genetivi could write a book called, The Fifth Blight in Twenty Days or Less.

Aboard the Antivan vessel, nose to nose with her, brown eyes now level with his own amber ones, she was attempting to stare him down. At any moment however, Freya was going to laugh and he would win the unspoken argument. He had asked her to come to their cabin for sleep, but anxious and nervous she wanted to catch the first glimpse of the cliffs above the harbour, a vision that would not be seen until late that evening and likely nothing at all would be observed in the darkness. Her apprehension would only rise with the wait.

“Zev...”

Snorting, he kissed her and drug her down below decks for rest, only a rest.

Having been on the sleep cycles of Antiva for many years now, she was having a hard time adjusting and needed at least a short nap during the day. She curled around him, head on his arm, and her face pressed against the side of his chest. With a leg thrown over his hips, her soft breathing continually catching as minor dreams of darkspawn tracked her down. The nightmares were nothing yet like Twadd’s. However, as the Archdemon had yet to sing, the dreams were not as bad as they could possibly be. Alistair had said it was worse for Wardens who were Joined during the Blight, hopefully she missed the worst of it. On the subject of nightmares, however, unlike Twadd, there would be no trip to Fort Drakon’s dungeons to cause additional problems.

Even though Cyni said that she was important, much would be changed and Freya would be protected from the worst of what was to come, even if he had to kill everyone in their path. With Horsie guarding the door and Twadd awake and alert, he closed his eyes and offered a prayer to any god or Maker who happened to be listening that he was young enough and would be strong enough, to do this all over again.

…

The harbour at Highever was below the massive plateau on which the castle stood. Cliffs dropped into the Waking Sea and the large stone castle blocked the mouth of what must have been - at least partially - man made ramp that led up to the flat land high above. A very defensible, natural location, more so than most anything in Ferelden or the rest of Thedas. No wonder the Qun’ari had such a hard time when assaulting it in his and Twadd’s Thedas. It only took a few men to defend the minimal walls required to funnel an invading force. Its biggest risk was a force climbing the sheer cliffs. The more Zevran looked at it, the more he recognized the stone that made up the core of Gaeaf and Twadd, what was a vertical cliff within Cyni, ones that crumbled and fell in earth shattering blocks into the sea below. Freya had yet to reveal her foundation, as she had yet to reach a point of crisis where her inner self was exposed. It was probable that this stone or something much like it was at her very center.

Many ships over the past few months had been arriving at West Hills and Highever to unload large quantities of cargo, animals, and men. He had been avoiding the ports of Gwaren, Denerim, and Amaranthine except when deploying particular pawns close to specific targets or to deliver messages to their intended recipients. The influx was being hidden in place of regular trade and a slowly expanding passenger traffic which then disbursed throughout Ferelden.

Early that morning when they landed, probably having been spotted by the spyglass Bryce had been persuaded to purchase, several wagons for gear had been sent down to the harbour as well as quite a few horses. Seeing that her brother was among the group sent to greet them, although composed on the exterior, through the amulet Freya vibrated, a recognizable high pitch akin to Cyni’s fearful trembling. Everything that she had been hoping for, and been anxious of, was here.

Gently, an arm about her, he reassured, “You are safe querida. There is no need to fear. You are alright, I will be with you.”

Inhaling and exhaling slowly, Freya sought to bring her fears to heel. When he returned home, he knew that his Zama would love him, that the family would be pleased to see him, even though he may have been gone for a long time. Freya was not certain of this, yet, like him, she had to pretend to be. Provided she didn’t heal in the open, or do anything similar to that, she might be passed off as having had ‘Templar’ training, as the information on the Arcane Warriors in Ferelden wouldn’t be ‘rediscovered’ until their travels during the Blight. No wonder Freya was worried, one false move and she believed she would be drug off to be locked up in the Tower...over his dead body. He had already given that reassurance and she had heard him. Here, however, those very words and his promise could be tested. It was remembered how the Templars could push to take a mage. He remembered Cyni and Gaeaf’s complaints after retaking Amaranthine of how forward the Templars were in regards to Anders. During the Blight however, the Templars they encountered were uninterested in a Grey Warden mage. It was one of the protections Freya received when becoming a Warden, that and contact with all of them through the Tainted blood, but mostly with him in particular.

Zevran lay a hand on the small of Freya’s back, pulsing the love and security she needed to her as they walked down the boarding ramp, ’And I see a very fine young lad at his side, hmn? Your nephew looks as though he is ready to explode with his excitement for meeting his aunty...’

As soon as they reached the pier, Oren was greeted by an eager Horsie who bounded and hopped around the boy, much sniffing, licking and woofing abounding. Fergus clapped a hand on Nathaniel’s shoulder, a warm nod given and received. And then Zevran found himself swept into a bone-crushing hug himself, the elder Cousland laughing and pounding him on the back.

In his ear, “She looks good. I trust I don’t have to challenge you on her behalf?”

Snorting, “Anything done was not initiated by myself... She is very...determined.”

“Good,” a last thump and Zevran was released, attention turned to Freya. “Pup! You’re so tall, here, let me look at you!” Freya was taken in carefully, hands on her shoulders, her brother inspecting her gently. “Antiva has been good to you, Maker, you’ve grown all up!”

Lightly teasing, “It was bound to happen wherever I went, Fergus. Otherwise Oren and I would be playmates, swinging on ropes or burrowing into piles of hay to make forts.”

“Fowts? I like fowts!” Oren bounced nearly jumping up and down after getting his hellos from Nathaniel, whose back he was currently perched on, which made Zevran wince in sympathy.

“So does your papa and grandpa, although -” Freya looked back at Fergus, “The dwarven stone masons...is the work really ‘nearly complete’? Or has there been another ‘unexpected delay’?”

“A few minor things, but mostly just aesthetics,” Fergus waved a hand as he kept an arm around his sister’s shoulders. “No more drafty rooms though and nearly all the large rooms have those fountains installed! Mother got the fool idea from someone who shall remain unnamed to have a solar and atrium garden, and those dwarf trees that were sent, are growing quite beautifully which makes Oriana pleased.”

Zevran put up his hands, “Do not look to me! I only answered the pleas of a fellow countrywoman for something edible besides potatoes, meat and cabbage...”

“Yes, well, there’s a hothouse now, kept at truly awful temperatures, mirrors and glass, and firerocks everywhere,” Fergus complained. “But some of the fruit does make a nice compote...”

“I for one would appreciate ‘truly awful temperatures’, at least long enough to warm up. Zevran has been laughing because I’ve been complaining since we entered the Waking Sea of cold hands.” Pressing the back of her fingers to her brother face, she made her point. “All I’m hearing is comparisons of thick or thin blood in relation to climate,” Freya sighed tragically.

Fergus squawked, “Don’t use me to warm those finger-cicles! Use Zev - that’s what he’s there for! To keep you safe from the cold! What are you? Made of ice?!”

Laughing, “Zevran just hollars as loud as you. Apparently I ‘have located the only snow bank in all of Antiva’ and I ‘will warm up when I die even if it’s the middle of winter’. As revenge, I have taken a beautiful cloak and am still clutching mugs of hot tea.”

“Ah, sad but true, I keep saying we could make a fortune if we were to make her hold jugs of water to make them cool, but that did not go over very well,” Zevran paused in his making of funny faces and ear wiggling for Oren’s delight long enough to add. Teasingly, “And I will just have to kill another snowcat and make you your own. Perhaps two snowcats - one so that its fur is interior and one for the exterior. Perhaps then your blood will be protected, hmn?”

He liked that she stole his cloak, but at the same time it had been a gift from Twadd... And Zevran was sentimental. Like the fact that he had never given the earring to Cyni and would never give it to Freya. Other gifts would be - and had been - found and made for them. But even so, when it came time for cold, Freya would have a much different cloak. Truthfully he felt an idiot for not taking up Nune on his offer to go sandtiger hunting, or to hand over the pelt he had gained, but what was done was done.

Fergus gestured at the nearby horses, another thing that had seen made possible by Zevran’s ability to see ahead. There would be no walking across Ferelden this time around, not if he had anything to say about it. Of course some places horses just weren’t suited to, but other than the Deep Roads, they would ride everywhere if he had any say. Which he did. Now if only the llamas had come in... He would have to talk to Levi.

“I have to get my complaints out now while Papa Nune is distracted or else he’d ‘warm me up’ with a run up the hill.” She wrinkled her nose knowing that those ears didn’t miss much anyway, especially if his name was said.

“Papa Nune?” Fergus gave her an odd look.

Nathaniel finally spoke up, “Zevran’s father, we all call him that... While at home at least. The rest of the time I call him Commander or Ser.”

Freya was back to laughing at Fergus, “I’ll introduce you when he is satisfied with his troops, if you promise not to look like you would go well with chili garlic sauce.” Swinging on the animal, that he held the reins of, “Or stare at him, he gets touchy about that. Then you wind up looking tasty with blue pepper sauce.” The slits in the skirt parted and rode up, showing off the brightly coloured red and purple leggings she wore beneath as usual while she explained.

Unless one was dressing for a fine affair, Freya believed that clothes should be able to adjust to whatever she felt like doing, running, jumping, climbing, because one never knew when it would be needed. Unlike Ferelden clothes, Antivan ones tended to be versatile, few women wore what a Ferelden or Orlesian would call a ‘dress’, or if they did wear them, it was over a set of leggings. Then of course there were the skirts with the short cholis, but the skirt could always be tucked and draped to create pants of a sort. Here, none of that was normal. But at least she would weather the strange looks with him and Nathaniel. Not that Zevran minded, it was that sort of thinking that ruled the steppes, and he admired the way his girl incorporated it into her own being. Not only that, but it made her even more visually appealing, strange and slightly exotic even to his jaded eyes.

“We try not to let him get hungry enough to eat the rabble, but sometimes he simply...cannot help himself...”

“Zev, seriously, if I have to hear some discourse on liver and whether it’s better raw, steamed, grilled, baked, fried, or cured - I think I’ll swear off of meat for the rest of my life,” Nathaniel rubbed his temples. “Again.”

“Chianti and butter beans. Or was it cannellini beans?” Freya snickered, trying to come up with a new bean they hadn’t used yet. It was reminiscent of Gaeaf searching another similar plant to replace the word ‘raspberry’.

Correcting her with great amusem*nt, “Favas - the big ones. Personally, I am a bit of a minimalist. Thin sliced and pan seared with a bit of olive oil, draped elegantly over some nice sliced baguette, topped with a bit of diced tomato, garlic, cilantro and onion...”

Oren obviously didn’t understand the game, or, somehow did, as with childish enthusiasm stated loudly, “I don’t like liber! I like fried brains with the yoogoot an’ mint Mama makes!”

“Better to use the brains than eat them, da’len,” Zevran laughed. “While ‘tis true that all animals have enough brain to tan their hide, they do not all have enough to serve two purposes. But ah, Oriana is a fan of miala tiganita? I had not realized she was from the river delta, which, now that I think on it, makes sense as that is one of our best tea growing regions...”

The easy banter continued as they rode through the buildings that had sprung up to service the harbour, nothing of any true permanence as it was practically indefensible, other than by the tower on the cliff above. Everything was hauled up to the plateau either by wagons or by the multiple winch and pulley system that someone inventive had designed. Platforms carried the real burdens, oxen and workers manning the wenches, so that many tonnes of material could be moved with much less effort. Light and delicate materials went by wagon, as there was always a line for the heavy materials to be hoisted up. On the pier, small cranes stood, ready to help extract the slats of cargo at a moment’s notice. And if anyone was fool enough to attack, those same cranes only needed a few minor modifications that a drunken rat could manage, and they would become light catapults, throwing Rivainian fire many yards, and then they could be quickly fired or dismantled before potential invaders got that far. Whomever manned the pier could quickly escape via the platforms, and then they would be left in place, weakened, so that the temptation to use the contraption to reach the plateau quickly would be well rewarded. Either the weight of many people or a few well placed cuts to heavy ropes - and the platform would plummet, anyone stupid enough to be tempted into using it, dead.

The road, wrapping around and exposed to the plateau above, was kept clear of trees and other obstacles which would block line of sight for any would be defenders above. Although the forest had intruded on the main approach and was constantly cleared of brush and targeted by the wood cutters, this rocky road was easier to maintain. Eventually it connected to the wide road that spurred off of the Imperial Highway far to the south. A mile or two of the main road was in plain sight of the plateau and castle above in a rather straight line, which was why he believed that this ‘ramp’ was man-made rather than a happy accident of nature. Redcliffe’s keep and Kinloch Hold might be up on an island or pillar of rock in the middle of Lake Calenhad, fairly unassailable, but neither could support themselves through a long siege. Highever had the advantage of protected farmland. Its people would eat while those at the Circle and Redcliff would eventually starve. The castle might not have a hot spring under it like Soldier’s Peak, but it did have an artesian well.

’Hmn, this place looks good enough that not even if Gaeaf, myself, and Haf’cath were to put our heads together could come up with more... No. Wait,’ rubbing his chin thoughtfully, ’Hidden, underground ramps for a mounted attack!’

Happily showing the image of a catacomb and a soil covered trapdoor.

’Provided you didn’t dig too deep and end up with water in your tunnel...’ Twadd rumbled it over. ’Have to get a mage up here or one of your ga’ni to taste for it.’

’Tchk, take all my fun out...’ Snorting, ’I could taste for it - any Ga’hals can find water.’

’The problem isn’t ‘finding it’, Love. The problem is, it’s there. The question is, at what depth will you find water and what rock is between you and it. Don’t want to crack through and lose the pressure on the water. It’s why the cellars aren’t very deep, we don’t need a swimming hole.’

Grumbling over the fact that his genius idea couldn’t be used, ’Still, ruining my fun. Plotting more efficient ways to deliver troops and make war...’

’Not saying it’s impossible, but we’d need someone with both water and earth abilities, otherwise we drain what is probably an underground lake and lose the water source.’ Twadd shrugged, ’The trouble with any fixed fortification is that it will have a weakness. Being unable to deploy a mass of troops like that is one of Highever’s. Although cranes could be set up on other sides of the walls to lower down adventurous individuals. In the past they’ve just rappelled down, the rope pulled up until whatever planned havoc has been done and then they can be brought back up if they survive. There’s old stories, books of tactics if you will, hidden in the walls of the vault in case something arises. They aren’t out in the library for public consumption. But the methods of what did or didn’t work should be remembered and shared with those in charge of defense.’

…

In Bryce’s homey office, drinks were poured. “She is...quite...changed.”

Zevran crossed his legs, leaning into the heavy wing-backed chair. “It has been eight years, Bryce. Eight years in a foreign land, brought there young and malleable, hmn? Freya is still herself, my friend. She has just grown up.”

“You’ve made her your creature,” Bryce’s words were accusing, yet his tone was little more than resigned as he sagged into his own chair.

“That was the cost,” he shrugged. “It was lose her to the Circle forever or to me. For what little worth it has, you have my sympathy.”

The teyrn sighed, knocking his whiskey back quickly. “Everything you said would come to pass, has. Oren’s birthdate, the complications, Anora and Cailan’s wedding, Maric’s disappearance... Everything. I have no reason to not believe your predictions of Blight, Highever being attacked, myself, my family dead to every man, woman, and child, other than Fergus and Freya. We should save Cailan, he is the king after all. And the army, the Wardens, the -”

“They cannot all be saved, you know this,” shaking his head. “It is tactical. Alistair will become king, Anora imprisoned, Loghain disgraced, Rendon dead, Duncan and the Ferelden Wardens, decimated. Time must be bought,” stressing the statement. “If it is not, then the eventual tide will not be ‘eventual’ it will be rapid. The horde suffered many losses due to Ostagar. Let some things go, Bryce. It is all that may be done. We save what can be, bits and pieces here and there, my friend. Fate, Fortune and Destiny only allow so much slipping before They truly intervene.”

Setting his cup on the small side table, Zevran went to the map board, changing the subject to the gritty details. “My father’s men will be in position where they can provide support to your people. Lothering - it will fall, is the housing in place?”

“Those tents you designed - “

“My friend, I did not design them, yurts are older than solid construction buildings at least in terms of human use,” chuckling.

Bryce scrubbed a hand over his face, “Either way, the tents have been made. The textile industry has been crazed over it with business, we have enough to house a thousand people easily with plenty of elbow room between here and West Hills. King Endrin also has a goodly supply of them. Considering the fact that we’ve had to avoid distributing them at Amaranthine for the time being... What’s done is done, what isn’t, will be, and now we wait.”

“There is time yet,” Zevran pointed out. “Freya, Nathaniel, and a few of the men will go to Soldier’s Peak two days from now. We must have a hidden base of operations, one that is on no map, that Loghain and his supporters do not know of. Only us and the Drydens. It will have to remain a Cousland secret for a very long time. The last hold of Ferelden, hmn?”

Tapping the Brecilian Forest, “Your Dalish brethren have been spotted off and on as usual in the Brecilian. But there’s been sightings for trade near the Korcari Wilds also. We should make contact with them sooner rather than later.”

Bracing both hands on the map table, ’Querida, if Nune is near you, please have him come to the office,’ quickly gaining an amused affirmative. “The Dalish and I do not get along very well. It will have to be my father or one of his clan if you wish it to be sooner.”

They discussed the groundwork that had been laid and the current political climate in detail. For once it wasn’t couched in code from letters, giving them much greater freedom. Eventually Nune showed up, a young mabari that was nearly still a puppy, chunky and gangly at the same time, her coat recognizable, on his heels. Zevran raised a brow - he hadn’t known that Light was from Highever originally before Imprinting on Adria.

“Mph, the weather here is good,” Nune stated simply, reaching down to rub the young bitch’s head. “Zam’ie’tae would not appreciate it.”

Waving a hand he quickly introduced them, “Bryce Cousland, meet my father, Eu’rai’ddvinnen, who prefers Nune as a use-name. Father, Teyrn Cousland, Freya’s father.”

Nune gave a slow blink, “Aneth ara, lethallin.”

“Greetings -” Bryce began.

Gold eyes swung towards him, ignoring Bryce for the moment, “This warhound follows me and all only laugh when I ask where she is to go.”

“Dispensing with the formalities it is then... She’s likely Imprinted to you,” Bryce explained, heel to eye socket, rubbing as the customary greetings were apparently useless. “Or you smell interesting. Not sure what she was supposed to be called, there’s been a large amount of mabari in and out of here lately...”

Zevran held his hand out for her to sniff, “Hello, Lightning, you are looking fine and lovely.”

Her ears instantly pricked forward and she sat down anxiously, very interested.

“Ysgafnhad, aneth ara, lethallan,” he squatted with his arms open and she bounced into them, her head hooking over his shoulder, her rump veritably vibrating with joy as she wiggled. “Well, it appears she has a name, hmn?” Giving her another firm hug and a pat on the behind, “So you wish to Imprint on my father?” She woofed happily but softly in agreement. “There you have it.”

Nune grunted and made his way to the map, “Now - you called for me why?”

“The Dalish have been sighted, and I feel it would be best if we made contact with them before the Blight broke out in full,” Bryce returned to the matter at hand. “We’ve had some trade with a clan that moves through here along the coast, but it’s fairly rare. I’ve made overtures more than once, whenever we see them, but have mostly been rebuffed. Fergus had some luck with a pair of scouts he met, but we’re humans and they understandably have no wish to listen to the likes of us.”

His father took it in impassively, “Some luck may be had by me. The ragged cousins have little to do with my kind. Those that travel to Antiva and Rivain might recognize what I am. Help or hinder, I cannot say.”

“If they do not, they will at least listen to you because you have been ‘mangled’ by shemlen,” Zevran pointed out.

Even if it had been their own kind and not the cruelty of humans that did it.

The Arlathanlen grunted deeply, “No one race or group has sole custody of wisdom nor sole custody of bigotry, love, faith, hate, despair, pride, lust, friendship, or stupidity.” Nune glanced over the map, taking it in, “I will seek them out. After the twisted and shattered keep is secured?”

Nodding, “A few days to settle in and make greetings, then we head out.”

....

Freya tracked him down using her Warden amulet and a perceptive nose attached to a helpful mabari who rarely left her side. Climbing up the rest of the way to his perch, she sat next to him, sharing his cloak that she had liberated.

Kissing him on the cheek in greeting, “You’ll be pleased to know that a multitude of unfortunate and unsuitable noble gentlemen will have to continue their search for an appropriate bride. Not that some of them wanted a ‘bride’ per se...more likely needed a cover story.”

Snickering as he slid an arm around her waist, tucking her in close, “Ah - let me guess, sweet Darrien?”

’I wouldn’t bed him if he was the last man in all of Thedas,’ Twadd groused. ’Too...something.’

“One of many.” She counted them as if ticking them off a list, a juicy piece of gossip, if anyone cared. “The only one I feel remotely bad about is Teagan. He’s nice and might actually care, but somehow I think Isolde is just looking to find him someone, anyone. Afraid some kind of reputation might attach to the family, even though he’s perfectly behaved. Wulff’s sons are more like brothers to me...I mean, I like brothers, but I wouldn’t wanna marry one. Not even if they were just like Fergus. Actually, especially if they were like Fergus! And the inquiries for a wife were written in Anora’s hand. Apparently she’s looking for a bride of appropriate qualities for her father and Renden Howe.” Freya gave a heavy sigh, “So my hand may fall off from so many polite refusals, but the deed is done. You, however, have been promised a piece of my mother’s mind.”

“And why should she give me a piece of her mind? It belongs in her head,” as he brushed a stray curl from her cheek, amused, ignoring the list of ‘suitors’.

Snorting quite unladylike, “Turn of a phrase, meaning you’re in trouble and goin’ ta get yelled at, or get a talkin’ to.”

“Amora, I am quite familiar with the saying,” laughing. “I am asking what of the many things I have done that might have aroused her ire that I shall be receiving my punishment for? I like knowing why someone is going to crack the whip, hmn?”

“I told her that I wasn’t gonna marry anybody,” she paused, “‘cept for you. So she’s gonna yell at you next. ‘Cause her reasoning didn’t work with me, you’re next, probably followed by Papa and Fergus depending on who she can catch first. Nan’ll stick in her two coppers too, but complement her cookin’ and you’re home free. They can’t reluctantly agree without havin’ a scene first.”

Raising a brow, “Ah. Perhaps I shall send Nune to her. To broker the exchange as he is my only kinsman here. And she will likely pity him so much that -”

“Pity? Who be pitying me?” his father’s penchant for moving quietly and climbing made itself known irritatingly.

Grumbling, “Papae - please, we know you heard all that.”

“It was heard, but why would someone pity me?” he hopped into position, crouched on his haunches offering tea from a gourd.

“For having Zevran as your son, of course.” Freya glibly covered for his overheard remark. “He’s such a smooth talker, charming the socks off everyone and making them do so much on his word alone.” Accepting the tea, she shared with him.

Horsie and Lightning sniffed each other and began to romp and play beneath them as he recalled another pair. It was comforting to think that the two mabari were common to the lives of the Feroxes. Even Cyni had a chance, just like he had an opportunity to be accompanied by a Crow.

Nune picked at his filed teeth, spitting out a chunk of whatever had been for dinner, growling, “Should have Zam’ie’tae pull them all out to grow normal ones, neh? Then no pitying.” A ruined ear was rubbed thoughtfully, then the scars over his face, “The da’len was frightened.” Pointed tips of teeth were licked by the split tongue and Eu’rai’ddvinnen nodded once, “Teeth need pulling - nothing can be done for the other things. Zev’na’rane your assistance is necessary. Em’da’sha to your mamae I will speak and meet to tell of Zev’na’rane’s ancient fallen line.”

Freeing herself, Freya left the cloak behind and scooted to his father’s side. Planting a kiss on his scarred cheek, “Thank you, Papa Nune. If Mama comes up with a list of unacceptable Orlesian nobles, mages or not, I’m gonna have to brush up on my transitive verbs an’ we don’t have time for that! She’s only presenting options, not understanding that my choice was made when Zevran found me.”

“If that does not work, I tell her I will eat them,” he hugged Freya hard. “Zev’na’rane could be a prince, a noble, neh? Fen’dorf heads Ar’lath’an’len for me. This makes big chieftain, neh? I am general of a whole legion. Zev’na’rane is good as any shemlen noble. Same status, same worth, same strength. Just - pointy ears. Land, title - these things have worth? These things required? He has them. If he makes himself Grandmaster of Crows - then he is king of Antiva in all but crown. The reasoning to deny or complain over him is flawed. Either she decides to be racist or classist. Yet it is a thing she is, if either things are so important. Only one son to carry my blood onwards, for him, I will argue the point. For you, em’da’sha and your joy, I will argue. If she makes a scene she is being cruel.”

“Eleanor can say whatever she pleases to myself or Nune,” Zevran yawned. “She is as frightening as a puppy. It is just that her making a scene, whether she gives in easily or not does not matter - the making of a scene, does.”

“She thinks she’s doing what’s best to make sure that I’ll be taken care of. ‘Sides that, it’s Nan who will make the real scene, Mama will just argue, cajole, and try to convince.” Freya shrugged again, “You could have been a traveling fighter or had been a dwarf, it only matters that you’re Zevran an’ no, I’ve already said that I don’t care how old you are,” heading off that argument as if she had just recently heard it.

It was a viewpoint similar to those of the Feroxes, one put into play in Ferelden by Gaeaf. The Prince Consort didn’t care what race or sex or even class a person was, positions were given out based on a person’s abilities and loyalties. Going so far as to question if the intelligent but unspeaking mabari would want a role in the reshaping of Ferelden, Gaeaf jokingly threatened to make one an arl just to shake things up. Horsie certainly would be smart enough to be an arl quite easily and one of the Lightnings could read - truly, who knew the depths of intelligence they had?

Giving Nune another kiss and a hug, Freya moved back to take shelter in the cloak and to slip cold fingers under his tunic. “Zev, are you sleepin’ with me or am I sleepin’ with you? My room has a bath and a door that locks.”

Zevran pressed his lips to her temple, “Your room, querida.”

...

“And so it comes to this,” Zevran rolled a coin, flipping it between his knuckles and weaving it this way and that. “Ask your questions, voice your fears, as apparently anything my father said is not the same exact thing I would say,” rueful as he felt Eleanor watching him intently. “Bryce said that I had made Freya my creature, someone barely recognizable...”

“She is and she isn’t. Bryce is only seeing that his little girl is gone, who, despite letters and indications of growing up, stayed eight or nine years old. Something visually different has returned, in his mind, to try to take her place. It’s likely that he resents that he, and by extension the rest of us, couldn’t be there to see what led from one to the other. At her core, Freya is much the same. In this case, she knows what she wants and will try nearly everything to obtain her goal, which is why, I assume, I had the pleasure of speaking to your father first instead of yourself.” Eleanor’s hands were always busy in some task whether knitting, mending some household item, writing correspondence, or at this moment, replacing of the covers of a worn tome from the library with two thin sheets of wood, glue, thick thread, and leather.

“Watching a child grow is easy and hard,” Zevran passed her a smoothing stone to wear away any bumps that could potentially form between the layers. “Being absent is worse sometimes. My father was unable to be there for my upbringing and my eldest was in a similar situation. I had the benefit of not knowing who, or what, my father was. Ani was always told I was an uncle, a family friend, neither important nor worthless.” Before Eleanor could ask, “I outlived her, the rest have their own lives.” Sighing, “Having my father speak with you was my idea and truthfully? Mostly for his benefit.”

“Nune certainly seemed intent on presenting your credentials and assets as well as your potential prospects. And while I do admit that it is comforting to have those reassurances...for example, you mention that you have children, ones with their own lives, who, one would then assume, aren’t children, but adults in and of themselves.”

“I am a great deal older than I look, Eleanor,” he measured out tea and put a fresh pot on to steep. “If I told you everything, you would believe me quite mad. As it is, my father only knows part of it. Bryce knows more than he wishes he did. And Freya knows all of it. But yes, my children are all grown, all have their own lives. Freya will not outlive me, nor will I outlive her as the nature of it was binding to that point. This is my swan song, a burst of life to last until she no longer desires this life. People age and they get tired, Eleanor. And I am very tired. If it was not for Freya, I would not have bothered remaining. My duties were all done, my life lived to the utmost, but need calls to one like me, and there was no one else to fill it. So, I was called forth.”

Unlike with Bryce he could be more philosophical with Eleanor. She was a staunch Andrastian, believed firmly that the Maker provided to those with great need. The helpless and the strong, if their need was great enough, He would provide. She was quiet about it, but that was her belief and one he had observed in the relatively brief period of time he had spent in Highever. While his statements were cryptic, or at least not very specific, she listened to them thoughtfully.

Checking the pot to see the water had turned a lovely, deep brackish green, “You wish to know if I abandoned my family? I did not, the ravages of time and politics eventually claimed me, until Freya needed me. That need superseded my own need for rest.”

“Your father appears to be going strong and he mentioned no previous children. I would have thought that would be important.” Eleanor wiped away the excess glue, the heavy beeswaxed paper between the front and back covers and the inner pages, keeping the glue from the rest of the book so that the pages did not become stuck together. Looking up at him even has her hands continued in the task, “You really believe that you were there to find her? Why?”

Lips twitching, “Both of those are amongst the items that would make me sound rather lunatic, my dear. Of course if you spoke to Bryce he would acknowledge that the things I have imparted to him before, as crazed as they sounded, were just as true.” Stirring a bit of sugar and cream into Eleanor’s tea and taking his own plain, “It all depends on how much of your faith you wish to have pressed.”

Eleanor laughed with disbelief, and yet knowing what Bryce had apparently shared, acknowledged the truth of the matter. Placing another waxed sheet over the top and bottom covers, she took a roll of bandages and, after ensuring that the spine and hinges were properly aligned, wound it tightly around the book to hold everything in place while it dried. “Well then - out with it and test my faith,” wiping her hands.

“This is not my native Thedas,” he shrugged. “There are more than one, more than one set of Couslands, Howes, Blights... Sometimes you do not have Freya, but another son. Sometimes they are different people, who walk different paths, yes? Like mirrors...endlessly repeating on and on without end ever to be seen. But some of these Thedases...are closer to each other. So much so, that it is duplicates of the same person, taking different actions. Like identical twins but slightly off-kilter personalities. One of those places is where I come from. Is Nune my father? Oh yes, without a doubt, his blood flows through my veins. But is this Nune the man who sired me? No. Is Freya very much the same as the child of yours that I knew? She is, and is not, them. I knew two personally, a third by secondhand... Eleanor...for all of them, you died. Bryce died. Oren died. Oriana. Rory. Nathaniel was in the Free Marches after having finally been driven away. The world burned. But...eventually...recovered. My own native Thedas was...complicated. I have lived a very, very long time. And I loved your children deeply beyond death and into the strange vastness. And so I am tired, as I have done all the other tasks, lived all the other joys, that were set before me.”

As he spoke she stacked other large books in need of repair on the one she had just completed, pressing everything together under the heavy weight, “What were these other children’s names?” Sitting, she gave her full attention, uncharacteristically nothing in her hands other than the teacup.

“Ferox A Cousland - ‘A’ was a placeholder, but...some weaponsmaster said ‘Algere’ as an insult due to the chilly nature of their tempers,” eyes closing as he thought about what to say. “Because there were three...well...four... Feroxes, we had to come up with different ‘names’ for them. The first Ferox - the one who died first - we call Gaeaf - Winter...he was...ruined by combined events. First the long and old damage of the box, then the night of Howe’s betrayal, watching Highever burn. Being forced to become a Warden. His entire family - dead, or so he thought, as it took years to find out that Fergus survived. Slogging through the constant hell of the Blight. Marrying Anora...years upon years of grinding produced a man that... That was not my Ferox. Thankfully. I would not have had the patience - in rather short order I would have brained him and hauled him off to a controlled environment so whatever the bloody hell was wrong with him could be fixed before I would be forced to kill him just to make things easier. A complete ass, however, a well intentioned one who wound up as Ferelden’s monarch. With an entire bevy of children. His eldest was Calenhad - his Zevran named the boy ‘Len’ which was short for da’len. Small one.” Sipping his tea, “But that was Gaeaf’s personality, not what he looked like. What they all looked like. Broad shouldered, long, mahogany curly hair. Strong jaw. Sometimes it is...difficult being around Bryce, some of the mannerisms. The growl, the heel of palm to the eye socket... A particular carriage of shoulders...”

Zevran set his teacup down, shifting it back and forth on the table. “Then there was Twadd - Melted, as his winter did end. My Ferox. My lovely Ferox. My husband. My friend. My lover.” Strong arms bolstered him as he leaned back in the chair, blinking rapidly. “He was the happiest one apparently. The same things happened to him. Box, Highever, Warden, Blight. But then we turned away from everything once Urthemiel was slain atop Fort Drakon, going to Antiva. There we lived happily, ignoring the invasion of the Qun’ari. Ferelden had already demanded everything of us and and taken all we had - they had enough people, that if they worked together, there would have been little issue. But no, they were too...ugh. Ferelden. Independent. Cut off the nose to spite the face. Pride and greed and ‘propriety’. And so - our Ferelden fell. We did what we could for awhile, but I waited until his death before taking a truly active role. It took a...it took centuries to remove the Qun’ari. By then Cyni - Anguish, because that is what comprises his core - had been found and I brought him to me. For healing and out of need. In the end between all three of them you likely have something upwards of twenty grandchildren.” Zevran went to his cloak, fishing out a slim sketchbook that he had been known to doodle in time to time. Finding one of the least risque pieces, he showed Eleanor his gorgeous Ferox. “This was my Twadd.” With a neatly trimmed nail he traced those handsome features, “There is something in being a Warden that can be...utilized...by someone with certain skills. When he died, he joined with me. That sounds insane, hmn? If you are curious later, we would need Freya’s assistance, as while it is my strength the communication would flow upon, it is her Taint that would be the road travelled.”

“I don’t understand what you are proposing,” absently Eleanor murmured as she stared at the drawing with wonder. Obviously she was seeing herself and Bryce and other relatives in it, but what she revealed was surprising. “This face is my brother - Feroz. He had died in the retaking of Highever from the Orlesians...victorious and successful, just as his name’s meaning. Bryce and I had discussed what to name the child if it were male and decided to honour Feroz’s sacrifice.”

“He never told me that.” Raising a brow, but he sensed that not even his husband had known. “I am offering to let you speak with him, the son you had in another Thedas,” he said gently. “Just as Nune is my father, you are also Twadd and Cyni’s mother. Cyni is...reclusive and likely not desirous of speaking with you, I am afraid.” Stopping her before she searched through the book, “Ah...you may not wish to do that, my dear. Not all of the drawings are...ah...what a mother should see her son doing. And I am getting a glower for that...something about drawing compromising things for posterity - honestly, this book is supposed to be for my eyes only... Not that Freya has not stolen peeks but that is different.”

A twitch of a cheek as if she would smile, but like Cyni, it did not appear. “These three boys that are mine, but not mine...ones that except for the nose and mannerisms are like Fergus and my brother... You truly loved...love them.” Gesturing to the closed book and the page she had glimpsed, “Well, Zevran, it appears that you didn’t lie about liking men.”

“My actual preference is women, if that is any comfort, but I was born in a brothel, raised as a Crow - we had to be...flexible in more than body,” shrugging. “I love them with every fibre of my being, male or female. And while it is likely that it is an unhealthy devotion as it is so extreme, it is what made life worth...anything. One of the things that was secretly wished for so badly was that I got there in time to save them from the box and its damage. One of Twadd’s was that a Thedas dealt with the brewing troubles that come in the next few centuries be taken care of with minimal fuss. So that ‘everyone’ can be ‘happy’. Freya’s need called out to that. A cry across distance that is not distance, while I was on the verge of death. And so here I arrived rather than whatever passes for an afterlife. Now let me tell you, I was positively chagrined to say the least.”

All of it impossible, yet time and time again proof was given in some format, an event, a name, the existence of a previously unknown person and now this, one that came from her, an unexpected gift of the history attached to the names of his beloveds. Eleanor knew it too. The face and the realization that these were loved long after their deaths, fulfilled whatever remaining requirements she believed he had yet to meet prior to this conversation.

“After rescuing Freya, you stayed then to deal with this Blight, the Qunari... Even though you didn’t want to?” Wonderingly, “Why?”

“I stayed because she needed me,” he smoothed his palm over the book then touched the earring. “I stayed because... At the time... It had appeared that the cost of sending me here was two souls. Twadd and Cyni’s. Her need, their sacrifice...” Rubbing his temples, masking the way his eyes watered with his palm, “I have spent all but the first fifty some years of my life attached and feeling Twadd’s presence. And when we found Cyni, his also. Then suddenly...gone. Torn away from me. I spent more than a year with the only thing keeping me remotely sane being Freya. You cannot comprehend how much it hurt, no matter how deeply you love Bryce, you do not feel him inside your mind, body, heart constantly, his existence is not intrinsic to your being in the same way. Ferox was my life in all things, they sustain me in all things. My Maker if you will. To save Freya and then do what? Go off to die? Abandon her? Let Twadd and Cyni’s sacrifice go to waste so that she has to carry everything on her own?”

Her brow furrowed, “Which is why you did everything to make her happy and to give her comfort...and it also explains the sorrow you seemed to carry then. You wouldn’t have shared that with a child, however. When did all of this change? You said that you thought they were sacrificed.”

“Of course not, though she did ask me once why I was sad, and I said that I missed my family,” Zevran said easily. “I would not lie to her - if a child is asking a question, then they deserve some form of factual reply. Put and edited in a way that they can safely understand without trauma.” He pressed his hand to the necklace with its amulet and the soulgem, “We should have gone to Antiva sooner. But Twadd and Cyni were able to find their way back to me - Antiva and its keys were necessary to guide their steps on the path. If it had been sooner, they would have been able to teach Freya.” Unfastening the cloth toggles on his tunic enough for the amulet and gem to be seen, “There are many failings I have - being a sentimental fool is one of them. To think that they had sent me here at the cost of their souls, outfitted me far more finely than was strictly necessary... To know that I was that loved and would never have them again... I could not bear to go through most of the gear I had arrived with. If I had, then I would have found Cyni’s key and Twadd’s instructions. But I was a coward and it cost us. None of this is truly...no, it is important, but it is not necessary for it to be...known. Those who need to know, already do.”

Eleanor was gentle, “Your reasons and explanations are more than acceptable, Zevran. It’s important to know that Feroz...that these Feroxes returned the love and care that you gave them. What you have already given, the same will be shared with Freya and no doubt my girl will return the same. Now, you let me handle Bryce, I know he is resigned to this, but for his daughter’s sake he can do much better.”

Sheepish, “I might have been a touch...harsh and quite ready to kill him when Freya openly manifested...so, his resignation is likely to be entirely based on the fact that Freya’s been claimed by a madman...”

“Considering there are few mages in the family lines and most of the those who were, lived ages ago... Chasinds, I admit his surprise and fear was understandable.”

“He had planned on locking her in a box,” Zevran said evenly. “And there was no way I was going to allow that to happen.”

“And you found a solution he could not see. Rogue mages don’t do terribly well in Ferelden. Those discovered, either meet a bad end or are drug off to the closest Circle. Surely you know this and can understand why Bryce believed that choosing where she went was the only reasonable option available. Even given the limit of his experience, he tried his best.” Eleanor made a familiar gesture indicating unimportance, “But that argument has already been had and for the moment, your answer appears to have worked. For which both of us are very grateful, whether Freya has been changed or not.” Looking at his hands resting on the book, “I’d like to take some time like to consider your offer of speaking to this Ferox called Twadd.”

Going in further, he brushed a kiss over his husband’s mouth, ’You seek to give me much, amora. Let me give you your mother.’ He nodded, “Freya will have to be present, but then I can open the link - but we have time yet. By the time we return from Soldier’s Peak, then you will have to decide.”

…

He woke up quite early and most unusually. It was normal for Freya to be taking advantage of a rising morning erection and to have already pounced on him, something he laid squarely on the shoulders of Cyni and Twadd, especially because he didn’t wake until the first eruption shook him. Based on sensation alone, he would say they had been encouraging her to experiment. Freya’s tongue was rolling over and around his length, lapping at the first of what could be many pulsing waves. However, it was those sneaky fingers that were really getting his attention this morning. Coated in oil, one finger was already curled in him searching for a hard cluster of nerves and as she found it a curse escaped his lips. A few moments later, apparently having had it translated by an excessively helpful spirit man, she snickered even though her mouth was full. As a second and then a third finger was added, Twadd stretched lazily, ’I vote we keep her,’ before giving him the sensation and memory of pressing against him and filling him with deep thrusts coordinated with Freya’s curling and twisting hand. He would guess that his husband did something to his girl because she yelped and the sound traveled down to the root of his co*ck and as Twadd struck deep within him, he groaned again, filling her mouth a second time.

They were to begin the ride to Soldier’s Peak that day - apparently they wanted him to feel every jostling bounce.

Jodeme indeed.

As the sun rose and the castle’s inhabitants did too, Cyni arrived with the full force of what Twadd would call a ‘taku’. The t’aakh were strong forceful winds that blew down from the mountains in the spring or fall. In their wake they left behind trees knocked down in the rain bogged soil, their roots ripped from the ground, exposing their starburst shaped undersides. When neither Twadd nor Freya paid any attention, Cyni, muttering about rabbits and Wardens, a song that was children’s nursery rhyme and the smell of wet dog, threw the lever in his mind and reached through the amulet to do the same to his girl.

Jerking as he panted, cradling his crying, spasming, and writhing girl, Zevran rumbled - somewhere between warning and amusem*nt, ’Cyni...’ It was an underhanded move, but apparently the spirit man really wanted their attention.

Cyni waited a moment or two for the tumult to die down before rumbling back, ’Desire. Find your amulet, the Alistair Demon arrived late. He should fill out the party.’ It was noted that Cyni did not speak with Freya, although his communication was open to both him and Twadd.

Groaning, ’Yes Dear. Whatever you say Dear...’ Zevran grumbled as he sought to cover his upset, ’Only shows up when he has something to say, never to...ah...nevermind...’

’What is it you wish of me?’ If his boy were standing in front of him, he’d be scratching his head. ’Your arms appear to be full.’

Mentally Zevran grabbed his grouchy and standoffish Ferox, holding him close, ’Just because the arms of my body are full, does not ever, under any circ*mstance, mean that the arms of my heart and mind are full. Do not be foolish, my sweet boy. You are wanted, loved, and just because your flesh is not here, does not mean I want any less of you in my life.’

Unyielding and stance stiff, ’You believe that I am displeased? Or that I think myself unwanted?’

’I do not know what you think, Cyni,’ cleaning himself and Freya up as he lay his head on his boy’s shoulder. ’I am only left guessing and uncertain, missing your presence more often than not.’

’Ah.’ Shifting, the tension that wound his boy like a crossbow ready to fire, dispersed and Cyni hugged him back. ’Everything I do, I do for Desire. My notes are in your Song, just as theirs are,’ giving a mental gesture that encompassed Twadd and Freya.

Bringing him down for a kiss, ’Yes, but that does not mean that I do not miss you fiercely whenever you are not near...’

’I am always with you, Desire. I have not left your side.’ A quick search indicated that Cyni believed that what he was saying was true. There was something his boy was not telling him, perhaps because he couldn’t, did not know was important, or believed he had already said - it was difficult to tell which in the howling wind.

Muffling his pain as his boy was clearly distracted, Zevran instead sent a blaze of love towards him. ’As you say, querido.’

Melting further, Cyni found grounding in another kiss easing the dirt laden wind somewhat. ’It is, but you cannot see it.’

’Shh, it...I believe you, amora. It is just difficult,’ holding him tightly. ’I miss the sound of you, the feel of you, I miss you.’

An edge of frustration rose, ’I do not see how I can give more. I have done all you have asked and I continue to do what you have set before me. I say again, I have not left.’

Frowning, ’Amora, the only thing I have asked of you is to remain with me. You have done many things for me that I did not ask for... The shoe is on the other foot apparently. Cyni, I find no fault, please, hamin, I apologize, forgive me for my deficiencies and lack of understanding.’

His boy’s mind was still whole, or as complete as it ever had been, no new cracks, no debris of crumbled memories. Cyni was tired. There was a feeling of overextending of resources, of pushing himself and working without rest and expecting none.

’Cyni, tell me what I can do to help,‘ voice soft, brushing fingers over his face. ’Let me share your burdens.’

Eyes closing at the touch, a tremor ran through the mental form, ’You have your own and can take no more, Desire. Do not ask this of me, please. I could not take your breaking again.’ Cyni sought a way out of the request, ’Go, see to your tasks and I will care for what you have given me.’

Concentrating, Zevran pulled on his will, then held it up and out to Cyni, letting it fill him, bolstering him with the force of his need-want-love-adoration-acceptance. ’Shh, I love you, amora. If you will not let me share the burden, then at least, let me give you this.’

It was a strange conversation, one that made little sense. Cyni did leave, regularly, yet was adamant that he had not. Offering to share whatever burden his boy was carrying led to trembling, an indication of fear, as well as usage of the word ‘please’, Cyni’s way of begging. Zevran knew he had not broken. Yes, Zevran had experienced utter despair when it appeared he had been left behind by his loves without hope of reunion, but the spirit man had not been there to know it. Was it simply a saved memory from Haf’cath when he thought he had lost Gaeaf, or the healer’s despair over the loss of her own Enansal? No, Cyni did not take the time to read unless he wanted something specific and it was unlikely Twadd had shared those memories. Was the former ga’ni seeing something yet to come?

Sighing, Zevran could only guess, so instead imparted as much strength as he could to his sweet boy, ’I am yours, ‘till the end of time and beyond, precioso. No matter what, hmn? You are mine, I am yours, and that is that. We take care of what is ours.’

When he returned his full attention to what was physically present, Freya was dressing and chattering at him about nothing important and nothing that required a response. Unlike Twadd, Cyni and his riddles required more concentrated attention. Zamitie had said that he would wander, leaving his girl behind, and so she was learning to cover for his infrequent ‘absences’.

Leaning against him, Freya tugged on a long sock and twisted to kiss him, “You’re not happy, despite your Cyni’s...” She searched for a word to describe what had been done, “Gift.”

“He is being particularly cryptic,” Zevran shrugged, already half-dressed, his body knew what to do, even if he couldn’t participate in outward thinking sometimes. “He came to me so that we could remain together...rather he wanders off and only visits when he has something of import to say instead of actually being with me.” Shaking his head, “Ah, that sounds quite selfish, does it not? He is tired, overworked on something, and he will not let me share. I do not know what he is doing precisely and so feel abandoned... It is...disconcerting.”

’Disconcerting? That boy’s off his rocker, Love.’ Twadd was storing what had been said so they could continue to search for clues as to what was wrong with Cyni.

Knowing that Freya could hear him just as well, he shook his head, ’I prefer to give him the benefit of the doubt, mi hermoso corizon. He is overworked somehow, this much is obvious.’ Quieting the thought for Twadd alone, ’I am worried that he might be draining himself to keep me here.’

’It’s possible, Love, but wouldn’t he have to be here to do that? Not that I understand much of what he does...’

’How would I know? I am no more informed than you,’ Zevran smiled for both of them. “Ah, now, it is time to be disconcerting and blast Alistair for being late.”

’And just late enough so we don’t have time for him to take the Joining before we leave. Thankfully that was completed with Nathaniel and Freya beforehand.’

Making a face, ’Avernus can oversee Alistair’s Joining. That will make things much easier... I will offer the mage a bit of my blood to study, perhaps some of Horsie’s would be in order, pre- and post exposure to the darkspawn - gifts to ensure Avernus cooperates.’

’You forget, Love, unless we find some darkspawn the way, Alistair’ll get take the Joining at Ostagar!’ Twadd snickered as if he would finally get revenge. ’And, I won’t catch him when he falls and cracks his head on the stone floor of the old temple.’

...

Experiencing deja vu with Twadd upon exiting the underground tunnels through the mountains, they looked up at Soldier’s Peak. The Keep looked much like it had after they left it having spent a companionable...no, his husband rumbled reminding him it had been a delightful winter there. Much like Haf’cath and Gaeaf, they had rested at the Peak, preparing for the Landsmeet and the endgame that followed. Twadd had already gathered all their combined knowledge, spread out their joint memories so that everything they needed would be at their fingertips. Of course a few were not ‘needed’ but definitely necessary for bolstering...spirits.

Twadd called out the potential targets as they readied to enter each new area. ’Arcane floating mage thing at the fire on the left - careful of a nasty fireball, two or three fire demons rise out of the floor nearby. Possibility of skeletons on the right...’ The information was passed on quietly to those who could not hear the former Warden’s voice, then assignments were made.

Made to feel important, Alistair was assigned to lock down the ‘dangerous spell casting entities’, as if he were the only one who could do this thing. It was difficult to juggle multiple targets, as he would drain a mage then turn to shout at and draw the attention of something large that shouldn’t get past him to those more lightly armoured. Twadd passed on encouragement and direction through Zevran when something got by the fairly inexperienced warrior. Later there would be questions, after Alistair took the Joining, as to who was talking, an ‘abomination’ issue that would be put off to another day.

Nathaniel at least just took Zevran at face value, always knowing he was fey, too well informed. But he trusted Nune who was his commander, he trusted Freya, and he trusted Zevran himself - the one who had furthered his training, who had been the one to actually give him autonomy, choices, and hope. Alistair on the other hand only saw Zevran as some strange bodyguard that he had heard ‘stories’ about. A strange elf who had not only replenished the Cousland coffers, taking them from being well-off Fereldens, to being truly well-off on the continental stage, inspiring trade, invention, finding mines, and all manner of things, before suddenly whisking off Freya to foreign lands for years upon years, with nothing more than letters to tell of how she was doing. No visits, nothing. And all without warning. The frequent touching between Zevran and Freya also made those eyebrows rise. It certainly made for interesting gossip and unanswered questions, especially if one was young, bumbling, and prone to blurt out whatever came to mind.

Other than the uncontrolled battlefield of the courtyard, inside the keep it was easier to contain foes one room at a time. Freya wondered aloud if skeletons couldn’t open doors, Twadd and Zevran knew that wasn’t true, remembering Redcliffe. Perhaps it was because these undead had been so long undead that they did not remember how to do simple tasks, while those at Redcliffe were...fresh? Perhaps remains of muscle left on the hand?

“It seems likely, querida,” as he wiped ichor from his blade. “Or perhaps it is some attachment of the spirit to the body. They have worn away, the connections lost, the memory of being a ‘self’ lost...?” Rolling over a ragged pile of bone, Zevran sifted through the dust, picking up a few fragments of gold and a lightningrock, “Part of the danger of continuous solitude is that there is no one to say your name, remind you of ‘self’ and place and memory... Until what came before is naught but a dream...”

Twadd looked at him sharply and a private thought was had, ’Zevran? I might entertain such thoughts, but that is hardly you. As for Cyni, he is himself - believing what he does because there is no other choice for him.’

’And I worry over him,’ tucking away the rescued items. ’And there is always a choice. It is just one he cannot accept and we have learned to cope.’

’Love, his inability to stay and to be healed is his own fault, not yours. Neither of us - ‘ Twadd remembered and included Freya, ’None of us shun or make him feel unwelcome. Cyni’s his own cat and contrary in nature. It is not this way because of some deficiency in any of us. The man was broken long before any of us met him, including the one who should have been his own.’

Thumbing through a ruined book, ’Broken or not, something is wrong, and I do not know how to help him.’

Climbing the stairs to the second floor, Twadd began to issue a warning about the upcoming revenant. Which of course Alistair had to have the uncommon sense to disturb before anyone was ready, and before Twadd had the opportunity to call out the other targets. Nune snarled past, a roar that grabbed attention before it became a teeth gnashing howl. Zevran’s father was armed with two short stone daggers and hadn’t bothered with much in the way of armour. As usual. Philosophically Zevran shrugged, glad that Zamitie and Freya had woven all the clothes they would be wearing for the Blight. Which were shot through with sigil after sigil, protecting against mold, cold, fire, and some damage - and since they knew how Nune was... His was triple layered with everything they could pour into it, plus the added reinforcement of spidersilk wherever possible.

While his father and the great mind of Alistair were busy rolling over the room’s occupants, Freya watched his back and healed. Zevran had other things to do, whipping out a relatively small battle hammer and fell upon one of the healing sigils which he promptly cracked with a hearty slam. A great scream rent the air as the unliving were impacted by the spiderweb of cracks. Protectively his ears curled inwards, trying to dampen the sound and his eyes watered, but he moved to the next, plowing through the undead and demonic manifestations, striking the next sigil. One after the other they were cracked, heavily damaged, and then he spun up to face the remaining foes.

Collaring Alistair for stupidity was tempting. But he wasn’t the leader, Freya was. However, his girl was looking to him as though she wasn’t really sure what to do, at least other than tending to their wounds and possibly adding a few more to Alistair. She was repairing a rather bad burn Nathaniel had been given by one of the Rage demons. As his arrow lit on fire before being loosed on the creature, the Warden had to close with it instead of using his usual ranged tactics. And his father was giving him that look that told him to clean up a mess as though he were the responsible one for making it.

Heaving a sigh, “Alistair, a word?”

Pulling off his helmet and watching the healing with more than a mild interest, the Warden recruit rubbed his face. “Um, certainly,” Alistair was anything but certain, having already figured out that somehow, someway, he had screwed up.

Taking him off to the side so it would have the illusion of privacy, “I am certain that you have been in small skirmishes and the like, but it is obvious that you have never fought in such close quarters. The rule of thumb is to touch nothing until everyone has a moment, unless you are utterly certain of what it was you are messing with. Otherwise - you get people hurt. Hmn? Understand?”

“No ser, I mean, yes ser.” Then remembering after the fact than he’d been told to call him Zevran, Alistair stumbled to fix that. “I mean, yes, Zevran.” Going further to explain, “Outside, not inside, fighting I mean.”

“You are an intelligent young man, Alistair, you have it in you to pay attention to details, but details are not truly what concern you. You are to lead the charge, hold the lines, yes? This is what you do and what you do well,” resting a hand on the massive shoulder. “Know and understand your surroundings, the details, but leave them to others unless you know you can deal with them best.”

’You don’t wish to stumble into a trap before your rogue has a chance to see and disarm it safely. Otherwise, you will be the one caught in it and of no use to anyone,’ reminded Twadd.

Imparting Twadd’s further, mellow advice, “This was a trap and it is much better to let the rogues deal with traps rather than for you to become stuck in them. As entertaining as it would be for shrill ‘girly’ yelling about wolf and bear traps, it does not serve much purpose when every arm is needed, yes?”

Much care was taken checking Nathaniel’s hands and eyes as injury to either would limit his effectiveness as an archer. With a tightness, unfamiliar on Freya features, one common to the Feroxes however, she released Nathaniel to restring his bow and turned to Nune. The old elf’s hide was tough and little got through that wasn’t minor.

As Twadd and he briefed on what was coming, especially noting the tight entry point, Freya’s hands ran over him, finding him nearly whole. She waited until Alistair had heard every word and had received his instructions to go through the door and do not stop in the doorway, before checking him for hidden wounds. Freya treated the recruit much like Twadd did Cyni in allowing him to concentrate on what was important before a necessary distraction took place.

The demon which inhabited Sophia Dryden was as conversational as always, trying to work a deal to be released from the grounds of the keep, to which they refused. Thankfully because they knew that the skeletons would get up, they were unsurprised. The demon seemed particularly interested in their healer however, and Alistair had a hard time keeping the one time Sophia’s attention. Levi was interested in his great-great grandmother’s journal and flipped through the pages as Zevran talked Nathaniel through the lock on the chest. The armour worn by the undead Warden, as it had been time and time again, was pronounced very nice and was left by the steps to pick up on the way out. Zevran knew that Mikhael Dryden would, as always, clean it up and return it to its former spit and polish.

Soldier’s Peak was proving a good training grounds for Horsie, Freya, Nathaniel and Alistair. For now, he and Nune were their safety net, but very soon those four would be operating without one for a short time.

Quietly Twadd warned him, ’Traps on the bridge. Wanna see if Alistair remembered the message? Or if Nathaniel spots them? Might want to warn Nune though.’

Glissandoing in elvish, Zevran waited and got a nod, Freya of course understood but gave no indication. The skeleton archers across the bridge began to fire after the heavy outer door swung closed behind them. After centuries, the undead had already adjusted to the bitter crossing, that swept over the causeway to Avernus’ tower, their aim uncanny. Freya threw up a personal shield, tight to her body, not a sphere that would hold a sign over her head screaming that she was a mage. Alistair, on cue, stepped that one fatal step forward and both the snap and Nathaniel’s voice calling for the bumbling warrior to stop were heard.

Twadd muttered, ’Oh yes, that hurt. Well, maybe the message’ll stick this time?’

Instructing Horse to hold, Freya surprisingly drew her bow and directed Alistair to do the same with the crossbow they had picked up in the courtyard. If the fool was going to have to stand in one place, he might a well be useful...or a target. Certainly arrows were less effective on skeletons than a blade, but it was an opportunity to figure out what was available and use that.

Using Alistair’s armoured leg as a shield, Nathaniel opened the sharp claw traps, pulling the teeth from a gap between the boot and a neat hole punched through the armour of the warrior’s bleeding calf. Warning before Alistair continued across the bridge, Nate growled, “There are more, don’t move.” Unfortunately with Nathaniel setting off the traps, their best archer was out of the fight. However, as Alistair continued taunt and insult the undead Wardens, something that even the dead were not immune to, the rogue was able to attend to something only he could do.

His and Nune’s trainees, even though Alistair had volunteered to be a human trap detector, had pulled something from the situation. Nathaniel had spotted the traps and had gone to work immediately, already knowing his role. Freya told Alistair what to do, the first step in establishing leadership, and the Chantry boy had listened. Although Horsie might regularly mind, in this case if he hadn’t done as instructed, he could have been the next one in the traps. With the spark of teamwork lit, both he and Nune easily avoided the disguised traps, making short work of the remaining undead. Freya, scaring Alistair further, had the rogues check the teeth of the trap for poison, and a fuss was made over the wound. Through the amulet, however, she was snickering.

After they dealt with the waiting ambush in the alcove, Cyni stalked into his mind. The growling snarling rabid mabari sounds had not been heard in some time. Picturing the heavy green vial, ’Stop me from drinking that. I don’t need it and it makes the Taint worse - everything The Zama has tried to stop.’

Reaching out, he lay a hand over Freya’s as they read the book, “Not this, querida. You have enough abilities, this will do you no good. Not in its current formulation.”

Lifting his hand from the pages, ’You know of this already,’ not a question.

Taking the time to rest his cheek against hers, ’Yes. Its properties are helpful if one undertook the old Joining recipe, hmn? But we have seen to you, it will not help, only cause harm. Perhaps if the old man fixes it to mesh better... But there was great pain upon ingesting it, amora. Great pain.’

’The last is a silly reason, Zev. The other arguments work better,’ with amusem*nt she critiqued his technique.

’Yes but your pain harms me,’ he pointed out reasonably. ’When you hurt, I hurt. Especially if it is over something of little use.’

Freya teased, ’And it messes up what’s already been done. I heard you the oh, first million times.’ Turning serious with another press of lips to his cheek, ’But wouldn’t it be helpful to take it and give it to a Warden who got the old recipe? Maybe if you know of a Warden that might need it? One that’ll be particularly helpful?’

’None that will survive for very long,’ sighing - he may know much, but he wasn’t infallible.

’But what ‘bout the ones we brought with us?’

’Again - they were older Wardens already,’ Zevran went over the list in his head. ’None of them expect to last beyond this Blight, preciosa. That is why they were chosen and why they volunteered. Now, if there was enough to pass around to all of the ones that came with us? Then it would make sense.’

’There’s only one dose? Well, keep it in reserve - wherever you think is safe. Maybe you’ve changed so much stuff that you won’t be able ta’ see everything as clearly as you did before,’ Freya pointed out just as persuasively.

Chuckling as he winked, “If there is one thing I know about people, querida, it is that they are disgustingly easy to manipulate as they are even more predictable. An experiment then. I will tell you everything that will be said, before it is said.”

Cyni continued to stalk the halls of his mind on alert. If he had been a mabari, his fur would have been raised and the ruff of his neck standing on end. Cyni did not trust Avernus, and although he was hardly accompanied by other noises, his snarling and growling more than made up for it. Unlike Cyni, Twadd was quiet, but no less alert and vigilant. Avernus could be helpful in the furthering of the research the little healer, her Avernus and Gaeaf’s Avernus had been doing in creating a Joining potion that was more tailored to the individual drinker. This had greatly improved survivability at the Joining ceremony as well as the length of a Warden’s life. As the other Avernus’ were long dead, this was likely to be the last one they would have contact with, their last chance to improve the longevity of new Wardens. Haf’cath and Dulsanaya were eagerly looking forward to testing any additional helpful information.

Avernus had been dry and crotchety as always, predictable as an oft read book. Zevran made a show of not looking at the ancient - by Warden standards - mage, speaking the words into Freya’s mind just as he knew Avernus would open his mouth and say them. While he got everything ‘right’, it didn’t mean that everything could go according to plan consistently. Yes, he had changed much that would happen, but it was the players and timing, not how they would be. People were people and all of them were appallingly predictable. As he was himself and he knew it. All he wanted out of life was something to do, a family to enjoy it, someone to love him and love unto the end, and he was good. He was a very simple man with very complex trappings.

At first, she enjoyed his mockery, but as it continued Freya grew quiet, her merriment fading into discomfort.

Finally Avernus was about to come to the Cousland schtick and he couldn’t help it, “Yes, I know. The last time you saw the old Teyrn Cousland, he had an apple in his mouth and was brought out on a flaming platter at Arland’s request, next?”

Avernus stopped mid-sentence and stared at him, “I beg your pardon?”

“You were about to bore me to tears, Avernus,” Zevran paced, stretching. “We have the tears in the Veil to deal with, the possessed corpse downstairs - unless you are hiding a fresh pot of cafe con leche and a pile of churros as tall as I am, let us skip this happy conversation and get to the fighting, else this old man will fall down for a nap as it would be more interesting than your prattle, hmm? There is a Blight on the horizon, civil war, and people to kill. Let us get to the important matters.”

“Young man - “

He waved a hand, “Know who you are talking to before you accuse me of being young, Avernus. Now do not get balky on me, I do so hate it when you get balky, rather like a fractious mule in need of a swift kick.” Everyone was staring at him, Alistair with supreme discomfort and Nathaniel with a hefty dose of amusem*nt as his fellow rogue was used to his outbreaks of irritation. Nune was thoughtful and Freya was...sad. Huffing, “Now, I understand it has been well over an Age since you last had people to talk to rather than demons you have summoned to fetch things, or shout imprecations at the demon downstairs, but can we please get a move on? I am in dire need of a bath and a nap.”

After Sophia’s corpse was dealt with along with the tears, Zevran pressed upon Avernus to blast a hole in a wall near the barracks and muggy heat broke through, making him sigh in relief. The old Warden was agape, as were the others, as he happily fashioned a lantern from a few firerocks and led the way into the inner hotsprings. Undressing quickly, he jumped in with a whoop, hot water splashing up in the air.

Head breaking the surface, “What? No I have not grown another head. For pity’s sake, the water is fine and we are all filthy.”

’You should get bored more often,’ Twadd rumbled. ’But it might upset the natives, especially because you didn’t even pretend to look for what you knew was already here.’

Diving down to pick up some of the gravelly sand, Zevran scrubbed at the sticky plasma or whatever disgusting foul gunk from his skin the undead had leaked all over, ’I should not do it often, people do not like to think they are...so easy.’

’Easily manipulated you mean. You did warn them about Avernus and his overwhelming desire for more test subjects?’

’Of course,’ sliding a glance at the others. ’It is why I offered some of my blood and asked Horsie if he would be willing to share a bit of his as well. Nune is on offer for another time.’

Horse respectfully declined the b-a-t-h and instead guarded the door, but the others joined him, slipping in the hot water. Nune was first as he had little to remove and Nathaniel second because his fingers were nimble and quick. Alistair and Freya were delayed as they helped each other remove the heavy armour pieces. Zevran watched the young warrior blush furiously when she stripped down, hopping into the pool easily, unselfconscious, as she had become used to Antivans and their ways. Nathaniel was similar - after awhile, a body is just a body, clothed or unclothed. Not that that stopped Zevran from taking in the beautiful view she presented, her promised curves having filled out generously without being encumbering, that strange balance between round in all the right places, tight and toned musculature covered by a softening layer of fat, leaving Freya breathtaking. As soon as she was near enough, he looped an arm around her waist, pulling her in tight just to feel his woman, giving her the shelter of his arms.

Humming contentedly he tasted her plush lips without intent, ’You move so beautifully, amora.’

Freya pulled the tie from her hair, winding it round her wrist, and began to finger out the flat braid, ’I have an excellent instructor, or so I have been told.’

’Excellent instructor or no, it does not change your natural grace,’ letting his lids slide mostly closed, his cheek pressed to hers as he opened their link up, allowing the contentment her presence brought him flow over to her.

’None of the others have been clumsy? Tripping over their own feet? Stompin’ in the corridors? Creaking down the stairs?’ There was no real curiosity in the questions. The tone was similar to the light banter she used when Cyni stormed in to perplex him.

Thinking about it, ’A certain ponderous grace in some cases. And there was much creaking of joints as they aged, yes. But never the sort of...clumsiness of the Chantry boy. As nimble a fighter as he is, he is not graceful outside of that. Twadd moved slowly, carefully, and Cyni glided or slinked. You flow, hmn? Different bodies, different talents, different individuals.’

The untangling of her thick locks complete, ’Mabari pups grow into their lanky legs a’ventually.’

Freya twisted in his arms and after dunking her head, leaned back against his chest looking at Horse who wiggled thick eyebrows at him worriedly.

The hound knew all was not peaches and ice cream, and like the hound, Zevran couldn’t say why.

…

Warmth continued to rise into the barracks and the front room of the keep. After the soak they started on a hot meal over a real fire, as one kept lit by the fire of the Rage demons was extinguished shortly after their deaths, and cared for blades, salvaged arrows, removed and cleaned remains of demons from armour. Zevran’s experience told him that nothing would attack them and in their joint memories, the Drydens hadn’t mentioned any trouble with spirits afterwards either, but burning the dust and bones of the skeletal remains was wise in case a sneaky spirit wished to make itself difficult. After a quick cleanup of the barracks, as the cold springtime evening came upon them, they rolled into bunks and the four-legged guard slept at the door.

Granted, they were in close quarters without even the illusion of privacy, but as Freya snuggled in the thick furs of their bedding, using his arm as a pillow, she did not press her cold toes to him. All evening she had been unusually quiet and did not ask questions to give each one of them a feeling of importance of being able to share their knowledge or start a conversation where they each could have input. She appeared to be preoccupied. Although she didn’t pull away or avoid contact from him, it wasn’t until after she fell asleep that she initiated contact, finally curling into him, throwing a legging clad thigh over his, He didn’t know why she had grown sad, but her body was drawn to him unable to continue to deny itself of his warmth.

That said, he didn’t receive his usual morning pouncing or even sneaky fingers following ink and teasing him. Instead when he woke he was greeted by a grumbling Twadd. ’Freya told me to ‘put my headie down and go back to sleep’, just like she’d talk to Horse.’

His girl, having slipped from bed, was helping Nune make breakfast. The scent and signs of Cyni was all over his mind seemingly to confirm that Avernus hadn’t done anything to him, but the spirit man was not currently present either.

Frowning as he pulled on the now dry tunic from yesterday, ’I will have to do something about this...unfortunately...now is not a convenient time... And yet, when is it ever a convenient time?’

’Cyni flew off shortly before you woke, Love. Considering how well his own experiences went here, no doubt Sophia Dryden and Avernus only confirmed Cyni’s belief that everyone was a demon.’ Twadd caught him up on his boy’s activities. ’I thought yesterday went well though. Alistair realized he wasn’t fighting mano el mano and had to actually think of others. Of course, Nathaniel’s skills already include being very aware of others, as shootin’ an arrow inta friendly wouldn’t do much for one’s popularity.’

’As had I. Everything went well, yet Freya is...unhappy,’ he rose and put away their bedding, checking their gear as he did so. ’While everything else went splendidly, somehow a misstep was taken and upset her.’

’Ah,’ Twadd looked back at yesterday, ’After the conversation with Avernus, she did seem out of sorts. Although she seemed fine in the bath, just - ‘ making a leap, ’ - like Cyni used to retreat inwards. I suppose it’s better than her having a tantrum and throwin’ things, or Gaeaf and my need for a walk.’

He agreed - now was not the time to go for a walk alone, not when distracted as she clearly was. Inwards was better than that. Yet he knew she needed something from him, he just wasn’t sure what or how to give it.

While the others were waking up the rest of the way, Zevran squatted beside his girl, his voice soft, “Querida?”

“Yes, Zev?” Handing him a steaming mug of coffee she had just poured, Freya met his gaze briefly before beginning to make a second mug for herself.

“Please, would you walk with me for a bit?” testing, searching, wary.

After receiving a gesture that Nune had breakfast under control and giving away his untasted coffee, “Certainly. I’ll grab my cloak.” Freya had been given a heavy woolen one by Eleanor after they arrived at Highever, and had returned the great snowcat cloak to him but he still wanted her to have a nice fur lined one before winter.

Out in the snow covered courtyard, Zevran slid his arm around her waist, holding her close. “Something is obviously troubling you, amora. Talk to your Zevran...”

Curiously, “Why, Zev? You already know what you will hear.”

“No, I do not know what I will hear,” Zevran said slowly, vastly puzzled. “I know only what has happened before. While it is true I could...simply ‘barge in’ and read your mind, rifling through it like a book to find out what is wrong... No, that is not how I do things, not without permission. So, no, I do not know what you will say. I am no prophet or messiah, I do not have the ear of the Maker, or His voice whispering in my ear, telling me things. Only experience is at my beck and call.”

“Prophets predict the future and advocate a cause. You’ve done both of these things.” Freya did not accuse, but stated what she had observed. “But, you’re sayin’ you were experiencing a moment you had already experienced with the mage, or was readin’ his mind.”

“Those titles imply divine intervention, amora,” Zevran pointed out. Attempting mild levity, “While Twadd had a rather divine snore and made rather divine roast beast, and Cyni would test the patience of the Divine and had a voice that was beyond divine...that is the only ‘godly’ intervention that has been in our lives. Like you, I am just a mortal, I bleed, I die, I think, I piss, I get sick, I do stupid things, so on, so forth. It is just that I have lived all of this before. That does not make one a prophet or messiah, it only means I have already seen all the cards and who has what. But that is only part of winning in the game of chance - it is making them give up those cards that finishes it. The only real differences are ones I have enacted and yourself, the rest are rather minor.”

“So removing the hand of the divine, a seer or soothsayer then, they all predict the future,” shrugging in his arms. “Other words ta describe a similar thing.”

Rubbing his temples, “If that is how you wish to see it, I cannot stop you, much as I cannot dissuade Cyni from believing us all to be demons - it takes too much of my energy that could be better used serving you. Nonetheless, this does not tell me what is troubling you, nor does it tell me how to assist, mi amora.”

“Troubled.” Frowning, Freya gathered her thoughts. “You are here to stop the Blight - ”

“No, I am here for you - stopping the Blight is just...incidental. Having your family safe, sound, your homeland cared for - these things would make you happier than if you saw them all burn, amante,” Zevran was quite sure he was putting his foot in his mouth, but it was the truth. “Yes, I would like the Blight be put to rest quickly, to limit the casualties, and I would like to deal with the Qun’ari before they became too much of a problem, and I would like the Sixth Blight to be over and done with with as little fuss as possible also. These are all true, as I detest a sloppy job. And yet if you were not here, I would have no qualms about letting some other poor sods muddle through the way Twadd and I did, and as so many others have. I have done the running and salvaging of nations for far too long to be doing it all over again just because I can. Others have done the job, this Thedas would have survived, Horsie would have saved you, so on, so forth. But I could not abandon you... And Cyni and Twadd...knew I would have felt guilt and anguish for the entirety of whatever the next phase of life is - if there even is one - if I left you behind to carry all of this on your own. To spare me that and to spare themselves-yourself these things...they were willing to destroy themselves if it came to that, the last bits of self, use it for fuel to bring me here, to see that what was dearest to my heart, safe.”

Beginning again, “You are here to save me then, somebody you didn’t know, but was similar to those you did. An’ having me happy rather than sad, which they must have been, is a goal.”

Brushing the back of his knuckles over her cheek, “Yes and no. During a sleepy, befuddled and mumbling spell, Ferox said that everything would have been different if I was there sooner. That it would have all gone differently, that everything would be ‘better’. While some things would be ‘better’, this is true, not everything, no matter how well planned or executed, will be ‘perfect’. Not everyone can be saved, not everything can be ‘fixed’. Life is a series of checks and balances, amora. Seeing to you and doing my best for you - that I can do. They wished me to...truthfully? I do not know what they wished for me other than my happiness. If they had asked me...I likely would have said ‘no’... Until of course they said that you were here and would be in need... Which then I would likely have countered that the Zevran of this place would be there for you. Except he will not be, he cannot be, as he never breathed this air, no matter Zamitie’s magic. Not that any of us could have known such a thing. Freya, you are my hope, a hope that I can do at least one thing right and have a life with you where you are at peace, happy, have everything you need... Yet at the same time I have to be careful to not put you in a pretty cage, a jewelry box, or cocoon you from everything. Even if my personal inclination has always been to find some tiny town or plantation or farmhold and hole up there and let outside of it take care of itself and leave us the f*ck alone. That is the unvarnished truth.”

Frustrated or was it just unhappiness? Freya sighed, “You do know, or at least ya think ya know, what I’m going ta ask next.”

“No, I do not know, you are a mystery and marvel, Freya, you always have been. Similarities and dissimilarities have combined into an entirely singular individual, you are yourself and no other,” he shrugged.

Shivering, she pulled the dark grey cloak, which blended with the keep as if it were made of the same stone, tighter around herself. Freya shouldn’t have been cold as she had pulled on gloves before they went outside and the wool of the cape was plenty thick and was large enough with its many folded pleats to have easily covered her in full armour. The inside, the colours of a deep green forest, showed a bit at the sides of the hood pulled over her head, lighting her face. “If the Blight cannot be trusted to lesser men and you must do it yourself, other than you like having me around, what do you need me for? You have Wardens an’na army, you know the things that hafta be done. Where do I stand an’ what are my lines?”

“I need you Freya, because I love you, I need nothing else,” hooking his cloak over his arms as he pulled her in close. “And there are many decisions that are yours and yours alone. I can only put things into position, only you decide how you will use them... Like a box of tools that a friend put together for you, it is not the friend who tells you what to make with them, how to use those tools. You decide. Nor will I feed you lines like some actress upon a stage. This is your life, all I can do is be there and try to help. The people are predictable - what sort of reactions will they have to your decisions, that sort of thing. I can guess most of them, in some cases, if you make the same decision as Twadd, Cyni or Gaeaf did, then I know exactly what their reaction will be. But it does not change the fact that it is you who makes the decisions ultimately. I am here to guide and teach and support and when you desire it...I will will pull back as much as you wish. Your lines are your own, your decision is your own, your fate is your own. You are your own person, this is your own life. There is only so much I can do. An army is only as useful as the one leading it. You have it in you to inspire countless masses. This is something I have no ability in.” Squeezing her, “I take care of the details, you take care of the decisions. A balance.”

“An’ this is how you convinced the others to do what they did?” Stopping herself, “No, ‘cause if you didn’t find them until later, then they were already doin’ it.”

“What do you wish to know?” asking the question that probably should have been dealt with before, but hadn’t been. It was part of the reason he had wanted to wait until she was older. She knew him, but didn’t know him. He knew her, but didn’t know her. And then once their relationship had gone the way it had, Zevran hadn’t wanted to rock the boat.

There wasn’t a thrill in the amulet and a hundred questions tumbling one after another, not that he had expected such. Instead, she was wary and tried to figure out something on her own, as if to test if she had learned the right lesson, “Let me see if I can answer the question of why Soldier’s Peak. This is where you’re goin’ ta hide your army, instead of the woods around Highever and West Hills. The problem is how to supply them. Is there a backdoor down to the coast?”

“No,” he shook his head. “Soldier’s Peak is...unknown. It is not where the army will hide nor is our band of fighters hardly large enough to be considered an army. Not only that, but if we hid the men here, they would not be able to come and go to where they were most needed which is Highever and West Hills. And outfitting the place to fit the men we do have would be far too obvious as we would have to let others in on the secret of the place. No, only the Drydens come and go here.”

“Then why find and retake it, if it was of no use?” she scrunching a face up at him.

“Because it will be of future use, a last bolthole. Always have multiple exits, amora. Always have another place to hide until trouble passes over.” Zevran was trying not to get frustrated as Freya wasn’t understanding anything being said, as obtuse as Cyni could be sometimes. “A place that is off the maps, off the grid of what is known to others, unknown but to a very, very select few - a place to stage small scale attacks or to hide out.” Adding, “It should also be apparent that we, as a unit, need experience together. Nathaniel and myself are used to meshing with whomever is around, Nune will not always be with us - that leaves Alistair and yourself as those who required a warm up and introduction while we had the time and the available safety net to provide and protect against drastic mistakes if they arose.”

Lightly, “Had you left the tears open we might have had another run through, hopefully this time without the traps.” Freya shrugged, it was already done. “However, what if somebody finds your hole and you’re trapped here like the last group of Wardens? Seems that checking to see if there’s backdoor would meet your rule of ‘always havin’ multiple exits’.”

“Unlikely, Avernus is alive, and if anyone did find it, he has no issue with having new test subjects, no matter what you have said,” smirking. “There is a reason that only those we can trust without doubts know of this place. Your parents, your brother, Nathaniel, Nune, Horsie, Light and two of Nune’s best and most trusted men.”

Freya tentatively pointed out, “Um, Zev, we killed the things that guarded this place or locked them out of the mirror.”

Pointing to the tower her eyes followed his hand, “Avernus is what has kept them out. He is fully capable of continuing to do so and as the Blight is coming... He will. Experiments and demons notwithstanding, he is a man of the Wardens. Everything he does and has done is ultimately in the hopes of ridding Thedas of the Blight forever. Not for praise, not for glory, but because it is the right thing to do. First and foremost he is a person of the land, tied to it just as you are. Ferelden to the very core, proud and willing to sacrifice whatever it takes. In his case, it was his soul, much of his sanity, an entire life’s work. Avernus will keep the rabble from this place and find ways to serve Ferelden, Thedas and the Wardens. Of course it helps that he is brilliant and able to tell friend from foe - he will not kill indiscriminately - that is what he would consider researching ‘responsibly’.”

Her stomach rumbled, breakfast must be ready by now. Pulling away, Freya headed back to the door of the Keep even though he was not done. “If you say so. I’ve not been introduced.”

“You could learn much from him, not all of it bad,” Zevran countered. “He can be quite affable, rather fond of jam and knit scarves as I recall.”

“So how long have you decided to stay here?” The snow squeaked under her boots as they crossed the courtyard, “‘Cause I would say it’s cold enough to snow again.” Twadd and Gaeaf would estimate how cold it was by the sound of the snow, cold enough to butcher something to cool but not freeze, or how thick the ice was if they wanted to cross a small body of water, or as in this case based on the cloud cover, if it would snow.

“So long as we have returned to Highever in two months, we can do whatever you wish,” he tucked a loose curl away from her cheek. “And still, you have not told me what it is precisely that is troubling you.” Lips firming, “I will not be put off, amora.”

Climbing the stairs, “I’m not puttin’ you off, Zev, ‘cause I already said, but you needed to talk...a lot. So you did not hear me.”

Halting her, “Tell me explicitly, preciosa. You know that I can be very dense. Also...” Letting his hand drop from her shoulder, Zevran sighed, “Has it never occurred to you when you tell me that I do not know you, that you do not know me? Day to day, over the years, yes. But - if all we expect of the other is to just observe and instantly know, how is that to work? If I do not talk, then you only have a few things to base off of as apparently my actions do not get through either. If you do not tell me what is on your mind, then how am I to know? It takes two to communicate, querida.”

’Uh, Love?’ Twadd indicated that ducking might be in order. ’Are you tryin’ to start a fight?’

’No, but it is a valid question,’ stating evenly. ’And if you think you had the need for long walks gaining air, then you must have rubbed off on me greatly, as I am at the point where a run sounds like a splendid idea.’

Numbering what she had heard, Freya counted on her fingers with each ‘you’, irritated, “You have said that I don’t listen and tha’ I don’t watch you either. You have said that you don’t know what I’m going to say, but you interrupt me an’ answer whatever question you think I’m trying ta ask, an’ that you have everything under control to the extent of your knowledge, an’ that I am a Wild Card in your deck. You have said that if it were up to you tha’ you wouldn’t be here, or if you could, you’d run off to a deserted island or somewhere equally pleasant. You have said that somehow I’m supposed ta do something to raise belief or perhaps gather people to the cause...” Snappily, “Really soundin’ like a prophet there, sorry, a soothsayer. I think you’re lookin’ for a figurehead, like on a ship, but they don’t do anything, ‘cept get painted once an’ awhile, an’ then they just sit there an’ get admired - “

Zevran’s temper flared in earnest, because she still didn’t get a single thing he had said or done. “Do you wish to know what will happen then so you do not feel like a figurehead? So that you know? Cailan will die at Ostagar, all of the Ferelden Wardens will be slaughtered. Duncan, his entire retinue. Loghain will flee the battle with the bulk of the army. He and Howe will hire Crows to kill any remaining Wardens in Ferelden. From there, whichever Warden is leading the group will seek to convince the Dalish or werewolves, Orzammar - either with Bhelen or Harrowmont as king, the Templars or Circle, Arl Eamon to honour the treaties, call the Landsmeet, and a great deal of minor side jobs to gain funds and win favour with the populace. That is what happened to the others. To all of the others - not just the Feroxes.” He spouted the abbreviated list quickly. “In the process all but the other yous and Fergus die of the Couslands, Wulff’s entire family, but for himself is wiped out, many people suffer on and on and on. The list does not end easily. Do you know who and what I am? I was hired to kill Ferox and Alistair. That is what the other Zevrans were hired to do as well - kill the remaining Wardens. The joke was on Howe, Loghain and the Crows - it was a suicide mission with absolutely no intent of success or reprieve. Cyni killed his Zevran, Twadd spared me, Gaeaf spared his. There will be a choice near the end - to kill the Archdemon requires a Warden. Their soul and their death to be exact. Who takes the final blow or takes a different path... That is what happened before. In a nutshell minus many details. Now do you see what I see? What I am trying to prevent for your sake? To try and guide without completely taking over, without overpowering you, your identity and your choices.”

Somewhere in the middle she had clapped her hands over her hood, over her ears, but the amulet told that every word of his long suppressed tirade struck home. Hands still pressed to her head, though the action had done her little good, Freya pulled calm from out of the cold thin air itself. Frostily, “I thought you wanted to know what troubled me, but it appears you have troubles of your own. Maybe there was a reason I never asked what happened.”

“Oh? And asking me what good this or that thing is for as apparently I am some saviour - more like harbinger, messenger of doom - who is supposed to tell you what everything is for, is not asking me what happened? As you can be well assured that that is how it comes across time and again and I had refrained.” Scrubbing a hand over his face Zevran made himself release the frustration, “Your troubles are my troubles, amora. When you are troubled, I am troubled. When you do not tell me what is wrong, how am I to help or combat them? There is much on my mind as I seek to find ways to balance what I know, your own interests, and what needs to be in place, that unless you tell me and come to me when there is some issue... Think of me as a particularly stupid man if that is what it takes, who needs you to spell things out and be told what you need me to do.”

Enunciating clearly, no way to be misunderstood, “I am done havin’ you talk at me.”

“Ma nuvinen, em’sa’lath,” bowing curtly before turning on his heel and walking off - better that he was the one outdoors than her and the inner keep was too crowded for them both to be in it at the same time, so he removed the option of the outdoors.

’If it would make you feel better,’ his husband offered, ’I’d be happy to wash your face out with snow.’

Scrambling up the side of a only vaguely crumbled wall he made sure she went back inside before leaping to a far too close tree. It would have to be cut down as any potential invader would use it to gain access and found a relatively comfortable spot to nest in with his cloak tight around him. ’No, it would not make me feel better, querido.’

’I predict several things will happen. The first being that she will stop talking to you.’

’Or leave me, or shut me out, yes. It is typical,’ settling in. ’It is her choice and she has pressed me often enough for knowledge of what I have seen or what could have been.’

’On particular things, yes.’

’Yes, and it gets tiring to have to answer the same question repeatedly,’ he wished he had brought out his pouch of ganja, but he had his little flask of rum in his cloak, Zevran just didn’t want to break into it yet.

’Truthfully, if I hadn’t wanted to know, hoping that I had some choice somewhere and that I could change something and for some reason that I was traveling with someone who knew everything and how to do it, I woulda punched you after that rant of yours. Cyni would’ve just given up again and tried to take himself out.’

Harrumphing as the ‘figurehead’ comment had gotten to him, not caring that he sounded like Cyni, ’There is choice. And I have been ready to give up for a long time, amora. But things are never so simple as letting an old man die when he has no more left in him.’

’Zevran, I don’t think you have to stay, you’ve put all of the pieces into place. If you don’t want to be in charge of it, then don’t be - it’s beginning to show.’

’And leave a job half-finished? I hate sloppy work,’ with a groan he relented and withdrew the flask even if it let in a little gust of cold from the small tent he had made. ’And I have been trying to put her in charge. Well, not for this part. She should go to Ostagar with our good Howe and Chantry boy, as Nathaniel is like me - absolutely no desire to lead anyone, anywhere. No ambition that boy.’ Swigging a good bit of the rum, ’But it is highly tempting to just...walk away. Find a nice fishing hole and wait for the storm to pass, let the motivated and energetic handle the mierda del toro that falls like rain.’

’Long as it’s somewhere warm, I hate it when you get cranky with the cold. I was reading that the little healer has an island somewhere, never did learn what she does with it...bet that boat of theirs sails there though.’ Twadd sent memories of heat of the sun reflecting on sandy beaches, baking his skin, the smell of the salt sea and a campfire cooking their freshly caught lunch, and the sounds of lapping water and wheeling gulls.

Closing his eyes, Zevran let it wash over him, wishing he could just lay down and let the world pass him by. That he didn’t have anything to worry or care about, that he could finally just let go. It was odd - he had Freya, Twadd and Cyni, a Nune that actually acted more like a parent, even if he didn’t need one, Zamitie...things to do - and still. He was lonely. Tired. Disconnected from everything, the weight of centuries bearing down on him. Decision after decision, when he had never wanted to make any decisions beyond what to eat, how to kill a target, and what person he would share a bed with that night. His life had been simpler once, when he didn’t have to think or carry anyone or anything but himself.

Taking another swing, ’No wonder they went to uthenara.’

’I don’t know, Love, sleeping underground is just wrong. After a bit you might get used to my complaining about it or - ’ hugging him, ‘ - you could just get a sun temple.’

Zevran checked his toes and fingers, wriggling them, ’No - I meant to sleep until true death finally claimed their immortal bodies, querido. The weight gets too heavy, the weight of caring, of giving a damn, of having responsibility. It was why we walked away from Ferelden. And why I cannot do that this time.’

’I know, but I wasn’t going to smack you with it. Part of getting air is to pretend that you aren’t where you really are. However, since you’re back to it, what are you going to do to fix this? The girl’s not going to find Cyni’s way out, so you’re safe there at least.’

’Right now? I am all tapped out of giving a f*ck, so long as she does nothing like that, which she would not, querido. Let someone else fix it for the moment,’ he would wait a little while longer before returning to the keep’s main area, the snow wasn’t a danger at the moment and he had firerock on him so he could stay warm in an emergency.

Twadd was searching using the amulet through Zevran, ’You meant for her to go upstairs?’

’No, I did not, but she can take care of herself, and as I told her, Avernus is not stupid,’ but he still polished off the rest of the flask’s contents and began making his way back with a certain fatalistic depression. ’Let us go see what new mess I have to clean up.’

’True, and if Cyni felt bad about her doing it, he’d blow in here and give instructions few could understand.’

Snow and ice crunched beneath his soles, ’Hindsight is always perfect. Like any good oracle, his instructions make the most sense after rather than before. At least they make some sense during, else I would go mad.’

Laughing, ’You’re not a soothsayer...you just have one talkin’ to you.’

’And lo, upon the dawn a new day rises, an era of strangeness and happenstance! By the eve if ever there is a need not met, then things that are Very Bad will come!’ Zevran intoned. ’See? I can do it as well... I just do not wish to.’

...

Zevran had just popped his head in enough to see she was alright and to let her know he was there before he left again. Nune was putting Alistair through his paces while Nathaniel wandered the lower portion of the keep, deep in thought. As for himself, he found enough to make a spare bedroll and went down for a nap, full night’s sleep or not. For a moment he had considered going up to talk to Avernus and giving the mage full disclosure, but he thought it likely that the old Warden had ‘heard’ much of it already - who knew what spells he had out and about precisely? It wouldn’t be too far-fetched at all for him to have something in place to funnel sound. And so he went to sleep, letting the others take care of themselves and cope without him nagging or intruding. The only thing that disturbed his rest was a rather smelly mabari in desperate need of a sand bath. Even though he made a face, Zevran still wrapped an arm around the massive shoulders, vowing that there would be no darkspawn skunks for the hound try to get a nice coating from, as he would tell the great beast that as soon as Morrigan told him of Flemeth that mabari should come to him right away. Around what he suspected was likely lunch or dinner time, Nune pushed him awake with a bowl of food that Zevran promptly ate half of then handed to Horsie and rolled back over to go to sleep.

“Arguing is not always bad, but it is not always a thing that is good,” Nune rumbled at the next delivery of food.

“She does not wish me to meddle and so this is me, here, not meddling. She knows where I am,” Zevran forced himself to eat and actually finish it, as Nune was watching him. “I have never lied to her, I have always protected her. She has made it clear she no longer requires the latter once I told her everything.” Passing the bowl back over Zevran stretched and then changed his leggings and tunic for a clean set. “I cannot fix everything for her, I cannot do things if she does not tell me what she needs or wants of me. And until she decides what that is, we are at an impasse. Simple.” He yawned and flopped back on the pallet. “Whatever she wishes, whatever she chooses, I will abide by even if I do not agree.” He thought about it for a moment, “Particularly if I do not agree. Little girls grow up eventually and no longer require what they once did.”

It took a week to receive a literal kick in his backside. “Get up Zevran and grab your bow. Nathaniel’s out for today and you’re needed. Horse, five minutes then get him downstairs, I don’t care what he says or what treat he offers.” Freya’s voice, even though she put on the trappings of a Cousland, was tired as if she had been pushing herself or not sleeping. Feet, not light and quick, trudged back downstairs.

Patting the mabari on the shoulder Zevran rose silently and went about whatever it was she wished of him. Watching Alistair flirt with Freya wasn’t pleasant, but her tired replies were not encouraging, yet they weren’t flat out rebuffs either. Zevran dealt with it, she would do or not do, as per her choice. He had given her the outline, it was her choice to fill in the gaps, as anything he did would be suspect or unwanted, even if it was wanted or needed, until she decided what she needed or wanted from him. Heading north, through the thawing mountains to the distant coast, the hounds romped ahead flushing game. Horsie was teaching Lightning what each smell meant, when a scent was danger and others should be warned or when it was potential dinner, be it beast or plant. With spring upon them, there were plenty of dangerous wild things to kill and practice their group tactics on and plenty of pelts still thick from well fed wolves and sleeping bears for he and Nune to work on. At night when the others were resting, or supposed to be, was when Zevran got up and moved around, Nune, Horsie and Lightning the only ones aware of it. Mostly he stayed out of the way, dealing with the gritty jobs without a fuss, silent unless spoken to - he had enough voices in his head, the irony far from lost upon him.

They returned to the keep shortly before a spring storm arrived striking the stone building with a gust of warm wind, Twadd called it a chinook. He tended his own minor injuries alone, not having brought them to anyone’s attention as it was unnecessary, sitting near the edge of the keep’s hotspring, a bruised foot drifting in the water, Horsie beside him. Glancing down at the hound as he stitched his forearm one-handed, keeping it pinned between knee and side, “Just like old times, no? Ah, but you do not remember them as this version of yourself was not there...”

’Desire, diamond or ice?’ Cyni had entered very quietly, ’Which breaks first?’

Double-checking his work, ’Depends, precioso. Some ice is ancient and takes a great deal of heat to cause enough melt for it to fracture. A diamond can break a diamond. And desire can break very easily when there is little left to give or no direction. Or a sudden change in one, chiefly a vertical drop with a sudden stop.’

’I am no diamond and crack open easily to Flemeth. She will have her way with me. Why do you not bring these injuries to me? Do you truly not have need of me?’

’I have every need of you, amora,’ sighing as he wrapped a bandage around his arm and sighed. ’But Freya has very little desire to deal with me at the time being, and until she does, and decides what she wants from me, I will remain quiet and give her time while we still have it.’

’Desire, you have not asked me for this and you show that you do not need me. These words join to the others, words thrown to hurt, to rend and tear, death and demons. I cannot dream and Sing with myself as is needed. Your time grows short as I may no longer care for this form, this path, as I begin to seek a path of leaving.’

Whimpering as sudden agony struck him in the heart, ’Ferox, please. I love you, I love her. Do not say that you do not care. Please. Please, I beg of you. No...no...not that!’

He waited until the others were settled in for the night before searching her out, his pleas to Cyni falling upon unhearing ears. Finding Freya, she was half-asleep staring into the fire. “Freya...tell me what you need of me, what you want of me.”

Reaching out for her mug of tea, refilled time and time again, “I already told you, spirit man, that I need Zev. Go away. I’m not sleepin’ an’ listenin’ to your song.”

“Freya, I am not a spirit, I am here, what do you want of me? Please, tell me what you need me to do - to say I am sorry for telling you? To beg forgiveness? To take you away from this place and let the others take care of this?” he moved to squat by the chair at her knee staring up at her. “I need you, amora. What is more, I want you. Your life is my life, your love is my love, your burdens are my burdens. I am here for you and only you, only you are truly important to me.”

“Everything has already been done he’s said. Is there any use in doin’ it again?” Sipping the contents, bitter dregs caused her to scowl into the mug, the smudges dark under her eyes. “I didn’t make friends in the sparring yard or at the Landsmeet - I’m the stranger. Your songs will not change that I’m not the others - not to Ferelden an’ especially not to him.”

Growling, “I do not expect or want you to be the others! Freya - I want you. How can I make that any clearer? Tell me! Tell me what I must do to prove it to you!”

“How many nights will you say those words, takin’ that face? You’re a very pleasant intermediary, but come morning, it’s nothing more than a daydream. If you’re gonna find real dreams, talk ta someone else. They’re sleeping. I’m not,” having taken a drink of the last of the tea, she held it up as proof.

Gritting his teeth Zevran took the cup of tea from her hands, opening the link, forcing it wide. ’I am not some stinking spirit! I had wanted you to have time to grow up, Freya - to find yourself and your way without the pressure of maintaining an adult relationship with me. So that you would not feel as a figurehead or some pawn to be moved about, trying to reconcile the various layers of how you and I are and what is required.’ The pungent remains in the cup was a brew she shouldn’t be drinking and he threw it angrily into the fire. ’I have asked - nay, demanded - you tell me what the f*ck you expect me to do, what you want of me, what you need of me! Just tell me what you need so that it can be done!’ Slamming a balled fist on the chair’s arm, “I can do nothing if you give me no direction, woman!”

Tired surprise, “Cyni, you should have said you could touch things, I would’ve made another cup. But that doesn’t answer your new questions.” Freya gave a heavy sigh, “Why should I tell him what to do? He’s always hearing it from himself or others or you - coming back worried to check up on his little girl, makin’ sure she’s not doin’ anything stupid.”

Taking a slow deep breath, Zevran cracked his neck, gathering himself up, finding the wellspring of love and downright shoved it at her. Drowning her in it, filling her up, pouring it down, any word that was possible, that was what he did, his hands wrapped tightly around her wrists, staring into her fatigued brown eyes. Each word enunciated slowly, “I love you, Freya. I need you, Freya. I want you, Freya. I am here for you and only you. What do you want and need me to do to prove it?”

Eyes widening in shock, startled from the waking dream caused by being awake for far too long. She swallowed hard, no doubt concerned how long she had been talking without being fully aware. Slowly, “There’s no need to prove it. It is. Do you require proof, Zev?”

“It is you who does not believe, it is always you who does not believe,” hoarse, knowing her lie for what it was. “All of you doubt it no matter what is done.”

“You say it...said it everyday. What’s not to be believed? Is there a reason I shouldn’t believe too?”

Zevran shook his head, “I have never understood why it was not believed. It seems as though you do not believe me and all I have to go on is how you act. You were done speaking with me, so I left you be until you were ready to speak with me again. That is what I inferred - that you would tell me when you figured out what you needed or wanted without my presence pushing you in any direction, so you could not accuse me or think of me as treating you like a puppet or a pawn or a child.”

Pushing herself out of the chair, she plunked next to him on the fur before the fire, “Do you yell at me often? An’ say things to deliberately hurt? Or did you just need ta get all of it out because there’s nobody else to tell? Well, nobody ‘cept Twadd and Cyni and Twadd won’t tell anybody. Or are you worried ‘cause I’m tryin’ to figure out my place in your big plans?”

“It is very rare that my temper is lost, amora, and almost always when I cannot get through to a loved one and have done everything else I can think of,” brow furrowed. “Do you wish to know what my ‘big plans’ entail?” When she shuddered, remembering his previous assault of words, he lay a finger on her lips, “Ah- no, no details, no excessive ones. I want this Blight over quickly - why? So that we can go off and find peace to wait for the next thing that must be done, or at least put things in place so that it will take care of itself. And then go live however you wish it. My needs are very simple, princessa - food, air, water, shelter of some sort, and you. I would figure out how to live with most of those so long as you were there.”

Freya licked his finger, “Even without air, if you were there it would work out for a minute or two. I only want you, Zev. I don’t need you to do or to be anything else. You’re confusin’ as all get out, but you say the same of me, so it’s fair.

“Then why doubt? Why?” as he studied her expression intently.

Confusion, “I don’t understand...when did I say that I doubted that you loved me?”

“Say it? No, shouted it through this,” tapping her amulet.

“Zev, I don’t think I did, I don’t remember saying...showing? Giving that. I’m not that bad with it...I hope.” She was trying to figure out when she had given those feelings and sensations, still genuinely confused.

“It bleeds over like a pus riddled wound, querida,” maintaining his grip on the link and continuing to buoy her with the flow from him to her. When she came off of the stimulant herbs she would crash hard and sleep for a long time. “The times I have lived without the amulet are not very long in the scheme of things, I am attuned to your blood at its most basic core, to your personal Taint. When you hurt, I hurt. When you doubt, I feel it. But unless I invade or you tell me...I then do not know what is needed to combat that doubt.”

“But then doubt at myself for not seeing what you are trying to tell me, or doubt for wondering if something else couldn’t be done, if maybe you haven’t seen somethin’, or at doubt as to my own place or what I’m supposed to do...wouldn’t that just be felt as ‘doubt’ without knowing what it was about?”

“It has a particular taste as Dulsanaya would say, Cyni would call it a tone, to me it is scent, sound, taste, sensation, colour, all at once,” he brushed his hands over her head, palms tickled by the curls. “If I close my eyes and look at you, I smell, hear, taste, see, and touch a kaleidoscopic entity. And I can catch the different levels and types of doubt easily as you would take a sip of a drink and say whether it was juice, tea, water, milk, or coffee. I can feel that you doubt it, yourself, me, and know of nothing else to do unless you give me direction, querida.”

Denying, confirming, restating, as if there was no other way to refute what felt like lack of trust, “I don’t doubt that you love me, I haven’t since you showed me.” Shaking her head, she became quiet, considering the sound, scent, flavour descriptions. “I think it’s like a heartbeat or drums.” Closing her eyes she listened, “Your beat is very different from Nathaniel’s.” ’An’ he’s listening, not sleepin’.’

Zevran pressed his lips over her cheeks and nose, ’Who is listening?’

’Everybody with ears. You must’a been yelling again.’ A snickered laugh, ’Nathaniel’s bein’ very, very quiet... Alistair’s not a Warden, but he’s pretendin’ ta snore.’

Grunting, ’It is rare for me to raise my voice, amante. And I know how to keep our good Howe from overhearing. Nune does not care - hah, if you knew some of the Arlathanlen customs, I think you might birth a litter or ten of kittens, so be happy that I do not ascribe to that end of my blood overly, Horsie has seen it all before, and as for Alistair... Hrmph. I do not give a single bit of copper over what he hears.’

’You’re bein’ strange again, Zevran. But there isn’t gonna be kittens or childrens...or puppies.’ Throwing a thought at the hounds who could not hear.

’Only if you do not want them,’ shifting to grab hold of her and hoist her up, carting a gripping Freya over his shoulder as he refused to leave her alone for even the few moments it would take to grab the bedroll downstairs and bring it back up. ’But as I said - anything you desire out of your life is possible with a bit of work. In the meantime we can practice.’

....

He woke before she did and stared at the sweep of her thick, dark lashes as they brushed her face. ’I have a solution,’ his fingers curling over her waist as he reached for Twadd. ’I will take the ‘Warden’ role, lead the group, take the weight, so she does not have to worry. And make it clear that I will prevent what I can, have already done much to prevent so far, hmn? I will make nice, smile, and simply do what needs doing. She and I will wait at Lothering for Nathaniel and Alistair and Morrigan.’

’Having Alistair and Nathaniel take the place of the two usual Wardens at Ostagar would be wise, Flemeth would not suspect either of them and she might recognize something different in your girl. As for the role of The Warden, perhaps you should continue your leadership training with her. Other than pining for you instead of sleeping, she was telling Alistair and Nathaniel what to do and they were doing it.’ Twadd found the memories he was looking for and flipped through them, ‘When we played soldier with Fergus, he was the general and usually we were a soldier on the losing end of things. But because she left Highever, Freya has very little of these memories and experiences. Nor does she have the patrols and other activities drummed up to train and keep young men out of trouble. If you want to be in a support role, that is possible, as she already has two followers. She lacks skill and that will come with the journey.’

’Yes and she will be unhappy in that growing process, as is evident. She will seek to save every puppy, every child, every soldier, forgetting that there have to be eggs cracked to make an omelet, querido,’ brushing his hand over the small of her back. ’It is not that she would make a bad leader at all, it is that she does not wish to be one. Neither do I, but I am used to it.’

’I didn’t want to be one either and Gaeaf is no different. Was it bad that we became something we did not initially desire? And as for saving puppies, would you have her any other way?’

Rubbing his forehead, ’No, I would not. The difference is also that I am apparently here to fix everything that went wrong or could go wrong. To pull this place through as efficiently as possible. She would tell Cailan to not go to Ostagar, try to convert Loghain, so on, so forth. There are times when honour gets in the way - survival is what matters in this. Even Bryce understands that Ostagar must occur, even if he does not have all the information.’

’You did tell her everything damning, Love. Small pieces when they’re about to occur would have been more...prudent.’ Twadd teased, ’Good news, she might skip over a chicken or two to save the whole bloody lot at Ostagar.’

Making a face, ’I am only a man, I do become frustrated and I do lose my temper on occasion. Being prudent all the time is not as easy as you make it sound and I would challenge you to have done better.’

His husband tactfully did not point out that he was warned. ’Do you want her to take the role her way or not? Or do you want her to take it your way, get straight to the point and get on with it? For her, this is the first time.’

’Allow me to put forth a hypothetical situation. Do I or do I not tell someone that they are about to step into a pit of sharpened stakes? Half of her paths would throw everything into disarray. Certainly they may work out in some places, but think on this - if every Warden story we have heard contains the same things...repeatedly...then there must be some requirement that they happen. Tip the scales too far in a direction and everything goes wrong,’ Zevran pointed out. ’Save Cailan and those at Ostagar would result in what? A horde that was not at least partially dissuaded. Ostagar is defensible, it is a good place to hold them pinned down at while we ready ourselves. No Morrigan means no ritual. No treaties means no other armies working with us as we would need. Subverting Loghain means we are then unsure of the villain and targets. It is always best to know your targets, querido.’

’Therefore sending Alistair and Nathaniel to Ostagar is the best solution. They don’t know. Provided you didn’t mention the destruction of Lothering, to her, as that is the scary turning point for the general populace where they begin to catch a clue and get out of the way...that can also happen.’

’Bryce knows of it, Nune knows of it, Lothering itself will be destroyed, but many of the inhabitants will be evacuated, hmn?’ reminding him of Bryce’s many yurts and suchlike. ’Enough will die to get the point across.’

The memory of a kiss pressed to his shoulder, ’I meant the burning of the town and there were always the few who enjoyed setting traps thinking that would scare off a couple of darkspawn. I swear they would defend their homes from a flooding river even if pitchforks were useless against it, just to drown. Leliana will be there and those two can gab of shoes and be best friends for life,’ Twadd laughed.

Wincing mightily, ’Please. Spare me. Orlesian fashion breaks the mind. There are many times I have wished she were male, certain conversations would be easier. Many things I do not care for when it comes to men. There are also many things about women that also set my teeth on edge. If they make that shrill giggle-screech-noise I will cut my ears off.’

’If your girl does it it will be for the purpose to sway the Bard, just as she discusses shields with Alistair, bowstring composition with Nathaniel, or, once upon a time, baskets with Nune.’

’Yes, yes, I get the picture, amora,’ whimpering. ’And the baskets with Nune were father-daughter bonding and it was him who brought it up for her benefit. Yes, there is a reason why she would be good as leader, she still has enough verve to happily play the nice girl. While I would play nice in my own way, knowing their preferences, likes, dislikes and histories, I could make them do as I wish quickly without much fuss and the repeated getting to know them.’

Rumbling, ’Zevran, you hate when someone less competent than you does something, or attempts to do something, that you, standing right there, could do better. This is one of those times. So the backdoor out of Soldier’s Peak ended in sheer cliffs over the Waking Sea, it got her...them, working together, pelts for winter and trade, and an extra trained nose and guard dog. It also satisfied curiosity and was something that none of us did.’

’There is a reason I was Guildmaster for oh...how long was it? Four hundred? Five hundred years? Something absolutely obscene...’ yawning. ’Growing pains I do not mind, but foolishness I detest. If she is supposed to be ‘perfect’ then I wish to lodge a complaint with the powers that be. Remind me again whose idea it was to force an old man in with a lot of children?’

Cheek pressed over where the kiss had been placed and his husband curled at his back, spooning, ’You have always been old, Love, and yet at the same time younger than all of us. Now, tell me of the complaints you have and best not share with your girl.’

That was before he had been sundered, but if Twadd didn’t wish to acknowledge the fact that he was truly broken, he would do his best to not point it out. ’I love how she cares for others, but the willful denial of what is necessary in life grates. It is a very simple concept. How she pushes for information and then is dissatisfied with facts given. How Cyni always reminds me that she is beautiful, as though that is all she is required to be to keep more than my body engaged. How she can make absolutely no decision as to what she wants at any given point and then is upset that I do not just ‘know’ - sadly that is a rather ‘female’ issue, something trained into all of them at some time I believe. Or perhaps it is just how the female mind truly is - when a man says ‘tell me what you want me to do’ they stare at the man blankly. That is very irritating. You never did that. Mierda - Cyni never did that.’

Twadd disagreed, ’Cyni did. Wouldn’t make decisions and if he came to a conclusion he wouldn’t tell you.’

’Not like that,’ grumbling. ’When I offer to give her what she wants, she then has no idea what she wants. And then just stares at me. Or throws a tantrum because I have not somehow mystically sussed it out.’

’And here I was just blaming it on her being a mage, but female works just as well. Although Gaeaf had problems knowing what he wanted too, it could be something else. I would have thought you’d be thrilled, however, that she’s not a ‘folder’.’

Smiling, ’That is not a complaint. This was the complaint area. I actually like how messy she is. It is very adorable. She cleans everything else, but when it comes to her own clothes, hither and yon are the only places that come to mind.’

Twadd apologized, chuckling, ’Complaints. I forgot and shall attempt to do better. I’m not very good at this game as I usually try not to look at irritating things, especially if I can’t change them.’

Snuggling in, ’As to being thrilled she is female, I would not say that it matters much either way. It never has.’

’Nose crooked? One ear too large? Breasts not perky enough?’

’No, no, all of that is perfect and then some,’ amused. ’Physically she is more attractive than any of you to be absolutely truthful. And I like how her nose is not perfect, thank you kindly for reminding me. Physical perfection has never much interested me overall. Though the breasts are very nice, they could sag and will eventually, but the size is good, nice texture, weight, shape...cute nipples, good sensitivity, so on so forth. Bottom is perfect, the curve of her spine, the crooked pinky toe but with pretty toenails - no, she is physically perfect to me.’

’And yet she is difficult and frustrating, and, oh, let me guess, more typical of the Ferox breed, excepting your husband, of course, who is utter perfection...because if you’re going to play this game, it’s best done with someone else when I can’t hear.’

’Actually I lucked out with you,’ basking in present and memory of warmth. ’That is the truth of the matter, Ferox. Did I ever give Cyni the earring? Many other things, yes, of course. Will I ever give Freya the earring? No. That is for you and I. Cyni made me work and chase him and constantly upkeep everything, no matter how much I love him. If Freya is supposed to be my ‘reward’ I am thinking that there might just be a flaw in the reward giver. She may be my hope for this life, but the aggravation has been endless since she was twelve and decided she knew everything about being ‘grown up’.’

’And before that worshiped the ground you walked on. At this age, I don’t think that would please you, however,’ his husband reminded.

Making a gagging sound, ’Mierda I should hope not! However...in the case of comprehending that the most logical way to cut through everything so that we can get on with our lives and making goo-goo eyes at each other, and hopefully healing the various broken bits would be nice if she figured that part out.’

’Not to change the subject, but could you track the Archdemon using the amulets? Perhaps corner it underground? That might get things over with quicker.’

’And also I should remind you of what Alistair said - it was rather apt and surprisingly intelligent of him.’ Zevran whipped out the memory to get it down correctly, ’The Archdemon will have thousands of darkspawn down in the Deep Roads, tracking Urthemiel or not is moot. Cutting a swath through all that...no. There has to be some culling of the herd first.’

’True, there was a bridge, the lights, and all that horrible singing. I tried to block that out... Maker. It was so difficult to just walk across that bridge and not just dive over the side.’

Shuddering, ’Fighting it on its own turf is most unwise. Even if we had an army numbering in the millions I would not do that. The cost versus loss would be far too steep.’

Hiding his face between Zevran’s shoulder blades, even Twadd’s mental voice was muffled, ‘I am glad you were there, Love. Very, very glad.’

’As am I. As bad as it sounds, I am glad that the Deep Roads happened, as it allowed you to accept my presence in some fashion...it allowed me to help,’ reaching back, Zevran slid a hand over the muscular hip that was and was not there. ’The Deep Roads were horrible for so many reasons and I hated knowing how badly you were hurting that it let you let me in even a little bit, but I loved that I was able to help, that you wanted and accepted my help. That it gave us the chance we needed.’

…

They made their way down the mountain pulling travois heaped with the the pelts, dried jerked meats, herbs and other dried plants gathered in the mountains, as well as some items found in the old Keep. Freya was nearly skipping, Nathaniel was almost relaxed, Alistair was as chatty as the little birds in the trees, and even the mabari romped and gamboled. Zevran suppressed a scowl. In spite of the gains they had made over the months at Soldier’s Peak, all of them, every single one of them, excepting Nune and himself, were children. It wasn’t that they were children, it was the fact that no one noticed, or gave a damn that he was tired, truly tired. He hadn’t been lying or exaggerating when he said he was tired, it was something said repeatedly, cried to the sky and no one listened, so he had given up pointing it out. It was useless to do so. The only reason he wouldn’t, couldn’t, just lay down and let it all go, was because he was not willing to have others pay the price for him being used up. He slipped, he couldn’t help that, it burned through him and scorched others sometimes, but Zevran struggled to repress it, to find something to keep him going.

There was no other choice. None that mattered, none that were good. Zevran could never ask or penalize his loves for this, even if deep down he did resent their blithe ignorance and willful denial. So long he had lived for others, lived to make them happy, fix them, fix everything, that they just expected he was limitless. That the well would never, could never, run dry.

Forcefully he wiped the scowl away, replacing it with happiness, drumming it up from somewhere, outwardly and inwardly enough to mask the abiding ache and gaping wounds. He had done it to himself, hiring Bertrine to finally take him out, to let the world move on without him. He should have known that they would have found some way to make him continue. And then he had done it to himself again, hurting too much, thinking, knowing that he had lost everything and living with it for over a year without warning, without preparation. Had they asked this of him before, had they said that it was their intent, he would have made himself do it, would have had some preparation, and managed, because it would be finite. But there hadn’t been time, they had rushed, and then he was left directionless and too hurt-scared-afraid-empty to look around. Did they truly believe that it was impossible for him to fall apart eventually? Apparently so.

Freya looked over her shoulder at him, glowing, and he couldn’t help but smile warmly. He couldn’t ever let them think themselves deficient, as they had let him think and know that he was not enough to ever do anything to keep them happy and healed. He couldn’t let her ever believe, or them either, that they were alone, as he had been. Some wounds could never heal and there were few things that could make him hurt without limit, and the thought of inflicting that on them was one of those things. Or if those wounds could heal, he wasn’t at a place where he could see it. He hoped for others’ sake that he could at some point as he didn’t know how long he could hold out and care about what the cost would be to them.

Finding their way out of the hidden tunnels, they turned towards Highever, timing their descent to coincide with one of their patrols. The patrols appeared, to those not in the know, to be running messages from Amaranthine or Denerim to West Hills, appearing in the towns occasionally just to take a look around. However they were meeting with the spies placed in those areas and on the way, looked for signs of darkspawn and kept the roads clear of bandits and other trouble. Meeting one such patrol, the additional horses were quickly loaded with the gear they had brought with them, taken from the Peak, or made. Everything was running within the parameters for ‘good’ that his mind had calculated, at least they would ride rather than walk which kept it firmly in the ‘good’ region.

Several days later arriving in Highever, he was able to review and analyze what had come in while they were away. Nune bid his goodbyes and went out to find the Dalish, a single shemlen huntsman with him as guide, in spite of his father’s protests, and Light who refused to leave his side. Zevran had watched numbly as his father hoisted his hand in a brief wave before loping off on foot, a set of javelins on his back and small pack.

He hadn’t thought it would bother him to see the quiet man go.

When the rush of spring planting was complete, the nobles sworn to Teyrn Cousland gathered to air grievances, pay tithing, negotiate levies, and complete any fiefdom activities necessary - business as usual. In addition, several older banns had not lived through the winter and likely heirs would appear to make their claims or, for those who were not a direct heir, make their case. Generally, a direct descendant would be sworn to the position, but occasionally, when there was no heir, or they were found unfit, a new vassal would be appointed and sworn to service. It was just everyday sort of ho-hum dross that Zevran found himself dragged into, somehow appointed a nominal advisor to Bryce, his experience plumbed as well as his opinion, further teaching Alistair and Fergus how to rule. At least Bryce was the one who made the decisions, Zevran was just someone to bounce the ideas, knowledge, and experience off of, a display for the two young men. Nathaniel already had plenty of experience in such matters, he and Nune had seen to that in Antiva, always discussing politics, trade, the dispersal of men and their uses. At least the young Howe got a reprieve, happily scouting about with Freya and hunting with a trotting Horsie at their side.

A group arrived comprised of just such claimants, most of who were passable to fair. Only one or two bothered Zevran vaguely, something niggling at the back of his mind. As he poured himself a cup of deep red tea flavoured with vanilla, he frowned, waiting for what was bothering him to come to the surface. Shaking his head, he thought about what he knew of Ferelden’s next steps in the process to make such appointments official - they had to go to Denerim and lodge all of that, usually a trade caravan going with them.

’Mio!’ the realization coming to him as everything aligned when he saw two of his fellow elves, clearly siblings, pass by. One was blond as he was, handsome with it, and somehow familiar. Rapidly descending into the library, searching for what he was certain of, ’Nelaros - the boy who broke his leg, yes? That is him?’

Twadd looked through his eyes, ’He got bigger...’

Snorting into his cup, ’I should hope so. But he will die at the hands of Vaughn’s guards - he is excited over his wedding if that conversation I am hearing is any indication.’ Zevran straightened, tapping Bryce on the shoulder, “My friend, I know you have your doubts over Alfstan as a bann for the local Alienage...”

Bryce shot him a puzzled glance, “Yes, but I don’t really have anyone else to put in his place. And no one’s made any official complaints...”

“Would you allow me to make a suggestion?”

“Zevran, we’re long past the point where you have to ask and you know it,” Bryce rolled his eyes at him, vaguely sarcastic.

“Hmn, well, what does a bann need to be able to do? Read, write, figure? Know how the land he or she is overseeing is supposed to run? Answer and lead the local defenses, or if called upon, go with the local militias...?” Zevran braced a hand on the table, the other on the back of Bryce’s chair, gaze sliding from Bryce’s faded eyes in the direction of Nelaros. “What better bann for an Alienage than an elf, one with honour, raised side by side with the children of the teyrn, educated, likely able to fight, or at the least willing to do so. One who will not make life for the people he stewards harder than it has to be?”

Brows furrowed and Bryce lowered his voice, “What do you know?”

“He is going to his wedding and it will result in his untimely death,” shrugging a shoulder. “Vaughn will take the brides of the happy day and several women from the Denerim Alienage for sport, Nelaros is a man of Highever. One raised up as well as any child of Ferelden. He will fight for what he believes is right and protect what is precious, even if he barely knows the person. And he will die, slaughtered like a pig. Not for lack of ability, but lack of gear and overwhelming odds. And Ferelden will be the poorer for it.” Pointing out, “If you make him a bann, he will not have to go to the other Alienage. His wife will come here, where she will be safe. Or if he does go to the Alienage, Vaughn can be held truly accountable for the monster he is. Either way, you will have a good bann - his wife or himself, and the damage is limited.” He paused, looking at Nelaros intently, “If I am to be here to save what can be saved, then I should do so. Be it noble, soldier, commoner, shemlen, dwarf or elf. I do warn you though, his wife - if it is not the woman I know well, then it is the other woman I know well... Both of them are firebrands, both will defend this place to their last breath. If I cared about the darkspawn, I would feel pity for them.”

With sharp nod, Bryce called the young man forward and the first step on the path to safety was laid for yet another. The vows were given, fealty sworn, instructions handed down, and into the official packet, a letter was place to have the promised bride from Denerim’s Alienage to be brought to Highever. She would be escorted by one of the patrols and would be made safe, another soul, one more step on the path of correcting what had gone wrong each and every time. There were no illusions that everything could be fixed, far far from it. Tiny insignificant pieces, ones not vital to the grand scheme of things were inched back from the brink, nudged away from the chasm of events that would have swallow them whole. Each time it was done, even though he was already filled with his husband’s presence, more was given. Praise and thanks, these individuals were not necessary, and it was for that reason each time he stretched out a hand it was recognized as precious and Twadd was grateful.

Freya and Eleanor had greeted many of the incoming personages, the women gathered to discuss the news of the last seasons in the solarium. Doors opened to the courtyard as one group entered the expanded great hall and the one before it exited, and a very Freya squeal was heard. A near sea of redheads had arrived and his girl was hugging or being hugged by or even kissing the cheeks of nearly every one. The Gilmore women appeared to be a sensible group as they admired Freya’s attire asking questions as to why the pieces were different colours, printed and embroidered, all of which was much different than the usual Ferelden wear. They discussed the construction and ease of movement, the hem of a panel was lifted and chattering ensued. The sisters and cousins appeared to be very practical in their choice of clothing as well and were excited to see something serviceable, of excellent design yet was still pretty.

’Rory has returned from spending Saturnalia with his family. He then stayed to assist with the spring planting. I had forgotten about that absence. I believe he and I were, ahh...tardy to the Gilmores’ audience with my father.’ It was a pleasant memory for Twadd.

Zevran smiled for his handsome husband, agreeing readily, ’Reunions can be quite...interesting, which is only natural.’

Rory was easy to pick out, as Zevran knew who he was looking for, aware of what he would likely see. Of course the bluff and squarely handsome young man was making eyes at Freya, who was completely unaware of how beautiful and exotic she was in this place. Not only that, but for most, she had suddenly gone from little girl to fine young woman, glowing at all around her with wild abandon, her joy at the Gilmores’ presence a physical force. And inside his mind, Twadd was bouncing, rolling from heel to toe, nearly boyish with his own excitement. Swallowing his wish to simply go hunt alone or with Nathaniel, Bryce or even Fergus, Zevran waited patiently to be introduced, as last time the Gilmore brood had shown in force, he had been holed up and busy with his inventions, avoiding the unwanted brouhaha. But then he had been alone, hadn’t had to keep Twadd happy as his love deserved.

As he approached he noted something slightly odd. Rory’s eyes were on Freya, taking her in, politely of course, but it wasn’t Freya with her bright cheeks and excitement that he was truly looking at with such unveiled interest, but rather her clothes. Especially as she was explaining that men wore similar things and for similar reasons.

Freya took hold of his arm, pulling him in close as soon as he was near, “See - this is what Antivan men wear.” Zevran held still as the slits in the tunic vest were shown at front, back and sides, then the way his trews sat, and the long sleeved undershirt. “If it’s hot, he takes off the undershirt, if it’s really hot, you’ll see him in this itty bitty vest that only goes to his waist. But if it’s cold, two more robe-vest thingies go on top, maybe a heavier under tunic, and then a cloak or heavy wool robe that can be belted close or tied loose to trap heat.”

In her excitement she had forgotten some of her ‘manners’, not that Zevran had ever thought stilted introductions were mannerly frankly. Probably why it was a habit he had tried to break her of long ago. Rank meant little to him and never had. A king was just a beggar with a funny metal hat - one could die just as easily as the other. Of course Twadd or Freya would protest and say that such introductions were to show the place and importance to the scheme of things as well as the relation with the individual making the introductions, but Zevran had always believed that if people were too stupid to figure that sort of thing out on their own, then he wouldn’t waste his time. Introductions should be made by the individuals to each other rather than by intermediaries. A man or woman should be perfectly capable of speaking for themselves, as he had always done, an issue he had forced even as a slave to the Crows. Foolishness all around.

Eleanor appeared to greet and bring the women back to the solarium. Catching her mother’s eye, Freya blushed to her roots and rushed to begin the ritual introductions, which he wished to avoid. “Um, Zev, this is - ”

“The Gilmore clan,” gently, very gently, cutting her off with a touch to the small of her back. Zevran smiled winningly, silencing Eleanor’s slight frown of dismay, as he moved down the line from age greeting each one with an added compliment or some bit of information to tell them he knew exactly who they were. Until he was done, “And I am Zevran Arainai-Eu’rai’ddvinnen, hailing from fair Antiva. But just Zev to my friends.”

Rory spoke up first, “And what is it you do, Ser Zevran of Antiva?”

“Apparently I model the fashions of my homeland when I am not leading warriors, plotting trade takeovers, negotiating the capitulation of foes, or dealing with clan wars, feuds and ensuring that the rabble obey the laws of the land,” said with a rueful and sardonic grin. “At some other time I might be pressed to solve the issues of world hunger. With Antivan flare no doubt.” Slightly more serious, “I am a problem solver. A solution of last resort. Functionally I am a commander if you require some rank to go with your pomp and circ*mstance?”

The rough-spun handsome enough shemlen blushed much brighter than Freya, his fair skin turning him as red as his hair with embarrassment. “Oh. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, ser.”

“Please, do drop the ‘ser’, I get it often enough elsewhere, it has no place amongst family friends, yes?” he said firmly. “And if you meet my father, avoid it with him at all costs as culturally such formalities are an insult when done amongst peers.”

Helpfully, Freya pointed out, “Rory, Zevran’s father is Nune, but he has already ridden out and isn’t here.”

“He is a bit hard to miss, looks similar to myself, but built like a mountain,” Zevran added. “And has filed teeth, those are also very hard to miss. And the finger-bone joints woven into his hair. Since he is out hunting, amongst other things, he might return with some more odds and ends attached or sewn together. Who knows with the mind of an old elven general? Why there was one time when he claimed that the sandtigers were naught but overgrown housecats and not much threat at all, returning with one still alive to try and make a housepet. The other had been made into a cloak, with the head for a hood - to say that my mother was not well-pleased would be an understatement as she went on about ‘boys with their toys’ and such. But when he showed her the little cubs that had come along she melted. Until of course they wrecked her loom and then it was promptly ‘get those mangy beasts out’... I always wondered if she meant he should go out as well?”

To her credit, Freya did not laugh until the door had closed behind Eleanor, with a very purposeful and meaningful ‘click’ of the latch. “You...you are a very bad man, Zev. An’ now Mama’s mad,” still snickering.

“Oh, do not worry, I will deal with her,” waving a hand dismissively. “What is life without a touch of chaos? Bloody boring. Especially as I have never truly ascribed to the idea that living in interesting times is a curse - keeps one on their toes.”

Rory however, was uncertain what the joke was, but the story had caught his interest. “How large are sandtigers?”

“Bigger than you in height and shoulder, twice your weight I would wager,” Zevran eyed him, guessing his weight. “Possibly heavier. Powerful creatures. It takes a pack of lions to make one fall if they feel threatened. Father has taken them out on foot, solo, armed with stone knives and a few javelins. Says it is good sport, but then he always feels guilty if he does not rescue any cubs if there are any. They pair for life, are cunning to the extreme, warped by the old and wild leftover magics from when the Drylands were not so dry and Tevinter warred with Arlathan. The Drylands are death to those who do not understand its ways and songs. For every non-deadly animal, there are at least ten others that can and will kill you. Large predators fall easily to the worst of the Drylands’ denizens. Snakes, scorpions, spiders, lizards, there are even deadly flying insects. Rockbees make a potent honey, but their sting can kill a strong man, while somehow, oddly, not affecting a child.” Gesturing vaguely to the north, “In the Hundred Pillars where his people live, there are many things even worse. Loose experiments and demons from Tevinter. Old guards set in place by the elves when they ruled the area. Natural things warped. There is a reason his teeth are pointed, and it is not for aesthetics.”

Lady Gilmore, who had stayed behind to meet with her husband and the teyrn, thought for a moment, “Are those the people who were recently added to Antiva? I thought I had heard something about some trouble on the borders...”

“Yes, and no. The Arlathanlen are a nation of pure elves, nothing like the simpering and crushed ones you are accustomed to, nor the Dalish,” he shrugged. “They are their own sovereign nation, with my father as their voice in Antiva. Mostly anyone fool enough to try and subjugate them will not like the consequences.”

“So your father is an ambassador?” she asked.

Raising a brow, “If ambassadors lead the oldest legion of the mercenary guild of a foreign nation and have a tendency to eat people who aggravate them, then I suppose so. One could say he is one of a trio of rulers for the people, one whose word is law, anything he dictates and proclaims is as solid as a law as something that King Cailan says. All without the need for a Landsmeet to ratify it. He was not so much elected as simply took over as he was the best suited to the job, which is their way. If I was not half Dalish and raised amongst shemlen I could easily have followed in those footsteps. They...do not like humans and have no patience, or little if they have it at all, for the people who robbed them of immortality and enslaved most of their kind. Nune, however, is one of the few who does, so it is better that it is him in charge of such things rather than say...his cousin, who solves all problems by killing them.” Explaining, “The simplest way to think of the hierarchy is as three tyerns who rule, one of which travels, and works with the nearest friendly country. Not as an ambassador per se. Make no mistake, Nune is a general of a very large army of mercenaries. If he desired it, he could make Antiva his. Since he has no such ambitions, which could not be said of the other two ‘teyrns’, the Guild is happy to have him put his mind and efforts into turning Antiva a profit and solving problems.”

One of the youngest girls blurted, “So you’re a prince? I never got ta meet a prince before!”

Inside, Zevran twitched, wincing mightily. Outwardly he bowed low, “No, I am a simple problem solver. A prince’s title would be inherited. If I wished such powers, I would have to take them.”

The others finally went about talking on other things, removing him from the center of attention. He was grateful for that. The show had put a strain on him, necessary as it was to establish dominance, make Freya happy and Twadd as well, by pretending to be involved and content, doing his utmost to shine for them.

“Harold described you as an inventor and Freya’s bodyguard,” Rory came closer, hands clasped behind his back.

“Harold?” Zevran had to think for a moment. “Ah. Yes. Harold. I was in mourning and came to Ferelden, found Freya and purpose. So yes, I am her guard as well. And I dabble in alchemy and metallurgical experiments. Problem solving comes in many formats, you see. And I become bored easily. If Bryce was able to make a profit over it, then that is all to the good, but of little impact to me beyond the challenge.” Without prompting from Twadd who was trying not to dance, “And how are you, young Gilmore?”

“Please, just Rory, if I’m to call you Zev,” very earnestly.

“Very well - how are you Rory?”

Rory was noticeably flustered, “I am well...I, I mean, will you be attending the bonfire and fireworks this evening?”

“But of course,” twitching a smile to cover the pang over how like Twadd Rory was in that instant. When Twadd was happiest, or sometimes when they had gotten into the ganja, bouncing, blushing, earnest, eager and light. “I would not miss it for anything, hmn?”

Relaxing, “Good, I will see you there. If you will excuse me, I believe the Teyrn is waiting. Mother is...” Rory shrugged, “Impatient.”

“Please, there is no need for explanations, go and do what you must,” Zevran said kindly.

With a slight bow and another blush, Rory departed to the accompaniment of Twadd’s chuckles.

’What has you so amused, mi hermoso corizon?’ as he found somewhere else to be, or at least stand so that he looked busy enough that no one else would bother him further.

’And you were concerned Rory’d be throwing himself at Freya... Looks like she’s the one who should be worried,’ arms wrapped around him from behind, pulling him close. Twadd’s head rested on his shoulder as he rumbled in his ear - a technique learned from Cyni, putting the feeling of weight behind the phantom touches. Not his husband’s usual, but he did need the actual comfort of touch. ’Thank you, Love. I am aware of what this costs your very limited patience. You are itching to get moving, for the game to start so you can stop holding yourself and your pieces back. These are the days where strength must be gathered. Even if you can cut the time down to a half or a quarter of what it was, burning yourself from the inside out will only harm. I may be selectively blind or deaf, but I would like to have you at the end of this, with as little harm as possible put on your soul.’

He would have said ‘too late’, but Zevran only leaned back into the touch, masking it by leaning against a handy wall. ’Of course, anything you desire, querido. There is nothing for anyone to worry about.’

....

The bonfire was lit, everyone had wine, beer or mead. Zevran on the other hand had broken out a tincture made of cannabis, poppy and rum, and was feeling no pain. Twadd was happy in his head, high as a kite, rambling at him sweetly. Of course he didn’t drink much from the flask, mostly sticking to spiked tea from a wineskin as he wanted some of his wits about him. Fireworks could be dangerous, a large group of young people thrown into the mix along with free-flowing alcohol made it even more likely for accidents to happen. Granted, the fireworks were well-placed, aimed up and over the seaside of the plateau. Even so, someone had to pretend to be responsible amongst the rabble. If he got too bored he could always break out the chains and firedance, which might happen after the fireworks were mostly done.

The Gilmore girls had rooted through Freya’s chests and were dressed in her Antivan styled clothes. Everything had been taken out, examined, tried on, wrapped and wound when necessary. Freya did not do this at the townhouse, although she played in Sa’id’s closet, she didn’t have girls over to play. She had preferred to play or dress with up with Zamitie or himself even, but played with other children outside, never inside. He was glad that she had that experience now, as it was good for her and made her happy, further indicating that he was on course and seeing to the tasks properly. Eleanor was called in at one point to give her opinion on the clothes, then he was called in - amongst much feminine giggling - to apply the facepaints and explain the differences between the powdery, caked Orlesian affairs that were popular with Fereldens versus the soothing botanicals that nevertheless packed a punch of colour.

First he had gone on about the weather, instructing them on why such notions were important in terms of beauty and how beauty was an indication of health over wealth. He had called in water and gone to rummage in his own packs for items to actually clean their faces properly, the Ferelden preference for drying saddlesoaps making him cringe. From there he went on about what went into the makeup Antivans used - oils, aloes, pigments - all before applying a single sweep to anyone’s face. Freya had of course heard it all before from Zamitie. Now all of them had kohl lined eyes, sweeps of colour on their lids, small glass gems glued with dried honey and a bit of olive oil to various points on their faces, lips plumped and shimmering, their faces coated with a light sheen, glowing at high points when the light from the fireworks and bonfire struck their faces.

When they had seen him go through similar things, painting his own face, one had protested that it would make him feminine, until he showed the finished product, bronze, gold and amber filling black leopard spots on his lids. At some point he had ceased such ‘extravagances’, mostly due to the fact that it had unsettled Twadd slightly when it was more than just lines around his eyes. They had ‘ooh’d’ and ‘ahh’d’ appropriately, all surprised that he said men took as much care of themselves as women, and that it did not make them effete or any less masculine. All while plunking on necklaces, armbands and bracelets, changing his clothes off to one side, taking no more care for Ferelden ‘propriety’ than turning his back and being sure to not show his ass when bared. Freya had scandalized them when she described the public baths and even went so far as to tease while pointing out that the only reason he had turned was because she would be forced to claw their eyes out for looking at him nude.

Inside his mind, Twadd had laughed, saying that it was more likely that he had turned to save them all from having their eyes poked out, a thought which he had shared with Freya to garner a crimson blush and a purr. He pulled on an electric teal vest and a black silk pair of pants with wide legs, opting for ankle strapped heavy sandals, his long hair left to hang in a multitude of small braids that the girls had helped with. As they walked across the wide plateau, some rode in wagons that ran from the castle to the far edge, and eventually they hopped in one as well. Before disbursing into the crowd to play hostess, with a kiss to his cheek, Freya had run a hand over his thigh to feel the pattern cross woven into the fabric of the silk.

The girls mingled freely with what was surprisingly, or perhaps not surprising at all knowing Gaeaf and Twadd, a mixed crowd of humans and elves and even a couple of surface dwarves. Everyone was welcome and no one was allowed to be harassed. As with any gathering, there was always a troublemaker, but they were handled quietly. Everyone was family, especially on this night, the relationships perhaps not literal, but each of them had a duty to one another and that bound them.

As expected, Zevran got bored, dug out his devices for fireplay, and set about removing his teal vest. The night was warm, for Ferelden at least, and caressed his skin. Finding a somewhat removed area, in view but not meant to be the center of attention, Zevran began, his movements gliding as his limbs were filled with syrupy relaxation inspired by drink and the contents of his flask. And so he danced. Danced until there was no fuel left for the fires of his sword, chains, and the explosive firebreathing. Twadd was rumbling deeply, his hands sliding over his mind hungrily as soon as the first spin had started, Freya’s purrs added to the mix. Eyes were on him, many pairs, but he shut them out, giving himself up to the flow, wanting and caring nothing for anything beyond the pull and slide of muscles beneath his skin. Finished, he acknowledged the spectators with a perfunctory bow, putting the items away as silently as he had pulled them out, extricating himself from the crowd before they could descend, and melted into the shadows.

When the dancing had began, Freya sang out, ’Zev-err-an, Rory’s lookin’ fer ya. I promised ta keep my eyes opened.’

Flying into a broad leap, blades twirling in his hands, flame trailing the motions, giving him wings, ’I should hope your eyes are open, querida, else you will miss the party.’

Her response was, of course, joyous laughter.

But now he was quiet, quiescent, Horsie providing a backrest, curled into a halfmoon, the massive head beneath his hand for petting. In many ways it was much like old times, but he didn’t talk or tell stories to keep the air filled with sound. There was more than enough of it from nearby without him adding any.

Although Freya had danced with others, with everyone, they slipped off her as if she were coated in oil, the amulet was a compass, a north star or a southern cross that kept her orientated on him. Round and round twisting and turning, the orbit maintained. Yet it was there that Rory finally tracked him down, throwing himself onto the wild grasses next to him, staring up at the sky.

“And how are you now, Rory?” asking around the neck of his flask.

Nervous laughter offset by the punch, “I’m still good. And you Zevran?”

“As well as may be,” shrugging a shoulder, the light of the fire not so distant, but not bathing everything, instead moon and starlight gilding things with black and silver. Rubbing behind Horsie’s ears, “Such gatherings become oppressive after awhile, hmn? Too many people.” He mused aloud, “Strange, considering how very many people are in Antiva City. But I get...’peopled out’ as my father calls it when there are too many, too close.” He tapped an ear with a finger, then his nose and the corner of an eye, “They overwhelm the senses.”

“I’ve got tons of sisters.” Pausing as if to count, “You met most of them. There are three more - too young to travel, they’re still at home.” Rory made a face, sympathetic. “So I can imagine. There’s no room ta breathe sometimes,”

Humming, “I am an only child thus far. It is likely at some point Nune will have at least one more, perhaps two. We live long enough that he has a good long while to decide if that is what he wishes. But I suppose I can understand what too many siblings would be like. Constantly encroaching and borrowing things, hmn?”

“It’s a lesson we all hadta learn early on to avoid calling anything ‘mine’, or they’ll get a sudden thought that they should take it for themselves,” puffing out a forlorn sigh.

“Now that I know well,” chuckling. “Born in a brothel and raised as a slave, very little belonged to me. Unfortunately it makes me rather possessive on those few things, but quietly so. No need for anyone to take undue interest in those items and seek to remove them from me.”

A self deprecating laugh. “Yeah an’ it’s best not to point them out, or not have them be physical things that can be taken away. I’m glad that even my older sisters don’t fit in my armour, or I’d be borrowin’ from the quartermaster...sometimes still do...”

Waving a hand, “At least you are not female and having to deal with how much they ‘borrow’ from each other. They likely do it to you far less than each other.”

More high spirited laughter, “I’m afraid that my tunics are very popular fresh outta the laundry, but my breeches’re safe.”

“Freya steals my hair oils, and nothing is safe, not even my boots,” snorting. “My husband stole everything. If I had had a need to shave, he likely would have stolen that as well. At some point I just gave up making sure he had his own things, and let Cyni have his way. Trading my pillow out every few days also was another thing. At least he did not steal my boots - his feet were too big.”

“Boots I understand since I can’t find them half the time. But, hair oil?” Rory rolled his head to actually look at him. Those eyes that haunted Gaeaf were turned on him, eyes that haunted Twadd too.

“To keep it from becoming brittle,” Zevran leaned over and unfastened one of the smaller braids. “Extreme temperatures dry it out and can make it frizzy, snap, or cause shocks. Would you let your leathers become dehydrated and desiccated? No? Then why would you allow your hair or skin the same treatment? Skin that is cracked or chapped is not only uncomfortable but allows for possible fleshrot. Hair can be used to keep one’s head warm or cool depending on where one is. In the desert we braid it and then slather on aloe and water, before putting on a headwrap. But in cities and towns, people keep it oiled to prevent breakage and unsightliness.” His fingers had smoothed out the hairs from the braid that he had undone, “Compare mine to yours and you will see what I mean.”

Reaching up, Rory took him at his word, fingers running down the lock, “It’s really smooth, thicker. Mine’s kinda thin. Most of ours are. I hafta hear my sisters complain ‘bout theirs all the time too. I never thought ‘bout it. They were pretty fascinated by all of what you showed’um...not the fire, the ah...face stuff.”

“Take care of it better and you would be surprised,” pointing out. “There are things that grow in Ferelden just fine that can do similar to what we Antivans use. Flax seed oil is very good. Mustard is better and what those with fine hair use to help theirs grow fuller, but it would not grow as well here. But flax works well enough, hmn?”

“We do seem to have plenty of flax these days, somethin’ ‘bout linen cloth. I’ve got to admit that stuff doesn’t interest me, except, to Father since it’s a cash crop or tithe to the Teyrn.” Being the only male heir, it was wise to keep on such agreements, Zevran had to agree. As Rory had said, he wasn’t the eldest, but was likely to inherit, if those older than him were married away. Twadd had said, one of them might be called on to reproduce, and as Oren had been born, Rory, being the only male, was the likely candidate.

“What can you do with a cup, Rory?” asking as he finally stretched out, an arm slung over Horsie’s back.

“Do with a cup? Whatcha mean, Zev?” not having relinquished the long blond strands.

Curling his hand as it stretched up towards the sky, as though it were holding a cup, “You can drink from it. You can use it to hold things - pens, stones, pins, fluids, powders, seeds. It can be used to pound small things like seeds or resins or powder dried things if one has no mortar and pestle. Its uses are only limited to the perception you view it with. I have used a cup for all those things. I have used it to save a life or end one. A cup is used to make Wardens. The Circle uses a bowl, which is just a flatter, larger cup, to do their Harrowings. A cup - is anything you need or want it to be. You just have to look for those possibilities. Flax is food. It is clothing. It is wealth. It can be healing for open wounds, softening the skin so it does not crack and pull away from the muscle. It can be used to dye or process leather. Leather that can be used for armour, saddles, window coverings, so on, so forth. A leader has to look at things and see their potential and apply that vision.”

“Hrm. That’s true. Tha waste...what comes from pressin’ oil goes for cattle feed, what they eat we can too. An’ cattle give us hide and meat.” It was almost hearing Twadd consider and analyze something. How it related, how it assisted, what it could do.

It made Zevran ache to just close his eyes and feel.

Zevran passed over his skin of spiked tea to give Rory something else to play with rather than his hair, which he still hadn’t let go of until then, “If you just remember that a cup is anything, that everything can be anything if you only look for those options - you will do well in your endeavours.”

Taking a swig, “Freya used to say ‘Squint at it, Rory!’ Ahh, I think she meant the same thing. But, I’d rather that soup came in a bowl...holds more. Too many sisters an’ mouths to feed,” Rory laughed.

They were quiet after that for awhile, Zevran content to wait out the time that way. Twadd was humming from head to toe, overjoyed in the dual presences. Zevran was happy that Twadd was happy. But there was no way for him to give everyone what they wanted and have them remain content. So he simply waited.

Rory broke the silence, “So Duncan, tha Grey Warden’s comin’.”

“Do not go,” Zevran flicked his fingers. “Duncan will have his Warden recruit. No need for you to go through what comes. Your life is better served outside of the Wardens.”

Rory supplied the additional information, “They say that you know stuff. This is...one of those? I’m suppose’ta stay Highever until winter again?.”

“You are needed here, Rory,” Zevran emphasized. “Going with the Wardens will do you, your family, and Ferelden no good. It would be a pointless waste that does harm rather than any good. And if Duncan tries to Conscript you, I will intervene. But he will not, as he will find what he is seeking here and find it there already.”

“That’s that then. I stay here?”

Glancing at him, “And is staying here so bad? Excitement aplenty will be here.”

“You already said that you’re an only child, Zev.”

Rubbing his chin, “You wish to be away from all the petticoats and knowns, to be your own man, hmn? There is no glory in pointless death, Rory. Not ever. You will have to find another way. Take a year to study abroad or foster out to another hold at some point before you are required to take on your father’s mantle.”

“I know, no glory in death, ‘less it’s the only option. Think I heard this before when ‘dying an ig-no-mini-ous death’ at Fergus’ hands...he was always the hero.” Rory quickly corrected himself, recognizing that the drink had gotten to him, “Gack! I’ve spoken outta turn.”

“Rory, I have very little respect for titles, so speak your mind with me or not at all. Heroes come in many guises,” he reminded him. “Fergus only knows the stories, and now, as a man, he is learning that being a ‘hero’ is far more work than he expected. And I have always personally felt that a hero wants nothing to do with glory, to be known for some exploit. Such titles break a man and grind him to dust far more easily than you can even imagine. Death is far preferable.”

“True. Things aren’t pretend an’ not children’s dreams. Sorry, Zevran.”

Zevran reached out, pressing a hand on a heavy shoulder, still staring at the sky, “There is no need for apologies. With me there is never any need to walk upon eggshells, I am not easily offended, shocked nor surprised.”

“Ah.” Was it a singular trait amongst them to acknowledge everything, yet say nothing at all? Changing the subject yet again, once more the drink speaking, “Our fathers’ve discussed a match,” he meant Freya, “I don’t want it.”

“Then do not accept it,” the shoulder beneath his hand was familiar, too familiar, and Zevran made himself remove it. “Marriage is not necessary to run a set of lands. Not when you have so very many sisters. One could easily be lady of the house functionally and any niece or nephew an heir to the title. It need not be complicated, just tell your father what it is you wish, difficult as that may seem. Parents, ultimately, wish for their offspring to have what they need in life to be happy.”

The young man laughed, the sound tore the air, as it was in no way humour. Bitterly, “You haven’t talked with my father much, have you? I’d rather speak to the Teyrn himself regardin’ that.”

It was clear the young man had been hurt by Bann Gilmore in some fashion, but what sort, Zevran couldn’t say, and Twadd didn’t know either.

“Then talk to Bryce, he is very reasonable,” Zevran filled his hands with his flask, giving it a shake to test its fullness and then drained a third of what was left. “Trust me on this, Bryce will listen to you, not judge you, nor expect anything of you other than to be truthful and voice your needs. He is first and foremost a father, second he is a teyrn. That means that he is the father and protector of all under his stewardship. He has taken in Alistair, Nathaniel, in some ways, myself. He will listen and he will find a way to help you gain what you need. It is his way.”

’Maker, this he didn’t say. He never said, never told me, or Gaeaf, or Cyni any of this.’ Twadd reeled remembering, and confused, having thought that Bann Gilmore had been a father who listened to his children.

Zevran took another drink, a sip this time and carefully capped the flask. ’It is not uncommon in this place it seems. Do not worry, querido, this too, will be made right.’ “Speak to Bryce or I will speak to Bryce for you, and say that it is just one of those things that I know. Much as I knew what was happening to Nathaniel, to Alistair. He will not question my sources. Perhaps you would simply be better off at Castle Highever until it is time for you to take over your father’s holdings.” He paused, “But it would truly be better coming from you. My...knowledge...bothers him enough as is.”

“I’ll do it. What’s another confession? Don’t go too far just ‘cause of me an’ expose yourself.”

“Ah, but I am good at exposing myself,” unable to keep from countering, laughing deeply, amused at his own joke, head thrown back. Thoughtfully, “When I was a boy I wished to become a brother of the Chantry, as in Antiva they make much of the wine and spirits. Surely I thought they must spend their blessed life half drunk, which sounded pleasant. Oddly, I never considered the part where there was heavily encouraged celibacy and being a confessor. Thankfully of the last two items, only the last seems to happen.”

Rory snickered, “My cousin Tomas once wanted to try the life as a brother. He left the Maker’s service shortly after joinin’. He said that he would’ve been a great brother, except for poverty, chastity, and obedience. Of the three, he said that it was chastity that really got him.”

“I have never understood the whole ‘chastity’ thing,” squinting one eye. “Did the Maker not give us these parts? Did the Maker not make us the way we are, hence His name? These parts He made, they are to do as they do and make us feel as we feel. I mean, He certainly did not make them for looks! If one thinks on it, truthfully, what is so wonderful about a floppy appendage but for what it can do? Or any other part? testicl*s are definitely one of those things, if they did not have a purpose to be used for, mierda they would be a hideous design flaw otherwise. A wrinkly elbow skin sack with some squishy eggs in them...tchk. And lest I forget, scraggly hairs that get caught and twist and pull - and is that not unpleasant? - when seeking to get out of armour when all sweaty. Chastity just seems to be an affront to the whole purpose of His design!”

It was clear to see, who the Couslands from bygone ages had shared their sense of humour with, as Rory laughed only to take another breath and laugh some more.

Eventually spinning away from another dance, Freya threw herself between them a hand resting on each of them. With a strange look, no doubt attributed to ‘men’, she looked up at the sky as well. ’So?’

’So’ what?’ prompting her. ’So apparently you need not worry over a match with Rory as you are not his type?’

’Good.’ Seriously, ’He likes you though and Twadd has expressed the same.’ It was a question at the same time it was a statement of fact.

Sardonically, ’I had not noticed that he ‘likes’ me and had been wondering why he was out here drinking my tea and playing with my hair.’

Snickered, snorting laughter she could not contain, ’Oh?’ Wheezing like Twadd before gasping for air, she curled around her stomach unable to stop the shaking humour.

’I fear the dear boy’s head might explode if I had touched his shoulder for more than a moment,’ deadpanning. ’And that would sadden Twadd vastly if Rory’s ‘head go ‘boom’’.’

Wiping a tear, still gasping between the laughter, ’You tried that then?’

’I am yours, I am Twadd’s, I am Cyni’s,’ running a thumb over her hand. ’I will do nothing to purposefully upset you and do not know what your boundaries are, so err upon the side of caution beyond ensuring he is saved from the burning and Wardens.’

Bewildered, Rory asked, “What’s so funny?”

Zevran reached over, pressing his wrist to Rory’s cheek, the smallest amulet there touching, ’A perk of being a Warden,’ before removing the touch. “Internal conversations, hmn?”

“Wait! Where’d you go? Why wouldn’t I want that?” Rory rolled to his knees, desperate and wild.

“Because it will kill you? One cannot enjoy something if one is dead, Rory,” Zevran sighed, rolling onto his side while pushing an arm beneath Freya’s head to act as a pillow. “It tends to defeat the purpose.”

Rory pressed, “And you know that? Or is it just a guess?”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, “If you go where the Wardens call you, either by Joining or action, you will die. I have the supplies to do a Joining minus the fresh darkspawn blood. But there are things that must be tested. And even so, if you become a Warden...as things are now...you will die of it.”

Twadd groaned. ’Maker...not this.’

“Rory, you are lonely, it eats at you, does it not? The desire to not be alone, to not be afraid, to belong - you crave that,” extricating himself from Freya, reaching over her, Zevran wrapped an arm around the broad shoulders. “To be loved, cherished, valued - for yourself, and yourself alone. Everyone wishes for that. Even amongst the Wardens. Being a Warden will not bring these things to you. It will only bring you a horrific death.” Grasping the wide chin, forcing the blue eyes to meet his in the dimness, “You can find belonging, closeness, companionship outside of the Order.” He gave Rory’s chin a sharp shake, “I am trying to save you because you are already loved and accepted.”

....

Zevran rubbed his forehead, tapping the heels of his palms against it repeatedly, “That did not go well. That went badly. Mierda - I thought at worst I would have to let him down gently, not that he would wish to become a Warden!” Growling, “I did not foresee that he would be lonely like that...so lonely that even a taste would drive him to...make him wish to...arrruuuugghhu! MIERDA!”

’Love? He was the one supposed to go with Duncan.’

“Yes, yes, supposed to go with Duncan does not mean that he necessarily... I do not think he would survive, personally,” Zevran forced himself to stop beating his head and instead focus on taking down his hair. “It is no easy fix or way out. Braska - he is young and stupid with it!”

Twadd was sorrowful, ’By saving his life... Does he have anythin’ to live for? Maker.’ A book of memories flew across the ‘room’. ’There is nothing, absolutely nothing in here. We all make the same choice. Everyone but her’

Freya came up and began to assist with his hair, “You are speaking of Rory.”

“Yes,” tiredly. “If he Joins now, he will die. Either at Ostagar or by the cup. And later, if he Joins and survives that, then what? Then nothing. It will not solve his problems. It is not some mystical potion that rights all wrongs and makes it so people are not lonely. Living and finding oneself is what makes one not lonely.” Hissing as he plucked at a knot, “I can do nothing without direction and even then, it may not solve anything.”

“I don’t mean to come in the middle, but why wasn’t he lonely before?” Holding his hand so he could do no more damage, she eased the strands of hair apart untangling the knot.

“He had Ferox,” sighing. “He had Ferox to love and be loved by. He was not alone. And his death... The deaths of the others were bad enough, but Ferox, all of them, even Cyni actually, though he will not admit it, thought the death was foolish, unnecessary and avoidable. Tactically, and this is a very unpopular opinion I may add, his death was necessary in the situation that had arisen. Now that situation is being head off, so his death truly is avoidable. Preventing his death is one of those things that I can do and will do to the best of my abilities. Nelaros, your family, Rory, and others that we come to - those that can be saved, will be.” Zevran licked his lips, “Highever will not fall, your family will be safe. West Hills might, but it is unlikely. Everything that can be done is being done to prevent these wounds.”

“So you have said - “

“Freya, I swear to you, I will stop Highever from burning, I will not let you be hurt like that, if you believe little else of me, please, believe that,” vowing fervently.

Sharply, Freya took a page from her mother, “Zevran, I believe you and was not questioning your oath. Leave it and help me understand Rory. He had Ferox, then he died.” Redirecting him, “Was there anyone else?”

“And left Ferox bereft. Anyone else for Rory? No, they had each other and required nothing else, no one else,” moving to focus on the other side of his hair. “And Ferox never knew that Rory’s father...does not accept the way he is. Likely, this is just a guess on this mind you, that the only reason Lord Gilmore ‘allowed’ Rory and Ferox’s relationships in the other realms, was because Ferox was his teyrn’s son and could not speak out. Or he did not know as they were fairly discrete. Likely some combination of the two - suspicion and being unable to speak out. In any case, their plan, prior to the Blight, was that Rory would get married as was his father’s demand, and Ferox would follow him. I put forth another choice for Rory, told him to speak to Bryce, and said that surely his many sisters could produce an heir for Rory, and thus allow Rory to be...Rory. He would still take his father’s holdings, but not be forced into some marriage or arrangement that would make he and his potential wife unhappy. Bryce would surely accept that. Lord Gilmore...? Only if told that that was how it had to be by his teyrn. Which Bryce would do so as to not lose the line of succession for the Gilmore lands, keep his vassals happy overall, and such.”

Freya snorted “There are plenty of Gilmores to fill the place, ‘Lord Gilmore’ cannot see that his daughters are ready, willing and able to assist. Not to disparage Rory’s talent, as he is an excellent knight and horseman thanks to your investments, but I don’t think he actually wants to lead. There is nothing wrong with his sisters, and other than taking everything but his socks, he’d tell you himself which one would be best in his father’s position.”

The mantle of Cousland was fully in place.

“Well I was putting forth an idea that would be a balance that possibly his father would swallow, that Rory would swallow, so on, so forth, and not raise his hopes,” shrugging. “Personally I see nothing wrong with a sister taking the title and lands and letting him be what he is best at - a good, solid, soldier of the land.”

’Good farmer too,’ Twadd added.

Smiling, ’You and your mud baths.’

His husband chuckled, ’Are you tempting me, Love?’

’Always,’ echoing that chuckle. “And Twadd points out that Rory is also a good farmer. They must have bonded a great deal over their love of mud baths.” Pausing at the image of two strapping men wrestling, or even better, all of his Feroxes and their Rorys, “Hmn...that I will save for later.”

There was laughter within and without.

“If Rory only likes Twadd, Cyni...Gaeaf...” Counting, “Fine, only men, and his father is against it. He won’t speak with him or Father about it until his annual service is complete. Speaking with Papa now will plant the seed for fall. Poor Rory, I feel very bad for him.”

Grunting, “And now he has his hopes and sights set upon me. How well do you think that would go over with Lord Gilmore? The women of the clan do not seem to mind, I felt that he had had some form of...blow by blow...from what he implied...about my actions earlier in the day. They obviously know, it is only his lordship who does not know, or at least, does not accept it. A man, an elf, and a foreigner. Hmph, no doubt part of his issue is his own repression and self-loathing and is forcing such upon his child.”

Twadd’s communication was blocked from Freya, ’I could not say for certain, but there may be similarities with Howe and Ser Gilmore.’

’You mean seeing beneath those clothes,’ he pointed out. ’I would not be surprised. He was on the verge of ‘confessing’ something before my girl showed up.’

’She has excellent timing for distracting from the uncomfortable. Either recognizing your body language or others she knows. However, Rory never had bruises, per se...’

’Yes, because most of his time was in your company and away from his father,’ pointed out. ’Or are you...suspecting something worse? More in line with my...childhood?’

’Much worse than Nate, yes. But I don’t know.’

’I am not sure the women of the family would have...allowed that, because they would have to be willfully blind to it, for such a scale,’ thinking. Pausing, ’Are you sure he was a virgin also?’

’No, and the more I look at it the more uneasy I become. He talks about his mother, his sisters, but I never noticed before today that he never looked at his father before. I want to be wrong, Love. Maker, I so want to be wrong.’

Pursing his lips, ’Well then, that will not continue.’ Going over what he knew of the castle and the grounds and how the guards were timed, “Querida, I think I need to have a talk with Rory. Tonight. There is... I have to find out if the suspicions Twadd and I have are correct before taking action.”

A curious glance followed by a raised eyebrow, “We walked him back to the yurt, so he will be easy to find, Zev.” Pausing in her braiding, she kissed him. “Be careful.”

“Always, querida.” Grimly, “It is time to find out what monsters lurk in the light.”

....

Slipping into the large yurt, all were asleep. Several of Rory’s sisters shared with him, which was better than Rory being alone or sharing with the entire brood. His sisters would cover for any absence. Picking his way carefully by the faint glimmers of light, he found Rory and fell to a squat.

Laying a hand on the shoulder very lightly, his voice low and soothing as he crooned hypnotically several times, “Rory, wake up.”

Beneath his hand, Rory went stiff, shoulders tightening with a flinch, “Wha-”

“Shh, it is Zevran,” keeping the touch light. “There is nothing to fear. I wanted to speak with you. Will you walk with me? Or we can talk right here, but softly. Whichever makes you more comfortable, mn?”

The startled heartbeat slowed slightly under his hand, “What’s so urgent that it can’t wait?”

“Earlier you were about to tell me something, Rory,” shifting slightly, his knees popping. “I wish to hear it, as it was clearly very important. To help, I must have information - as my hands are tied until you free them. You do not have to give me details, but you are carrying a great burden, allow me to share it.”

Rory looked across to his sleeping sisters, “Umn maybe a walk, then.”

Zevran helped him up and navigate outside without stepping on or jostling anyone. He figured it would take time for Rory to work himself up towards telling him. He could wait and it was obvious that Rory needed to tell someone, and if Zevran had to press, he would, but the young man had suffered enough that perhaps he was ready to stop hurting.

They walked out along the cliffs for some time before Rory spoke frankly, “My grandfather had a preference for men...uh, boys actually. At first my father, then later myself, cousins, friends... I tried ta prevent ‘um from comin’. For a night or two they might be safe, but they would...find somethin’ to interest them.” Rory pushed the wind blown hair from his face. It was clear that not all of the visits could be stopped by a young boy.

’Maker,’ Twadd groaned, ’So many excuses. Yet he stayed with us so frequently. I thought it was just because it was Fergus and I.’

“Grandfather died, but it didn’t stop and got worse, spreadin’... So I pretended to be sick to keep everyone away, from visiting, which worked until a healer was finally summoned. And then I couldn’t play sick anymore. Worse, was labeled a liar and ‘not to be trusted’.”

“The womenfolk of your family? Do they suspect?” asking, because usually such systemic abuse had to be known.

Rory stared down at the ground as they walked, “They tried to minimize it. But then it only gets worse. For everyone. He’s got a terrible temper when he doesn’t get his way.”

Rubbing his chin, ’You know I am going to have to kill him, querido.’

’And you know, we’d help.’

’In this, you just put a rabid creature down. Expediently. Without drawing out the pain for others. Put the monster to rest, banish its form.’ Glancing towards Rory, ’Unfortunately its effects cannot be so easily be put aside.’

’I’m thinkin’ rather than a murder on Father’s hands, go for the cliff and a bit of sleepwalking or wasn’t he drinking a lot tonight?’ Muttering, ’I’d break his neck myself.’

’Which one of us has been doing this and trained for it?’ almost teasing, but not truly. ’I have my ways, querido. A weak heart, a bit of brain lightning. I have a concoction or three that could cause him to aspirate as he sleeps. But Rory first has to not have the title fall right in his lap.’ “Which of your sisters would make the better bann?”

The question so entirely off subject, Rory answered without thinking, “Third, Anna. Why?”

“Because in the morning you are going to tell Bryce that you have no desire to be bann,” Zevran pulled Rory to a stop and faced him. “And then you will remain here, doing what you do best. Where you belong and are allowed to be and expected to be just yourself. No trappings. No masks. Just Rory.”

The knight stared down at him, confused, bewildered, struggling with hope that was mixed with the fear of having such a chance and then having it ripped away, “Why...why do you care? You don’t know me.”

“Did you not you yourself say that everyone says that I ‘know’ things?” Zevran co*cked his head to one side. “I know more than I wish to. But it is useful. Necessary for me to know those things. Enough missteps have been taken on the paths, it is time to take that knowledge and use it.” Holding up a hand, forestalling the queries, “Do not ask questions that you are unprepared for the truth of. It nearly ruined Freya. It has left Bryce occasionally mad with worry, locked permanently into a sort of fatalistic acceptance. The knowledge is not a burden for anyone but me to carry. Rory, I solve problems. You have a problem and I know how to solve it. The weight you carry is no longer something you have to suffer alone and will receive your freedom. Without having to throw away your life.”

...

Rory had spoken with Bryce the morning after their walk. The morning the Gilmores were to return home, the news of Bann Gilmore’s death arrived as the second round of breakfast was being served in the dining room. Lady Gilmore and the girls gathered in Eleanor’s sitting room immediately afterwards. Zevran continued to eat his meal quietly, watching from between his lashes as everything unfolded, taking note of how Bryce glanced towards Rory. Rory who was squarely staring in shock at him, fair skin gone completely white, not even a hint of the pink flush usually present on those cheeks. Catching Bryce swinging his gaze towards him, Zevran only folded a napkin after wiping up a bit of egg yolk that had gotten on the side of his mouth.

As Ferelden was a good Andrastian country, there would be no inquest and study of the body. The corpse was purple faced from lack of oxygen, locked in a paroxysm of terror and rage, hands stiffly pressed to the chest as though the heart had ruptured. Which it had. They would cremate good Lord Gilmore in a day, two at most, which wasn’t enough time for the bruise of a palm pressed to the late Gilmore’s chest to bloom as the body began its decomposition. The blow had caused the rupture, and Zevran had considered poison, but there was something more satisfying with the method he had taken. One sharp, twisting blow, with the accumulated force and knowledge of how the body worked, had yielded a complete heart attack and worse. Any rumours that might arise would be over the fact that it was Lord Gilmore’s anger at having his son taken out of the line of succession, claimed as captain of Bryce’s guards and a personal knight.

When Bryce finally cornered him, he asked one question: why.

The answer he gave was simple - not all monsters hide in the Deep Roads and the worst walk in broad daylight. That had been enough and nothing more was said. Due to the funeral arrangements, the Gilmores stayed longer. Freya didn’t ask. Either the conversation the night of the bonfire was enough, or, like Twadd, she didn’t want to know. However, she did do something unusual and it only stood out because it was exactly what Twadd had done afterward - she kissed his palm.

In the middle of the night, Zevran went to the training hall, as for the fourth night running he heard the pounding of a practice sword on a practice dummy. It was time to see what else needed doing. The healing process had to begin somewhere.

Padding in softly, Zevran waited until Rory paused to take a long pull from the waterskin, “And so the problem has been solved. You and your family are free. Disconcerting, yes?”

The redhead nodded and took another swallow. It was clear that denial was still there, but mostly the anger at the supposed inability to protect himself and his family. Because Rory could not protect them, could not take action, he believed himself to be weak. This nightly ritual was a way to ensure that nothing would be lacking next time strength was needed.

Reaching out when Rory began to pick up his practice sword once again, “Stop, my friend. This will not help you heal. Strength of arm is one thing. You have it aplenty and will continue to hone it. Releasing the anger and pain this way - that helps, yes. But you did what had to be done, even if you could not bring yourself to do it physically. I am the solution to many hard problems. You released the bindings on my hands, my hands were your weapons, and you used them to protect that which is precious. Rory, you found the weapon and used it to protect. Just because the weapon in question is sentient and has freewill does not change the fact that that is what I am and what I was used for. Without your actions, nothing would have changed.”

“It shoulda been done years ago...before...before the youngests were born. And I couldn’t.”

Zevran gently pried the practice sword from Rory’s clutching grip, set it aside and hopped on one of the tables that held equipment in need of repairs, pulling Rory to stand between his knees. “You would have been tried for his murder. Then your family would have lost the monster and the saviour. A person can only do so much. The fact that you were able to stand up and do what you did do, is a feat that few can replicate. Your sister is safe and if she decides she wishes to terminate her pregnancy, that is always possible and not a wrong thing to do.”

“Zevran, lotsa children in my family’ve been exposed to the elements for physical malformations.” It was obvious that Rory had considered if other siblings were also nieces, other than the three at home.

“This does not surprise me unfortunately. I wish it did,” sighing. “The way I see it, is that now, you have a few choices about how you wish to finish vanquishing this monster. Its physical form is gone, but its claws are still deep in you.” Zevran began working on the laces of Rory’s vambrace, concentrating on that as he spoke, “You can do as you are doing currently, beating yourself, striving for perfection, and denying yourself the freedom you finally have, this is one such thing you could do. Another is to fall into despair, a deep and dark depression, where you alternately freeze and burn, once more denying yourself freedom. Those choices are the ones that are, in many ways, easiest to take. But, ultimately, they make it so the monster still wins.” Setting the first vambrace aside, he began on the second, “The other choice, the hard choice, is to learn to live. There is no magic cure, no potion, no spell, no legendary weapon, no single action, that will undo it. Nothing can undo what has happened, what wrongs have been done. Even once healed, the scars and their aftereffects will still be on you. But,” Zevran rolled back a sleeve and began kneading at the muscular wrists, finding the strains there, “like any warrior who has fought in many battles, you will learn to bear those scars and work around them. That is the only way to win. To let it go and be yourself, find yourself. You do not have to do it alone either. There are those who are willing, and able, to help. There is no shame in needing help or leaning upon another. It takes a strong man to know when he needs help and seek it, and once found, accept it.”

“So still no runnin’oft to the Warden’s, eh?” The boy attempted to joke, to make light, yet still checked to see if that exit remained closed.

Shuddering at the phrase, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end, “That is not a solution, Rory. It is a false escape when you are wanted, needed, and accepted, here. There is no longer a reason to run.” Zevran looked up at him for a moment before refocusing on a tight tendon, “Please do not run. I beg of you, do not waste what I have suffered to gift you with.”

Rory nodded, lids closing in the motion over the eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep. “Promise. Thank you, Zev.”

“Come, let us find you some rest,” hopping off and taking the discarded armguards, reaching for Freya to tell her of his plan. ’Rory has not slept, querida. I plan to watch over him, the question is - your room, his room, and what the two of you are comfortable with?’

’Umm, his ‘room’ is a bunk in the barracks.’

’There is always my old room?’ he pointed out. ’Again, it very much depends on what each of you is comfortable with. There are options, amora.’

’Perhaps after he is healed, he may appreciate that. For now, bring him up.’

Rolling his eyes, ’I did not mean sex, querida. I meant that if he is not comfortable intruding or you feel crowded, or some other thing.’

’Why would I want to have sex with another who is my brother? He is used to others being around while he sleeps. He may need healing. Zev, I meant nothing more.’

Growling as he nearly dragged Rory along behind him, ’Never mind, apparently I was inferring things. But I meant in the case he wished to cry or discuss things of a private nature. And I do not know how much you know, have guessed, or been told, but in this, I will not violate the trust given.’ Into his and Freya’s room, he ushered Rory in, “Alright, make yourself comfortable, and give me a moment to find you a pair of trews that will fit and not walk off with sweat, dashing to the nearest laundress.” As they got settled, ’Twadd, my heart, I am going to ask you to stay well back as I am going to connect and...yes, well. Slipping would be bad in his current state.’

Rory had sat gingerly, changed, on the edge of the bed, then shook his head. “...I can’t do this. I’m sorry.”

Grimacing as he sat up from where he had gotten comfortable with Freya tucked into his side, “What is it you cannot do?” Zevran carefully dislodged his girl and kissed her forehead, gaining a sleepy yawn that put him in mind of a kitten, complete with stuck out tongue and crinkled nose, “Tell me what you need or what will make you comfortable enough to sleep.”

“I snore, it’ll be loud, and disturb you,” there was an excuse if he had ever heard one.

Snorting, “Trust me, I am well aware of what Ferelden men snore like. Like a choking bear with poor lungs. Did I not mention the fact that my husband was a Ferelden? Ah, well, there, now you know. Big fellow, snored like his tongue was lost in his sinus cavity, and like he was gagging on something most foul. It is why I tended to sleep with my ear to his chest. Then I could fool myself into thinking I was just curled up with a bear with a bad case of piles, growling at things. Almost. My other husband was a quiet sleeper, very clingy and contorting into positions that made me wonder which one of us was considered a feline.”

“Just how often have you been married? And does the Chantry in Antiva even, you know, do that with elves-human and...men with men?”

Zevran had to think about that, “It depends on what one considers ‘marriage’, as the Chantry’s views mean very little to me. To me, a marriage is a long standing relationship, where people are partners, love each other, share a bed, share the roles of what is needed to be done and have declared to each other that they are together - with or without society and the Chantry’s rather limited approval. Rinna, Taliesin, Fewrlin, Twadd, Moira, Cyni... Freya and I are not quite at that stage, but truthfully, I suppose if I count Fewrlin amongst that number, then Freya is well beyond that... So - seven times. And not all serially. Rinna and Taliesin at the same time, Twadd and Moira at the same time. Twadd and Cyni at the same time... Functionally. It is...complicated. However, seven times is the number you are looking for and I have thus far, other than Freya, outlived them all and have very nasty mourning periods.” co*cking his head, “Hmn. Actually Fewrlin should be taken off that list as there was never any such declaration. Woman was a bitch and a half, bad in bed, distempered, and a mediocre mother. And violently possessive of me at times.”

“The list of marriages, outlived, or mourned?” Interested, Rory had settled back on the mattress, laying on his side facing Zevran.

Pushing an arm beneath the redhead’s pillow, granting contact slowly, “Well, I have outlived Fewrlin for quite some time. Did I mourn her? Certainly not. What can be said, is that she produced a beautiful daughter who was one of the lights of my life, even if she had the poor taste to look just like her mother. But at least Fewrlin looked just like her mother, who is also my mother, by rearing rather than blood, and Zama is very beautiful, even I have the eyes to see that.” Chuckling, “And if my father heard me say that he might try to rumble with me. Not too sure who would win that confrontation. Not that I have any designs or desire for my Zama, I can simply acknowledge she is a most handsome woman.”

Blue-grey eyes blinked at him, the young man listening and gradually fighting sleep under the hypnotic tone of his voice. At some point during the prompted conversation, Zevran began smoothing his fingers over the bare, freckled space between shoulder blades. Rory needed connection, healthy connection, all people did, and the youth had had a very short supply of it.

“Your...Zama?”

“Mmnhmmn, my Zama. Freya calls her ‘Zama-mama’, as do - actually, now that I think about it, everyone but myself, my eldest daughter, Salvail and Nune. Aiesh, the first time our good Howe said it, he blushed from head to toe! Hah!” chuckling and snorting at the memory. “Well, no, sorry, it was the second time. See, the first time he thought it was actually her name and was quite formal. Likely because my girl, she introduced Zamitie, as is her wont, intoning it all lovely, ‘This is the Zama-mama,’ and suchlike. Nune got a few ‘Papa-Nune’s’ from Nathaniel as well....” Zevran couldn’t help it, he just cracked up at the memory of that whole situation, resting his wrist and its amulet against Rory’s shoulder, showing him. “Ah...good times, good times.”

Similarities in build and personality aside, Rory was not Ferox, not any of them. The mind near and against his was different, able to connect easily, the women of the family having done as well with each other, and Rory, as possible. The youth’s eyes widened when the first light linking occurred, but when the memory was shown, like pointing to a picture, a large hand came out to grasp Zevran’s hip, as though finding an anchor and hanging on. But there was no lost and desperate mabari puppy, just a steadying, until he was laughing breathlessly with surprise as he finally looked at the memory.

Freya snuggled against him, her face nuzzling at the back of his neck sleepily, “‘S’funneh?”

“Nathaniel, you, introductions to Nune and Zama,” reiterating as he reached back to stroke from her waist and down her bottom. Soothing, “Go back to sleep my sleepy amora, it is alright.”

She hummed, squirming to spoon around him happily, “Love you.”

“Amo, mi amora,” echoing her gently, craning his neck to brush his cheek over her forehead.

“How do you do that?” Rory asked, curiosity, wonder, and a thread of lonely envy there. “I can feel...what you feel - how much you love her.”

Zevran reached around Rory’s broad shoulders in an almost embrace, unfastening his ‘spare’ amulet, making sure it continued to touch that skin that was the whitest and ruddiest he had ever seen, and slid it around and down Rory’s arm to a hand, the touch not sensual, but there to ensure that there was no severing of link. Absently he noted that the red was where Twadd would have been a much deeper tan after playing in the mud, Zevran refrained from chuckling, as the poor boy couldn’t tan at all - he just turned red like his hair. “Inside this, there is darkspawn blood, lyrium, Urthemiel’s and Twadd’s and my own. I have had this...a long time.”

“So, it works with any Warden?”

“No, just those who have a certain type of blood,” Zevran rolled the small silver and crystal receptacle in Rory’s palm with his thumb. “I have one for Nathaniel, so that I can reach and speak to him as I do with Freya without her having to be in the room. Once upon a time I had what we called a Master Collar. It contained amulets for every Warden of import and I would wear it during battle to relay messages. I would take it as a personal favour if you did not mention that to anyone as I have very little desire to be Conscripted and forced to become a hub or node for many minds. Perhaps someday I will be prepared for it once again, but that time is not now, and the Wardens are a greedy lot, Duncan and my little group notwithstanding.” A thought struck him, “Geoffry - is he alright? Unhurt?”

“How did you -? No, you said I shouldn’t ask,” Rory looked down, jaw firming. “He...he’s...”

Grunting, “Well then, I will have to send word to Zama to see if a ga’lin or a ga’ni is willing to come and do mindhealings as surely there has to be someone talented amongst the Dust Wolves or the other bands. Though truthfully, anyone who is patient and gentle is all that is needed. It is time for someone to help, to help all of you and the healing to begin.”

Chapter 4: Papa Ghede's Apple

Chapter Text

Nune returned from his hunt for the Dalish clans, successful in that they had been found, failed in that they had not been convinced. His mood was foul, though only those who truly knew him could tell. In hopes of distracting his father, Zevran had passed on some of what had happened to the Gilmore clan and gained the immediate, hoped for reaction. Rory was yanked under Nune’s wing, the long, muscular arms widening a fraction to shelter another son. At first he distracted Rory with sparring, learning hand to hand combat, eventually providing a living, breathing, punching bag - someone that embodied a powerful male, someone to pour that pain out onto, and then be held and told that it was okay to finally let go. Zevran and his protege in poison had been busily collecting herbs and venom, creating mad mixtures and testing them out on rats, which had yielded some peculiar results. Those that survived the poison and bred, created a bit of a problem - giant rats. The kennels were hard pressed to keep up with the bloody pests and to say that Eleanor was displeased with their experiments was a gross understatement.

Nan was much more vocal with her displeasure, but was easily bought off by a hug and kiss. And then having a large batch of males who hungrily devoured her excellent cooking, belching, farting and praising the meal. Zevran had long since learned that the way to win over a woman like Nan - and his own Zama - was to eat and eat until there was nothing left, or at least very little, so much so that one felt like they had to be rolled away on a wheelbarrow. The Taint inspired appetites helped in that department, and Nune could out eat all of them and he wasn’t even a Warden in the first place. Bryce had quipped at one point that it was a good thing that the harvests had been particularly plentiful and that they had plenty of workers to support the table and their appetites.

When the banner of Amaranthine’s bear appeared on the horizon, and Howe arrived, followed shortly by Duncan, Zevran sent the word by fast horse to Shianni and Nelaros that their time was coming. No one would suspect that the small Alienage could hold a danger like that, as no one ever bothered levying the elves. That meant that there were extra guards to patrol - there had of course been some balking, arming elves was protested as ‘unwise’. But Bryce had stood firm on that, finding a middle ground where armour was denied unless they had the funds for it themselves, hunting bows and daggers being the items provided by the teryn. Things that were easily made and hidden to be pulled out when needed. This of course didn’t stop them from finding ways of armouring themselves, light leathers and chain would predominate, which would be donated from elsewhere in the near future. It didn’t stop the teyrn from stocking emergency supplies of food however, should the Alienage be locked down as it had in times past.

The local elves had become guerrilla militia, their natural dexterity and senses aiding in melting between trees and buildings alike. Of course it helped that the elves of Highever’s Alienage were fiercely loyal to Bryce and the Couslands, and that their bann was an elf. Freya, Fergus and Eleanor utilized their light touch with people, working amongst the Alienage’s tenants regularly, just as the menfolk had always put shoulder to the shovels and scythes in the gathering of harvests. It was only a further reminder that the Couslands were stewards of the land, not some far off distant ruler.

Lady Landra, her son, and her maidservant arrived along with fall. And Twadd’s sense of foreboding came to the fore, his anxiety ratcheted up to the maximum possible. Bryce had already enacted a policy of not allowing other nobles’ guards to enter the castle in force unless it was the king’s, so Howe’s men were camped out on the plateau, their meals being cooked and served by Highever’s elves from the Alienage. All of whom were male, all of whom could shoot bows. And all of whom were ready to slip away into the night and use those bows. As more and more of Zevran’s ‘predictions’ came to pass, Bryce had become more and more...’paranoid’ was not quite the word Zevran would use, but ‘wary’ and ‘cautious’. Nearly to an extreme. If those things served their purpose, then it was to the good.

His husband had taken up pacing in his mind, or, when he ‘relaxed’, to obsessively review the memories of what was coming with one leg crossed over the other, a foot jiggled endlessly. To say that Twadd was concerned or anxious was a far cry from the way his husband actually was wound up - it was his nightmare they were preparing to defeat, and even though everyone was as prepared as they could be, even though everyone knew what their jobs were, even though everything that could be done, had, Twadd would not be completely reassured until it was done. It was probably why his husband had so far declined to speak with Eleanor after she said she was amenable to it, putting it off for another day. To make that contact and still have the possibility of losing it scared Twadd, though his love didn’t say those words. And so in the months since Lord Gilmore’s death, Zevran, Bryce, Freya and Nathaniel had further prepared. Bryce had already been changing the way things were run to cover what would happen, the process started long ago with the very rebuilding of Castle Highever.

As the day wore on, he heard of the ruckus in the kitchen, even as he prepared the last touches. He wasn’t overly impressed, nor unimpressed, with Duncan. And Twadd was too antsy and had long ago let Duncan’s forced recruitment go. However Zevran could appreciate Duncan’s position, the situation he was in, but when the Warden had looked to Rory after lunch, Zevran had gotten in the way.

“He is not for you,” stating firmly.

“I beg your pardon?” Duncan’s voice was mellow, surprised, but mild, painfully polite.

Crossing his arms, Zevran drew himself up, “Rory Gilmore - you do not need another recruit. You do not have enough Archdemon blood to do more than three Joinings. You have Alistair, Jory, and surely, someone else. And you already have Warden Nathaniel Howe going to Ostagar to fight with all the others of your fellows. Freya and the Antivan Wardens have other business and are lending you Howe. Leave Rory be. He is needed here.”

“This is true, but I had been given to understand that he was interested in becoming a Warden?”

“That was before he had another way out,” his tone banning further questions into the core of it. “He has found what he needs to be doing and his freedom. Leave him be. He will not survive the Joining and will waste what few supplies you have.”

Duncan was nonplussed, “I assure you that we have enough to do what is necessary. However, you aren’t a Warden and shouldn’t know any of these things as it isn’t your business.”

“Ah, you have apparently not heard - I know things,” flashing a rueful, enigmatic smile. “Another thing - ogres hit hard, Loghain does not like the Order, but if I were you, which I am not, as soon as I reached Ostagar? I would Conscript him. He will survive.”

Perturbed, “He is a strong warrior and a man of good reputation, I would hope he would survive.”

“And Jory is mentally weak and you will be forced to kill him unless he drinks first or after Maric’s son,” Zevran shrugged, still smiling, entertained by how discomforted Duncan was becoming. “Tell me, do you know the story of Cassandra? A myth from Tevinter and its fall. She had visions, vision upon vision, that always came true, but she was also cursed with not having anyone believe her. She foretold the destruction of much of their Empire. And when it happened, she was blamed, as usual, for not having convinced people that she had seen truly. To you, I am Cassandra and have made my effort. It is up to you to do, or not do, as is your nature. But either way, you will not take Rory, Fergus is already days out from here, too far for you to find him, hmn? There goes your recruits.” Winking, “I do hope you enjoy dinner theatre, good day to you then.”

....

Zevran checked on Freya, cornering her and kissing her until she was breathless, pressing against her so she could feel him, feel his presence, ’I love you, preciosa.’

Happiness purred back through the link, ’I’m not complainin’ but what’s this for?’

Sliding his hands beneath her tunic, one into the waistband of her pants, the other around the small of her back, ’I just need you to know that, to feel it, to be sure you know it, hmn?’

’I know, an’ I love you too, Zev. I’ve not forgotten.’ Ice cold hands snuck under his layers. When muscles flexed under her fingers she snickered, ’I didn’t wait for hot water ta wash off. Mmm’sorry.’ Tipping her head back, Freya broke the kiss, “Umm, Zev. I have ta go check in with Mama. You wanna come?”

Kissing the side of her neck, Zevran slid his hands away from their targets, unsure if Twadd would regret seeing Eleanor or not today if something happened. Masking the time it took to make his decision, “A moment more, corizon, hmn? I have not seen you much today.”

’...Go see her...’ it was growled, pacing, tense, frightened. Cyni would be calmer here, as it was Twadd was showing unpleasant traits more expected in Gaeaf.

He agreed that they should, that if something did happen, if it all went wrong, or if any of the family members fell - it would plague him all over again, breaking him. It would make his beloved just like himself. Sending his love to him, Zevran kissed Freya, giving her a tight hug as he mumbled his assent. The night before he had gone to have a good glass of wine and shared a bit of his cannabis with Fergus, reminding him of all the Chasind tricks and stories they had heard from their grandfather. It was a small thing that Zevran could do to hopefully make the time easier that would be coming, even though he gave no hint of what was to come for Fergus. That morning he had convinced Oriana that a light crossbow near the bed would be wise, reminding her that locked doors when strangers were about would only work if they were used, especially since her husband had already left. Little things here and there, small pieces, little nudges. Bryce had taken to wearing fine mesh mail beneath his doublet, over an undershirt, that might save him if Howe acted before Zevran could stop him. Again and again, he moved and repositioned things, frazzled, though he hid it from one and all.

“Zevran, you’re daydreaming,” Freya teased before kissing him again. ’You need a nap.’

“Hmn, well, it does happen when you get to be my age,” as he gave her bottom a playful pinch. Once Freya was done talking to her mother, he would tell Eleanor to lay out her armour for the night, just in case. Of course it would let her know that tonight was ‘the’ night, but as she was wont to say - the Maker provided best to those who helped themselves. “And I was also lamenting the calls of duty that cut our play short...”

The summons to Eleanor seemed to be a social call with Lady Landra, her son, and elvhen maid. Twadd became more distressed as the conversation continued, more so since the familiar events had first begun. What was worse was when his husband started to give the question and answer or even a comment before the speaker did. It was a reliving that Twadd couldn’t take and Zevran struggled to shield him from it, as well as any possible spillover to Freya. He even sought to distract him with a supposition of what Iona’s bosom would be like unbound and how the only aggravation was that they were sadly off limits as they looked rather nice. It had gained only a momentary ‘I told you so’ unfortunately, rather than a laugh - even a nervous one. As the day continued its inexorable march, Zevran slipped away to Eleanor’s sitting room, asking to have a word with her privately. The look she had given him was odd, as he knew how she didn’t like leaving guests to themselves on their first day of a visit as it was a mark of a bad hostess, but he begged forgiveness.

Taking her aside, “Eleanor, my dear, tonight - keep the door locked. Put your armour out. Ferox cannot live through that again and Freya should not have to either. And I would sorely miss the mother of my loves who has been a good friend to me.” Hugging her fiercely as Ferox would, “He cannot bear to say it right now, but if he could, he would tell me to tell you, ‘I love you Mother, Maker keep you safe.’”

’Zevran, please don’t do that.’ ‘That’ was left undefined - the hug, the words, or possibly the admitting of weakness.

’It is better that this is done for you now, though it hurts, than if something happens. Please, it will be a weight and a regret,’ holding Eleanor tightly who had been surprised but as soon as the words had come out of his mouth, she had returned the embrace just as fiercely. ’You have been avoiding this for years, querido, you have needed it for centuries. You need this.’

“Well, if such a fine boy were to have been raised by me, then I surely must love that darling boy too. Maker keep you and him safe, my darlings,” an archer’s lithe musculature squeezed him maternally.

Chuckling, “He is currently rather angry with me for not waiting until morning, but, it was needed and he will appreciate it in the long run. Now, you just have to survive the night, and then I can finally wrestle him to the fore so you can have proper greetings, hmn? I am tired of his moping and pacing.” He gave her a peck on the cheek, “Now, I must go do my mysterious and all knowing act and see what further can be done.”

The ‘moment’ hadn’t exactly helped Twadd as grief had been added to the churning, but the pacing had stopped. In the long run it would do Twadd a world of good, no matter the outcome. He had heard the words needed, had ‘said’ the words longed to be said. Zevran was not optimistic one way or the other, he couldn’t afford to be. That didn’t stop him from vowing to do everything possible and many that were impossible, to see that this would not be added onto Twadd. Like he had told Rory - he was but a weapon that needed to be used, given direction, hands tied until a goal was given. This was his goal and it would be seen through.

Leaving the family quarters, Freya’s voice was heard in the library reciting his history with Scholar Aldous, the old man’s faint praise causing Twadd to twitch again. “I’m glad some of my lessons don’t disappear into that yawning chasm between your ears, young lady.”

’Shhh, we are working on it,’ even as he headed out to find Rory.

Groaning, Twadd’s head was in his hands, ’I don’t want to know, Love, but was it rats in the pantry, with the hound?’

’You need this and the rats are already finished for the day, he and Freya saw to that, dinner is in a few hours, come now, pay attention,’ reminding and teasing gently. ’Let your Zevran do what you need in the long run, mi hermoso corizon, my beloved, my handsome heart.’

Knight Gilmore wasn’t as damaged as he could have been, having learned to let the pain slide off and given up on freedom until suddenly it was in his lap. But he still more often than not slid sheepishly into Zevran and Freya’s bed, seeking companionship and belonging. Of course it was fodder for much gossip, very little of it negative, but mostly speculation on the ‘wild Antivan lifestyle’ that had occurred, and how were the girl’s poor parents going to find someone to take her off their hands. Of course Nune’s presence was a good distraction, as it always was, and his father was impervious to it as usual.

Rory was embarrassed though, worried that his presence was not just a burden and hindrance on his and Freya’s relationship, but fodder for wagging tongues. Frankly Zevran didn’t care what was said, it left him completely unfazed, and Freya even more so. She still woke him up as usual, paying no more mind to Rory’s presence in the bed as she would Horsie, who would just get his large rump booted with a foot to give more room. Of course all that lead to Rory blushing all the way down to the waistband of his sleep trousers and roll over quickly, a pillow shoved over his head. However the large youth thought it wasn’t noticed or taken note of and that once he and Freya were fully ‘engaged’ that his hand would sneak down to relieve the pressure the sounds of the activities caused, or the surreptitious looks Rory would give him, watching, likely imagining himself in Freya’s place.

Zevran didn’t mind and if it displayed normal relations between two people, then that was definitely in the ‘good’ side of his mental checklist. In fact he had had to make it clear to Rory that it truly didn’t bother them, that his presence wasn’t rejected, nor a hindrance to their relations, as inhibitions about something natural were just silly when two people were willing and wanting. He didn’t point out to Rory that he was well aware of his interest and the bit of voyeurism, as it would have only driven the poor man mad with blushing and steam might have shot out of his ears, and while Zevran adored teasing and ‘ruining’ Alistair, he had no desire to do so with Rory.

Finding him, Zevran happily hauled him off, blowing a cheeky kiss to one of the guards who was grumbling, ‘threatening’ to call upon him next. That shut the guard up quickly who flushed, stammered and nearly ran off to go do something else. Anything that would get him far away from the sexually deranged Antivan.

“Now what’s this all about? Duncan already came by to check that I didn’t want to Join,” Rory said with exasperated good humour. “And I told him that I was needed elsewhere.”

“Mn, good,” Zevran bid he sit down in one of the barracks rooms, whose door he had bolted, and then plunked his own self on the table, legs crossing. “Because it is true - your reasons, all of them, for Joining are gone, no?” Ticking off on his fingers, “Acceptance, belonging, companionship, freedom, being yourself. All are here, around you, within you. You have no need of a band of cutthroats and criminals to be your family.”

“Pardon?” this description of the ‘great warriors of old’ startled Rory.

Grunting, “Duncan killed the fiance of a Warden Commander and would have hung if not taking the Joining. Most Wardens are drawn from the dregs of society. Not that there is anything wrong with that. I myself am a most definite dreg of society. In another time, I was a Crow. Killer, seducer, assassin, murderer, torturer. And in a time after that, I was the Guildmaster of the Crows. The one who functionally ruled a nation, decided who lived and died and employed my thousands of slaves in tactical strikes for money, power, and protecting my country. Dregs are not bad things, but finding fellowship with them is not for someone...like yourself. You would not fit in as much as you think.” He shrugged, “Of course there are exceptions to this generalized rule. Alistair, Howe, Freya, a few others... But the Wardens pull from the most cunning, most vicious, most eager to do whatever it takes to survive - for the most part, those are who make the best Wardens. Odd, considering that it is a ‘selfless’ order. In this way, their abilities are made to serve overall society. Much like the Crows serve Antiva as protectors, no matter how often we paint the cities red with blood. You see...you are far too honourable and would simply...truly...not fit with most of them and in your seeking to fit, you would lose yourself just as much as if you had still been imprisoned. Your freedom need not come at such a cost, as that cost has already been paid.”

Rory nodded, having already been told this, but sometimes these things had to be repeated, especially in the case of those who were young. “I’m not blind though, you and Freya have been packing your bags again and the horses are being readied. Only Nune isn’t preparing because he lives out of his pack when he even bothers with mundane needs. You’re going with Duncan, probably following Fergus. Everyone’s gathering at the same place, it’s all the guards talk about, Zev.”

“Not quite, Freya and I are going to Lothering, all the others go to Ostagar. A minimal retinue of guards and Nune’s Free Blades are to remain here and keep Highever safe,” Zevran folded his hands in his lap, watching Rory intently. “Cailan has come up with a plan he believes will stop the darkspawn horde in its tracks.”

“You don’t sound very hopeful for someone who sees things,” Rory looked up at him.

Slowly, Zevran tucked his head on his shoulder, neither a nod or a shake, “It will buy much needed time. The Archdemon has not shown herself and until it does, all that can be done is slow the horde. Time must be bought for the Archdemon to show - but if Ferelden falls to the horde, then it does no good to your people, now does it? What will happen, must.”

“So we retreat in front of it, using hit and run tactics? Leading it where? A heavy army does not make for good skirmishers.” The use of horses in this role were left unmentioned, as they had been held back for far more vital purposes.

“No, it does not. They will plug the hole and slow the horde, this I know well,” his voice soft. “Fergus will return, do not fear over that. But many will not. Time will be purchased with the only coin that truly matters, Rory. Blood.” Holding up a hand, “Yes, saving as many as possible is good. But sometimes tactics require the ultimate sacrifice to buy time. It is not undertaken lightly and every other possible scenario only worsens the situation. The choices that will save the most overall life have been made, sad as it is. I am sorry, there is nothing else on that front to be done.” Zevran held his gaze steady, “Lothering will be overrun even with Ostagar happening, the people need evacuating, the Templars will be hard pressed. That is where Freya and I go to meet with the survivors of Ostagar, to rally them and protect those townsfolk, get them to safety. They will need a safe place to turn, that is why the yurts have been stockpiled these years. Bryce, Nune and I have been planning this for many years you see. Nune’s men cannot be levied by Cailan, cannot be forced to the altar that is Ostagar. They will be able to help keep the land safe enough so that there is somewhere defensible for the population to wait out what comes. Do you understand this?”

Zevran prayed Rory did, would not be overcome with the foolish notion, noble as it was, that going to Ostagar would be how he could best serve the people. In fact it would be ignoring that the population still needed someone to keep them safe here. If the bulk of the army fell at Ostagar, as it would, then there would be too few to keep fields and people safe for very long. The line had to hold and that meant there had to be some held in reserve. Until Urthemiel showed herself, an all out, without reserves held back, attack would be useless.

“So you’re bringing them to - “ Rory paused to picture the map of Ferelden and mentally followed the path of the Imperial Highway, “ - Redcliffe is first on the road, several other small farming villages, no real walls or protection, though; then Highever and West Hills, we’re pretty far to the north though; Gwaren is closer, but the forest makes getting there difficult.”

“And Redcliffe would be easily overtaxed, some will stay there, but many will come here, West Hills, Amaranthine, Denerim, even Kinloch. These are defensible positions and have fields that can be worked in the interim. And those cash crops that have been grown all over the teyrnir? There is a reason for that. There are great stores that have been stockpiled, set at key locations. The horses have been kept in reserve for transporting people via wagons, this has been planned,” he explained. “They will still need some to keep them safe, the work is important, Rory, as inglorious as it may seem. The question I have for you personally, is what do you need? You have options.”

Rory shook his head, “What options would those be? I’m the Teyrn’s man and go where I’m told.”

“Do you think Bryce would fault you from acting as Freya’s shield?” raising a brow high. “I may be her personal bodyguard, but even as I have been stomped and gnawed upon by dragons, I am not as young as I once was. My knees creak, my left shoulder stiffens in the cold from a bad break ages before you were born. She does not need a personal protector beyond Horsie and I, but she will need friends, we all will, to watch our backs and our fronts. It is your choice, Rory. You are not unwanted, unappreciated, unaccepted, unloved.” Slowly blinking as he stared into the heather grey-blue eyes, saying the words that had needed saying for so very many years, words that Ferox had never been able to utter until it was far too late, “Quite the opposite, you are wanted a great deal, appreciated a great deal, accepted, and loved. You are loved for yourself, Rory. Not for what you can do, loved just for yourself. These are certainly feelings I have for you.”

Those same eyes closed for a minute, the forehead creasing and Zevran couldn’t help but reach out to smooth the furrows away, as the young man considered what was being offered. When he finally spoke, Rory’s voice was strained, “If the Teyrn sends me, I would gladly go, to accompany you.”

“Good, Bryce already gave me jurisdiction on how things are set up in this regard, to take who needs taking,” he nodded. “Now that that is settled - how are you Rory?” a question he asked periodically, always receiving the same response in words, but many different ones in manner. Tucking a loose bit of baby fine red hair behind a round ear, “Tell me how you really are this time, hmn? What goes on behind those big blue eyes?”

Rory blushed, cheeks, ears, to the very tip of his nose, turning scarlet, Zamitie’s door wasn’t quite as crimson, as an equally red hand reached up to take his. Those eyes didn’t look away, gauging his reaction, as his hand was turned, Rory’s breath warm and quick on his bronzed palm before it was kissed. Zevran could feel the shaking in the fingers that gripped him, in the lips as they pressed against the meat of his hand. He wasn’t sure if he was surprised or not, it could have gone either way and the gesture didn’t answer his question, but he smiled, brushing his thumb over a bright nose.

“I am well. How are you, Zevran?” mouth still covered, the boy’s voice shook almost as badly as his hands.

“Content,” replying truthfully, Twadd trembling giddily in his mind, having momentarily forgotten the day that it was. “My needs in life are simple when it comes to happiness - that those I love are happy is all I require, whether I am the source of it or not. And so I am content.”

Each word mumbled into his hand was a kiss, “Too many things are complicated, it would be nice to think that something wasn’t.”

Ruefully, “Putting on pants can be complicated. Particularly after too much has been imbibed. So, anything can be complicated... Which is likely why I try to keep my true needs simple.”

There was a second purposeful press of lips to his palm before the still cherry red face was revealed. The watchful gaze turned instead to the examination of his still held and unreleased hand, finding interesting calluses. “That sounds like it’s a good thing - both in keeping things from becoming complex an’ remembering to stay dressed while drinking. Unfortunately, if drunk it’s kinda hard to recall good advice.”

“Ah, remember - the best fonts for good advice rarely take their own and have gained their knowledge the hard way,” laughing. “Running across rooftops naked as the day I was born...now that has happened more often than I care to count. Also, on a few occasions, simply having to hike through a city of over three million people bare as the babe have happened... Sadly, most of those things happened when sober so they could not be chalked up to having lost common sense.”

“I would point out that you were keeping your belongings to a minimum.” Humor was returning and Rory was losing his shaking nervous fear.

“No, no - that would be Nune who does that... I once found out that I had some...five hundred? Seven hundred? Something disgustingly obscene number of pants,” squinting as he tried to recall the counting that had happened. “And before I came to Ferelden, I had no fewer than forty sets of armour. Forty. Forty sets of armour - why in blazes would I have forty sets of armour you ask? I have no clue and was rather hoping you might suss out some reason... And no, they were not the ones that had been shredded, none needed any repair... I just had bloody forty sets of armour. Forty...braska, what was I thinking? And do not get me started on cataloguing my daggers, it is just too much, or my swords, bows...no, no, I shall not think on it.”

Twadd rumbled, ’That you looked rather handsome in leather...Antivan Leather. And I’d have to agree.’

’You just liked me getting sweaty and peeling it off piece by piece,’ amused.

’And you know how to make me miss having physical form, Love.’

Squinting, Rory proffered “One for every day of the month? With a few for when some were being repaired? One or six for special occasions, like the King’s armour? Well ‘bout all those pants, I don’t think I could venture a guess.”

Laughing outright, “Oh, see, I knew you were smart and could come up with a better reason than I could. I was rather stumped you see, but it was likely because...what good is wealth when it is not used? That and I had many enemies. Enemies make good armour, or so my Zama always said. Pants well...I had to have a wardrobe for two. And then there were my grandsons and granddaughters, and all of them who tended to like playing dress up and say ‘oh, let us go into Papi’s room and dig for things and let us pile all the dirty and clean together and tackle it like a great pile of leaves’ - we do not get autumn the way you do here, so no leaf piles, they had to make do with clothes piles...”

The voice within and without agreed, “Pine needles.” Rory clarified, “Long needled pine trees drop their soft needles when they grow more in the fall. After a big fall wind storm we would gather large piles, and perhaps after a bit of play, take them to the keep for basket weaving...a wintertime activity.

Zevran already knew about pine needle baskets as it was a discussion that Freya and Nune had, but he nodded. “Just so - there is something about being young that makes jumping in piles of things fun... Or when one is grown. Just try to stop me from diving into a large pile of hay or a mound of pillows and blankets - it would not go very well, hmn?”

“You did leap onto the mattress after the bedding had been changed, that’s true.” The squawks had been funny because someone else had already been in that bed, namely Rory who hadn’t been expecting it, and Zevran had been joined by Horsie who romped over it along with him. “Have you always been so...vivacious?”

“Tchk, so young and so adult and serious,” Zevran teased. “But yes, for the most part...” Trailing off, “When sufficiently stressed or hurt or lonely - no. Then I am...quite the opposite and have no true patience to suffer the company of others let alone to play. Even if that very play is what will ease the state.”

“An’ you’ve been more stressed of late.”

Shrugging a shoulder, “Having to know what to disclose rather than set the burden down and share it all... It becomes tiring. People need choice, so I have been told time and again, and anything that rips away the illusion of it is...” Zevran licked his lips, “There is always choice. The choices made by others that have then suffered as a result leave one able to decide whether to take that path or to choose the path that is most likely to work... Bryce is hard hit by the knowledge I have imparted. Stop the bottleneck, and purchased time it will result in, to save many? Or let it go as it must to save everyone else? It is a hard decision to decide which to kill, which to save, move which piece here or there to greatest effect... To know what I know is a gift and it is a curse. It causes me to lose patience when I wish to make others see what I see, know what I know, do what will save them ultimately. So, yes, I have long been tired and stressed, ever since coming to Ferelden, waiting for what will come to be done, seeking to last to the point where I can finally sit down and just...stop. Stop worrying, stop planning, stop plotting who needs to go where, to heartlessly calculate the worth of a life or many lives. To weigh this or that action and its cost, ignoring who pays the price with their life or their suffering, their families, so on, so forth. I have to be cold like the pig farmer who simply assesses the weaknesses and strengths, and simply act in the interests of the farm’s long term health.” Squeezing Rory’s hand, “So I take the smaller victories and save what I can and view those as my true, greatest successes, hmn? Keeping you from the Wardens is one.”

“You decided to save more than that.” The youth pointed out, “Sending wagons, for example. If you didn’t know something and warn, help wouldn’t be sent to get there in time and potentially more people’d die.”

Zevran glanced around the room, sweeping it with his gaze, “Castle Highever needed rebuilding for more reasons than just to repair the damage from rogue fireworks set poorly. Highever would burn to the basem*nts if it was not fixed. Perhaps not a great deal of lives that were important in the grand scheme of history, but ones that were important individually, would be lost. I will not have what I know, come to pass when it does no one any good. When it serves no possible positive purpose.” Sliding off of the table, he shook his head, “Enough of such maudlin subjects, there is far too much of it to go around. Something happy instead would be better.”

Reaching for Freya, uncertain of if what he was contemplating was wrong or not - not morally, he didn’t care about that, but if it would be wrong in her eyes. ’Querida...? I am...confused as to what boundaries you wish me to remain in and so have a dilemma.’ He sent a wash of love along with his uncertainty, ’Rory likes me, Twadd loves Rory, and I care for Rory. And I do not wish to hurt anyone or make anyone unhappy, not those I care for, not ever.’

Initially there was little thrill at receiving a capital ‘Q’ as sentences did not usually start like that. The excitement passed as she grew thoughtful, ’What are you considering, Zev?’

’A kiss,’ a mental shrug as Rory watched him curiously.

’A real kiss, not a besos kiss, otherwise you wouldn’t have thought about it or asked.’ Calmly, ’Will it help heal him?’ The question should not have been surprising, Freya was a healer after all and not all cures were for tears and slices in the body.

Zevran made himself think about it for a split-second, ’I believe so, to experience what it is to not have it be a bad thing, that this thing he craves is not harmful.’

Without a moment of thought other than sending her own love back to him,’Then kiss him, the sunlight should help a lot, it always does for me.’

Worries assuaged, he sent his relief and gratitude, ’Querida, I love you.’

“You’re doing that head thing again?” Rory was puzzled, slightly worried. “Is everything okay?”

His mouth tugged up into a smile, “Everything is just fine, Rory.” Zevran moved closer, leaning down, still holding Rory’s hand, his other moving to stroke the red peach fuzz on the line of jaw as he moved in slowly. “Happy things, hmn?”

“H-hap-happy things?” eyes widening as he stammered.

But Zevran didn’t answer with words, his mouth pressing to Rory’s. Beneath his fingertips, the skin went hot, the hand holding his, hanging on for dear life, even as the lips parted quickly, leaning in eagerly. A laugh and a grin found Zevran, amused at how such a small thing could get such a fast reaction. In his head Twadd rumbled, vastly pleased, as Zevran thoroughly let Rory taste his mouth, rough and devouring from poor experiences, until Zevran returned and redirected the kiss, turning it soothing and warm. Red hair was in his hand as he ran fingers through it, mussing the locks, until the young knight moaned, the sound vibrating from Rory down Zevran’s throat.

Parting, “Happy things, yes?”

Nodding dumbly, Rory cleared his throat before agreeing, “Happy. Yes please, Zev.”

Quizzically co*cking his head, face scrunching up as he tried to understand, fingers still at their play, “Yes please?”

“Please?” Color deepening, “I mean...Thank you.”

“Ahhh,” trying desperately to not laugh, instead nodding and moving in for another kiss. Releasing a pleased hum he broke away again, “Well, dinner will be shortly, Rendon is going to be entertaining us this evening, best to get ready for the show, hmn?”

….

Dinner was lovely. Nan was in fine form tonight. Even Howe complemented Eleanor on remembering a favorite dish cooked just for him. If only he knew that it hadn’t been made by her or Nan, he might not have enjoyed it so much, or eaten quite all of it. Zevran only smiled to himself pleasantly as he chatted with the other dinner guests. Then again only enough had been made for it to serve Howe if he was greedy, which he was. Nathaniel at his shoulder had a puzzled look on his face, hidden as usual beneath his stern expression. Nune on the other hand had taken one sniff of the dish and completely turned his nose up, sticking to the venison, seeking the rarest portions.

As the meal drew to a close, Eleanor excused herself with Oriana and Landra to go chat after bidding their goodnights. Astonishingly, Freya stayed, toeing off her boots and placed her feet in his lap which he quickly commenced with rubbing. Even though she was not armed similarly as the rest of them, in and of herself, she was a weapon and could pull upon spell as well as sword with ease.

“Rendon, how long have we known each other?” Bryce asked finally, the question said without the usual friendliness.

“Why - practically our whole lives,” Rendon was surprised by the question and tone, countering it with friendliness of his own.

Bryce set down his goblet and pushed away from the table, “And how long have you planned on killing my whole family to take the teyrnir?”

“Why - why I don’t know what you’re talking about Bryce,” true confusion, but not for the reason one would suppose.

Zevran subtly shifted, Alistair’s innocent features just as openly confused, Nathaniel’s darkening, Nune impassive as usual. Duncan was not quite unreadable, but he was merely observing, unwilling to intervene, one of the few Wardens Zevran had ever come across that actually bought into the whole ‘apolitical’ lie. Likely for survival as he had been between Maric and Loghain, dividing the friendship however unwillingly, stuck forever in the middle.

“Rendon, old friend, I don’t know what has twisted you, why you would be the monster you have become, one who would beat down his own children over the course of their lives,” Bryce was calm, steady. “I don’t know why you felt that you needed more power than what you had already. Why you would take out your aggression on the very people you are charged with protecting. Why you would seek to throw your seneschal into prison, when he did nothing but his job. No - do not lie to me. The blade you think you’re hiding is poisoned. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

Finally Zevran spoke when Rendon stood to try and put himself on an even footing with the teyrn, his voice velvety and dark, “You enjoyed your meal I trust? The foie gras? Normally you would have had to fight Nune for liver, but it was made especially for you.”

“What is the meaning of this?” Rendon’s voice was strident, offended, his handful of guards near the main door of the dining room beginning to surge forward.

Zevran flicked his hand, the lead guard falling, the hilt of a dagger sprouting like a flower, startling the other guards, who all fell quickly as the elven servants quickly looped wires around their necks, or stabbed them through chinks in their armour. “The meaning...? You seek meaning... Hmn... The meaning of the word lanthrax? It has seven stages you know. Right now you are beginning to feel the first stage. Heart palpitations, that indigestion that started around the fourth cup of wine you had...? Next you will find that your ears ring and the control of your legs begins to...waver. Extremities become - ah, yes,” conversationally noting how Rendon had begun lightly shifting to mask the discomfort of pins and needles. “That. Pins and needles, bugs crawling beneath the flesh. Tell me - how does it feel, Rendon?”

“You will, you filthy knife-eared - “

“Oh, such names you call me, are you trying to bed me?” Zevran turned silky, his touch on Freya’s feet sensual. “Your men will avenge you? Your son? Which one? The one who has already gone off to die? Or the one who has long since stopped being your progeny and risen above you? Or the men who are currently dying out on the plain, their stew pots well tainted by some lovely mixture that was concocted over the years... Breeds dreadful rats, but it works well enough on humans. They are also being given mercy by their camp servers, after all, we are not cruel. I have a wonder - how does your dungeon look? Will we find bodies stacked like rotting cordwood?”

Rendon slammed his hands on the table, using it to hold himself up, “I’ll...kill...all of you...”

“No, no, I do not think so,” Zevran pushed Freya’s feet out of his lap gently and stood. “You ingested enough lanthrax to kill the entire table. But you see, there was only enough of the dish for you, placed just so. Those who knew what was to come were around you, and they would not touch it. Those not in the know were too far to gain any and risk poisoning.” Sweat, foul smelling, began to form, dripping from Rendon’s brow. “If I were you, I would use that dagger right around now. On myself. I wager in about...oh...two...three minutes at most...you will lose control of your bowels and bladder. Quite undignified. The only vengeance you will be gaining over us, is the mess we have to deal with when you finally fall over. Did you know it can take up to fifteen hours to die fully from lanthrax poisoning? It only takes a few hours to be incapacitated. Nor is there any antidote. Not here at least.”

Everyone was held immobile, waiting on baited breath.

“You have...no right. I...deserved more,” choked and growled, until a shocked gasp as the next stage - the loss of bladder and bowel control came, the stink spreading as it flowed down the well tailored clothes.

A humiliated howl and Rendon finally grabbed for his weapons, but Nathaniel was faster. Blood gouted from the side of the arl’s neck, the younger Howe having gathered his bow calmly and silently. The arrow punched through the opposite side of Rendon’s neck, the startled and angry expression turned towards his son briefly as he fell over, convulsing and struggling for a brief moment before the weakness caused by blood loss, lanthrax, and lack of oxygen took too strong a hold.

“You deserved more pain, Father,” the young Howe intoned as he approached the not quite dead arl. “You could have done anything you wanted to me, but threatening my family is dishonourable and treasonous. This death is too good for you. But I’m not like you.”

With a last, blood flecked gurgle, the ghost was given up and an ultimately useless man was moved out of the way.

Bryce heaved a tired sigh, “How long before they attack?”

“You were stabbed over drinks,” Zevran searched. “Or so I estimate. But with how things are progressing, it might be best if we all begin to move out and clear room by room. Eleanor is already armed I imagine, guarding her grandson, and I sent Rory to the battlements with a group of archers to deal with anyone not of our own exiting. Rico and Ilian were near the vaults and family wing respectively with their groups.”

“Well then, let’s move out and deal with this...distasteful evening,” Bryce removed his doublet, revealing the chainmail and threw it over Rendon’s staring face. A shield was pulled off the wall to be paired with the sword on his hip, signalling for them all to get to work.

....

It was not bloodless, nor without loss. But none that Zevran had set out to protect died, except one. Nan. The old woman had taken the fool notion into her head to defend her kitchen unto the death, despite the pleas to find safety. He wouldn’t fault her for it, couldn’t. She wasn’t defending the humble food preparation area, but the two frightened servants who hadn’t received the evacuation and trade out notice for those that Nelaros had offered up. Freya was crying over the old nurse’s corpse and inside, Twadd was crying as well. But Nan was the only personal loss that he had sought to avoid that happened. A few guards here and there, one of Nune’s men - sad, yes, but they didn’t personally affect him, so they could be shrugged off.

Zevran had been surprised at their good Howe’s actions after dinner, patricide was something he hadn’t wanted Nathaniel to have to deal with. Then again, what he had done was a mercy. Zevran had been fully willing to let him suffer and only take action to end it if it dragged on too long or Rendon looked like he was about to cause trouble.

Kneeling beside his girl, he reached out to lay a hand on her shoulder, pain crushing him, not over Nan’s loss, though he had liked her, but his loves’ pain, “Freya...I failed you. I am sorry.”

Arms around him were flung, another from Twadd around them both, and an unexpected third, heavy and nearly real. “No, it was her choice, Zev. If you hauled her off over your shoulder she would’a done somethin’ else ta be useful.”

’It’s how Nan always was, Love. This is not your burden to carry, nor ours.’

’No other outcome could be observed, Desire,’ quiet waves lapped on the shore.

Holding them all, ’Did not want any of you to be hurt this way. Wished to protect you all and keep your hearts safe...oh my loves...I am so sorry.’

The triangle shifted as he became the center and all three poured what they held in to him, Love, Hope, and Purpose. The broken gaping cracks would never be repaired, but it didn’t stop them from scooping up what ran out in an attempt to refill the cup.

Later, they slept, Rory having been easily included even by Cyni. Horse remained in his usual spot at the foot of the bed eyebrows twitching. The spirit men kept watch, but as his boy was quiet, it was unlikely anything further would occur that day. Their main goal had been achieved - the Couslands, teyrnir and Rory were safe.

The first dark night was done and the entire journey was ahead.

....

The shock of the night had passed and several days to cope with it as well. Since those slotted to go to Ostagar had died in Twadd, Cyni and Gaeaf’s realms the night Highever burned, they were currently being held back. Bryce wanted to use them to harry the horde once Ostagar had passed, protect the highway and help with the evacuations. So he kept them back, their pace to be slowed. No one would fault, or could fault, Bryce delaying going to Ostagar, not with the attempted coup and most of the Highever troops already deployed, as well as the minor fact that all those brought with Howe were lost to the ‘assault’. What could be salvaged from Howe’s men was, and so the time was taken that was necessary to make everything ready and put in order.

Zevran was slow, sweet and gentle with Freya each morning, apologizing how he could. They may have forgiven him, but he couldn’t forgive his own failure. Granted, he had been prepared for something to happen not within his parameters, yet that didn’t change the fact that he had promised he would protect the family, and Nan was part of their family. There was only one thing left to do in Highever though, everything else was done for the time being, only nervous tics and repeated quintuple checking of plans.

Going to Eleanor’s sitting room, a few more sketches - clothed this time and freshly drawn - of Twadd, Cyni and even Gaeaf ready to show, he found that Bryce was there as well. Zevran made himself comfortable, Freya at his side, ready to allow him to reach through her to her parents. He set the large book down on the table, opening it, as well as his old, careworn one to the drawings he had done long ago. Added to their number were those who were important, who had been loved, who carried the Cousland blood, if not name, ages, birthdates, parentage, little things about each were on the newer set. It had been hard compiling all of them, recalling faces, reminiscing with Twadd over them, sometimes having to find Rory, just to close his eyes and be held by someone larger than himself. But he had done it.

“I made more,” laying his hand on the great book of drawings. “They are all...’safe’ in terms of content. The ones in this book,” tapping the smaller volume, “are not for the most part.” Clearing his throat as he adjusted his amulets, fishing out the third and wrapping it around his other wrist, “So, what would you like to do first, my friends?”

“Eleanor said that this Ferox looked like her brother?” Bryce was curious.

“I would not know what Feroz looked like, nor were my spouses aware that there was such an uncle,” as he shifted the first drawing into view. “I apologize that this one is...well. We were married in the horseclan fashion. Declared intent and a lifetime together. Well, many lifetimes, or just one if you count mine.” Opening the larger book to the first page, as he had worked chronologically, “This was Twadd, the Ferox I met first, shortly after we were finished with the Fifth Blight. If he looks like this Feroz, then we did not know of that and could not say of a certain.”

Eleanor asked a question that she had considered in the recent days, “Were there any children?”

“Fergus had a daughter named Amalthia. Once the Qun’ari invaded, Fergus and his resulting progeny became the monarchs of Ferelden, a rebel line and were not actually put on a physical throne until...generations later,” shifting uncomfortably. “I did not know the generations between Amalthia and Calenhad Cousland very well, as I was busy from the Antivan side of the battles, but the Nune of my Thedas knew all of them and spoke highly of them.” Flipping a few pages to Moira and the girls, “We adopted Elissa and Eleanor and took Moira as our wife. Eventually she bore us two sons - Bryce was of Ferox’s seed, Helion of mine.” Another picture, Ferox asleep with children plastered to him and a few stuffed toys, which was a common enough sight, along with a mabari puppy sprawled partially over his head, “‘Daddy’ was the best for naptimes. And piggyback rides, being thrown in the air or gaining bedtime stories about Earl the Ferelden Rockfarmer and his ever growing retinue of talking animal friends who taught how to take care of things from gear to the land. Swords to plowshares, my Twadd.”

Bryce laughed. “An’ he talk’td like this with’a draaawl.”

Echoing the amusem*nt, “Yes. He still does it sometimes, an old habit, hmn?”

“My father, in his cups, would tell stories about Earl and his harvests, planting, building, even hunting stories, although I don’t remember any talking animals. I couldn’t ever decide if they were stories he made up or were from someone he knew when he was a boy.

Zevran shrugged apologetically, “I would not know. Neither does Gaeaf I believe.” Checking, he gained a shook head in the negative, his husband’s nerves obvious. “No, nor is he sure where he got the idea from. Perhaps buried memories, as the very young rarely consciously retain information.”

“Zevran, you said that there were two others. Did they look the same...were they essentially the same person?” Eleanor was having a hard time looking away from the drawings.

“Physically...in some ways...yes. Many ways. Mannerisms, thought process...their losses.” Licking his lips, finding himself nervous, or suffering bleed over, and Freya lay a hand on his thigh, quiet, letting him do the talking, “I did not meet Gaeaf as a solid, walking talking Ferox. His Zevran, was...is a similar man to myself... Gaeaf’s body had died. Passed on from the Taint. But I have some of their memories, mostly things to help with what would come. The difference between Gaeaf and Twadd was when I and the other Zevran intervened. Gaeaf...was not quite right, never would be, never fully recovered the loss of his family. Not that Twadd was able to wipe it away either mind you - it was not all sunshine and roses. But Gaeaf...the word, the name - it means ‘winter’. He was a stiff, dark, frozen man for the most part it seems. Not that he was unhappy, or a bad king, as he was neither. He had his son, Len - Calenhad, with Anora. And they had a second child, Iona, named after Lady Landra’s maid, in memorial of her. Because it seemed right, as I understand it. Some of the scars physically would be different, different rates of aging, due to healing or not healing. Stress and the weight of monarchy or in Twadd’s case - no crown.” Reaching down he took hold of Freya’s hand, “They were both warriors, heavy armour, large swords. But once Twadd and I moved to Antiva, he reforged his weapons, changed his armour, let the weight of the Cousland name go, and took on ‘Algere’. He wrote histories, worked the plantation, able to focus on farming as it made him happy, raising many mabari - entire hordes of them I might add - and our home life. Horsie and Light had a huge line, their offspring and descendants serving Antiva and once Ferelden was free, many went to replenish the thinned numbers there. We were happy. Gaeaf and his family were happy as well. They had a Bryce and Helion as well, and they would have named one of their children Eleanor, but they too had found Moira and her two daughters, rounding out their family.” Adding, “Anora was a strictly political marriage and no one was particularly sad when she died birthing Iona, harsh as that sounds, yet it is the truth.”

“Many repeating names,” murmured Eleanor as she looked at the faces. “Have you located this Moira here, I wonder?” She looked at Freya before returning to examine the girls and their mother.

“I know where she would be and that is something I hope to save also, she does not deserve to be a widow, and the girls should get to keep their father,” saying firmly. “I loved them as though they were my own and when...when Elissa’s heart trouble started in her late eighties... A father should not have to outlive his children, but I have done it many times. They should have a normal father for once, though it pains me that I will not get to see them grow all over again, sometimes...sometimes it is too much.”

“Zevran, I apologize, I’m not being clear. I mean to say that the girls look like family, distant relatives perhaps?”

He shook his head, “I do not know. Very fair skin, very fair, ebony hair, very large blue eyes.” A smile found his face as he laughed, “Two small heart-shaped faces that were all eyes and pink cheeks, bow shaped mouths, just like their mother, climbing over the side of the bed, meowing because they had decided they wished to be like their Papi who everyone called ‘gato’.” Shaking off the memory, “Amaranthine. A young woman now, probably just now marrying Edric... He could have been Ferox’s brother. Swarthy, dark hair, eyes. Big, very clearly part Chasind somewhere. Moira was elfblooded - it is why Helion presented as an elf, and why they all lived so much longer. As to where her family came from... She did not speak of Ferelden much. Bad memories - Blight, widowhood...other things.”

“My brother was - “ Eleanor searched for a polite word to describe Feroz’s apparently generous donations to the populace and to beautiful women in particular, “ - rather free spirited...at least that is what Mother would say, disapprovingly. Perhaps one of his many liaisons resulted in this Edric.”

“Edric was a carpenter, is currently one. Shortly he will become a guard - I remember him saying that there were times to build and times to protect,” Zevran gave some of what he knew. “I remember he reminded me very much of Twadd when Twadd was happiest. When we found... When we recovered Moira and the girls, it was a sad day that a man such as himself had died so needlessly. But he died protecting not just his family, but fighting for other people’s families. It was the sort of man he was. From childhood he and Moira were raised together, she said that their mothers said that ever since their bellies were round, if they stood side by side, they would press their hands against their mothers’ stomachs trying to get closer...so the only donations Edric would have made would be to Moira as he only ever had eyes for her. That is all I truly know.”

“If Amaranthine is not safe, Cousland blood or not they have had a recurring part. I say bring them here. There is always work for a carpenter or a guard, whichever this Edric chooses to be,” Bryce declared.

Bowing his head, masking his watering eyes, “Thank you, it would be good... It would be good for them to be here, hmn? It would be a great relief and weight taken from my shoulders to know they are safe.”

“Zevran,” had she been closer, Eleanor would have reached out to him. “You have done your best to make us see the truth of just the past few days, not just this Blight. If there are more out there that can be saved, we will try.”

Bryce nodded, “So we have Twadd the farmer, father, historian, and breeder of hounds, Gaeaf the cold king, yet also a father, no doubt stern and unyielding even with those he loved. And you say that the differences were caused by the timing of you and your counterparts’ interventions - I assume you mean during the Blight. But what of this third son?”

Closing his eyes, Zevran rubbed his forehead, “My counterpart in his realm was killed during the Blight.” He puffed air out of his cheeks, “It is not an easy story that belongs to him. Cyni - he. He did not make it out of the box in time. When Nelaros’ leg was broken, Fergus went to fetch the adults, leaving Cyni to guard the boy. Cyni had his grandfather’s dagger, the one that Fergus had been gifted with and lost it. This resulted in weeks of fights between the two brothers, and as punishment, their father, that Bryce, denied Fergus the chance to gain Horsie. There was no Horsie to dig Cyni out of that coffin the way he had for Twadd and Gaeaf.” He shuddered, remembering the drumbeat, the eulogy and had to force it aside. “He...he was...damaged. In desperation, his parents, his Eleanor and Bryce, called for a mage, who was actually a Chasind witch who could work...miracles. And she did. But she...she only healed some of the damage. Played with his mind. Scarred him even worse, yes? And when his Zevran came, he killed him.” Zevran slouched in his chair, leaning towards Freya, lids clenched closed. “He has always believed that he died that day, in that box and that this was the Fade, that we are all demons or spirits... It does not matter, we have managed somehow, and I think he has had some peace, I pray for it, have worked hard to give him such.”

Continuing, “Things happened, culminating with him arriving in Kirkwall. But I had heard from Haf’cath - my counterpart, Gaeaf’s Zevran - of this damaged Cyni, this Ferox who was...in need. My Twadd was dead in body, and I was...in pain. So I found him and I brought him to my Antiva, healing him as best I could. My mother’s mantle of power was passed on to him, and he became a great shaman, able to hold back his Taint nearly indefinitely. And then...after a great many years...I slipped, I fell, I hit my head. In their desperation, he and Twadd, and our family, found a way to...send me here. And so here I am - seeking to prevent the harms that we all went through, or at least lessen the damage.” Zevran kissed Freya’s hand, their entwined fingers, “No child in a box, no lost family. We have fought hard to keep such pains from repeating themselves.” Warily he looked towards the teyrn and teyrna, “That is the nutshell and then some. It is difficult to condense centuries into a few sentences and pictures.”

Eleanor remembered their earlier conversation, “You said that his name meant Anguish and his life, you skim over it. If there was no Horse or Zevran, were the others also gone? How did his Blight end?”

“With Loghain’s death. He killed any he could, they were just demons and refused to be swayed to any other belief,” succinct. “Everyone that could die, did and he did not mourn them - after all, they were not people. He wed Anora, she bore twins, which he promptly had sent to Fergus as...as he knew he could not...he knew he was not right in the head.” Zevran had to stand, did so quickly, sharply, pressing his hand to his breast as he turned his back, “My sweet boy knew he was damaged and might hurt them, so protected Len and Iona the only way he could. Fergus...Fergus was like Gaeaf. Stern, hard, frozen, but loving to his family. The weight of the guilt of what his callous actions had wrought... The loss of his family but for a brother that he, himself, had damaged irreparably... Anguish. His world, his Thedas, his life there, the constant blinding agony in his head...it was anguish. But he made sure that it was taken care of, as did I. I put things in motion there so that they would be prepared and removed him from that unceasing nightmare.” He sought to steady himself, “Moira was there, she was sent to care for the children and brought her girls. I lost track of that Thedas as we never went there after I brought him to mine... I could not risk it. He had tried to kill himself often enough that...that such a thing might have been the last bit to send him over completely. And by the time he was healed...they would have long since been dead.”

Zevran fished out the soulgem, cradling it as he spoke, staring at its beauty and all it implied, cleaving to it, “He was actually a very good father to the children he had in my Thedas. My eldest daughter, Ani, had twins - Fymatisha and Varane. They had no Cousland blood, so it was...not detrimental. Varane and he had children. Many children actually, quite prolific, my sweet Cyni was. Not that I liked the situation, but if it healed him, helped him and did no harm to anyone...? Why would I stop them?” Ruefully, “Even if I did have to deal with the dueling desires to snarl that someone was touching my granddaughter - an adult I may add further - and that some female was encroaching upon my territory. It was all very complicated, but it worked for us.” Waving a hand vaguely at the large book, “I drew everyone, put bits of information down, else I would be able to talk for days and still have only imparted a fraction of their lives, personalities, which one married such and so, what sort of work they did, so on, so forth, on and on. Suffice to say that the extended family by blood and marriage numbered in the...hundreds by the time I came here.”

Studying another page, Eleanor commented, “He’s so thin, not like the others...”

“A rogue and a shaman - it burns up much of the energy and he had a tendency to try and shortchange himself and his needs. It was only through very diligent work that we kept him from having his ribs show constantly,” twitching. “As it was, Varane who did not cook as well as Fymie or like it as much, threw herself into it, to make sure that the father of her children whom she loved, kept himself going. And that the man who kept her grandfather going was well. I still say it is debatable whose brownies were better...Dassan or Varane’s. Perhaps an even match... Ah but even he is long since dead.”

“When you arrived you spoke of having lost your husband, that was this Cyni, the one you said who sent you here?” Eleanor clarified. Apparently she had tried to explain this to Bryce, but did not understand enough to do so.

“The magic required seemed to have...obliterated their souls,” sighing. “You see, when Gaeaf died, his Zevran, Haf’cath, found out that the link he shared through the amulet with Gaeaf allowed him to...to house and share his body with Gaeaf’s soul. His mind. Everything that made Gaeaf, Gaeaf...slid over and shared space in Haf’cath. Of course there was a period where things were uncertain, where Haf’cath thought he was going mad, until they realized that yes, somehow due to our natural mental strength and abilities, to share ourselves like that was possible. So, armed with that information, when Twadd’s body could no longer be repaired, I brought him over into me. So that even beyond his body’s death, we would never be separated again. Then...suddenly I am here. For the first time in five...six hundred? Hmn, I would have to sit down and actually figure the numbers on that out... For the first time in my life, the first years notwithstanding, I no longer had his mind and soul wound with me. Cyni and I shared a similar link, a similar weaving, and then he too was gone. Bereft. Empty. Braska, I cannot even - barring a few decades out of centuries, I have never been alone inside my own head, my own body, not fully. The magic had appeared to require the burning and destruction of their souls - with no hope for reunion. Ever. It is a wonder I did not lose what shreds of my mind I had left.” Nauseous, Zevran sat down once more reaching to grab a cup of tea and clutching at it as he continued, “I arrived and threw myself into the tasks that cost my husbands’ souls. What else could I do? Freya needed me and I needed her. Need her. It will never abate or slacken. Even once I found the keys to give the anchor and light the path back to where they belonged - with me - the need will never lessen. But after this time, however long she and I live, I cannot live through this again. Everyone has a breaking point, no matter how great the need, support or foundation.”

A warning growl from Cyni interrupted, ’Desire, do not allow your Twadd to hear your loss. You almost name us in those three words - Need, Support, Foundation are easily Love, Hope, and Purpose. It is hard to distract him even from that which he does not wish to see.’

Twadd, still watching everyone through Zevran, did not seem to notice that Cyni had appeared. There was no distinctive noise as if the former rogue had found some old skills and left his clangor at the Fade gate. He only reached out to touch his sweet boy, sending his apology and thanks for his presence, his love.

’There is no shame in the thoughts of being abandoned. The execution of the dream was not as I had hoped,’ Cyni admitted.

’He had no control over what I would do, precioso, neither of you could have predicted the extremity of my reaction,’ saying gently. ’It was my fault.’

’Desire, you forget my time with Rage and Despair. I know their power and should have done more to extend the geas beyond the finding,’ a quiet growl at the self-acknowledged failure.

Zevran shook his head firmly, grasping his Cyni close, ’Shh, it is alright my sweet boy, my sweet Cyni, you were frightened for me, that there would be no time, and did more than enough. Please, do not be angry with yourself over this, there is no need and all is well now.’

’There is no anger, Desire, nor is there need to soften a blow. I will not shatter.’

’Even so, you know how I love you, and would do much to avoid any strikes, though I am still just a man and do have limits that are reached time to time,’ brushing his lips over the other’s.

Someone was concerned, “Is he alright? He’s gone...blank. Is it the...did he push himself too far?”

“He’s talking to them, or looking through memories for somethin’,” in the background Freya’s voice was speaking. “Imagine this entire place as a library, packed floor to ceiling with shelf upon shelf. That’s what his mind’s like, an’ Twadd helps him keep it orderly. Sorta. It’s a good thing he was the historian. I mean, Zev’s pretty good about it, but there’s just so much one man can keep track of all by himself.”

’And the well will deepen again. Do not Despair. I am yours, Desire.’

’As I am yours, querido, always,’ resting his forehead against him for a moment. ’I had best deal with the children, hmn? Would - would you like to speak with them?’

’It is doubtful that my presence would reassure them in regards to myself,’ Cyni was unclear if he meant himself or Freya, or both, since the spirit man regularly treated them the same. ‘But I would stay aware for your sake. I will not leave.’

Kissing him once more, ’Thank you.’ Coming back with a blink, “Apologies my friends, a bit of a conference. Cyni is not comfortable with revealing himself, but Twadd has been doing cartwheels for weeks or pacing like a caged mabari.” Quirking a grin, “Years actually. However, until we saw that...that things would not be the same this time, he was not comfortable either.” Laying his hands on the table, wrists up, the small amulets there, “You will have to touch the amulets and my skin to be sure that I can open the connection, yes? Freya’s Taint is something I can reach through via the amulets, but you could reach her yourselves with the amulet, but not me. It is an odd sort of node, hmn? So, I will reach through her to you.” Zevran paused, “If that is what either of you wish. It is your decisions. It does not have to be both of you at the same time, or both of you at all. Twadd is...just happy that you are alive, no matter how much he misses you both.”

“We’ve talked about it since you left in the spring and would like to try.” Bryce reached out to touch his wrist. “What is yet to come is uncharted ground for either of us.” It was true, whether or not they would live through the Blight, everything for them was a guess at this point and had been since that night.

Using Freya’s Joining amulet to make the connection with Bryce and Eleanor, Zevran reached, then pulled gently, widening the area where all could meet. ’I would invite you all in to sit down for tea and biscuits, but as we are already sitting, have tea, and this is no physical plane...the point would be rather lost. But, welcome to my abode and library.’

The sitting area, as Zevran liked to think of it, was open, normally it was smaller and cozy, the shelves changing to house whatever memories were needed at the time, but he added an atrium skylight and tinkling fountains. The greenery was normal, the rugs atop springing grass, some blending of park green and indoors, the smell of Antiva on the mental air.

’Twadd - Twadd,’ he could feel his husband trying to hide behind him, not quite visible to the others yet, amused and vaguely frustrated, ’Oh do stop that, querido. This is what you wished for most, come now, you are far too large to hide behind me. Nune, if you squatted and stood slanted slight...yes. Me? Not so much, now stop it.’

’Maker, why did you want to give this again?’

Rubbing his forehead, ’Because you had things you wished for? Because that was why I was put here? To fix things? Including this? Come now, you are centuries old and not a little boy any more.’

’Apparently not, if I can’t hide behind you,’ Twadd grumbled about elves and their height deficiencies. ’Fine. How do I look?’

Laughing, ’Absolutely beautiful, as always. The most handsome Twadd that ever was. Now do not make me haul you out from hiding behind my shoulder or I shall be vastly amused. As it is, you know how I am going to attack the kitchens and then the bed for sleep after this.’

’As you wish, Love.’ First gathering sunlight courage, Twadd stepped out to meet his parents who were not his own.

Clearing his throat, ’Knowing the penchant for formality here - Ferox Algere, Bryce and Eleanor Cousland. Congratulations - it is a boy.’

True to his word, Cyni ‘stayed aware’ as he put it and did not leave, lurking in the shadows watching Twadd’s rather weepy ‘reunion’. At least Twadd wasn’t the only one affected, as Eleanor and Bryce had become emotional as well, feeling him and his emotions, the overwhelming relief, the fear, the joy, the sorrow of loss, the bliss of reunion. There were thousands of questions and none, Twadd drawing out books as needed, showing them flashes of things, childhood, adulthood, little things to show and flesh it all out for them. A history that had happened, just not to them. A young boy on the way to adolescence, gangly and large handed, but with little in the way of muscle, a father ‘unwell’, a helpful mabari, and a large moose, and the dilemma of how to return with their prize to the Keep. Zevran only interjected if something would be interesting, his own point of view, otherwise allowing them to go about their joys organically. However there were questions peppered at him as well, to see the type of man their son was from another’s eyes. Some of those perspectives had Twadd blushing crimson, but not nearly so bright as Rory.

Zevran was fairly certain that no one other than Rory could turn quite that shade.

As time wore on and Zevran began to grow tired, two similar yet very different sources reached out to lend him energy, to refill him. Physically, Freya had leaned against him, giving what she could and mentally, Cyni was doing the same. Complementing what the other gave, they purchased more time for Twadd.

Finally Zevran pulled out several small memories, ’This is Edric, Moira, and Elissa when she was very much brand new to the world, hmn? And Twadd was rather taken with the little bundle...’ A glowing picture was painted, the wash of Zevran’s emotions as he watched his spouse with the tiny creature in a handmade chair by the fire. ’She was our little bard as she got older - artwork and singing...and a fair amount of lockpicking that I will completely disavow and I have not the foggiest clue who gave her a bow... He was besotted with her immediately. However, it was Eleanor who truly owned him part and parcel.’ Another memory was lined up, Ferox pretending to sleep upon a large bed, and tiny, vocal Eleanor patting at his face and tweaking his nose, giggling ‘dada’ over and over, until Ferox relented and tickled her or began telling stories, getting ‘moos’ and ‘meows’ in the wrong places. ’You would think she was attached to him, as if one ever wondered where she was, it was usually hanging off of him or hiding behind a leg, perched on a shoulder or hip.’ The boys came racing across, one bronze and gold, the other slightly fairer, curly rusty auburn hair flying beyond each. ’Helion and Bryce, hmn? Spoiled rotten all the way around, all of them, rotten I say. So rotten they were sweet.’

’I still firmly lay the blame on their father.’ Twadd laughed at the old argument. When someone was in trouble, they were Zevran’s child - apparently.

Shrugging expansively as he snorted out his laughter, ’What can I say? I am a rogue! What else do you expect...? Fine breeding and a solid upbringing? You are lucky they did not all become screaming hoydens an coquettes. Or even worse - religious.’

Flipping through another journal, Twadd drew their attentions to one the Bryce said he would look for, to give hints at what she could be. ’According to the memories we were left, although Eleanor was not as close to Gaeaf, she did follow him often, looking at maps, discussing business, keeping accounts.’

’She was the scholar,’ Zevran added. ’Bookish, just like us, definitely not a girl who was much interested in learning the finer points of self-defense... But apparently all those lessons paid off anyway when a few young men got ‘fresh’... There was this one poor young man, lost an eye. Frankly he was better off without it, than dealing with us.’

’As for Heli and Bryce, they were inseparable from their birth to their deaths’ Twadd’s eyes lit up remembering their boys. ’And both were horribly prolific - it’s a good thing we had such a big plantation and manse, otherwise we’d have had to buy a few city blocks to house all of them...’

’Much to the amusem*nt of their mother - Heli was the one who became the fighter, able to do things that...no sane person should do! Aiesh! When he came home with that ax in his thigh! I thought I was going to skewer him myself...! Bryce was far too sensible - I swear, there was a mixup in the seed department, amora, Bryce was mine, Helion was yours...or...or I do not know for sure. However it was madness! At least they got their mother’s sweet temper and not your cold one or my quick one...’

Laughter filled in the tears of joy.

Bryce, after a last, proud and tight embrace with Twadd disengaged from the link first. Eleanor was about to, but there was a flicker in the corner of the sitting room and her archer’s eyes and mind snapped straight to it. Cyni was hiding there, having watched the proceedings silently, never willing to admit it, but Zevran knew that he missed them too, no matter his belief that they were denizens of the Fade. Her breath caught and she approached him quickly yet cautiously, wary of causing him to run off.

’Cyni?’ her voice soft, hands clutched together in her skirts, narrowly refraining from reaching out to touch him.

His sweet boy’s nod was jerky, as though he was afraid of what he wanted. ’That is the name Desire calls me,’ the growled voice restrained and wary.

Her smile was poignant and sweet, ’I’m glad I got to see you also, my darling boy. I hope you’ve found some peace here, you are very obviously loved very much, and there is nothing else a mother can hope for more than for her child to be so deeply loved.’ Eleanor reached up, only hesitating at the last moment to cup his cheek, ’You’ve grown into a very fine man and I’m proud of you.’

Held in place at the touch, Cyni did not pull away. ’I was not a fine man, De...’ catching himself, his boy barely avoided calling Eleanor a demon.

She ignored it, having been warned, completely unflappable, knowing that his damaged boy needed it, ’Oh that is nonsense and I say you were and are a fine man and that is that. Just look what you’ve done, your accomplishments. Someone able to love so much and inspire so much love in others - well, that speaks rather well of you, now doesn’t it? So don’t think such rubbish of yourself, my darling, as it’s untrue.’

’No. What came after the Work may have been ‘fine’, but not before.’ The continuing growl was offset by the mild brown eyes which threatened no harm.

’You did what had to be done, even when you were angry and hurt - my little boy, no mother will ever believe her child to be anything less than perfect, even when he lashes out in fear,’ Eleanor said gently, her other hand having freed itself from her skirts, brushing over his scarred forehead. ’The parents of your realm...oh, child, if the way I feel that I have failed you is any indication, then I can only imagine how they must have felt. No, you were blameless and they never, ever, loved you any less. Any faults and actions that hurt others were on our shoulders, not yours, because if we had done better, you would never have been so badly hurt. It was us who failed you and your realm, not you who were bad or failed them.’

’No. If it walked, breathed, made noise, or was in the way, it was removed. I have been a dead man in the Fade for far too long and know my deeds, as they are etched on my flesh,’ pushing up his left sleeve to show her the ink.

She refused to be swayed, a flash of the tight spine that Twadd and Cyni had seen, and so then had Zevran, of the pantry escape route, took the teyrna. ’A mother’s love doesn’t care for that, Ferox. Whether you bear them upon your body or not, you are still my son, and I am still proud of you, still love you, and that is a fact that not even the Maker can change.’ Long fingers touched swirling ink, inspecting it, ’I see only beauty here, my darling. I see no misdeeds, only the beauty of my child.’

Again, Cyni denied. Once he had determined something to be a certain way, the spirit man rarely changed his mind. The attempt to explain was made, however, ’I am covered and the Work keeps me safe. Keeps the Dragon Mother from my mind. Keeps others safe. Keeps me from causing harm. The Work made afterwards, ‘fine’. The light and noise was bearable after it was done.’

’It helps him,’ Zevran came up, revealing his own forearm. ’The ink has a purpose. But it does not tell of deeds or misdeeds, no matter how he feels about it personally. It is armour of a sort - for his heart, his body, his mind and soul. Mine are far more mundane than his in many ways as it is my body that needed the help, while it was his non-corporeal things that needed it most. Each Work is individual, each Work is special for each bearer.’

’I see. Then it is something to be thankful for and not a burden, and I see only then something that keeps my son safe,’ Eleanor leaned up just a hair to kiss Cyni’s cheek. ’I would do much to keep my child safe, no matter the type of person he felt he was. As I understand it, yours did, and I would have done the same to give you just such a chance.’

’I am beautiful. Will you see?’ Without waiting for an answer, Cyni tugged off his shirt and folded it before it vanished. Just as he had been in life, his boy was still thin, bones covered, but Cyni’s mental image of himself was not generous to the flesh. Turning his side to her he presented the tattoos on his upper body for inspection.

Eleanor reached out to reverently touch the changes, laying her hands on the phantom flesh with her own, ’You are my son and of course you are beautiful.’ Zevran felt her flash, the instinctive thing he did and had learned to do, giving her love, her emotions condensed, ’I see you my child, my son that I did not have here, and you are beautiful. Perfect, my darling boy.’

Zevran reached out and lay his hand on her shoulder, showing her how to pour it into Cyni, which she did immediately. Spread digits on the back of a ribcage, beneath the blade of a shoulder, the others curling over the bony shoulder, her love and acceptance glowing brightly. It was a hug that was not a hug, an embrace that required no body, only thought and wonder. Eleanor heard and understood, could guess at what Cyni’s actions had been, she was no shrinking violet, no sheltered maiden. She knew the darkness men and women could sow fields with. And she didn’t care, just as Zevran hadn’t. Eleanor didn’t see her ‘potential’ sons, she saw her sons, her heart opening wide for them, making space in her breast, where each would be held and bolstered. It was no Golden City, but it didn’t need to be.

His boy must have thawed slightly as more information was offered, ’All the deadmen are marked this way, different songs and meanings based on need. I have seen them. I Sang at the placing of my own, all both times,’ Cyni made a familiar mental gesture that encompassed and brought Freya to the listener’s mind.

’So long as peace is there for each of you, then I am well-satisfied, my darling,’ her hand brushed over the markings. ’Your grandmother and great grandfather could sing, you know. The Chasind blood. When Mother sang for me, it banished all the bad things and made it safe. I’m glad the talent didn’t disappear, it would have been a shame.’

Zevran finally interrupted once again as he felt his head pounding, ’I am sorry, Eleanor, Cyni, Twadd, but there is only so much longer I can maintain this. There are chances for other meetings.’

Eleanor quickly apologized, ’Oh! I’m so sorry Zevran, I wasn’t -’

’Shh - it is alright,’ waving a hand dismissively. ’Say your temporary goodbyes.’

Zevran sat back and held on a few minutes longer until Eleanor left, tackled Cyni and Twadd for a moment to give them his love, then snapped back. Clearing his throat, he was surprised at the taste of blood in his mouth as he began to speak, “Well, I am glad that - hmn.” Wetness suddenly flowed from his nose and trickled out his ears, a touch confirming why there were gasps as there was blood on his fingers, “That has never happened before, hrmn.” Frowning, Zevran pushed himself to his feet feeling fine other than the customary headache and sheer need for caloric intake, “I believe I should likely lay -”

....

’Desire.’

The room was darkened, was it night? Shutters closed? Or was he just in his mind? A chilled mattress with soft bedding, silky sheets, and heaped comforters. The warmth of his boy was beside him, head resting on his arm, just as they had slept for many years. Obviously his mind then, his body going about fixing itself.

Reaching out, Zevran happily pulled Cyni in close, ’Si, mi querido? What can I do for you and your very loved self? My sweet boy, how I adore you. Are you happy? I am so glad you got to speak with Eleanor, so glad.’ Tutting, ’Oh, you can say you had not hoped for it, but, ah, such a secret, hmn? You cannot keep it from your Desire who loves you so very much and would do anything for you...’

’You have done much, Desire, unexpected and often unwarranted. I’m pleased with you as always.’ The voice held a rumbled note. ’I belong only to you, my Desire.’

Sighing happily, he cuddled down, his needs so very simple ultimately. How he had missed Cyni, missed this. It might be a dream, but dreams were just as real and solid as physical reality. Just as important and necessary, for without dreams, the mind could not fathom or seek to find joys. It must have been a dream with its odd mish-mash of what was Ferelden cicadas, frogs, owls and other forest night songs, with a stream accompaniment combined with the familiar feeling of Antiva that lent itself to the darkened room with its smells.

’Sleep, Desire. I am here.’

Squirming, Zevran tied himself up in Cyni’s long limbs, lips pressed to the side of neck, inhaling that scent that made him feel safe and protective in one, settling back in to rest, ’You complete me, querido. You all do.’

....

Freya’s breasts were soft beneath his cheek, the smell of all his Feroxes rolled into one, joined with feminine musk, some tang that was all her own. Odd that at their core, they all had the same blood. So much so that all his old amulets worked with her as flawlessly as they had with the others. Zevran had half-expected to need to make new ones due to the changes that came with Ferox being female suddenly, but it had proven unnecessary. Nuzzling at a warm mound, he shifted closer, ear pressed to hear her heartbeat and the air moving in and out of her lungs, as fingers woven at the root of his hair.

“Rory,” Freya’s voice echoed in a lovely way beneath his ear, “he’s waking up. Food time, definitely, or he might try to take after Papa-Nune.”

The bed shifted, a sheepishly teasing, “I don’t remember any complaints most nights -”

Thwump of a thrown pillow and Rory’s laugh, “Oh - you’re terrible, Rory an’ I’m gonna getchu!”

Zevran groaned, the twisting stab in his stomach causing him to roll away and curl in on himself tightly, “Both are teases, hmn? Saying the ‘f’-word...”

Freya made him turn towards her, a cup of strong and heavily sweetened tea in hand, steam rising up from it, a tiny pendant for a firerock vial hanging over the side, “Here, he’ll be back soon.”

“Querida, how are you?” after finishing off two cups in quick succession, his stomach full enough for the moment to stop making him want to scream from the hunger.

“I’m better now that you’re awake, Zev,” her voice was calm but worried.

Shakily Zevran stretched, “I am sorry, preciosa. It was likely the strain of both at once, well, all four. Or possibly three as Twadd is never an ‘extra’. I had not been planning on Bryce’s presence, it was...overload.”

“I tried ta say that I couldn’t help more, but your Cyni is...” Many words flew through her amulet, including loud and possessive, but none of them were quite ‘Cyni’.

“Hard to deny,” Zevran supplied. “If they wish other meetings, it will have to be Bryce or Eleanor, not both unfortunately. Or not for however long that was...”

“Both - one at a time and much shorter time. You were playing ‘host’ for hours, Zev,” Freya sighed. “Twadd said you were restin’ with Cyni so I didn’t wake you up.”

Zevran’s head still hurt like an elephant was balancing all four feet on his skull, as though it were a circus ball, and he rubbed his brow firmly, “I see him so rarely, thank you.”

Her fingers smoothed over his forehead, tracing the sliced lines there, slipping to the rays next to his eyes the back of fingertips finding each one as she pulled the pain from him, dulling it. It was the same thing Cyni had done earlier although there had been no headache at the time. Likely his boy had hidden it from him.

“Love you, Zev.”

Rubbing his face into her touch, kissing her palm, “And I love you more and more each day. I apologize for worrying you so. Ah, but you might wish to share an amulet with your mother time to time, she has definite ga’lin tendencies.”

Twadd rumbled in the background, ’Kissing the hand that reaches out, my favorite, right after sunlight kisses.’

’Ah, the mind is willing, but the body is having arguments,’ laughing even as he kissed Twadd and Freya’s hands again. ’So those sunlight kisses might have to wait before tongue can be safely tasted.’

“When we return. Although - ” giving him an appraising going over, “ - you may need more rest before heading south.”

“A few days, and besides, I had not planned on us pushing for Ostagar, so it is alright,” still rubbing his face contentedly in her palm.

“Rory said that you had planned on stopping at Lothering and gave the reasons he had been told. Will Alistair, Nathaniel, and the others meet us there?” Freya was carefully avoided questing for more information than was necessary for now. Trying to keep him thinking of other things than food as they waited for Rory’s return.

Grunting, “Mn, yes. Lothering is a large enough town and has few protectors at this time, as all have already been pulled by Cailan. It is good that Urthemiel wishes to die, otherwise she would have directed them differently. At least, that is my hypothesis. It has always been the fastest Blight - such creatures do not go down that fast against such limited forces unless they do not wish to live.”

“That would imply another goal rather than pure destruction.” Unfolding, she slipped out of bed grabbing a robe and opened the door for Rory right as he kicked it with a toe.

A large tray was set on the bed, heaped with whatever was ready and available from the kitchens, one of the massive fresh round loaves of dark bread that was usually split between several people, meats, cheese, a crock of jam and one of butter, a large bowl of hearty stew with chunks of vegetables, several apples, a half a nut pie... It appeared that Rory just grabbed whatever looked good and threw it on the tray. Hands shaking, Zevran made himself slowly start on the soup, but as soon as the spoon was in his mouth, he was growling and bolting it down. The heavier things were devoured first, Freya and Rory risking his unfortunate and uncontrolled whining snarls to butter and jam the bread before passing him chunks of it, pushing tea at him. He nearly cried when he realized his stomach couldn’t hold any more food, his body demanding that he eat more, as he had only a few times in his life been so hungry. Whimpering forlornly, Zevran curled up, hoping space in his stomach would be made soon for him to eat more, limbs shaking as he hid his face in Freya’s lap, crying silently.

“Does this...always happen to him?” Rory was concerned. “What happened to make it like that?”

“He burnt up a lot of energy, like on a long run for lots of days or bein’ outside for’a long time when it’s really cold.” Freya pulled the blankets up around him. “Um, would you fill the tray again? And maybe snag that pot of soup - Zev liked that. We can put it on the fire here and when he perks back up, we can get the food in him quicker.” Patting the sun reddened hand taking the tray, “He’ll be okay, Rory, don’t worry. This is helpin’.” Laying back down, she pulled him closer, humming what sounded like a lullaby which brought healing to soothe away the aching hunger.

Pulled back down to sleep, Cyni waited in the strange yet familiar room already stretched out and settled as if he had not moved from when Zevran left to wake and eat everything within reach.

’Returned so soon, Desire?’ In the darkness, a cheek twitched.

Diving into the bed and Cyni’s arms, ’I ate until my stomach could hold no more, but still was hungry, so...a tactical retreat was in order, hmn?’

’You are not known for doing things in half measures. Food and sleep are your only tasks at the moment,’ the instructions given in an amused rumble.

’And being with you,’ pressing close, revelling at the contact. ’It feels so good to hold you, precioso, so good.’

’I have not left, Desire, as I am yours,’ oft repeated restatement of what Cyni believed to be obvious.

Peppering kisses all over Cyni’s face, almost like an overeager kitten, he had to refrain from giving a grooming lick or ten, ’I know, my sweet boy. Oh, Maker, how I love you.’ Purring, unable to help it, his tongue came out to drag over the length of jaw several times, squeezing Cyni tightly to him. ’Love you, love you, and ah, I think I have some more in there, for another ‘love you’, hmn?’

Twadd would have laughed and tickled him. His girl would have squealed and tried to twist away, both situations would have led to romping and playing. Cyni, being his own creature, squinted and with long suffering, ‘withstood’ the attentions. Even with all of Zevran’s helpless squirming and face rubbing that went along with it.

Patiently, ’Desire, what can I do for you?’

Zevran found Cyni’s mouth kissing him warmly, shoulders twitching, trying to crawl or pull Cyni into him - which was silly as there was no possible way they could be closer - Cyni already resided in him. But like getting Twadd pregnant, it was something doomed to failure, but no less effort was put into the activity. Sighing and half cooing with the purrs, ’Oh, this, this is good, hmn? Very good, ah, I am sorry, mi amora...I just cannot help myself.’

A cheek jumped again,and pinched for a moment as if a smile or a laugh were not far behind. ’Your hunger changes from one thing to another. Twadd should pet your fur more often.’ Even as he suggested it, Cyni ran his hands over Zevran’s back, sides, and fingers unraveled the braided locks, rumbling, ’You may help yourself as I am yours.’ Purring louder and louder, Zevran just rubbed himself contentedly over Cyni until he was held, protected and sleepy enough to fully fall into that inner rest as well while Cyni continued the long and soothing touches.

Sleeping, waking, eating, and sleeping again, until he woke and didn’t feel starved, half-willing to cannibalize those that were snuggled against, curled around, or flopped on him. The heavy muzzle lifted from his calf and Horsie winked at him. Rory’s forehead was pressed against his back, the deep breath slow and dreaming even as he snored like a bear. His arm under Freya’s head, a hand resting on her thigh, tucked tight to him she was curled with her back against him. Food was out and waiting, he could smell it as well as see it, but getting to it would entail extricating himself from the extremely comfortable position he was in. Every other time he awoke, either Rory, or more often in the beginning Freya was there to keep him from choking while he stuffed himself like the cavity of a large bird for baking. If Nune had seen it, he would have growled about meat, sleep, and littles. But he was quite comfortable, even if he was wearing pants which he had done to keep Rory nominally within some form of zone that the Ferelden boy thought of as ‘proper’. Zevran and Freya’s morning and evening escapades, bathing and nudity notwithstanding.

After the frequent snuggling - amongst a long round of lovemaking - with Cyni, Zevran should have been all ‘cuddled-out’. Except no matter how tired he was of life, contact was something he craved beyond all things. And it was a fact that would, hopefully, never change. Shifting his hips and spine, he wriggled further into Rory’s embrace, tugging Freya with him, squirming not because he was trying to get comfortable, but simply because it felt good. From the soft, toned thigh beneath his hand, the round rump against his erection, to the brush of chest hair on his back, the muscular thighs curled and pressed into the back of his, the hard line of Rory’s co*ck against his crack, separated by silk and that was all - all of it felt sublime.

Zevran wasn’t sure of the time, but if they were all in bed it was likely night. In his arms Freya made a sleepy, inquisitive purr, her hand sliding between her back and his stomach, searching for his hardness. Nearly silent, he chuckled against the back of her head, rubbing his face in the braid before him, flexing his member in her grip to prove his interest. Freya’s hips shimmied their invitation, the fact that her tunic had ridden up well past her navel not lost on either of them. The soft column of her neck under his lips tensed as she let loose a faint whimper, her leg sliding back to grant his hand better access as he stroked the folds, parting them, the smell of her reaching his sensitive nose as he tested Freya’s channel, toying with the pearl above it. He rumbled as the damp moisture on his fingertips slipped over the ridge, splaying open, framing it with long, teasing strokes, curling his arm around her tighter to keep Freya from squirming out of his grasp. Behind him Rory made a quiet noise, cuddling closer, hips tight to his, meeting the slow rocking in his sleep, good dreams likely filling his head, making Zevran grin as he pressed a digit, curling and stroking it in Freya’s wetness.

Freya somehow managed to push his trews down his thighs, the silken skin of her bottom warm, spine arching to raise herself against him. Zevran sucked in a sharp breath as he angled himself to slide in, taken into Freya’s body in a long, wet slide to the hilt, eliciting moans from them both. Rocking on their sides, he and his girl made love, Rory a participant in his own way, deep in dreams, a large hand clutching at his hip, silk fabric sheathed manhood hard and straining against him as his muscles were tightening and pushing with each thrust into Freya’s channel. When his lovely girl let out a keen, Rory went stiff behind him, jerking fully awake, but Zevran was already pulsing deep with a ragged groan.

Reaching back, Zevran cupped Rory’s head, twisting his neck to press his face to the youth’s as he arched his back during a partial withdrawal, punctuating his words with action, “You do not have to stop.”

Breath harsh, the boy’s dream having been so real, was real, the cheek flushed hot against his hand. Rory nearly whimpered, “B...bu...but, Zev...”

“You want this too, yes?” pleasure twisting his vocal cords, he let his hand move away from Rory’s face, firmly rubbing between them and grasping the clothed member in time to his and Freya’s continued swaying, encouraging with action as well as words. “Happy things, Rory.”

Stammering, “H-hap-happy things?” Rory’s hips unable to keep from twitching into his grip, the contact something all of them knew was craved.

Writhing and straining with Freya who pulled away to roll and face him, a toned leg sliding and tangling as she pressed down on him once again, Zevran nodded, repeating carefully as he concentrated, “Happy things Rory. With me, us. Do not stop if you do not want to.”

“I don’t...I mean...I don’t...Maker.” The answer practically sobbed, “Please, I don’t want to stop. Please, I don’t want to...but...Zev...I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t,” Freya panted, her juices and his release squelching stickily as his sneaky, brilliant girl lifted a hand, the small bottle of oil she used on him with some regularity hanging from its thong off of her finger.

Growling, Zevran kissed her hungrily, ’Querida, you are a marvel.’

In a second org*sm, several kisses were laid over his heart. ’You get him going and I’ll help you,’ she slipped from him with a reluctant whimper.

Rolling over to face Rory, Zevran felt Freya pushing his pants down the rest of the way and he kicked them away, hooking a leg over Rory’s, hands in the red hair, “Happy things, Rory do not - “ pausing as slick fingers pushed and his eyes rolled back, “hurt.” He found Rory’s mouth, kissing him long, tugging a hand to feel what Freya was doing to him, his other quickly returning to stroking the knight’s length through the light trews that were worn. Mumbling between kisses and the joint probing and stretching with fingers at his opening, “It feels good, your touch, her touch...” With an experienced twist, Zevran brought a wrist amulet in contact with Rory, reaching for him, ’This, do you want this with me? Do not be afraid. Tell me this is what you want and you can have it.’

The blush covered the boy from head to toe at the same time the trembling fear was cut through by Rory’s hoarse voice, “Please...yes.” Either afraid that rejection would happen if acceptance wasn’t quick enough or that a mind would be changed, the words were blurted, “I do, want this, with you.”

Plucking at the waistband, Zevran nipped his lips over the thick neck, the heat radiating from it almost dizzying. “Off, these need off, or down, just...out of the way,” purring as his tongue dragged a wet trail over a clavicle before scrubbing through springy, coarse, red hairs to find a nipple.

Rory fumbled but managed, nerves and Zevran’s ‘assistance’ not really helping, but it happened. Zevran massaged more oil over Rory’s co*ck before rolling back to the position he had been in minutes ago, yanking Freya to him quickly, her hands spreading his cheeks. Pleasure as he was filled, in his mind Twadd nearly scrabbled at him as well as at the sensation of muscles stretching, flexing, clamping, and Rory’s shaking uncertainty and shuddered want blazing.

Facing him again, Freya squirmed, encasing his length with a relieved “Ohhhhh, love you.”

Reaching back, Zevran hung on to Rory’s hip, keeping his wrist and the amulet pressed to him, as he shared with all of them, unable to think coherently. At his back Rory gave a surprised cry, overwhelmed with sensation, a belated, semi-cogent part of his mind noting with relief that there was no panic or fear, just a shocked bliss. Freya was and wasn’t surprised, bucking and shuddering in his arms, tight muscles fluttering and clamping on his member. Guttural noises likely came from Zevran’s throat, he just couldn’t tell, his mind surrounded, filled, penetrated and penetrating, until he was nothing but a writhing mass of nerves, seeking to give and gain connection. There was a peel of ringing laughter that trailed off into a moan at his ear, Freya’s full lips pressing to the shell, pouring the sound into his brain, sending him reeling as his body wasn’t sure which direction to go - towards Rory’s thrusting, straining and rock hard co*ck, or burrowing deeper into Freya’s soft, welcoming, greedily clasping, milking heat? Or even into his mind, the memories with Twadd, or just making new ones, fulfilling new fantasies with his husband? Zevran didn’t know, shaking, thrusting back and forward, his body’s warring wants causing him to fight towards all of them.

Clutching, grabbing Zevran, and frankly anything else in his way, the red headed warrior just sought to hold on, an arm around him, the other searching for purchase to finally slide under his head. Rory gave voice to Twadd’s calling on the Maker even as he was struggling to push closer. The amulets shared everything, Twadd’s joy and teasing phantom hands everywhere, smoothing over legs and backs pulling everyone closer, fingers tangled in hair, and kisses pressed to any skin not receiving any ‘real’ attention by someone else. Unsurprised at Twadd’s participation, even though it was more intense than usual, and although his girl was used to Zevran’s sharing of what he felt, the adding of Rory had Freya bubbling with the shared joy. She alternated between biting licks of the boy’s hand pressed to Zevran’s chest and tasting kisses looking for reassurance, frantic in her own way. Head lolling, he searched for her face, his love bursting out every which way even as his body convulsed a last time, clutching her to him.

Horsie had left in disgust some time ago, rolling onto the floor to the rug below with a thunk. The puppies were wrestling, arm and legs flailing, taking up more than their fair share of the bed. Or that’s what Zevran supposed the great hound thought as he had huffed, lifting the heavy head to give a rather put upon expression once they were done. With a moan, he cuddled Freya, his finally flaccid member shrinking and slipping free, taking spilled seed and dragging it over the inside of her thigh. Rory’s panted breath was against his sweat slicked shoulder, chilling the heated flesh with each exhale.

Summoning a pleased little purr, Zevran kissed each of them, from Freya to Twadd, ferreting out Cyni for one and then contorting to kiss Rory. “Happy things, hmmn...yes?”

The boy’s head jerked slightly in a nod and a quiet whimper was heard in an exhale.

Zevran slowly rolled onto his back, shifting away and kept an arm around Freya, his left hand stroking Rory’s hip and thigh soothingly, pouring safety and reassurance through all the amulets. “Are you alright?”

“Happy things, yes, please.” Rory swallowed audibly, “Thank you, Zev.” As if he were afraid to know the answer, “Who was doin’ all that laughing and touching? ‘Cause it wasn’t either of you.”

Twadd was sheepish, ’Oops.’

Clearing his throat as he refrained from swearing, “Someone excitable apparently.” Zevran cupped the back of Rory’s head, “You are a piece of why I am here, a precious thing that is to be protected. My husband, Twadd...it is complicated and some of it is part of those things that Freya and I do not talk about.” He punctuated the statement with a kiss to his girl’s crown, squeezing her tightly. “Suffice to say that my head is a crowded place and the denizens have a great deal of feelings for you. It was no exaggeration when I said you were loved and accepted for yourself, Rory. If you like we can discuss it further later, not to put you off, hmn? But that tray of food is looking quite fine and tasty.”

Rory perked, “Twadd? You said he was dead...?”

“Well...his original body, yes,” Zevran nodded. “Ah...in the past I was able to pull them within me when their bodies could no longer sustain them.”

“All of your spouses? Rinna, Taliesin, Fewrlin...?”

Unable to help a laugh and a scoff, “Meldicion I should hope not! No, no, just Twadd and Cyni. Freya also if I were to do the impossible and outlive her body. But the way I was...sent here...ensures that I will not. Which I am more than at peace with.”

Seeing that Rory would not be put off for long, Freya kissed him and rolled out to set the tray on the bed. Pulling on a robe to keep from getting chilled, she then made some tea for each of them.

Rory sat up, tugging one of the scattered sheets over his lap, “You make it sound like you don’t come from...here. But like...somewhere else.”

“Some time, somewhere else, yes, that would be an apt description,” Zevran waited for Freya to come back to the bed, scooting to put his back against the headboard and pulling her between his legs. “How I know the things I know...is because I have lived through them before. In other places, Eleanor and Bryce had two sons. Ferox and Fergus. Twadd was Ferox Cousland, as was Cyni. Two different Feroxes. They sent me here to make sure that the things that went wrong in our Thedases went right this time. Well, not ‘right’, just the things that went poorly, to fix what can be fixed. Save what can be saved. Limit the harms. Your death hurt them. Badly. Even if Cyni will growl for me having said so. He is a lighter touch than he will admit to, my sweet Cyni. And my beautiful Twadd has been beside himself, trying to behave and not leap upon you like an eager mabari pup, to blither about how much he missed you and such.” co*cking his head, “That is part of what happened when I was carted in here. I was introducing Bryce and Eleanor to their other, potential sons and I took on a bit more than I could chew so to speak, as housing all of their minds at once was a strain.”

There were too many questions, but the one that was blurted out was, “I’m dead?”

“Holding the front inner gate against Howe’s men, you were eventually taken to Fort Drakon, where you were killed,” Zevran sighed. “You and who I now know was Mother Mallol. Ferox, both of them, assumed you had died in the taking of Highever, unfortunately that was what the better fate would have been. In Cyni’s Thedas...it was...much worse. In Twadd’s, you had clearly suffered a blow to the head that would have left you insensate, unaware and fast to die. It would have been a mercy when compared to what Cyni saw. But yes, dead. There is a reason that Highever was rebuilt the way it was, a reason I went to see you before the dinner with Howe, why you were positioned where you were, all of it. There was rhyme and reason to it. The only...Nan’s death was...I tried to avert it, it was a failure in that aspect. But Oriana’s survival and lack of rape, Oren not being butchered, Bryce not dead in the pantry, Eleanor not taken by Howe and made to kiss his feet before being thrown on the trash heap, Nelaros and Shianni, and a hundred other details. To save them, to save Freya, to save that which could be saved.” Rubbing Freya’s soft belly with a hand, his other weaving with Rory’s massive one, “I love you, querida, and will do my best though I am not all seeing and knowing.”

“These’re all good things, Zev, wonderful things,” buttering more bread, Freya handed them each a torn chunk. She pushed more food at him, a slice of cheese, a bite of fruit, allowing him to talk, but not inhale the stew and choke.

Munching contentedly between kisses and words, Zevran sighed happily. “But that is the condensed version of what I have sought to do thus far. There are many decisions that come, large and small. The large ones will be harder to change or to decide if they should be changed, or risk the ultimate outcome. Urthemiel will rise when she rises. But between now and then there is to be civil war. Of course a preemptive strike against the players might be beneficial. Or, more likely in my opinion, have the demons we know, replaced by those we do not, and my knowledge will then prove useless as anticipating what will happen... You see? There are difficulties - what to change, what it risks...” Heaving a sigh, “Preparation is the best thing to be done, prevent excess loss, prevent the wounds that serve no purpose. That is all we dare do.”

“Pig farmer,” Rory nodded. “You were right - having to decide which ones to remain culled, judge who can be useful...”

“Sadly, yes,” agreeing.

“An’ I keep tellin’ him he should lead...” her voice was quiet as it was a continuing argument that Freya had yet to accept his reasoning in full.

Growling, “People like following you, amora. It would...make them supremely uncomfortable for one such as myself to even attempt it. In my own country, where elves are valued, slaves are valued, they would have a difficult time, and did have a difficult time. Until I killed enough of them of course. Do you think Nune eats the still hot organs of his foes for fun? It keeps the power hungry from getting...ideas. Measured tyranny. And you Fereldens would require a great deal of ‘measured tyranny’ from me to complete the tasks.”

“So these two...spirits. They talk to you and because their two lives were different, you’re using that to figure out what’s going to happen here?”

“When I entered the Fifth Blight, it was because I was hired by Howe and Loghain to kill any remaining Wardens in Ferelden,” Zevran sucked a bit of jam from his bottom lip thoughtfully. “So, it is not just what they tell me, but what I myself lived.” Adding, “Obviously I did not kill Twadd. Not until his body was worn down and that was not...murder. I had gone off to die. Ferelden is a funny place, or perhaps you Fereldens are funny, I am unsure which as most of you have the same sense of humour I would expect from a donkey’s ass. Not much and what little of it to be based on bodily functions and farm animals. But it is always here that I find what I need to continue on. Purpose, love, and the like. Freedom of a sort, yes?”

Rory shrugged, “I suppose when there’s little else but trees, dirt, and animals, animals are more amusing than the other two. As for freedom, Orlais is still fresh in the minds of our parents’ generation.”

“And yet those of the Alienage are treated worse and have less rights than the slaves who take out the chamber pots of my country,” Zevran pointed out. “This is no idyllic country, my boy. Do you know why Nelaros is bann of the local Alienage? Because if he had gone to Denerim, his bride, her cousin, and a good portion of the elven ladies would have been taken to slake Vaughn’s lusts. And when he would stand up to fight for them, as would be allowable here in Highever, he would be killed. His bride would have been raped, her cousin imprisoned, and Vaughn...? Wounded, but free. With no one saying he was in the wrong. The Alienage locked down and starved. Just because Bryce is a good man who would not knowingly allow such to happen here, does not mean that this is the overall mentality of your culture. Orlais or no Orlais - there is just as much slavery and serfdom. That is the problem - the nobles and populace are equally monsters, no matter what belief they say they ascribe to. As to overthrowing oppressors? Certainly, if the oppressed are human. Others are not even allowed to fend for themselves.” Reiterating, “And that is why I cannot be the one to lead. The shemlen nobles would unite to crush me and those I led, because I am firstly and always, a man with pointy ears. But of course they would say it was because I am a foreigner, dressing it up all pretty like a high priced whor* who is paid with titles and land. And then Urthemiel and her horde would decimate much of the country, and if somehow they pull together enough to save their asses from the Blight, there are still other troubles on the horizon.”

Probably wondering what large disagreement he had stepped into and how such a simple statement of remembering Orlais led to all of that, Rory wisely bit into an apple and chewed thoughtfully. Freya, however, taking matters into her own hands, finally stuffed a large chunk of bread in Zevran’s mouth to shut him up, “Fine, I agree para tener la fiesta en paz.” [for the sake of peace and quiet]

He gave a cranky old man grunt for effect talking around the mouthful, “What? I cannot have a cultural-socio-ethical conversation about the pros and cons of Ferelden and the idea of merit not being a true thing? I am oppressed! Oppressed I say - mph.”

Freya laughed and shoved another bit of food into his mouth, “I’ll oppress you right quick.”

Wriggling his ears happily, Zevran winked, “Yes, taking advantage and draining me dry.”

“I swear, you were born talkin’,” Freya rolled her eyes.

“No - born not breathing. And then Zama brought me back - “

“An’ then you never shut up,” brows bouncing on her face impishly.

“Well, I could just unload all the information with a thought, but I am told that that is...uncomfortable,” Zevran shrugged.

….

Sten was in the cage, camp was set for the night on Lothering’s outskirts, and Zevran had slipped off. In the morning Loghain’s lackeys would be found dead, unable to ever alert or spread rumour of surviving Wardens. Hopefully that would prevent the contract being set forth. However, Zevran wouldn’t count on it.

But for the moment, it was Sten who held his attention. In the background the muffled crying of the frightened and despondent mixed with the occasional howl or squawking clucks of chickens. Sten was chanting passages of the Qun, the cage huge around him, but not big enough to allow sitting.

Approaching, he gave a respectful greeting, “Shanaden.”

Sten paused, startled - or as openly startled as the Qun’ari ever became, violet eyes refocusing and reassessing, “You are viddathari then?”

“I am no convert to the Qun, Sten,” Zevran stood outside the cage then picked the lock. “But you are a warrior and that much I can give you - a warrior’s death. To die upon your feet, fighting.”

The door squealed as it swung open, but Sten did not move, staring at him. “I have placed myself here for my crimes, it is here I will die.”

“Yes, it is where you will die, asit tal-eb [it is to be]. Struggle is an illusion, existence is a choice,” Zevran stepped back from the door. “I give you the choice - to die as you should, fighting. Or as a coward. This existence is your choice, so too, will be your death.”

Warily, “And why should you give such choice? Who are you to do so?”

“I am Zevran Arainai, ebasit-kata,” [to be death] waving for Sten to finally exit, which the large kossith did slowly. “Arishok cannot know of Ferelden, the information you will learn here cannot be spread to the Qun. You will not live to betray your band of brothers again. Not this time. No ill will is in my breast for you, my friend. But I serve, as you serve, something beyond just myself.” Shouldering the small pack of chain and a two handed sword, he led the way, people bribed to look aside and away, ignoring their passage, “Come to your honour and dance with me old friend.”

Zevran allowed Sten to fight, to summon his strength and put himself to that task. An honourable death for one who had thought he had lost all honour. It was the only gift Zevran could give the Qun’ari who had been a staunch ally, almost friend. But there were no illusions as to who would win, a dehydrated Qun’ari, or a fit, speedy and healthy elf with centuries of experience in fighting foes larger than himself. Yet he didn’t toy with Sten, it would have been wrong.

As Sten toppled, Zevran kicked the borrowed blade aside and fell to a squat, “Ataash varin kata. Asit tal-eb. [In the end lies glory. It is to be.] I will find Asala for you and plant her in the ground. Unless you wish her sent to Seheron? Either way, your soul will be free.”

“Do as you wish, basilit-an, you have my thanks,” breath labored and ragged. “Meravas [so shall it be].”

Laying a hand on the massive shoulder, squeezing just before he shoved a long poignard into the kossith’s armpit, “Until the next turn, old friend. Go in peace and to your unity.”

Loghain’s men were easier, he felt nothing for them. Just irritations to deal with, trash to be put out. Pawns to move. It helped with the twinges of anger that he had had to kill Sten, the kossith had been helpful, had deserved a chance. But that chance would only ever be used to betray to the Qun. It was Sten’s nature, he could no more help it than Zevran could help breathing - something that could be stopped for a time, but it would always resume unless dead. There would be no stolen cookies from a boy, no kittens with string, no philosophy. Sighing as he threw the last of Loghain’s drunk lackeys into the compost heap, Sten’s use this time would be to attempt to delay the Arishok’s invasion. If it bought a day, it would be a gain. One more day, week, month, year, decade - it was more time to prepare the anvil for the hammer.

Returning to their camp, Zevran flopped beside Horsie, hugging the great hound, “Ah, I am sorry, you would have liked him. Had liked him in the past.”

Horsie whined his curiosity, nosing Zevran’s cheek.

“It is nothing, another action of a good farmer,” scratching behind ears and beneath chin. “In spite of my protests, it does seem I make a rather good tender of flocks.”

The mabari woofed his agreement, bowling Zevran over to lick his face a few times, making him laugh.

“Yes, yes, I brought you a treat as you are a staunch friend!” wrestling playfully with the huge beast, getting Horsie onto his back for a good belly rub. “A nice crunchy cabbage! But first - belly rubs for my favourite hound!”

Freya poked her head out of their yurt, smiling, “I swear, he’s half-Imprinted on you sometimes. Total traitor.”

Zevran stuck his tongue out and squinted an eye at her, “Ah, but sometimes men must be around men, and that is why we are so close.”

“I thought that’s what Rory was for,” eyes rolling as she joined him. “And Twadd and Cyni...how many men do you need anyway?”

“It takes many men to approach the same import as yourself, querida,” Zevran said sagely.

Freya snorted, “You mean ta balance me out,” but kissed him anyway. “Slick as a river eel.”

“I prefer to be referred to as an otter,” stealing another kiss. “One of Earle’s many animal friends was Claudio the Beaver, who was quite clearly a fine Antivan gentleman who washed up upon Ferelden shores...”

....

Lake Calenhad was lovely in the fall, the bright yellows, oranges and reds, here and there floating to the ground to crunch on the road under the hooves of horses, the wheels of wagons, and the boots and shoes of the refugees. Taking the road along the east side of the lake, the light wind ruffling the water, it would have made for a nice outing with a small company, but that was not why they were there. People were being put towards where they could safely shelter. Of course they hadn’t ‘checked’ with First Enchanter Irving or the Knight-Commander. Their opinions were nominal and quite unimportant, especially with the papers from ‘Cailan’. Bryce and he had debated who should have the documents attributed, but Zevran wanted Bryce to be viewed as apolitical as possible. It would be all that could protect the Couslands, their weight should be timed and judged. The missive was written in a ‘hasty’ hand, as though it were a last thing done to ensure that the people would be protected. Copies of it were made for different groups, one for Arl Wulffe’s group, another for Amaranthine, Denerim and a last to the dwarves. The last was a request to allow refugees to shelter on the surface if they arrived, noting that it was not an act of war, just seeking shelter. Walking wounded who could fight were sent to Redcliffe, by the time Eamon would fall they should be recovered enough to actually aid the defenses against Connor’s possession and keep the town safe afterwards.

More survivors was the goal, more arms and swords and shields, more workers for fields, forest and river. Less to import or return to Ferelden later.

As they reached the little village at the based of the collapsed bridge across from Kinloch Hold, Nune and his bands had broken off with their refugee caravans, heading further north. A family that had a name that Zevran recognized was sent straight to Highever. They were carrying a note that said they had to go to Kirkwall with a certain object in their hands. Freya promised passage to them based on that note, if they handed over a necklace that had come from...a rather questionable...source. Freya showed Morrigan the pendant and the witch had told her that it needed to be destroyed, but that it would take a great deal of power to do so, confirming his suspicions of what it was based on a tale that had come out of Kirkwall. The amulet was handed to the Drydens to be studied by Avernus along with a note from himself regarding the rumors Zevran had heard. They would take a look at it later, during the winter.

Of course the expected bickering between Alistair and Morrigan occurred, Leliana continuously trying to convert the Wild’s witch to Andrastism, with young Howe being firm in his support of the dark haired girl. Zevran tried not to smile too much, knowing how Nathaniel would ever come to the defense of a lady. Of course Morrigan had no clue how to deal with young Howe’s non-advances and treating her like an actual person rather than a set of breasts - perky, revealed and lovely as they were - but that was ever how Nathaniel showed his interest in others. Even as ‘just friends’ - the more like an equal and person of interest, with thoughts and opinions a person was treated, the more he liked them. Alistair on the other hand was just downright flustered by Morrigan’s displays of skin. Until of course one evening when Zevran and Freya were playing tag and he had led a wild chase straight into the camp, his Maker given parts flapping in the breeze, Freya hot on his heels, as beautiful and tanned as the day they left Antiva’s warm sun. And bare. Very bare.

If someone could die of blushing, Alistair might have challenged Rory in such a competition.

Rory however, had handled it well, simply passing Zevran and Freya cups of coffee after taking his cloak off for them to sit upon. Even Leliana had had the grace to be flushed, but Zevran was rather sure that that blush had had very little to do with embarrassment. Poor Morrigan huffed, while Nathaniel merely quipped that Ferelden was not nearly so warm as Antiva, and streams didn’t make such good baths, but that he was glad at least ‘someone’ had been enjoying themselves. He was rather proud of the overall interactions and of his girl stoking their loyalties, as well as the occasional entertainment like the other night.

Freya was quiet, standing on the beach looking up at the tower piercing the sky. Nearby, Horsie was checking out the local dog and hound message-board, which most would mistake as a boat in need of a hull repair. Having an open connection through the amulet, she did not startle when he approached. “It’s like a cake with a pretty jewelry box on top,” admiring the flying buttresses and the single stained glass window on the top floor.

“On the inside it is not so pretty,” Zevran slipped an arm around her waist. “Templars, mages, even children, splattered up on the walls, floor and ceilings. Abominations, twisted mages who were forced to become possessed. Maleficarum of the sort that use others for their magics, for their own benefit, because they wished for some form of freedom. If they had had something to live and work for, were not prisoners denied everything, Uldred would never have been able to recruit the way he had.” Tucking her in close to his side, “They do not realize that they make their own demons this way, the Chantry creates their own downfall, their own madness when they lock people up like that. There is a reason slaves have so many rights in Antiva - there are few uprisings on plantations or households. There is no reason to, hmn? Tevinter’s magisters have to cope with it constantly. Orlais saw not so long ago what would happen if they continued, and yet they do not stop, even in their own country. And the Chantry forgets the lesson that Andraste taught them herself. No matter, the new order will come soon enough, and they will all learn, hmn?”

Freya teased, “Says the soothsayer,” giving a squeeze of his hip, her arm around him. “But if you’re tellin’ me that we go over there ta fight a battle of freedom for mages, I’ll be very surprised.”

“Freya...I wish I could say it was a battle of freedom for the mages,” turning to face her, the soft skin of her cheek beneath his palm. “In a way it could certainly be perceived that way. A first volley. What you will find in there is a nightmare world. And...I am not certain I can come with you for it. The Veil...is thin there. Torn. Ripped asunder. It could destroy Twadd or Cyni. Or pull me back.”

“Thinner than the Peak?’

“Much - because it is actively being used to convert hundreds of mages, all of them yanking on the Fade’s threads,” weaving his fingers into shapes and then pulling them apart. “What is more, there are solid demons there. Not possessions, not something that can be banished, but solid, living, breathing without a host, demons.”

’You never let me have any fun, Desire,’ Cyni growled, his internal sounds no louder than the wind blown waves lapping on the lake shore.

“Querida, a moment, we apparently have a peanut gallery who wishes to add, as he is the...resident...expert.” Brow furrowing tightly, ’What do you mean, precioso?’

’I prefer macadamia nuts,’ Cyni cheek twitched. ’You cannot be pulled ‘back’ as there is no ‘going back’. The thread was unfastened there and brought here. You are tied to my body at both ends,’ Cyni gestured at Freya.

“Well then, I suppose that is settled,” Zevran sighed. “You will just have to deal with an old man dancing by your side, amora.”

….

The heavy door clanged behind them, the bolts thrown into their slots deep in the solid stone. Difficult to suppress the hair standing on the back of the neck, Horsie certainly didn’t. There were two ways out, one involved a lot of climbing down and the second came out in Orzammar after a rather lengthy underground hike through a section of the Deep Roads. After of course a prerequisite series of blasts to find said section of the Deep Roads. Which could possibly collapse upon their heads at any moment as Lake Calenhad was rather full of water...amongst other things. Which meant the front door was the best bet, especially as Horsie stubbornly refused to practice his rappelling.

Fully prepared, Twadd had again spread out the gathered memories and maps and drawings. With purpose, already knowing what was important and what was not, after meeting and agreeing to assist Wynne, they made their way to the demons at the top. When something interesting was to be acquired Zevran dealt with it, remembering to discreetly pick up the grimoire, which would be required later. Of course Rory being the resident broad shouldered and thick thewed knight, Zevran might have gone overboard in terms of slipping things into his pack. It really was too bad they couldn’t bring a donkey or llama in, and as soon as Horsie saw him eyeing him, the hound hid.

Freya eventually rolled her big brown eyes at him, pointed to a lovely vestibule rather adamantly, and he hid their goodies away. He might have also taken the time for a slight bit of necking with his girl as he was being lectured. In spite of the smell of demons and death, the smell of his girl working up a sweat got his blood pumping enough that it had been necessary once they got to a certain point. They may have traumatized the poor mage hiding in his armoire by kicking him out, but that was Godwin’s problem who couldn’t seem to stop whining. At least not until Zevran slipped him a few lyrium potions. Then he quit his yammering and yapping rather quickly. Wynne, the old biddy, hadn’t been overly amused. Especially when she saw him eyeing Rory for a second helping.

He couldn’t help a twinge of sympathy and regret for the Desire demon and her Templar after they killed the pair. Zevran understood their situation, some sensitivity or connection to the Fade and his relationships with Cyni and Twadd giving him the impression that the demon truly did have nearly mortal feelings for her victim. That didn’t change the fact that they couldn’t have a demon running amok, even if the creature had stared at him as though his act was a betrayal, almost pleading with him to let them go. However he felt slightly better and assuaged his almost-guilt about the demon with the fact they had convinced the female malificar to go downstairs and actually protect the children.

Before they entered Sloth’s chamber, he kissed Freya, then Rory, patted dog, and then kissed his girl again, ignoring the ichor and blood splattered over them. It lent a coppery tang to everything, almost sweet with rot and death.

As the door opened, Twadd muttered, ’I hope Cyni’s right.’

’As do I,’ grimly Zevran readied himself for the agony Sloth would put him through - and he had so very many more horrible memories and fears for the demon to pick apart than he had the last time he met the creature.

....

His guards were slicing his stomach open as he was stretched out, looping a piece of white intestine over the barbed rotating bar. Zevran would not scream. He made himself blank it, found his center as best he could, hands curling around the ropes of the rack. The Culminacion’s test made it hard to breathe. Made him want to scream and scream - if he could have caught his breath. Instead sweat poured off of him, his brethren made up like Dalish, mocking him. It was his punishment for the year he escaped the House, travelling. But he would not break. Nor would he reveal just how he had gained those kinhorses, that the horseclan had adopted him, that he had a child on the way. No, he would stay strong.

“Did he twitch?”

“I think he may have,” an ugly sounding chuckle. “Time to tighten the ropes then!”

More of his small intestine was wound out, curling around and around the device, even as the other one turned the much larger crank, the one that would rip his joints apart. “Tchk, truly, if this is all you have to you, then you are very poor Crows. Why, why I could be far more inventive than this!” Zevran made himself laugh through his bloodied mouth, nearly the full set of his teeth having been removed with pliers, even as agony shot through him, “Hangnails hurt worse!”

“Tsh, playing tough,” the one with half his covered by black paint to simulate vallaslin. “Let’s see just how tough you are when we’re actually finished with you.”

Frowning, something niggled. It didn’t sound right suddenly. Staring at them, “You are not Apothis and Gerni. You speak like a...” The fog thickened over his mind but he growled, “You do not speak like an Antivan.”

A familiar voice growled, “It’s because they are demons, Desire, this is the Fade. Throw it off.”

Another nearby voice, just as memorable agreed, “Love, it’s time to wake up and come with us.”

Staring at the visions, Zevran struggled, he remembered them, he knew them. He loved them. More than anything. His Maker and his purpose. Breathing shallowly through the pain, Zevran fought, concentrating on them.

Swallowing thickly, “Ferox?”

“Yes, Love.” Both of them answered to the name in their own way. “I have not left you, my Desire.”

Their presence was like a siren’s song. Nothing else mattered. Around him the demons howled, but they meant nothing, banished with a flick of his fingers, fingers that grasped at the air and his weapons birthed from nothing but the power of his belief.

Laughing, the warrior easily picked up what he had transformed into - a lighter armoured, quicker fighter, a role that had been set down an age or three ago. Dressed in his dragon leathers, the twin Star Fangs already dripping with demon ichor, Twadd with his heavy grace leaped in to defend him.

Cyni did not move. He was dressed no differently than he was any other time he met with Zevran in the mind, a pair of dark trousers and boots, and a peaco*ck blue silk shirt. The only change was that the embroidery on the cloth was an exact duplicate of the ink on his body. During his lifetime, he too had been changed, the light steps of a rogue may have been retained and a dagger was still strapped to his thigh, but Cyni was no longer just that. As if to illustrate the difference, a demon appeared behind the spirit man. Unsurprised, as if demons could be tasted like Wardens, Cyni turned and smacked a palm against the creature’s chest causing it to be thrown backwards. It screeched out its agony before collapsing into a steaming heap and whatever passed for blood in a demon, boiled.

Howling for the joy of the thing, Zevran began to dance with Twadd, the steps, though unused for centuries, were remembered. Unified they were unstoppable. All they needed now was his-their girl, and he-they would reclaim her. If she hadn’t already found her way out, that is. Although, if she hadn’t, then he was going to do a great deal of killing to make sure she was safe. And enjoy every moment of it.

The last demon fell and reflexively he and Twadd wiped the gore from their weapons. Cyni appeared to wait patiently for the expected pouncing and Zevran nearly bowled him over. Thankfully the kisses he gave included teeth, because he wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about the idea of kissing his spouses while he, himself was toothless. He hadn’t minded when Twadd lost a few, but that was different. Giving Cyni a thorough tasting Zevran quickly hopped - literally - into Twadd’s arms for similar, legs locked around the muscular waist, arms around broad shoulders, pouring every scrap of love into each of them.

Especially since now that his mind was clear, he remembered the dreams that had come before the rack and testing. If he could only say they had been pleasant, then all would be well enough. He couldn’t and wouldn’t try to say so. Perhaps to Freya, certainly to the others, he would go with his old ‘woodland nymphs’ standby, but it wasn’t anything near that.

Twadd hugged back just a tightly, “Looks like Cyni was right, without being horribly cryptic for once, eh?” earning a snort from his sweet boy who was dusting himself off, somehow peeling demon blood off of him as if it were congealed and dried pudding that did not leave behind a stain. When the sticky blobs were tossed away they splashed and ran, quite liquid. Within a short time, the clothes were free of gore.

Cyni growled as they stepped through the gate, “I hope that I am not sitting in a box, but have the presence of mind to lift the lid if I am. There are a few things that should not be repeated.”

....

“No, seriously Zev, what if it’s a boy?” Freya was floating in a large tub with a demon that looked far too much like himself.

“And I do believe it is a girl, querida,” not-Zevran said firmly hands stroking the gently rounded stomach. “My nose is certain of it....mmn...” saying as that false Zevran’s nose pressed itself to the side of her neck making Freya squeal and kick splashing water out of the overfilled copper tub.

His blood was ready to boil at the sight of another man touching his girl that way. No, it was not that it was another man touching her, but that it was a thing seeking to drain her of life touching her like that. If demons truly understood the purpose of torture, he would put that one through it.

“Good news is, it’s not a box,” muttered Twadd, rubbing his forehead.

Rumbling, Zevran stalked forward, “Yes, good news, how...fortunate.”

“Come Zev, two names. One for a girl and one for a boy, I don’t care whatcha think ya smell.” Pouting for a second, pulling a strand of dark curly hair over her shoulder and coiling it around a slim brown finger, “‘Sides, if anybody should know it’d be me.” Freya grinned and flicked water at the fake, her hand was caught and kissed by the forgery as she laughed.

In unison they moved forward, “Tchk, amora, while I cannot argue that the demon has good taste, surely you would have been able to tell the difference between a sad copy and myself? As for a boy’s name, Fergus or Feroz would be applicable? If you decide to go the route of keeping names within the family that is... Or there was the Chasind spirit warrior, Frey who was twin to your namesake, who could take the form of a golden razorback boar. Or the trickster who always told the truth - Loki. These are all fine names my lovely girl.”

Freya turned to look at him mildly, “You couldn’t have waited for him ta change the scene again?” She sighed, “Although you’re the first to give me a boy’s name and intelligent conversation. The rest just wanted ta make house, not that I’m complainin’, it is rather like you ta want that.”

The demon beside her protested, “Preciosa, how can you say such things? Do I not love you? Have we not made a child as you always wished for?”

“They could never come up with any good ‘tea’ recipes either,” she grumped. “Watch this,” turning back to the phony, “Course you do, sweetie.” Patting a bronzed cheek. “What was I thinkin’? Now, Anora’s sure ta come for tea after the baby’s born. What kind of tea would you make for the Queen?”

“Something pleasant,” came the ready answer.

Freya rested her arms on the side of the tub and her eyes flicked over the three of them, “Okay, your turn. Same question - Tea for Anora, what kind?”

“I would say that the fine idea of sticks, mud, and the results of a bad set of feed from Medorid’s posterior would be a fine choice,” Zevran crossed his arms.

“Finally.” She grinned, “Zev, I’d really like ta climb outta this tub and help you kick his scrawny butt, however there’s someone very heavy on my lap who’s snorin’ an’ won’t budge.”

Zevran whistled shrilly, the sound piercing, causing the demon to clap hands over its ears, recoiling, revealing itself as a rather minor Desire demon, forcing the ‘dream’ to end. “Horsie, wake up my fine, furry friend, there are things to chew upon!” Eyeing the demon, “You were nice to my girl, so you have the chance to leave. Otherwise, I will be rather put out. But destroying you is no skin off my nose, hmn?”

The bath with its steaming water disappeared and his girl in her heavy armor, was sitting on the ground with an inert Horsie sprawled on her. The massive head lifted and blinked at him almost stupidly; it appeared that the hound’s dream had been very deep and interesting as well, noting the drippy saliva hanging from the jowls.

Shoving Horsie, Freya complained good-naturedly, “Git off me, ya big lug, and go bite a demon.”

The Desire demon declined the offer, regretfully there was no retreat for it. It was either fight them or the demon at the center of this part of the Fade and it had already been bested by the Sloth demon. Calling its minions, the Desire demon made its best attempt, however, it was doomed to fail. He shrugged, having given it a choice, and they swiftly dealt with it.

Cyni shook his head, “An inferior imitation of Desire can’t fool those who know true Desire.”

“Oddly I cannot help but feel sorry for the creature,” Zevran rolled his wrists, blood flying free of the blades. “This one and the demon with her Templar. Perhaps I feel some kinship with them...”

“If it makes you feel better,” Twadd shrugged, “I did too the first time. He was happy, she...it was happy. However, someone was going to find offense with it and whoever was around them was going to get hurt... so, that’s why I stopped it.”

Peeling gelatinous blood from a sleeve and flinging it away with a wet splatter, Cyni sniffed, “I let them go. He was weak but content. No doubt it was a poor choice.”

Zevran looked at his sweet boy in surprise, “Have I told you lately that I love you very much, precioso? If I have, then you can simply hear it again.”

Although he didn’t move and there was no tell tale twitch of the face, pleasure radiated from the thin man. It wasn’t the fact that the choice had been a ‘bad’ one, but the reason for the choice. It was empathy, whether his sweet, damaged boy realized it or not. That was what surprised him, that was what pleased Zevran so immensely. That even when Cyni had still been as damaged as he was, even then he had been able to judge things like that. It was those flashes that had made Haf’cath hope, just as they had for himself. A cheek twitch was a laugh, a patient squint a loved grin, shouted excitement in tiny motions, love declared grandly with a soft touch. His sweet Cyni was sometimes a very strange marvel, but never anything less than marvelous.

Freya sidling up to him, seeking his touch and a brush of lips. “Love you, Zev. Thank you.”

Gripping her quickly for a strong hug, “There is no thanks necessary. Once you were bored you likely would have freed yourself, hmn?”

She rolled her eyes, “Zev, I wasn’t bored, I was trying ta figure out how to wake Ser Lazy Bones without alerting tha demon. But pinchin’ his paw and snapping my fingers in his ears wasn’t workin’. Horse’s gained weight since layin’ about at the castle, so with him on toppa’ me, I was kinda stuck.”

“Could have told him that Light would be very disappointed if he did not wake up as she had rolled in something deliciously splendid smelling,” Zevran put forth, the words themselves instantly causing the hound to perk up excitedly and bark. “Well, you see my friend, if we do not get out of here in a timely fashion, there will be no Light for you to sniff upon and make little mabari with. But I am sure that that would have woken him up rather easily. Also, I have found that Desire demons tend to be rather...reasonable. If you offer to engage them in normal conversation you would be surprised at the information you could gain. Or so I have been told. On the information part that is.”

“As I said, I was tryin’ not to let it find out tha’ I was wakin’ up Horse. Pinned with...” Counting the bodies before they vanished into mist, “Six? Of them... Oh, yeah, that would have been very bad, it wouldn’t’a gone well without him... Although a good whistle at that point would’a been helpful.” Freya squeezed back, “And ‘sides that, I did learn some things, just not what you’d expect.” She stuck out her tongue.

Kissing her cheek, “And what information did you pick up, amante?”

“What I already knew an’ had forgotten or thought wasn’t important.” Freya grinned, “An’ no, I’m not gonna tell you.”

Squinting at her, “Hrmph...”

Of the two Feroxes, Freya touched Twadd first, reaching up to run fingers along his jaw. His husband grinned before hugging her tight and making her squeal, “Nice ta see you too, little sister.”

With Cyni though, Freya didn’t touch him but instead stood for inspection. It was plain that she had met him before, given the conversation during her waking dream at Soldier’s Peak. His boy seemed to look through her before giving an old declaration, “I am beautiful.”

Freya acknowledged, “Thank you.” It seemed almost a ritual between them and a rather strange one, that if Zevran didn’t trust and love them, he would assume darker undertones to the statements. Of manipulation and forced compliance to a mould, specially tailored to trap and entice without any choice but to be the poisoned honey pot.

Answering a question, the rogue’s voice was flat, “The baby, it’s time for a girl - the rest of them are boys.” Flicking his fingers dismissively, Cyni turned towards the gate. As there was one more to rescue, it was evident that his boy would not waste time talking to ‘himself’.

….

Zevran heard the overly warm voice speaking with measured calm as they drew near. Demons took the places of Rory’s sisters and the siblings were all lined up by age, their toes on a crack on the floor. The demon that was Lord Gilmore paced the floor in front of them his voice so very patient, so very firm, but Zevran could tell just how very ready to break into a twisted game the demon was, “Tell me who did it.” He stopped in front of each of them, from the smallest to the largest, anyone who flinched or looked away received a caress on the cheek, “Tell me who did it, and I promise not to be mad.”

It was a lie, the demon-girls knew it, Rory knew it, the demon-Gilmore did, and so did Zevran.

When Lord Gilmore grabbed third sister by the arm to haul her out of line, Rory stepped forward. “It was me, my Lord. I did it. Only I and no one else.”

“Now-now, is that any way to speak to your father?”

“No, Father,” Rory’s spine was straight, staring at nothing.

“Tell me, what did you do, Rory? You love your father, don’t you, Rory?” so wounded sounding. “So you’ll tell me the truth, won’t you, Rory?”

The young man began to lie, unconvincingly, it was clear that he would have done anything to save his sisters, “I ate the pie meant for your dessert, Father, as it cooled. On purpose, I did it. Only I and no one else.”

“No, I think that the one who should have been watching it, after it baked is to blame.” The demon girl bit her lips and tried not to cry out as her arm was sharply yanked. “Seeing as she’s the one at fault, there’s no reason to hurt you, my son.”

Rory looked from his sister back to his father, “I lied to her, Daddy, I told her that you had called for her. I did it. Only I. It was me, Daddy.” As the word ‘Daddy’ was uttered, it was as though Rory knew it was one of the only words that might ‘soften’ the not-Gilmore, diverting the negative attention and having it focus squarely upon himself. “I did it Daddy, I’m the bad boy.”

“Now that wasn’t so hard - go to your room, Rory,” not-Gilmore’s order sounded so blastedly reasonable and he could feel Freya relaxing in relief beside him.

She had no clue just how bad people truly could be.

A parent was supposed to be trusted, supposed to be safety. A room was supposed to be a place of rest, security, and some form of personal privacy even when shared. In Rory’s case things that should have been stalwart facts of the fabric of reality - as they were for Freya - they were instead some twisted rendition of macabre and broken things. He should have known that Rory would not have slept in the old room, the one assigned to Zevran before they left for Antiva, the one that Freya would sneak in and crawl into bed with him when ‘scrabbly things’ were scary and woke her in the night. This nightmare also explained why the young man continued to sleep in the barracks on the occasional nights when he did not join them.

His vision shimmered as if a sheer curtain with gold threads was pulled across his eyes for a moment and when the gauzy fabric was pulled back, the revealed scene had changed. Zevran tried to move forward, but it was like sludge, for all of them, likely not entirely sourced in the demon’s power itself, but in Rory’s belief, shock, pain and horror. As soon as Zevran saw what was happening, the blanked out pain, the teeth digging into the pillow, the muffled ‘Yes Daddy’s and the demanded ‘I love you, Daddy’s made him so sick that it forced him forward, and he found the necessary burst of strength to plow through and strike the demon’s head from its shoulders, the spiritual corpse pausing mid action and falling away. Red haze filled his vision, and Zevran hacked and hacked at the non-corpse, snarling and hissing out curse after curse and didn’t stop until there was nothing but small, jiggling bits of ichor laced meat scattered around him.

Rory had been held in horror, staring mutely over a shoulder at his actions, transfixed.

On the periphery of his vision, Twadd gained the attention of and kept the demons who rose up from the ground off of him. As before, Cyni had not moved far from the entrance and was shoving the demons into others, turning them into exploding bombs. Freya and Horsie were doing their best to entertain the sister demons who had returned to play, keeping Rory from seeing the demons with his sisters’ faces for the most part.

He, Rory, and the body of the demon-Gilmore were the quiet center of the chaos around them. Zevran held out his hand, glancing at Twadd and Cyni, “I do not know if you will disappear into the holding area, Rory. So I will be brief - this is the Fade. You are safe. Soon we will have to fight a much larger demon, but it, Sloth, will not take Despair’s face again.” The was last said as he toed the bits and pieces. “In case you wish to meet the other Freyas...Cyni and Twadd...our time might be short.” Concentrating, Zevran put Rory’s armour back on, giving him that protection, reiterating, “This is the Fade, do you understand me? The man who made you is no more, he cannot hurt you but in dream and memory. And you can fight those.”

The boy nodded, “The Fade. It’s just a dream. I understand Zev.” The warrior’s hands knew their task and assisted with the lifting, buckles and belts. “Are we all asleep? Or am I dreaming you too?” It was impossible not to hear the screams of the dying demons behind them, Horsie’s barking, or Twadd’s creative ‘not swearing’, but Rory stayed focused on him.

“The demon of Sloth put us all to sleep as he had done to Cyni in his Thedas, and as Sloth had done to Twadd in his,” he nodded, double-checking the fastenings. “So, yes, I am real. I am sorry, but I will remember what your memory showed. I am sorry, it is not meant to make you feel violated, apologies that we did not arrive sooner.”

Cheeks flushing dark, Rory must have figured out that if he knew, then so did everyone else with Zevran. “I’d do it again to protect them. Nothing else matters.” Looking him in the eye, “I don’t care who knows, long as they’re safe.”

Brushing a few stray red hairs off of the wide cheekbone, solemn and understanding, “Si, claro.” [yes, I see/Yes, I get it/know]

Horsie was the first one to run over to greet Rory, butt wiggling so fast that his entire body shook and it was hard to tell which end of the hound would arrive first. Always seeming to know when a distraction was needed, his four-legged friend either brought one with him or became one. Anybody who didn’t believe that mabari were intelligent were blind and incredibly stupid. Unable to stop from kneeling down to scratch Horsie all over, after a few slobbery kisses, laughter was coaxed from the boy.

“Yes, I see you and I missed you...oof!” Another slobbered kiss was delivered with the excited swinging backside. “Enough, enough! I’m all here, two arms, two legs. Really.”

It was a wonder that Twadd actually ever got close to Rory in his lifetime, because his husband stepped behind Freya in an effort to hide, but she saw him coming. “Nuh-uhh, you find somebody bigger if you’re gonna try that again.”

A desperate whisper, “Cyni’d just snarl. Look at him, he hates gettin’ gunk on him. ‘Sides that I’d have ta stand sideways.”

Freya snorted, “Were you always this big’a chicken? Come on,” she grabbed his arm hauled Twadd forward even as feet were drug. “Rory don’t bite...yet.”

Zevran smoothed his hands over Rory’s shoulders, “Someone wishes to meet you, though, were I you, I would not be overly surprised if he dances half as much as Horsie, hoping for a hug, hmn?” Looking him dead in the eye, “No pressure though. Just happy things, yes?”

Looking at something that must have been very interesting on the ground, nothing, except for his foot, Twadd rubbed his forehead then the back of his neck nervously. For an instant he was reminded distinctly of Alistair, very embarrassed. Twadd had already shared through the amulets how happy he was with Rory’s presence - so that was the problem, things were taken a little out of order, or at least it was understood that Rory might see it that way and his husband had loved his Rory and may have, no, did, express himself rather extravagantly the night with the three of them in Freya’s room.

Rory murmured, “And I thought I was shy. How’d we even manage?”

“I believe you kissed him first...” snickering.

“How’d you manage?”

“I kissed him first,” the grin spreading. “...Well...perhaps not ‘kissed’, but, ah, never mind that. Chicken. Bwok-bwok and all that, yes? Rather endearing, or I have always thought so.”

“Rory, you remember Twadd of the magic fingers. Twadd,” Freya pulled him forward a little again, “say hello.”

Stumbling, “Um, nice to meet you, I mean...again...Oh Maker...I’m not as bad as all that...um, I just...really missed you...well not you ‘cause you don’t really know me, but...” Twadd sighed, smacking the heel of a palm into an eye socket and rubbing vigorously. “It is nice to see you again, Rory.”

Zevran had his hand squarely on the small of Rory’s back and gave him a gentle, but firm, push forward, “Put him out of his misery before I have to jump him for being so flaming adorable, hmn? And since we do not know how long we have...that might not be the best idea, no? At some other point we can have a wild orgy in my mind, doing unspeakable things to each other, but, for the moment... Aw, never mind, f*ck it!” During Zevran’s minor ramble, Twadd had slowly turned pink beneath his swarthy complexion, the large brown eyes looking at him with sweet-natured anxiety and hope. So he could be forgiven for launching himself forward, hopping up, legs once more around Twadd’s waist, arms around the familiar, broad shoulders, and was hugging the daylights out of him. “Querido, must you be so...? Perfect? Aiesh, it is aggravating!” teasing reprimand. “Faugh! You are utterly impossible.”

Arms around him catching him as he lept, Twadd laughed, forgetting to be nervous, “No, Love. Impossible is Cyni. I’m merely difficult.”

Grunting, slightly too busy for making with the words, Zevran was re-exploring a favourite spot, short stuttering purrs issuing as he did so.

Freya muttered, “What do I have to do to find them a room?”

“Ask.” growled Cyni.

Rory must have looked in that direction because Freya warned quietly, “Don’t touch him.” Clearing her throat, “Cyni, may I please have one of those big couches so everyone could be comfy? Something to drink would be nice too, ‘specially if we have to wait for Zev to stop accosting Twadd.” The last bit was snickered as Twadd’s face scrunched under his tongue, scrubbing against the grain of growth, his husband laughing.

Behind him the air shifted and his girl, ‘ooo’ed then threw herself on something, presumably whatever Cyni had created out of the Fade. “Mmm, and coffee too? Thank you, Cyni.” The scent of a lovely roast wafted as she began to pour. One of them, perhaps both, were trying to distract him from cleaning Twadd’s face.

Joining her, Rory whispered, “Think he’d go for a picnic?”

“Nope. I’d say he doesn’t have that much energy.” The sweet smell of sugar mixed with cream was followed by the clink of metal against glass, “Here, try this, nice and sweet.”

Pouring another cup while she was pouring another glass for herself, Rory whispered, “They look nearly the same, different, but - “

Freya answered just as quietly, “Cause they’re different people, just like I’m not Twadd or Zev or you. They’re from different places and their lives were different, are still different.”

“Does Zevran always play with Twadd?”

“Hrm?” Freya swallowed. “Don’t know, didn’t meet him in person until today. Just like you, ‘cept he talks to me sometimes or I hear him laughin’.”

Mumbling in his beloved’s ear, “I think the children are becoming bored... Where is a babysitter when one is needed, hmn?”

Twadd rumbled, “Seems perfectly entertained to me.”

Zevran kissed the shell of a pierced ear, happily noting that as always, the earring was there, “Not all of them, hmn? And you still have someone to speak to ‘ere your poor mind burst, my beautiful Twadd.” Squirming around like a monkey, or a clawless feline, he made himself comfortable on his husband’s pack, pointing towards Rory, Freya, and the large blue settee. “Giddyup my faithful steed.”

Having planted herself on the far end of the mattress looking piece of furniture, Freya was stretched out, with pillows tucked under her chest and stomach, feet in the air. Rory was perched in the middle on the edge, sipping the sweet light drink. As they approached Freya poured two more glasses.

Cyni’s conjured items did not include the decorative touches that Zevran would expect to have included, etched scrollwork on the cups, details on the handles or even in the bowls of the spoons, different patterns and embroidery on various complementary fabrics - minute details that would have, once upon a time, caused Cyni to study something for hours. The room that his boy had created in his mind included all of the senses, even in its comforting darkness. Comparing that to this, although everything here was perfectly useful, tasted good, there was an air of hastiness about it. Neither had Cyni stepped far from the gate, he was exactly where he had been standing when throwing back the last demon, as if he were on guard. The only action taken, other than to summon up what had been requested, was to remove the splatters from his embroidered left sleeve.

Tumbling contentedly onto the settee’s cushions, he sat back, content to watch and sip the taste of cardamom infused, syrupy thick coffee.

Stirring in some sugar, Twadd, calm and himself, finally really looked at Rory with his own eyes. “I really don’t know what to say. Technically, I’ve known you only as long as Zevran has. My own I knew from when we were small until the night Howe came. You’d come and stay at Highever for months at a time and Nan would teach us to cook in the kitchen on rainy days or we’d play in the barns, sparring and huntin’ when we were older... ‘Course there were lessons with Scholar Aldous in the library regardless of age.” Twadd paused, “Do you want to know anything?”

“How come he doesn’t play like that now, like he did with you?” the question blurted.

“Well you could,” Zev tucked his chin over Twadd’s, “just ask me. And the reason is...that I do not know why you and I do not play. I play with Freya, certainly, but it is...different. You do not see me hopping upon her for a piggyback ride... Oddly, you do not see her doing the same to me either - and may I mention that that is disturbing that you do not do that, querida? Yes, yes, I know, you used to do it as a little girl, but come now - ” as he reached over and around Twadd and Rory to poke her lightly. “But perhaps Twadd has a better insight into it, because, as I have said, I am not entirely sure why.”

“Snowball fights, getting my face washed with snow, playing with children and dogs, sorry hounds,” Twadd glanced at Horsie, “Things were easier? For us, damn hard, but I walked away from everything...but we played before that too. Made this whole hike across Ferelden less painful. He kept on an’ on about this imaginary plantation.”

Zevran closed his eyes, cheek on his husband’s shoulder, “Turquoise doors, even at Zama’s - at least to our bedroom. A turquoise door always means home.”

“A copper weathervane, a shady covered porch...I did think it was all a story at the time, well, most of what Zevran said was a story, to be honest. But I wanted to believe it. That’s not really play though...but it made it bearable in the long nights when the song was loud, or the darkness too thick, and when the bedroll didn’t feel...right.” Twadd glanced away at the last statement.

“When you were missing...me?” Rory’s head co*cked thoughtfully.

“Yes.” Twadd clarified, “But mostly when I was hating myself for not having been able to convince you to come. And worse, for never having told you...him...how I felt.” Clearing his throat, “Cyni had a Rory too, they were not...” Frowning as words were carefully chosen, “A similar relationship, but not as close. Just as your own relationship with Freya is different.” Taking a sip, “I think, no, I’m certain of it. The other Ferox, Gaeaf we call him, loved his Rory as well.”

Zevran felt the weight of Rory’s gaze, “That’s what you meant that night...with Arl Howe...it...it wasn’t -”

“Zev’s got a big heart, Rory,” Freya lay a hand on his knee. “If he said it, he meant it. Zev even checked in with me for ‘permission’ as he was ‘confused’ as ta what the ‘boundaries’ were.”

He thought how to put it in such a way that perhaps he would be understood and not have it taken negatively. “It was important to me, personally, that you knew you were cared for, important, accepted, loved. But the timing had much to do with what I knew would happen that night. To fix what should have been, to have it known. For yourself, for my husband, for the other Rorys who never were told in simple words, the truth of things. It does not change the meaning or content that you heard beyond the words themselves, it only adds layers.” Twadd rested a heavy hand on him, grateful.

Later they rose to leave and followed the spirit man across the strange landscape. Stopping at an elaborate gate, Twadd recognized it. “Ah, this is the gate to the Sloth Demon,” his husband retained what had been reviewed as they prepared to enter Kinloch Hold. “It’ll keep changing its form. A difficult fight.”

“No.” Cyni growled, “Not difficult. Victory was made more certain while you were unaware. The demon is weakened.” Turning to look at Zevran, his boy’s mild brown eyes were thoughtful, “You might say goodbye here, Desire. There is little time for such on the other side of the gate.”

Zevran took him at his word, tackling his Cyni straight to the ground to roll around for a few moments, his sweet boy half-startled but knowing that his Desire was like that made for just a gusty, long suffering sigh. He didn’t care and just locked around him like a vine on a tree. Brushing his lips over eyes and cheeks and the side of a nose, he forgot about his armour, merely pleased and happy, unaware that he was beginning to glow. If he could just melt into a glob of contentment and coat Cyni with it, he would, as stupid, mushy, and other things as it sounded. None of that changed the fact that that was how he felt and Zevran was comfortable with that.

“I am not leaving you, Desire. I will be present as usual,” but the rumble was not displeased.

Tucking his face into the side of Cyni’s neck, “Hmn, I know.” Sighing happily, he gave Cyni a few last kisses and strokes over the shoulder and chest before he rubbed his cheek against a faintly prickly one, whispering, “Thank you, amora. For everything.”

Resigned, sinewy arms tightened around him and again the affirmation was given, “All I am is yours, Desire. Everything that is done, is done for you.”

“Even if you do it for me, that you do it at all, whether asked or not - I love you so very much and these things you do,” he kept the words soft, for them only. “I do not expect them and so, the fact that you do them, it makes me feel loved and hope that you feel that you are loved as well.”

Twadd, having said goodbye to Freya, who was still amused at being the large man’s ‘little sister’, was next with another bear hug for Zevran. “I have missed playin’ with you like this, Love.”

Lounging in the embrace, “Well, we could clear an area of the library for it, hmn?”

Horrified that parts of the archives would be disturbed, his husband quickly volunteered to have Cyni create another space.

Giving Twadd a stink-eye, “Are you saying that you think I actually require assistance with building ‘new’ areas in my own mind, when it was I who first began building? Not that I would spurn the help, but truly amora, a little credit if you please? Was it not I who began taking in your memories, our memories, archiving them down to who got a hangnail, and kept those very same memories - daily as well as those of the long gone - as your body failed?” Huffing, “Tchk, and here I thought you respected my abilities. Hrmph, I require much assuaging of my now wounded ego.”

“It is hard to keep track of an ego the size of Thedas.” Ducking his head, Twadd blew a raspberry on the side of Zevran’s neck before laughing.

Making a very grumpy face even as he squirmed at the ticklish sensation, “You owe me far more ego stroking than that and I shall collect at the soonest possible time for my convenience! For shame - suggesting that my intellect and space within my mind is not under my own jurisdiction! Do not forget who shares! Harumph, for that I may have to make brownies and not share any with you unless you are suitably contrite.”

Rumbling low, “Love, I am always happy to stroke your ego or cause others to do so.” Twadd laughed harder, shaking with good humor. “Perhaps I’ll remind someone of your clean and warmed sheets fetish.”

“Oh now, for that I might have to forgive you,” mumbled as he found a favourite corner of jaw. “Hmph, it might be best to get on with this...and now might be a good time to see if Rory would mind a hug, hmn?”

Setting him back on his feet, Twadd didn’t hesitate to pull the startled redhead into a hug. “Everything for you, beginning the night Howe came to dinner, is new and unplanned. We don’t know what will come of it. Watch yourself, Rory, an’ keep an eye on my little sister.” A kiss was quickly placed, an uncertainty that only Zevran noticed being there, “Live and love well, Rory.”

....

The Knight-Commander and First Enchanter were eyeing each other like two old friends who were enemies. Each knew where the other stood, inside and out, Greagoir so staunchly pro-Chantry and his duties to that alone blinding him to what would happen if Ferelden itself fell. There wouldn’t be anyone to ‘protect’ from the mages. Just as Irving knew that mages needed protection from the Chantry and the fearful populace. Middle-ground was so hard for them to see. But that wasn’t his place to figure out, that was Freya’s burden. He on the other hand had pressing concerns of his own.

Like how he was going to sneak out their plundered loot remained to be seen. Some of those staves were nearly worthless - how many ‘Introduction to Magic’ sticks did one man need? Granted, the Mages’ Collective would probably find a good use for them. Could Freya and Rory walk if he shoved one or two down inside their leg armour? Or of course if it got cold, which it would, the refugees outside could use them for kindling. Except one might be worried about explosions... Discarding that possibility, it was a thought. Of course they could be stockpiled in the event of the darkspawn - enough ‘booms’ and even the dull creatures would realize that certain morsels were just not tasty enough to risk it.

Reading over some of the notes they picked up, he realized that the perfect solution was in his hands, the demon in the basem*nt. The Templars would be called away to assist and he could take that golden opportunity to toss everything out said door or replace some objects at the Quartermaster’s and they would be gone before anyone looked twice. There was a nice staff over there, excellent belt, and a book his girl would find very interesting. Sorting everything in their stash so it could be moved quickly, he then walked Freya through the tower pointing out what needed to be done and reminded her not to cast any spells when she returned downstairs, no matter what she saw. The remaining Templars were bored, eager to watch something, anything, and now was not the time to slip.

Later he sat in their yurt, the comforts nearly luxurious compared to the tiny kingdom he had shared with Twadd. They had bedding aplenty, a small brass brazier to hold fire- or frostrocks, to heat, cool or cook in the comfort of their own space. The thick felted floor protected one’s body enough so that Zevran could have slept on it as it was, even without their pallets. Snorting as he put the now filled with water, folding buckets in the spaces they would do the most good, he had to wonder why it was he missed the cramped and tiny space of a tent, filled with the musk of two men, armour and a very large mabari.

’Because the option before finding tents discarded along the roadside was to sleep outdoors and get rained on?’ offered Twadd.

Smiling as he hung out the clothes he had washed - his and Freya’s, Rory’s were too heavy for such easy washing - on the lines he had strung to give the yurt a bit more ‘separation’ if it was wanted, ’Hmn, no. No that is a good reason, but it is not the reason, amora.’ Zevran hunted for one of the cloaks, draping it over one of the ropes, creating an envelope of warmth around two of the buckets. ’One was a kingdom I was given, shared with love, it was all I ever needed and wanted and far more. This? This is just to make an old man comfortable and make things run easier than the times we went through.’

’And this is how you keep your girl happy and not have her be homesick for your Antiva. Same thing, except you are now the one who is trying to keep the other here.’

He couldn’t stop the laugh, ’What, and you thought I was not homesick?’ Drawing himself up, quoting, “In Antiva we...”

“Run around in winter pelts when it’s warm outside?” Rory had come in and was making a face at him, somewhere between amused and befuddled. “Strike theatrical poses while in our extravagant tent? Alone?”

“Aww, I missed it!” Freya scuttled around Rory, crab walking unnecessarily as the tent was plenty tall - though Rory couldn’t straighten fully except in the very center. “Was he doin’ the arm waving and mouth movin’ like there’s someone there? One time I caught ‘im and he ‘bout leaped ten feet in the air, arms flailing all over the place...”

’I, however had less of an audience...if they keep this up Leliana will call out a question, Alistair will stick his nose in to see what he’s missing, and the hound will - Love, I swear this chaos is almost comforting for you.‘ Twadd snickered.

Grumbling, ’Surrounded by children and animals, yes, I suppose this is comforting. Though our offspring and line smelled a great deal less...’ Clearing his throat, “I was merely making fun of how I once was, my mistake, I thought it was a habit I had halted, but then again, am I ever truly alone anymore?”

“Sorry, Zev.” Freya shoved Horsie out the flap she had forgotten to tie shut and ducked out after him.

’That was not a complaint, princessa,’ calling after her through the link. ’It was about Twadd and Cyni, now come back here before I hunt you down for your raspberry punishment!’

“Nope,” his ears barely caught the muttered response.

Zevran rolled his eyes, stopped long enough to kiss Rory who had watched Freya leave, bewildered. Hunting after his lovely girl, he found her not-hiding amongst some of the refugees who had needed a bit of healing, while wearing the guise of Circle mage. He sighed, setting to work himself doing triage, judging who needed work the most, who just wanted someone to lean on and talk about their shocks, the curious, and those who just needed a few stitches, boils or a cough taken care of. Wynne was doing the ‘actual’ healing, the showy visible wounds, bleeding, broken limbs, so any attention was on her, building a reputation for the Circle. The one that would display just how helpful and un-frightening mages could be. The elderly mage was grandmotherly and full of wisdom, if one could swallow it and the refugees didn’t know any better. Frankly he would have been vastly amused - to say the least - if Zamitie and Wynne had a conversation. Oh how the bolts would fly.

Or at least the barbs.

Freya moved like an old woman with shoulders rounded and rolled forward. Head dipped looking down, when she did look up at people she raised her head, not her shoulders or her eyes, just as oldsters did. With short steps, his girl moved as if afraid she would fall. Her face was dusted to lose the youthful shine and the curly locks were pulled back and tucked under the cowl. Doing anything but what looked like magic, Freya helped dish up bowls of soup, humming and touching those it was brought to or just admired a coughing baby tickling its foot, presenting image of nothing to be remembered, yet leaving behind a trail of wellness.

Zevran somehow wound up being tackled by littles, rolling around and playing with them until some adult spoke sharply about the appropriateness of such actions, fearful and stressed. He quickly moved to calm the poor peasant, discussing crops, woodworking, mending, and pulled out a bit of herbs and a block of sugar to add to a small kettle for tea. That softened the discomfort, but not the fear, as apparently word had already gotten around about the ‘foreign soothsayer’. With that he wound up having a few people - young and old - coming to him as though he would tell them their futures. He kept things vague, giving a few portents that reminded them of Eleanor’s oft voiced notion that the Maker provided best to those who worked towards their goals. A few ‘heave’ho let us work together’s got people going, helping with the numbing agony of uncertainty. Parties to gather lumber and start piling it away for when it would be needed, fisherfolk were already out in the lake bringing in a catch, small plots were seeded for fast growing hybrid vegetables - mostly cabbages, onions, leeks, garlic, carrots and similar, drainage for dealing with bodily waste, and a few chicken hutches, were put together and neatly ordered. It would take weeks for it all to be enacted, but the groundwork had to be set, else sickness would spread. That was another thing he ‘portended’, of plague and suchlike, if they didn’t obey the Maker’s rules for care of themselves, each other, and their few animals.

Even the children were put to work, helping to weave bark traps for rabbits and pack dirt. For them it was quickly made into a game, Horsie helping and playing. Leliana gave words of the Maker’s comfort, Nathaniel went hunting, Alistair and Rory put their shoulders to heavy lifting with the men. Alistair carried the bubbling enthusiasm on behalf of the Wardens. Gaeaf’s memories were clear that although the young man made a strong back and an excellent leader of good cheer, he was one who should never hold the handles of a plow without supervision. But chopping wood, gathering, and digging things were well within his abilities at least.

Of course what aid their little group could give was more in the way of guiding, setting up structure, rules, and giving hope. He hoped they stayed a week or two, two at the most, as that was vital time for the groups to get to know one another. Ser Bryant was an amiable fellow and had his remaining Templars assisting in similar manners, coordinating, thankfully, with them. A few private words with the dark Templar and showing the writ that Bryce had given him, caused Bryant to quickly agree that protecting the people at Kinloch was no different than at Lothering. He was set up as nominal leader, he and his Templars a last line of defense on ‘containing’ the Circle if anything got out of hand, the refugees listed as a similar duty.

Exhausted the company fell into bed each night and each day more leaves fell. The refugees pulled together readying what they could as the first frosts would soon line branches and blades of grass in hoary whiteness. Trios and quartets of wagons appeared several times a week, the planned for need having arrived, and the large storage ditches that had been tamped, packed, and dug deep in the ground were put into full use as the loads were put aside. Bryant and Wynne were put in charge of rationing what stores were there. The biggest emergency ones were ferried across to the Tower - just in case the refugees decided to cut their noses off to spite their faces. People were strange that way sometimes.

….

Manufacturing a letter from Isolde was not terribly difficult. Her large looped handwriting stuck out in their combined memories. Couching it properly though was, as this time Conner needed to be saved. Each Ferox had killed him - Cyni, being thorough, even went the extra mile and killed Isolde instead of just knocking her out, he wasn’t going to allow her to breed more demons - that and she was loud and whining, three things that at that point drove the once broken man to killing. The fastest way to get through what faced them at Redcliffe was to bring the mages and and a grand supply of lyrium with them. Lyrium he had already stocked up for this purpose, but allowing mages to travel...tricky. He was going to have to speak with Irving about a vision of a child and Arl Eamon caught and held captive by a Desire Demon in the Fade until one of them submitted. Good thing they had recently come from there...perhaps he should start by having this conversation with Wynne.

Gear, Alistair, and the horses were entrusted to Nathaniel, Lelianna and Morrigan’s care. They would stay and continue to assist the refugees and would have everything ready to head out for, as he put it, a decent place to winter. Zevran, Horsie, and Freya, boarded one of the large quick lake ships with Irving, Wynne, and several other mages with their accompanying Templars. Irving had been quite helpful in arranging the outing and getting the Knight-Commander reluctantly agree. There had also been a few ‘tests’ run on Zevran by the Knight-Commander, who was uncomfortable with the witchy predictions, but was unable to find anything untoward. Or at least nothing that he would recognize, though he had made comments about the nature of his tattoos which had been waved off as just clan markings.

Undead frightening the population of a small town. Everyday villagers, sheriff, a gossipy tavern keeper and his barmaid - it couldn’t have been more perfect publicity for both the Circle and the Wardens, or rather the Warden that was there, and she was the only one that mattered to him at least. Amongst the living. Meeting Bann Teagan at the Chantry, the situation was described to those who had never heard it, polite conversation was made, supplies gathered to outfit the militia - the mages combined with their Templar counterparts were quicker dealing with the undead that night, and by morning were shown a dripping tunnel that went under the lake to the dungeons in the bowls of Redcliffe.

Gamely, Freya went down the stairs and appeared to be of a mind to make the crossing, until a bit of damp, muddy dirt fell from the ceiling. He never saw his girl move so fast and the hound was hot on her heels. There may have been a spell involved, but one of the mages who had an affinity with earth was actively casting to shore up the tunnel and anything Freya may have done would have been quiet in comparison. Back up the stairs into the morning sunlight he found her leaning against the windmill ‘getting air’.

Pushing off the building, “I’m not goin’ in that way, Zev,” Freya was calm, outwardly at least. Inside she was a shaking, fearful child.

Wrapping his arms around her, “There is no other way unless we can fly, los sientos, mi amora. The front gate is completely closed, there are revenants and undead everywhere. If I could get in, the likelihood that you would be a young widow is rather high.” Zevran tucked her in tight, “If there were any other way, we would take that route without thought. But there is none.”

“Did you look or did you just go that way?” she shuddered. “No, all of your Feroxes went that way, they didn’t even look.”

“Freya,” he thought about it for a moment. “Take a good look at how that castle is built. Like Highever, there is an escape route. The route we have been shown. Then there is the front gate, which will not work as it is down. Teagan has already left, and we would be attacked immediately and without any true provocation if we sought to go that route. We could...put a blindfold on you and I could lead you, amora. That keep is a Ferelden design. Stocky, blocky, simple and straightforward. All the better to grind up any attackers.”

“Blindfold? Next you’ll suggest a roll of bandages ta go with, so I look the part.” Trying to be reasonable, “And anyway, Ser Perth went up there and you’d have stopped him if there were undead on this side of the gate.”

Sighing, “There are no undead on this side of the gate. But the gate is locked and will do no one any good until it is opened.” He rubbed his temples, offering the only other solution he could think of, “Stay here, I will handle it with the others, keep an eye on Perth and when the gate is raised, come in.”

One of the Feroxes strongly disapproved when Freya’s amulet flashed hot before chilling, their hiss was almost audible.

“I should know better than to question. Shall we go get this over with?” She wanted out of the embrace.

Not letting her go, “What do you want me to do, querida? What do you want me to say? Look with your eyes and more, do you see another way in or out other than over the battlements and right into the jaws? Do you see something other than a switchback ascent where undead archers and demon possessed guards can rain hellfire upon us? If you see some way, tell me, come up with your own choice in this and it will be heeded.”

“I want you to let go’a me,” she didn’t whine but it was close, especially on the last two words.

An aggravated and disgusted sound came from his throat unbidden as he relinquished his hold, “Go stay up at the gate.”

Stepping backwards, Freya bounced on her toes the agitation coming to the surface, “I already said I would do it. An’ if they did it, so can I an’ not ask stupid questions, cause ya’ll know better.”

“Preciosa, the question is not stupid, but the lack of...the...” pinching the bridge of his nose, he searched and came up short. “The lack of thinking. If there were another way, someone would have used it, Teagan would have mentioned it, something, or some clue. There was none and you have made no observations to the contrary. If there was input, it should have been said. And then when asked what would make things easier for you - nothing. Well, I am fresh out of ideas, and require a bit of input. And have consistently requested it and been turned down. So - go to the flaming gate if that is what would make you feel better, otherwise, come with, and know that I will be right there to keep you safe as always. Not that at the moment it appears to comfort you any.”

Zevran cracked his neck and felt every minute of his years, no matter the fact that his body was likely younger in many ways than when Twadd had known him. He had long suspected the aches and pains were born more from memory-habit than actual damage. Apparently he had not always had a headache, but of late, it certainly seemed so.

It was the same argument from Soldier’s Peak, just pushed away from the fire for a time, merely brought back to bubble over again.

“If there is lack of thinking on my part, and you always know what is best, what use is there in sayin’ anything? It doesn’t matter, because it’ll be wrong, that’s why you don’t get your ‘input’. That’s why I’ve stopped saying anything important, ‘cause it doesn’t matter and things go on as planned anyway,” she continued to rock, unable to hold still.

Teeth grinding, he counted to ten. Twice. “It matters to me what you think. It matters to me what you want, need, think, feel. But you have to tell me and not when it is suddenly a crisis. Yes, it is true that one does not know how one will hold up during a crisis and small things that normally would not chafe, suddenly do.” Falling to a squat, “Talk to me. Every time I ask you to talk to me, what do you do? Am I continually fed a constant stream of pleasant bullsh*t? And when asked, only continually reassured that everything is just fine until I give up asking? What do you want from me Freya? What do you want me to do?”
.
“As long as I don’t think about this...no, that’s not true.” She began again, “As long as I don’t say anything about what we’re doing, it appears to be fine. You’re happy until I forget and show that I did think somethin’ different.”

“When you have something further to add to it, try not to wait until we are both running on no sleep and not about to launch an all out offensive on the gates, hmn?” rising, he shook his head. “I have to see if I have enough to make a few very large soul bombs. Perhaps that will blast the f*cking gate down.”

He didn’t see how that would work at all, it would only let the Desire demon in Connor know they were coming. And the portcullis was meant to withstand battering rams and full assaults for invasions. It was a fool’s task. There was nothing else he could do and it made him wish he had told her to stay back at Kinloch, saving the revelation that as usual, she never told him anything until it was the most dangerous possible moment to do so. As to their tasks, it was the fact she would ask questions without a single possible solution, as though the question would cause him to have some utter epiphany and ‘ah-ha’ to make everything better. And then when he couldn’t, she would be angry at him for not giving her a choice or listening. If he could just go pound his head on something immovable right then, it might knock a few chunks of unnecessary brain matter out from his ears. Gathering the supplies he set to work, wondering how anyone could miss the simple equation of ask questions with purpose or planning or some knowledge of what they wanted.

Zevran had almost snarled out why he treated her like a child - that it was because she had never shown much indication that she was anything but one. With nary a thought in her head beyond the simple things put before her and that until she tried to act like an adult, he had to do the thinking and shielding, and every question he asked to try and get her to think would be met with about as blank a look as Alistair would give him it seemed like. Who in their somewhat right thinking mind would ask questions without having some thought as to a solution in their head? Or some idea as to what they wanted?

Now not only was he going to have to figure out how to get through the next tasks without stepping on too many toes, he was also going to have to figure out how to fix the situation. The second part was going to be harder, because if Twadd or Cyni had pulled that on him, he would have walked away in a heartbeat. Of course every time he had tried to gain enough distance to think clearly some new tragedy or fiasco or failure or...madness would take hold.

While he avoided saying what he thought, Freya went back down in the windmill with Horsie.

’What are you doing, Love?’ Twadd had waited for a break in the ranting.

’Making bloody bombs to throw at the f*cking portcullis no matter how impervious it is. She wants me to find another way, so, I am trying to. Of course when she wants something she never offers a hint of a damned solution,’ grinding up soulstones he slowly added concentrator agents, while making a thin wax seal around a corruptor to place in the flask. When the glass shattered, the air would strike the combined ingredients to cause the explosion.

’Well, it doesn’t stand up to an ogre for long, but I can’t help but think it’s helpful at keeping out everything that arrived before it.’

Grimacing, ’Yes, logic, you use it well. She does not it seems. I would say it is an issue with her gender, but I have known many who were far more logical than I could ever hope to be, so it is clearly not that. Which leaves me with a combination of your darkness and her age. Young and stupid with it.’

’Not all of us ask questions we already know the answers to. Twice I have heard, ‘Have you looked?’ and this time she answered that question - we hadn’t.’

’No, we had not. Because logic would dictate that the design of the castle was such that it would be unlikely for it to have two such very obvious design flaws and planned weaknesses,’ carefully he stoppered the third bomb, making sure to not jostle them. ’So now we go and do something incredibly stupid to satisfy her curiosity.’

’You and Gaeaf might be interested in castle design, but I would point out, from a farmer’s point of view, that Redcliffe has a great big flaw - one however that won’t assist us in this matter, unfortunately.’

Twitching, ’If there is some bloody flaw that can be utilized and it has not been made note of, then it would be most logical if it was pointed out when questions are asked. That is the problem. Instead questions are asked, whined about, and given absolutely no input. None. Nada. And when she is told that ‘no, this cannot work, unless you have a suggestion’ she goes into a bitchy tiff that now I will have to fix when all I wish to do is walk away and tell her to take care of all this on her bloody own as I am done.’ It took a pure effort of will to not just throw one of the hastily made bombs for effect. ’But no, what would happen then? Oh, well, that is very simple. She would go off and get herself killed without her favourite babysitter to keep her from such a fate.’

’Love, how can you be so patient with Cyni?’

’Because he is damaged and knows no better, while she does,’ he almost added the fact that Cyni used his brain. ’Because he has had one wound piled atop another wound. When he has a thought, he voices it. When he has a question, he voices it. When there is a problem that he has, he will frequently give some indication of how to solve it. She does not. She is normal, healthy, has very little trauma, and gives no indication of what it is she wants or needs beyond a fit. That is how I can be patient with him and not her. I expect a certain level of maturity from her as she has no excuse.’

’Nothing but inexperience, lack of knowledge, and therefore must ask questions...or not.’

’The questions she asks have no thought behind them, it is nearly like talking to Alistair,’ he finished with a few more bombs and gingerly put them in a basket, pulling stealth around himself. Hopefully the undead would not take note of him. ’Not all questions are created equal. Not all askers are created equal either. Inexperience is more than allowable, lack of intelligence is a handicap.’

’So you knew that there was no landing point on the Waking Sea that would have given access to the Peak? I didn’t.’

Sighing, ’Logic dictates that there was not. Not unless we blasted a way through miles of mountain. Which would quite frankly - defeat the purpose of having a secure location, as darkspawn could easily boil up that way. The Peak is on the interior side of the mountains, not the exterior. It is as obvious as a map with a very large ‘x’ on it. Certainly there are passes that could be used in the future for a smuggler’s route. But that would be horribly dangerous and we would need to land large amounts of troops to protect the path. Too much to patrol. Granted, Thia did that, but they were moving legions through the place.’ He worked up a sweat from the fatigue and his anger, not just the hike, ’Anyone who thinks for about five minutes knows that any force travels upon their bellies, not their feet. So having a short route for supplies is necessary. A short safe route. Going through passes that are not easily viewed by the target location is foolishness. Guarding said supply train is a feat of coordination and awesome powers put to it. Feasible when one is moving an actual army, not when all you have is a specialized skirmishing force.’

’But the same doesn’t go for a proposed escape route, if one doesn’t want to get trapped in a box and become a dead man. However, in order to learn, some people have to be able to see something. I had to show what I wanted so that Cyni could make it. If he’s had an effect on her, it might be shared.’

Zevran began placing the bombs and then walked back, a last one in hand, a long leather strap on it, and he began spinning it slowly before releasing it and running as fast as he could. Behind him a great explosion came, the portcullis intact, but bits of stone weakened. Now that meant when the ogres attacked, Redcliffe would fall even faster. Sitting in the dirt, Ser Perth and his men nearby, in shock, picking themselves up slowly, Zevran scowled.

’Yes, well, there. Now there is a future cost to this lesson that will not be paid by her,’ Zevran picked himself up and walked away without giving any explanation to Perth and his men but to wave them out of bowshot. ’Any such weakness she has must be lessened or compensated for the duration or people will die in droves. Idiocy.’

Back at the windmill the couple of mages that had been left to guard were staring at him, clearly questioning his sanity and intelligence. He nearly told them it wasn’t his intelligence or sanity that required questioning, but settled for a dark grin that sent them flinching back. As he passed Freya near the entrance he gave her the images of what he had done and its failure as he walked further down the tunnel.

’Next time you need an experiment, tell me without forcing me to figure it out,’ Zevran loosened his blades, still dusting sand, rock and dirt from his hair. ’To save time if not my patience at least. Or try offering a solution for once.’

Referring to his visuals, ’I don’t,’ teeth chattering, as one foot moved in front of the other, she was slowly progressing, ’see how, that’s...just lookin’...at’a gate.’

His expression was hard and impassive. ’Since you did not give me a starting point or a single idea, I had to go with what was remotely feasible for a way in. I run on instinctive logic, you, clearly, do not. When you have a question as to what is possible, perhaps offering a starting point or having some idea of the goal you have in mind, might be wise. I can only hope that now you will learn to present ideas to go with your questions so it becomes an actual discourse. Your thoughts have always been welcome, but at some point you lost the ability to present anything beyond a question and then anger when the answer was not magically pulled forth in utter perfection. This cannot stand.’ “Rory - on point, Horsie, vanguard,” snapping out orders, Zevran simply hoisted Freya onto his back, armour and all, grunting with the weight. “Move out.” ’Close your eyes, querida, I will have us in the main area shortly. We just have to stop and talk to Jowan, re-kill a few things, and fight our way to the main floors. But until then, close your eyes, I will keep you safe.’

Hurt more than anything simmered in the amulet as she was picked up like a pawn and hauled off to wherever he thought was best, as she tried to block out her choking fear of being underground, of being trapped, ’No Zev. You’re wrong. I was angry when you said you’d leave me behind.’

’Well it was not as though you were giving me many options to choose from,’ ears pricked, eyes ahead. ’I was seeking something that might actually...oh...say...possibly keep you from the tunnel so that you would be more comfortable as I had so many clues and options to go on.’

’You knew about the tunnel... No, that doesn’t matter. But they - ’ she must have meant the Feroxes, ’ - did it everything, tha’ tunnel, the Blight, all of it, an’ that’s all tha’ matters. They didn’t needta stepped back to look at everything after it was all done.’

Tipping his head back, ’I did not think the tunnel would bother you so, as they had handled it and you handle things impeccably. You are what matters. Even when all I wish to do is walk away, when it is too much, it still is you who matters to me, and it is ultimately for you who I do all these things, so that you will not take on any guilt as you and your kind tend to.’

Freya didn’t respond, couldn’t with her teeth chattering so loudly and shaking with cold fear.

Chapter 5: Pele's Dance

Chapter Text

The undead were killed again to be thrown on bonfires, a daughter rescued, a son saved, and lines said. And when everyone’s attention was occupied elsewhere, the Arl died. It was said that the likely cause was that as the demon had been vanquished, it no longer sustained him, so the illness finally took him. Isolde had no further need to seek out mythic ashes, which meant they could do such at their leisure. He hated to think what ‘Andraste’ and her huge clutches could do if left on their own for a few more years. A letter of regret was sent to the Arl’s liege lord and mentioned as an aside that Teagan had survived the attacks and seemed rather popular with the inhabitants of Redcliffe.

As to Freya, as usual, their relationship was fine on the surface, but their mutual hurt and anger was gnawing at them. He let his go to the best of his ability, and she...buried hers. Put it in a box, let it fester, and hid herself from him. Several times the amulet indicated a question was to be asked, but nothing followed. No matter how he pressed or sought to engage her, she merely put a spin on things or sidestepped the question as though everything was alright or to demonstrate that it was just as he said and there was nary a complete thought in her head.

On the road or in unfamiliar surroundings, Zevran always awoke quickly, so there were no more morning escapades begun while he was still asleep. Awake was another matter, but he couldn’t help but feel it was entirely perfunctory. Just having sex out of habit, with no more thought or feeling on Freya’s part than he would have about pulling on his socks, and no matter what he tried to put into it...she didn’t hear or feel him. He was meaningless and a chore and to be used.

Rory was on last watch and a cold hand was taking hold of his co*ck, but Zevran grunted, rolling away, “If that is all this is, then no thank you. I have been used as a whor* often enough and have no wish to suffer illusions today.”

Releasing him quickly as if her hand was burned, she rolled out of the pelts so as not to let in the cold underneath, “I’m sorry. I thought you like that,” Freya grabbed for and tugged on a pair of leggings.

“Being used?” raising a brow at her. “After awhile it loses its appeal when all the good I am allowed to do or welcomed to do is what I have between my legs. Last I checked I was no longer required to be a whor*.”

“No, that’s not what I meant. An’ you know it.” Freya squirmed then arched her back to pull the thick cloth over her bottom, “But it doesn’t matter, ‘cause I don’t make you happy. Go talk to Twadd - he makes you happy. I need’a walk.” She rolled to a sit and tugged on socks from the day before than had been dried and didn’t smell.

Reaching out he snagged her wrist, “I have no desire to talk to Twadd. I would rather talk with you. Because it appears that I cannot make you happy either. Tell me what you want and need from me - no, not ‘air’. You can have that aplenty, later. But for once, just this once, tell me what you require and want of me that will make you happy other than ‘air’, ‘let you go’, ‘stop talking’, ‘move over’ and ‘f*ck me’. Because that is all I seem to hear, so of course I am not happy and of course I feel like a whor*.”

Looking at his hand on her arm in the dim light the decision to pull away or finally talk was made. “Zevran, I love you,” she meant every word. Strangely, the emotions available in the amulet indicated Freya wasn’t angry at all, rather she was sad, very sad and had been for some time.

Resigned, she did not accuse and her voice was steady, and was unadulterated by her usual casual speech, as she laid it out. “I probably haven’t taken enough time to sit down and figure everything out.” The amulet said this was a polite lie, she had thought about this a lot and had since the Fade when she met Twadd face to face, and as she went on, Zevran knew that she had thought about it long before that. “I’m never gonna be as old as you or know as much as you do, and I don’t think like you do. That said, I think you should just enjoy who you’ve got in your head - ‘Cause, nobody can live up to that...them.” She cleared her throat struggling to stay composed, “With two perfect husbands in your head, two Wardens out there, an’ Rory, you don’t need me. Truthfully, Zevran, you never really have. You came here against your will and you’ve been mad and frustrated and sad ever since and I’m just somebody you take care of and protect probably because you feel that you have to. I don’t think that you love me because I’m me, I think that you love me because I’m part of what’s already up in your head. But I’m extra, one you don’t need, one you never really needed, and one you definitely didn’t choose.”

Zevran blinked slowly, “Of course I did not get to choose. At the core, I am nothing more than a slave, but at least it is to love rather than masters who sought my destruction. So this is nothing new.” He didn’t add or let himself think on the fact that love would destroy him just as viciously with a kiss and hug as his old masters would have with poison and blade. “Each time you are asked what is needed, needed to know you, to be with you, to make you feel, to fulfill what makes an equal relationship - nothing is done or said. Walking away or f*cking is all the answer given. This solves nothing. I am trying, over and over, to solve the problem, begging for input and given none. Point me in the direction of what you need and it will be done. It takes two, Freya. Two to figure things out and take action. Not one to hide and complain with no idea of what the goal is while the other tries to hold everything together. That may not be what you feel you are doing, but from my end, that is what it constantly looks like. What do you want of me? To love you? I already do. To protect you? I already do that. To know you? I try my best but am given little to know. To want you? I chase you endlessly, seeking to ferret out your needs and wants, this should be proof enough. Since the garden and long before that, it has never stopped. To treat you as an equal? It is difficult when you do not bother trying to act like one, but I still try.” His grip tightened but not enough to hurt and he gestured with their combined hands, “This is not a relationship. It is slavery - you are my master and I am the slave seeking to fulfill what you need. But like some masters, you take a macabre delight in watching me struggle, only ever telling me when something is wrong, but not what, or how to fix it, or what you want of me. So I dance and dance, chase and chase, plot and plot. ‘Just Zevran’ disappeared a long time ago as he could not handle it and all you have left is a sick blend of Guildmaster and Crow.”

“Zevran, you have asked what I want of you, what I want you to do. I have said from the beginning that I just want you, but that answer doesn’t make you happy. You have asked what I want in general and I am happy with what is here. It makes me wonder what I am missing, have I overlooked something important, is it something vital? You have said what we need to do in the tasks for the Blight and when I ask a question to gain information this makes you angry and frustrated. I must have been wrong to ask or try to figure out what you are trying to do, so I stopped. I didn’t want you to be distressed about that – but that upset you. But what is the purpose of asking a question I already know the answer to? And so other than the Blight, there’s nothing else to talk about but the scenery or the song or story told around the fire the night before.”

Attacking the easier thing, “I do not want you to know the answer, I want you to have used some form of...critical thinking, so that you have an idea of the goal or purpose to the question. Life is a series of ‘if-then’ and cause and effect statements. If one is tired, one sleeps. The logical conclusion to that is that one would then awaken less tired. What makes me unhappy is when it appears that all the point of the question is to say is ‘I am tired,’ with no logical answer beyond the obvious of - ‘take a nap-sit down-rest’. But they are larger issues than that. The work in overreaching generalities gives no direction. You say you want this - want what? What direction do you wish it to go, what hopes and dreams do you have, where is the lack, where is the good, where is the observations, where are the thoughts? That is what makes me distressed. That is what is frustrating. That is why it constantly feels as though there is no hope for eventual equality as it is meaningless - that is how it seems, that is the impression I am constantly receiving. When I ask what you want or need, I hope for direction beyond sitting like a lump and consistently, without fail, receive none.”

“I want to go home. I want to be warm. I want not to have to plow through the snow. I want nobody to get hurt when the wolves are hungry. I want there to be no emissary in the next attack. I want everyone to be happy. I want... It doesn’t matter and it doesn’t help to say, because it’s all complaining, which I don’t want ta do.”

He almost snorted at the not complaining, instead only sighing. “It need not ‘matter’ in the grand scheme of life, princessa. It only matters that it is your thoughts, feelings, fears, hurts and angers. We each need someone safe to vent to, someone, somewhere, where we need not constantly edit.”

“But then this puts another burden on the one who hears it, one who carries enough.” She sighed. “You ask of dreams. I dream the same things every night and there is no use of talking of that. So it must be hopes. Hopes are similar to wants, I hope that it doesn’t snow, I hope we find another hot spring...or do you mean more long distance things? What do I want to be when I grow up? Seems to me I’m a fraud pretending to be something I’m not and pretending not to be something I am. So, I hope it all works out, I hope the next ogre doesn’t crack me on the head like Alistair, or I hope we all live to tomorrow? Is it too small? What’s the use in planning afterwards?”

“My dear, you are no fraud. Those hopes and wants are a good start. But I mean...” trailing off, frustrated with himself, not her. “No, that is something we started to keep us going. It is an example, it is not what I want or expect from you. It was a joke, a thing to lighten the mood - a kingdom was offered, small as he said it was, or a teyrnir if that was to be. I said that it would be nice, but could we have it warmer, like a plantation. This led to...silly and not silly things. It is why the door to our room in Antiva is turquoise, a symbol of home, a sign of comfort. Just as Zamitie’s door is always crimson. He would plan what to plant - after pumping me for information on the flora and fauna, and this became our hope and our dream. Freya, I want us to build a hope and a dream for ourselves. I do not care what it is. A small coffeeshop. A bakery, living in a tent on the plains... Figuring out why such and so thing works and how to improve it, curiosity and joy in the world and in the small things... Rinna and Taliesin wanted an apartment, with a potter’s wheel, a jeweler’s bench, and paintings of the Bay, floor to ceiling. I wanted a big bathtub and many bookshelves. They wanted a keepbox and large bed on a raised platform. Cyni wanted colours, tastes, textures, sounds, silence and peace. These were the things dreamed of.” Zevran’s eyes burned, “I am not alive without you and cannot tailor these dreams without help.”

“Except for little things, everything here is yours. Everything we see, you worked to build it or obtain it. Why would I tell you what to do with it? But, aren’t things already laid out? Either I keep pretending, or I help Zama-mama, or you decide to really be a Guildmaster and then I don’t think that I get to help you...”

“I am tired of being a Guildmaster, Freya. My hope is to put Salvail or Armand or Ignacio - Ignacio first probably - in a similar position as Bryce,” scrubbing his face with both hands, letting her go. “Lay out what will come, what has to happen, and then they decide how to execute the details. That has been my hope, one of them. One way or another, the Couslands will eventually rule Ferelden, as the ideal situation. They are better suited to it and have enough...variables...in their bloodline to keep themselves from sheer idiocy. For Antiva, the other hope is that a line of Guildmasters who are truly interested in more than just profits and power, exist. During peacetime and other eras, it has been alright, not the best, but not detrimental, for the Guildmaster to be...greedy, power hungry and cruel. Those are the big hopes, the big things I have worked towards. My other hopes are to fulfill your needs, to have an equal, and for once, be taken care of, even a little bit. Twadd ruined me, I swear. Until him, I did not know what it was to trust someone and rely upon them. Not like that. At home I could lay down the mantle and just be myself, safe, sound, shared space and heart and relinquish control. No longer have to take care of plotting everything down to the tinniest detail, because he would handle it.”

Released, Freya didn’t move except to pull a cloak over her shoulders and wrap it around herself. “I don’t know what to do. We’ve always been getting ready for something. And like I said, things are planned out already - safe or unsafe, protected or unprotected. Anyway, people die when they don’t have anything to do. What are you going to do to keep busy, to give you something to think about?”

“What I always do - take care of you, and what I always try to do - make you happy,” Zevran leaned forward to rest his head in her lap. “And pray that I can find shelter where I can be just Zevran and not always have to be strong. Those are my hopes. What are yours, querida? Tell me, please.”

Twadd had at least once, pulled on the amulet around his neck and said that he did not want to be a Warden, that he had not asked for that. It was yet another way for him to reject what he was. Freya was similar. Not that she rejected being a Warden, as that tale had yet to be told, but rather that she was limited by being a mage. There would be no mantle of Cousland or noble responsibility to pick back up, no duty to country and values ingrained that must be adhered to. Staying in Ferelden was untenable, so it was assumed that they would return to Antiva. It wasn’t asked, it was unquestioned. That they would arrive at Zamitie’s townhouse and that things would ‘return to normal’. The hopes or thoughts advanced were as small as to be tiny glass beads strung on a single thread, inconsequential, such as something new planted in the garden or what to buy at the market for dinner while sniffing the produce. She spoke of Nune, Zamitie, Horsie, and himself. It was a start.

Part of what seemed to make it difficult to consider an afterwards, even though it was believed that they would all be there to see tomorrow, something, perhaps that all of this was a story in and of itself, overshadowed anything else.. It wasn’t just Freya, because it captured the others too, Feroxes and most of the companions could not believe that this journey would not last forever. Perhaps it was the short lives of humans that made things lasting a year or two ‘permanent’, of if they happened only a few months or year or two ago to be referred to as ‘a long time ago’.

At first Zevran thought he had dozed off when Freya tentatively ventured an idea that Zamitie’s townhouse could be expanded so they could have their own space, if they...he wanted that. His next thought was that Twadd or Cyni had put her up to it, but Cyni was off and about, busy ‘not leaving him’ and Twadd was in the middle of a plantation memory that smelled like breakfast and an endless mug of coffee, hot and sweet with lashings of cream. Really his husband was reading, but the memory played comfortingly around him.

“What sorts of expansion would you like, amora?” closing his eyes he nestled his cheek against her thigh.

Scrunching her nose, “It depends on which neighbor moves out, ‘cause the buildings are different.”

“True,” he felt his shoulders begin to become less tight, sending his further interest and curiosity to her. “But what do you have in mind? In general or minutia? Talk to me, share with me, I wish to know, to connect,” the last part came out plaintively, pleading, certain that as usual he would be put off once again to try and come up with those things for her on his own.

Freya had shifted to her usual manner of speaking, no longer on guard or as careful. “The garden is nicer on the left hand side, but they haven’t taken as good’a care of the house, but it would be jus’ right for jus’ two. The other, has a stone patio, the one with the shade cloth, but its planting beds were few. I ‘spose we could find clay pots. The house is bigger, too big for just you an’ me, even if Horse and Light had pups.” Absently, she fingered the lines at his eyes.

“We could perhaps save up and buy both?” he put forth. “Make a little business out of the home like many do? I can do leatherwork or craft more fancies.”

Firing off questions and comments like she did as a child, skipping forwards and backwards and all around, “Papa liked your chain shirt, but that takes a lot’a time... But won’t Zama-mama think we’re invading and surrounding her though? How many houses to the corner street? I thought it was two...we could do the small one and the one on the corner ‘cause the corner is more visible for a business...” Catching herself, realizing that she had not allowed for any answers, guiltily she stopped.

“You are talking of the woman who comes from an upbringing where there are usually four adults and three to eight children in a yurt this size?” he cracked a lid to look up at her. “There should be a total of four houses in all if one were to count the alleyways.”

Counting she looked around the yurt, placing sleeping bodies, “That’s too many, there’d be no air.”

He pointed out as his ear wriggled, “Plenty of air while on horse- or camel-back. I could do apothecary work too, and you could...what would you like to do?”

A slide of thumb was all it took to move from the corner of the eyes to ears especially when they danced for attention, “Do I get’a choice?”

“Well, yes,” the tip of his ear curling. “I mean the hope is that we live a long time, hmn? The Warden abilities were taken on so that we could...be unified.” Sending and showing, reminding in the process. “Otherwise I would have said it was unwise. But to live a particularly long time, you would have to take on the mantle of ga’ni shedu’ni. However, what you do with that power is up to you. There is the fact that yes, for safety in terms of legal matters of Antiva, you would have to heal any who come to you for it, but beyond that...?”

“True. I’d have to do that now though, when we go back. But, wait, instead’a playing storekeeper, won’t you be warning of the Qunari and the next Blight?” Freya’s eyes laughed, “Or is that just on your days off?”

Snorting, “Enough key people will be in the know, informed, things stockpiled. The Arlathanlen, Ga’hals Iunimasilsh, Dalish, the Dust Wolves, a few Crow Masters...mph. Perhaps a few plantations to be purchased are in order, put them into full production for stockpiling... But I do not wish to have a full, active role unless it is absolutely necessary. Running the numbers, putting people in place, that due to their natures, would insure that what needs doing, is done.”

“Of course.” Fingers played with the indentations of old piercings, “Ah, then Horse will just have to learn how to take orders and care for the pups while Light is way. Maybe he can teach them to add, too?” She had not commented that when he said he did not intend to take a ‘full, active role’, that it might as well be - he was not known for taking half measures. The querulous thought was left behind, even if he felt it. So he also refrained from pointing out he could be much worse. Much worse.

“Generally, Nune is not the sort of general who is on the front lines, at least, not directly,” Zevran rubbed his face into her belly, feeling the jut of the flat, topaz ring that kept the piercing in her navel open. “This is some of the most action he has seen in years, other than when we went to deal with the Arlthanlen, hmn? And before that, it had been a decade he said since he had last fought in actual combat, practice and cage matches notwithstanding. And what would you choose, amora?” the sentences and thoughts fragmented as her fingers still played with an ear.

“Not cage matches, thank you, but tha’s not whatcha meant. I don’t know. I’m not a farmer, but I don’t kill plants either. I’m not a very good cook, but nobody complains real loud. I said that I’d help Zama-mama...but somebody should learn some cleaning spells if we’re gonna spread out more.”

Rolling onto his back, head still in her lap, looking up at her quizzically, “Cleaning spells? Mabari are smart, we could put them to work with - ah, no opposable thumbs, that will not work, hmn. Or we could buy a slave to help out with things, hmn? Someone who might not have a good owner otherwise...yes?”

“Horse can still pick up and put things away in baskets and sort them too. I was lookin’ for sweeping, but their tails are all bobbed...docked.”

“Likely because a tail is a risk in a fight,” he thought about it, but generally most of the mabari puppies he had seen hadn’t had much in the way of tails anyway.

“Lambs after they’re born, they get’a string tied around their tail and it’s tied really tight. Blood can’t get there an’ it falls off, eventually. Same with the little puppies. It’s not very nice, but it doesn’t hurt or bleed as much as cuttin’ it off an’ they don’t miss it when the tail’s gone. I saw a dog who was too old and her tail was cut...docked and she’d always hid her bottom. Didn’t want anybody to scritch it. When I saw her, I thought she was ashamed ov’it. They said she had a litter and bit everyone who came to tie off the pup’s tails.” It was an explanation that could have come from Twadd, who would have noted the reasons for doing such just as Zevran would. But Freya centered the story on what a healer would be interested in, the health and well being of the patient. “However, that’s not what you asked. I hadn’t thought of havin’ anybody but us...there’d be lots of room though.”

He waved a hand, “I would say let us hire one of the old hands from the Dust Wolves, however, they always get work from Nune and have security. Slaves have a harder time, hmn? We could find a nice little old lady or someone who has a mild deformity. Or if someone near our street who may have one too many mouths or too many bodies in the house. That way they could still be near their family, no? And since it would be myself who owns them technically, there would be no repercussions socially or legally, the protection of pintore unthreatened.”

“Zev, you are a very kind and thoughtful man and I have not said so recently.” A thumb brushed over the self imposed lines on his forehead.

Snorting, “Not particularly. If we just went and bought a totally healthy slave they would cost more and also it would possibly bother you that a person was owned rather than employed...”

“Uh huh,” Freya refused to accept the explanation. “Which is why you suggest keepin’ someone close to family or someone whose health might be improved by the arrangement. So the proposal’s made for their benefit or my peace of mind. Either way it’s considerate. Thank you.”

Zevran shrugged, “Everything that is done, is done for your overall benefit and peace of mind. Heading off possible problems before they are able to manifest or cause some form of detrimental state or harm to your psyche. Even if it is something far off and nebulous...this is what I seek to do.”

Pressing firmly where his third eye would be on his forehead, it was enunciated clearly, “And your efforts and successes have not gone unnoticed, Zevran.” Returning to the soothing brushes of fingers over his face as if it were being memorized, her voice also relaxed again, “The larger building does have plenty’a room for a trainin’ room, like we set up at tha Peak. Rory was jokin’ about you needin’a gallery to display your armour, a stand is a good idea, but I think he’s goin’ overboard.”

Clearing his throat, “Well if I were to have the forty sets of armour I had upon a time just a decade ago, then, certainly, an entire gallery would be necessary...” Ruefully, “I am afraid that during random prattling to make him relax, descriptions of things that I once possessed were given. Seven hundred pairs of pants and forty sets of armour...at some point he made me go into detail about each set of armour, as when I attempted to recall all the pants...my mind drew a blank beyond the fiftieth pair as at that amount, they all wound up looking the same after awhile, yes? But armour and weapons are far easier for me to recall.”

“Better not tell ‘em how many pairs of shoes you have stuffed under your bed,” a good half of them were hers. “Hopefully you didn’t mention your multitude of daggers. Anyway,” she shrugged, “It’s something to think about. I like Zama’s house an’ it would be nice ta be close by so we could help, but have our own space.”

Little ideas and plans were shared, a few steps to turn them back to a path that didn’t lead into a wilderness where they would become lost and estranged. It was a start that Freya seemed as relieved as himself to have made. Now if only they could maintain it.

….

Winter at Soldier’s Peak - this was his second or third one? It felt like more. Just as in times before, armed with Gaeaf’s plans for pipes, the Drydens had only installed them throughout the first floor and up the inside of the tower to Avernus. Mikhael Dryden’s next goal was the Commander’s office. Unfortunately as pipes were laying on the floor in various stages of assembly - or perhaps it was fortunate given the sexual reprieve in their relationship - the room was unavailable for the time being. Everyone would bunk in the warm barracks as before, with the addition of Morrigan and Lelianna. Wynne had left them at the crossroads to Highever to join the efforts there, after it was suggested that there were many more refugees and the teyrn’s forces who would have need of healing. The old biddie would not be around to make her complaints or anyone feel badly about doing something that didn’t solely involve handling the Blight, including taking a winter to work on their teamwork, tactics, and magical instruction.

Much to the worry of the Couslands, Fergus was still reported as missing after scouting the Wilds, this had not changed from the memories of the previous times. Was the disappearance of their brother vital somehow to the tale of the Warden? Or was it rather the discovery of Alise? And how was that going to work with Oriana, Fergus’ wife? Not borrowing trouble and only dealing with the issue at hand, Zevran had urged them not to worry and assured that Fergus would return as he always had before, even in stories when there were no other Couslands remaining, Fergus always did. The correspondence left at the drop location indicated that although this ‘foretelling’ was reassuring to Bryce and Eleanor, understandably they were still concerned. Freya had nodded when Zevran told her that Fergus would return and had accepted his word without followup questions. They were no longer in the south and would have to trust that events would occur as they always had.

A large pile of big, fat, wet snow had come in, snowing them in hard. Avernus had seen them coming and managed to hold the worst of it back as it had tried to break when they were a day away from the Peak, and his hard work had kept much of it away for the first few days. Grouchily the old mage had said he wanted to be sure that no more interruptions and dead bodies frozen to the ground would come. What it really meant was that he wanted to be sure there were no more messengers would be at risk until after a good hard freeze. The Drydens had worked hard on the ancient mage, trying to make him ‘decent’ company. Of course there were always two of the most strapping examples of the Dryden clan around when anyone went to meet with the maleficar, but in some ways, he had become the eccentric little old grandpa. Zevran’s estimation that Avernus was lonely had proven true, as some evenings he would sit downstairs by the fire, a mug of hot tea in hand, making toast with the long handled rod for it, spreading jam and butter, passing the fruits of his labour out willynilly with a crotchety grump. Someone had outfitted him with a pink scarf and a knit cap in brown for his shiny bald pate, and he seemed far more lively and spry than he had upon any other meeting he had had with the old man.

Limbering up after a workout and being tossed around like a small game sack that children would kick from foot to foot, Rory set his gear aside, “Zev?”

“Hmn?” sliding into a split then rolling to put all his weight on one hand, body slowly stretching out completely horizontal to the ground, elbow bent.

“Since you and Freya aren’t...does that mean?” there was uncertainty all over Rory’s bearing and Zevran quickly popped up to stand, head co*cked.

Shoving some of his loosened hair from his face, Zevran stared up at Rory quizzically, “Mean what? And what is it that Freya and I are not?”

Blushing furiously, “Having sex. Does that mean we, you and I, I mean, that you and I can’t have sex, too? Or is that...is that unfair? That I want, with you, that -”

“Why would we not have sex if you want it?” blinking slowly as he tried to figure out what was going on in the tall warrior’s mind.

Stammering, “Well - wh-what if she wants sex?”

“She can have sex if she desires it,” he shrugged. “The issue she and I are having has...more to do with other things. So we have decided to abstain for now, at least that is the unspoken agreement. If she wishes to make love, we will, but until she and I are on more even footing, we likely will not.”

Rory relaxed minutely, but was still clearly worried, “Like what sort of issues?”

“We are having a hard time talking and communicating with each other,” Zevran heaved a sigh.

“But the two of you talk all morning,” brows furrowing tightly.

“Now we talk all morning. Before we were just...it was...” Another sigh. “Well, it seemed and felt like the only thing we had left was sex. No discussion of anything. No investment of self. I felt used and she felt like it was all I desired and needed of her.”

“Oh, so,” the worry eased for a moment before quickly returning. “So do you and I have that problem? I mean, if you think so, then -”

Cutting him off gently, “Actually it is very easy to speak with you. To me there is nothing to protect you from. You ask me questions and do not feel as though there is judgment, we can talk. That ability was...lost...with Freya and I. She cannot bear to see me worried or weak, so then does not ‘add’ to my ‘burdens’, and shuts down. While I feel like I cannot connect to her, and that I also am not allowed to have moments of anger, weakness, fear, fatigue. With you, you simply...accept however I am with few preconceived notions. That is why we can talk far more easily. And, not this is not intended as an insult, but you are far...easier than her. Your needs, wants, fears - they are easier to deal with. Uncomplicated, undemanding. It is not a trial to figure out what you need from me the way it is with her. If you need or want something from me, you just ask for it. She...does not.”

Rory thought about it for a moment, “I’m not sure how I expect you to be. You’re...different. You always have a reason for this or that, but if I want to know why it works, you’ll tell me if I ask.”

“Do you expect me to always ride to the rescue?” asking, curious, and it was an important question. “Am I capable of everything and anything?”

“Well, I guess if you put your mind to it, sure. But that’s just too much to do for one person. I’ve seen you bleed, I’ve seen your scars. You get tired, you’re mortal. Sometimes you want someone to lean on too,” he sat down cross-legged beside him. “I’m not afraid of you falling, only that you won’t get up. You’ve taken enough knocks that I know you’ll probably get back up. But push the wrong way and you get hurt like anyone else.”

Sighing deeply yet again, “Exactly. This is something that she fears, so potentially adding to it, while also hating that I am not mythic, yet at the same time hating that I am, in her eyes, like that...it is difficult. So, the easiest way is to not question, to not share, to not burden - because she does not wish to be the last straw on the camel’s back that breaks it. And then I try not to burden her with my own weaknesses, as I fear she cannot handle the information.” He waved his hands expansively, “That is why we are having to relearn things. I must admit that this was also why I had wished to wait until she was older with more experience, more understanding of people - myself included - and their natural, inherent weaknesses. It is not that she lacks anything, other than the experience that would teach her critical thinking and observational skills, but it makes things difficult for us both. Much of me expects her to be able to look at a situation and judge it. Just as you would look at a situation and judge it. Or I would. Or Twadd or Cyni. But those things, they are born of experience, of necessity. And she has never had to be in situations that would cause it.”

“Well, you’ve always been there for her. Since you arrived at Highever, I mean, she depends on you...kinda the big brother role - that’s not what I meant, a brother, I mean, but like that ‘cause she’s safe with you.” If he hadn’t been Rory, the comparison may have been ‘father’ instead of ‘brother’, someone older and looked up to. Scratching his sweaty head, “I’d wouldn’t be the first to point out that she regularly misjudges a tactical situation, but she’s good with people.”

“Which is why you tend to rush in with myself hot on your heels - make sure she does not try and do it herself, hmn?” chuckling.

Wincing, “I’m just glad after that first two - or was it four? - fireballs, that she learned that Alistair should do something to the mages first before anybody else does.” Rory grinned, “My memory’s a little fuzzy after the first two.”

Laughing, Zevran ran a lazy hand over Rory’s cheek, wiping some of the sweat from their sparring away, “Oh if you think that is bad...hmn...? The first time we killed a chicken and Zamitie passed it to her for plucking, she nearly ripped the arms out of the poor, dead bird as she was trying to make a brave face.”

Rory laughed with him as they went down for lunch.

….

Side by side, they whispered under the covers like children, so that the sleeping adults couldn’t hear. Her nose cold, Freya pressed it to his neck, at the bottom of the ‘v’ of his tunic. She had talked again about the townhouses next door. It wasn’t so much that she had chosen one and was mentally remodeling it, but that she was balancing their needs and wants. True, if they did this, then there was a choice to be made - certainly, it was unlikely that they could have both at the same time, even with what he had set aside, their savings. These softly spoken conversations were nothing and yet they continued to be everything. They had given rise to other things during the day, a shared joke over a double-entendre that Alistair had unwittingly made. Just a couple of raised eyebrows, nothing huge and that was the point.

Words breathed through the fabric of his shirt, tentatively Freya asked, “Um, Zev…you never said, but do you want to tell me what your Fade dream was like? The one you had at Kinloch Hold with the Sloth Demon?” As if there was a need to clarify which dream he had experienced at the Circle Tower. Because they had been talking of hopes and dreams for the future, he should have expected the question, but as nothing was said directly afterwards, he thought the matter had been forgotten.

“There were a few, the most pleasant was on my becoming a Crow, officially,” he tucked his face into her hair, swallowing. “It is not a pretty process. Nor were the dreams very pleasant. Neither time have been, but this time was much worse. I have more to lose, more to fear, more old pain to stir up.”

“How was it pleasant?” No doubt thinking of some sort of an award ceremony given her limited experience.

“Because it was only myself who suffered, amora,” a shudder rippling through him. “Being beaten, tortured, eviscerated, teeth ripped out, and intestines slowly pulled free, knowing I would be healed if I proved strong enough - believe me, that was far more pleasant than the others.”

A kiss replaced her nose for a moment before it returned as cold as ever. “Were the other dreams about true things too or just things that could’ve happened?”

“A blend of things, possibilities, minor switches, items of that nature,” Zevran tried to blot out the terror, the impotent rage. “Most centering upon yourself.”

She sighed, “You already knew what would happen and you went in there again ‘cause of me. ”

“I went in there because it had to be done,” he was adamant. “Granted I thought it would just be a replay of death and guilt and my Culminacion as it was last time. But, amora, I still made the decision to go in, I could have said no.”

“Did you wake up by yourself or did Cyni find you?” Interesting how Cyni was associated with the Fade, just like Twadd had his place as well. Not that Twadd had been very active since the dream, as if the warrior’s play in the Fade had tired him and he needed to restore spiritual energy.

“They both did,” clarifying. “Whether Cyni found Twadd first or vice versa, I cannot say.” Zevran cleared his throat quietly, “Why do you ask?”

The muscles in her shoulder tightened as if to shrug, “I thought if you knew what to expect that you would have woken up on your own, ‘cause you would’a cut your way out.” Sheepishly, “I woke, but got stuck.”

“When faced with one’s worst fears thrown into a boiling pot and stirred up, the contents then thrust at the mind...it is difficult to recall what is real and what is not, princessa,” sighing. “Often enough, as difficult as it may be to believe, I am not invincible,” seeking levity. “One wrong move on my part and I could send you away, lose you, hurt you irreparably, and that would be...bad, hmn? A vital weakness, fit for any great hero of the past, no? Unlike Rufio, severing my locks would not rob me of strength...perhaps we should make that the propaganda, yes? Have them look away from what I cannot truly live without...”

It was not that he did not wish to be able to be himself - weaknesses and all - but that he had long since been uncertain she could either handle or care to see him as just a man, no matter what she said.

“It’ll be okay, Zev.” Healing tasting of mashed and fermented grain worked its way into his sore muscles from yesterday’s bouts and his aching joints, both real and remembered from his prior form. “All we have is right now, an’ you’re with me an’ I’m with you an’ I’m not gonna wander off without tellin’ you first.”

Kissing the side of an upturned cheekbone, “I love you, amora, and always have.”

….

Several evenings close to the Winter Solstice, the sky lit up with meteors streaking through the sky, with white tails burning behind them. Wrapped up in cloaks, gloves, hats and layered with anything that looked warm and wearable the party gathered up on the top of Avernus’ tower. There was much, “Oh! Look at that one,” and if one wasn’t already looking at it, it was gone by the time the others tried. There were plenty to see those clear nights, that however was not the purpose for being there. Zevran was hoping if they spotted the meteor which Dryden crafted into Star Fang, they could get a jump on its making. The oddest thing was none of the memories matched up on where the stone was found. Gaeaf’s said it was found on the far side of Lake Calenhad, while he and Twadd remembered that it was along the southern Imperial Highway in the woods near the Dalish. Cyni just scoffed, apparently he hadn’t found his either place. The timing of when it was found also varied. If they found it, or more accurately, when it was found, Mikhael Dryden was going to be persuaded to use all of the metal and not hold back any ‘leftover pieces’. They had already found some decent runes, bits of magic that were nothing spectacular yet, but enough for two longswords.

After the second, third, then fourth night most everyone had found warmer inside activities to attend to. However, on the sixth evening, the heaviest fall occurred and late that night, Nathaniel called out through the amulet that there was a brilliant light, still in the sky. Even Avernus stumbled pell-mell with Alistair, Freya, and Zevran to see if they could catch a glimpse of it. Although they saw no streak, the sky lit up and almost a minute later a roar was heard. Nathaniel reported that it appeared that the forest in the middle of the Bannorn was on fire. They had a direction and, little did the Fereldens know, an approximate distance based on the time it took for the sound to travel. Twadd tore through the records and found three credible tasks common to the Feroxes, assignments which might take the party past where the stone had fallen. They would need to find a Chanter’s Board.

For many nights, until a blizzard finally blocked the nightmare scene, the forest blazed, the red glow luminous on the edge of the horizon. The Bannorn was the breadbasket of Ferelden and if too many small villages were razed, the seed grain for next year’s fields would also be lost. More refugees would need shelter, not only now as their homes were burned, but others later when hunger struck. It was a brilliant painted object lesson that not everything could be planned for.

Hopefully the preparations Zevran had made and laid the groundwork for would hold up even under this latest disaster. Now their gathering of coin was even more important - Bryce’s connections to Antiva and seed grain and foodstuffs might prove vital. And the rationing plans that all those who were watching over the refugee enclaves might have to truly go into full effect. Zevran prayed it was not so, but feared it would be. Unless Anora and Loghain did something to help the people and their likely suffering, there would be endless bad blood. Good for a change in monarch, bad for the people.

As winter continued and the group grew very comfortable working with each other, pairings occurred. As he had hoped Nathaniel and Morrigan formed an odd relationship which appeared to be based on Nathaniel constructing clever traps and the witch shape-shifting to test them - a kind of catch and release. After she approached Rory, who was rather flustered and declined her attentions, Lelianna turned to Alistair. Awkward though it was, at least the bard was amused even as Maric’s bastard blushed at every turn. This of course left Rory, Freya, and Zevran a threesome which was already familiar to the rest of the party.

“Maker, she looks like she could be my sister,” Rory made a face directed at his soup bowl, shuddering.

Zevran had his bare foot shoved up the ankle of Rory’s trews, a shoulder pressed to Freya’s as he worked on sanding a lovely handle for knife. “Hmn, more like a female version of your handsome self, no? Nice rump, good waist, muscular thighs, and a chest that puts one in mind of large, solid, dependable construction.”

The comment made Rory have a flash flood of red all over, mumbling around his soup spoon, “You do that just for fun, don’t you?”

“What? Make you blush? Quite possibly,” as he blew some fine grit free of the handle. “It is entertaining as it leaves me debating whether to bundle you up and feed you cookies or to haul you off and see how far that red goes. Tell me - what is it like to blush? I have long since forgotten how...”

“Oh, that sounds like a challenge,” Freya teased.

Upper lip curling to reveal sharp canines, “Truly? Do you think you are up to it, amante? If so, please do, I am curious to see what games might be dreamed up.”

Rory muttered, “It’s not possible.”

“Awww - giving up? Tchk,” he pouted, toes wiggling against a large, bony ankle. “This makes me sad. I wish...I wish to cry. Freya, mi princessa, may I lay my head upon your bosom? I am so saaaad...” snuffling and whining, he even summoned up misty eyes, as he grinned toothily at them both.

“You’re impossible,” she rolled her eyes. “What are the rules for this game, then?”

“For you? For you I am very easy,” laughing at how useful a bit of recycled conversation could be and the entertainment it could garner. “No rules but what you both come up with! I leave myself in the combination of your very capable hands.”

Agreeing, “So any redness caused by blood coming to the surface will count. If you say so, Zev.”

“Ah-ah nooo, no that will not do, as I usually become rather flushed from anger or sex, no, no, that is cheating - that is not blushing!” he protested.

Freya pointed out reasonably, “Those are forms of blushing, although sparring or effects from being too hot or cold, I wouldn’t count.”

Concentrating on a thought that made him aroused, he brought a flush and rosy shine to his cheeks, warmth suffusing him. “Ah - see, that does not count as I can do it at will,” voice husky, shifting to alleviate the pressure that had flowed into his groin. “Blushing like Rory does, or some close facsimile is what I seek.”

Snorting, Rory muttered, “So there are to be rules. Number one - Blush like Rory.”

“Well I thought that the intent was obvious, so that was why it was not listed...” rubbing his chin on his shoulder. “I think it may have been a few centuries since I last blushed. Hmn...oh. Yes. That was why, now that is not a good idea to replicate that one, as there are no children around...and I would not wish to have them ah...exposed to so much...um...” he coughed delicately. “Let us just say that a small one peeked through a door, went and fetched older siblings to help him or her - I shall not say which - figure out what was going on, and then we did not notice until ah...the ten year old slammed the door the rest of the way closed and hollered at them about ‘privacy’. And reprimanded myself rather soundly about being sure that doors were locked during activities of an adult nature.”

“But Rory can blush at just about anything. See?” Watching the redhead briefly turn color again just thinking about it.

Licking his lips, Zevran leaned forward until he was crowding Rory, making to kiss him, but instead blowing a quick jet of air over a throbbing jugular, and the warrior’s breath caught, becoming red as a tomato. “Oh now that’s not fair.”

“But you look so...cute, guapo,” snickering. “Why I could just eat you up.”

The desired stammer and face hiding occurred.

Levelling a finger at Rory, “That - that is what I wish to have happen. Of course with my skin tone, it will not show like that. But it would be fun to try.”

“Zevran, that’s pleasure and you know it.” Freya scolded.

Mumbling, “M’embarassment too...”

“But he is cute!” Zevran protested, ears wiggling happily. “I am never that adorable. Wait - what was that word Leliana used for Alistair? Something about bumbling, adorable, and ‘dork’ - though I wonder if she knows that ‘dork’ is short for ‘dorkus’ which is whale’s phallus? Just imagine what would happen if I explained that to our favourite bastard - ah, yes! Adorkable! I am never adorkable, it might be a refreshing change of pace.”

Rory still had his hands over his face. “For whom?”

“Oh come now, would it not be fun, even for a few minutes?”

“You just want to see if it’s possible for me to stay this color permanently,” whimpered.

“No...because where is the fun in that?”

“It’s about the same amount of fun as trying to embarrass or shame you.”

Blinking at him in confusion, “Shame? Who said anything about shame?” Worried, he quickly scooted over to Rory, cupping his flaming cheek, “This makes you feel shame? No, no, I do not, Rory, forgive me, please, it was never meant to cause shame or actual upset, no, please - forgive me.” Zevran took away the bowl that had been used like a shield, drawing him in to tuck his face into his neck, angry at himself for not having thought of that, “No, no, no it was...oh Rory, I am sorry.”

“No, I didn’t mean...Maker,” stumbling again. “I meant that there’s lots of reasons for turning red and it’s not just bein’ embarrassed. Like when social boundaries are crossed, like...” thinking of the last interaction at the hot springs, “being immodest.”

Glancing at Freya curiously, “He would hate Antiva, no? Tchk, detest it. People walk around half-dressed, quite literally. On the beaches you are lucky if people wear anything. And trust me when I say ‘lucky’ because not all who are there are nubile and shapely. Well, round is a shape I suppose, or overstuffed sausage casing with enough hair upon the ass to look like a grizzly...and men with saggy teats, stretched out tattoos... Modesty? What is that? No right thinking Antivan has such a thing.”

Sighing, she picked up their dishes to rinse in the sink with piped up water from the hot spring. It appeared that Freya had given up the game when he had ruled out pleasure, or was it anger? Rory in the meantime appeared to believe that he was the butt of the game, or at least the rules.

Humming worriedly, he had apparently stepped in it again and brushed a soft kiss at his hairline. “Rory, it was teasing, I am sorry to have taken such advantage of you. And now I must beg apologies of you and of Freya, aiesh, I am an idiot today. But it was never meant to make you actually uncomfortable, no, no, no that sounds like an excuse. It was...it was because you look so sweet when you do it. There is a kind of...innocence. Not inexperience, but, a...a sweetness like the world is capable of good if it can make someone like you, hmn?” Zevran fretted, he needed to go after Freya, but Rory was right there and needed seeing to also.

“And you want to be innocent?” croaked the voice pressed against his throat.

He was surprised as he hadn’t thought of that connotation, having foolishly believed it was just for fun, “Yes, I suppose that this is so. To be safe and protected and inspire those feelings, even if just for a moment...yes... Yes, I do believe that might be what it is in some ways. The way my heart shakes a little and I have all these urges to do many things at once when you or she do such things. Usually people want to hit me, hide behind me, lean on me, f*ck me, claim me, perhaps even worship me in a few cases. But to inspire that...even for a brief second...to reclaim a bit of my innocence and have it not be fake. Yes.” Nodding slowly as that came together, “Yes, that is it at its core.”

“I don’t know how to do that, Zev. But if I think of something, I’ll tell you.”

Zevran lay his cheek on the gradually softening due to care red crown, “Hmn. Now I have to go clean my foot of the sh*t I have stepped in with Freya.” He gave Rory a last squeeze before going to do as he said.

In the warm kitchen, Freya was helping by washing the last of the lunch dishes, a large apron wrapped around her. At the table across the room, several of the Drydens were chopping vegetables or slicing up pieces of leftover roast, or rabbit, or chicken for the latest round of the perpetual stew pot, kept at the back of the fire. Mrs. Dryden called it ‘Whenever Stew’ because whenever somebody was hungry and it wasn’t yet mealtime, stew was always available along with rounds of dark bread, preserves, and butter. Although it had been started to feed hard working bodies out in the cold, it definitely made those suffering from the Taint in some way have an easier time as well.

Joining her, he merely rolled his sleeves up and set to work, ’Amora, please forgive me for having been an ass. It was unintentional.’

’I am not angry or hurt, so there is nothing to forgive, Zev. It was silliness and a proposed game, nothing more,’ dunking a heavy platter in the rinse tub, she handed it to him to dry. The moist heat of the wash water caused her curls to escape the Orlesian braid and twist damply about her face. The private sending indicated no harm, she had become uninterested in playing, confused as to why he would assure there were no rules then just as suddenly severely restrict the game.

Offering, ’An insight was gained, the true purpose for the game. I had not intended on restricting it as such, but that was because I did not, at the time, understand what it was I was seeking.’

’Good, then Rory is back to being himself,’ checking.

Frowning as he made sure to pat the plate and set it aside, ’I am not sure I understand your meaning on that.’

’Rory is happy, he is well, an’ he’s not worrying that he has suddenly become Alistair.’

’Then you are uninterested in the insight?’ uncertain of what it had to do with the core issue, then again, it was one of those things with Freya. He found that it was best to apologize, then agree that she was right, he was wrong, and then find out if she was actually interested in his thoughts or not.

’I didn’t say that. Rory seemed very uncomfortable, that’s all.’ Setting a heavy pan in to soak, she renewed the hot water with a few firerocks. ’What was your revelation?’

’I wish for a moment when I am not jaded, hardened, cynical. Where I inspire a protective response, not because I am some vaunted and valued resource,’ lifting the now dried plates to their respective shelves. ’But a response gained because I am loved, allowed to be weak, fragile. Just a flicker of it. Not lust and pleasure, I can have that any time. Not anger, because it does not feel good, it makes me feel...worthless. Exhausted with everything and life, anger leaves me wishing to just lay down and give up because I am... Dirty. Drained. It is not the blush itself, but how it feels, why it is there, how it is inspired, and the feelings it would inspire in another.’

Freya kept an eye on the firerocks, not wanting the water to get too hot to burn. ’Do you feel world weary all of the time? Or is it just recently?’ Pulling the thongs, she hung the hot stones up out of the way and began to scrub vigorously.

’Only when I am angry or lonely, which is when you and I do not communicate or share, then it becomes oppressive,’ he shrugged. Glancing at her, ’Much like how you feel when you withdraw and give up. But I have always felt jaded except during brief instances. For all I profess to be an optimist - it is only because my standards are not very...high...for the quality of what I expect for my own personal body and breathing.’

’So, instead of playing a game and making us guess what would cause you to...be more than jus’a stuffed velveteen mabari, tell me what has done this in the past? What were you doing last time it happened?’

He shrugged, ’I had not realized that that was the core of what was desired, amante. But when I was very small, it would be Zama telling me stories as she washed or braided my hair or massaging protective oils on my skin. As an adult it did not happen again until, hesitating, ’until Twadd. He would be very bossy sometimes about taking care of me or randomly do something very strange and thoughtful. A pair of Dalish gloves appeared some time after I had mentioned that as a child all I had of my mother were a pair of beautiful gloves that she had kept from her life as a wanderer, before settling down with her elven woodcutter husband. Another was a pair of boots, also gained after some silly offhand comment about what I had nearly bought before going off to die. Those are what stick out from the earliest. Also when there was a choice to die, he chose to live, because I had begged it. That even though he was prepared, expecting, and not particularly desirous of continued breathing, Urthemiel’s song so loud in his mind that thoughts of how those who loved him would be effected...he took the choice to live. For me, not for himself, but for me, because I had begged it.’ Fingers flexed in the hot water as he picked up a dish that needed a thorough, muscle laced, scrubbing. ’Because for whatever reason, I was worth something to him for more than what I could do for him. More than a series of skills, sets of knowledge, abilities, looks...’

“Of ‘course you are,” it was blurted out loud indignantly.

Brow furrowing his eyes snapped over to her warily, not aware if that was sarcasm or fact, and if it was a ‘to Twadd’ statement, ’Perhaps. Yet life has shown that for the most part, that the only truth is that my worth is summed up in only a few things - first my looks, then my skills, then my knowledge. Even here. Particularly here, in this time, in this Thedas. It is something that I have had to learn to be comfortable, being an object. Yet it would be nice to sometimes not feel like one.’

Holding her tongue she returned to the silent communication, ’They can think it all they want to, but if anybody calls you an object, I’ll have Alistair or Rory smack ‘um in the face with their shield. Frell, I need tha practice, I’ll do it.’ She attacked the pan with the brush as if it had made an attempt to say just that.

’No one has to say it, querida. They act and treat without having to speak, look around you, watch how people interact with yourself and how they interact with myself. Then how they interact with each other. How they treat you is ‘better’ than how they treat me, but how they treat each other is better than how they treat you,’ he pointed out. ’It is not a lack of respect, nor is it...it is...it is a tone. A manner. Difficult to pin down.’ Softly, ’Even you treat me that way sometimes, hmn? Sadly, it is only natural as the roles are slow to change.’

The brush dropped from her hand to float in the soapy water as hurt, fear of having done harm intentionally or otherwise, and doubt of her every action, word and deed came through with the question, ’Zevran, what have I done?’

’It is not like that,’ quickly he took her hand. ’It...often it is true, even from you, that I am expected to be...perfect in some way. Always. That just because I do not need in terms of remaining alive the assistance of another, then that must mean I am superior and they, inferior. That their use to me is as nothing but a pawn. And so when I do something poorly, it hurts or angers or makes them feel particularly betrayed to realize that I have just as many, if not more, failings than them.’

’All I’ve ever wanted is to be just like you. Yes, as a child you may’ve been close to perfect in my eyes, but even then, I recognized that you became sad or impatient, tired and angry. You never understood that all I have ever wanted is you and that the trappings are unimportant…I don’t mean four walls and a roof, nor pointed or rounded ears, Ferelden or Antivan. I mean, whatever you pretend to be from one moment to the next, trying to fill every role, you’re steady and reliable. You may not be there every time, but you’ll try to be. I’m the one who made you angry when I had difficulty doing what Twadd could. And I anger you all tha time because I don’t understand things. I didn’t ask you to be perfect, but I wanted to be perfect for you.’

Squeezing her hand, ’As good with words as I am, none of what I said came out properly, as it was never meant to say you were lacking. You do so well, amora. The anger has much more to do with myself, for not putting things or showing things in a way that you will understand, yes? Your mind is your own and it is different than Twadd’s or Cyni’s, so my perceptions have had to change to try and accommodate, but I am old and set in my ways. It causes friction, which causes withdrawal, which then causes pain, which leads directly to anger.’ In the water he wove their fingers together, ’You are not expected to be perfect, only yourself. You are a person, one of worth - worth protecting, worth listening to, worth spending time with, and always have been. Never have you been an object upon a pedestal.’

’Probably ‘cause I’d jump off and find somethin’ better ta’do,’ squeezing back. ’So what’ll we do so you can be happy? You seem happy err since coming up here, but then you were happier in Antiva too.’ Freya still tried to get to the root of the problem.

’Not so many people to sing and dance for,’ he shrugged again. ’There was a time I relished being paid so much attention to, but that was before I realized that all it was, was them trying to figure out how to use me. That, and survival dictated that being useful prevented my demise made it so that it is my instinct, even if it is not my desire. Yes, I wish to be wanted by those I love so much that sometimes they cannot figure out how to restrain themselves. But also to be considered or treated as...precious of some sort, not as an object, but...well, that will sound strange, but as a child would be.’

’You mean a sick day in bed...although growing up with Zama-mama in the house you probably didn’t have those.’ Freya began to fire off what she remembered as being the best things, ’Um, chicken soup with noodles, songs or stories, naptime, kisses on the forehead, somethin’ to snuggle with...umm...books under the pillow, those are always good, and hot and cold drinks always on the table next to the bed.’

Trying not to snicker, and failing, ’Similar I suppose. But there were many times she let me get sick. If there was a sick child near the brothel, on over to their residence I would go. Said it would make me stronger. Mostly I figured it was to make it so I could withstand suffering... Granted, she would not have let me die, but become ill? Oh yes. However it did grant protections as there was a nasty rash of sand plague that went through the city and the trainee barracks particularly. Culled the weak and the strong. It became so bad that the Guild called in their best healers and that any who had the remotest chances for survival were catered to diligently. As I had managed to only become slightly ill, they sent me directly to Sa’id and Zama, in a desperate attempt to make sure that I did not die before they could train or make use of me. Nearly all the others in my initial training groups died of it. Rather nastily I might add.’ He sent images of being kept cuddled between the two pintores, each taking turns all day and night to make sure he did not take a turn for the worst, and his only thoughts being that he was very safe and quite content where he was. ’Looking back, I suppose there was actually a goodly chance I would have died if not for their interventions, but, sick days...yes? No, I wish for a...a care day? No. That sounds not much different than pampering, which is not the goal...ah...ah..oh f*ck it, ignore me I am being most unintelligent, querida,’ giving up because he wasn’t even certain what it was he needed or wanted. ’I do not even know what the goal is,’ shaking his head with frustration at himself in every fibre of himself.

A small mental step backwards was felt. Twadd would have commented that the ground had shifted and stance needed to be adjusted. It remained to be seen if the adjustment was in a positive direction. “Perhaps you need to bake brownies for Rory or something equally interesting. Perhaps they could be enjoyed in the Commander’s office? I thought it was completed a few days ago...”

Softly, “Spending time with you interests me, querida.”

“I sleep with you and we speak often, Zev. I did not say otherwise. The bunk is only so big and he misses you. Perhaps the conversation and spending of time will be,” the word chosen carefully, “Different.” The brown eyes that met his could have come straight from Cyni, so mild and wondering how the problem could still exist because a solution had been proposed.

Pressing his lips to hers softly, he silently hoped that the shift would be good rather than bad as he relented, not wishing to press and risk stepping wrong, ’Yes, you are right. That sounds like a fine idea, mi corizon.’

“Fine, it’s agreed,” firmly. “What do you need help with?”

Clearing his throat, “Well, we should start with the oil, as there is a pouch...” He grinned, an idea striking, “I shall go and get it. But you go ahead and start shaving up some chocolate, hmn, querida?”

Turning back to the makeshift sink, Freya finished the last pan as he loped out the door. When he found his main pouch he gave it a sniff, then set it aside. No, he would not risk the very good stuff on lightweights as there was no reason to go overboard. With their appetites they might eat up the winter stores otherwise. On a whim he went to young Howe’s pack to see what was in his stash and nearly grumbled that the young man had brought what clearly had to be several month’s supply - as well as seeds. But what he was seeking was the weaker variety.

“And why might you be rummaging like a common thief in his belongings?” Morrigan said archly as she rounded the corner.

“Ah, because I am a thief? Though not so common,” neatly withdrawing items. “You would not be happening to be assisting him grow new plants?” hopeful. “And if so, perchance you might know if he has some of the weaker varieties...?”

Sulfurous yellow eyes narrowed thoughtfully, “What is it for?”

“Brownies, mi querida and my strapping shem are slightly too tight laced and -” as he watched she went to her own pack and returned with a large vial, which she unstoppered for him to smell. “Ah - yes! That is exactly what I need. Thank you.”

“It should prove entertaining,” she shrugged.

Now that he said it, it occurred to him that somewhere in growing up that Freya had become relatively quiet losing the childhood chattiness. Certainly she talked to people, but the more he thought about it, the more that appeared to be the false front. None of the Feroxes took pleasure in ‘schmoozing’. It was always an act, something to be done for the good of the group, but usually was not enjoyed. They called this ‘making the rounds’ only varied by who was doing what task in camp. Freya did this, ‘made the rounds’ with their traveling companions and here at the Peak that included Avernus and the Drydens. An uncomfortable thought suggested itself, his request to hear her thoughts to share hopes and dreams, was this more of the same?

When he returned, she stood at the table, shaving chocolate, still and unruffled while the Drydens at the other end of the long trestle table chatted and joked. According to the memories, Gaeaf had enjoyed spending his lunch or late nights in the palace kitchen. Justifying his presence in his own mind the Prince Consort told himself that he was there to hear what was going on. Not wanting to admit that he missed the home and hearth of Highever, Gaeaf would have used nearly any excuse to cover his need for that small comfort - something the man would have called ‘a failing’.

Passing Freya to grab a bowl, four, sugar, milk and eggs, ’I am glad to see that Avernus has settled in so well with everyone, hmn? And that they respect that he could be dangerous, but they still treat him well. Hundreds of years with naught but a few imps for companionship could have very easily made him go completely mad.’

’He still talks to George, so I wouldn’t say that he’s completely sane either.’ Feeling the question in the amulet, she elaborated, ’George’s tha skeleton wearin’ templar armour.’ A large corner chunk broke off and Freya chopped it down into pieces the same size as the rest.

He shrugged as he measured out the goods, following his nose, eyes, and the touch of how heavy the bowl was, ’A little insanity is good for the soul.’

’Then some are ‘gooder’ than others. Is this enough? Or will you need more?’ indicating the chopped up chocolate.

Kissing her cheek, ’No, that is good, now we must melt that and whisk in the oil, yes?’

As the brownies were finally set to bake, he made several more pans’ worth, because it wouldn’t be fair for the entire keep to smell of such goodies and not have plenty to share. Basically he and Freya settled into whipping up sweets until Nathaniel came down, a knowing smirk playing at the corner of his lips, joining their work. Shooting him a glance, Zevran wordlessly admonished him to keep the ‘secret’, which he did, other than a few oblique references to learning how to be a ‘proper’ rogue from him in times past.

While the pans were baking, they polished off the Whenever Stew and tomorrow’s stew, loaded with the sliced veggies and remains of the prior days meals, was set back in the coals and the cycle began all over again. As for tonight, Nathaniel started a large pot of broth, well aware that anything too heavy would eventually make the others rather...bloated.

Freya licked her spoon and looked at the good Howe, “Nathaniel, what will you do when this is all over? Zev’s been askin’ and I don’t have very many good ideas. It’s hard ta know where to start.”

“Delilah could be arlessa easily, if Lord Bryce were to allow it, as I still have contractual obligations to the Dust Wolves,” the sternness was present, but mostly as it was his go to expression when thinking. “She always was good with people and numbers, and running a household isn’t much different than running an arldom. Mostly I assumed I would be returning to Antiva, the lifestyle there is comforting and Papa Nune said after this I could easily gain a rank or two. I’m more of a soldier and scout than a leader of land and house.”

Pointing out as he wiped a bit of chocolaty batter off of Freya’s bottom lip, “Ferelden will need a Warden Commander my good Howe.”

“I thought Alistair would be better suited to it?” Nathaniel glanced at him. “Good solid sort, the sort that Fereldens would like and no...stigma attached.”

“Ah, you believe he would have time doing that while being king?” a winged brow shot up high on his forehead.

“No, I suppose not,” grimacing. “Although, Rory might be a better choice, provided he can pass the ‘entrance exam’. He’s steady and has a certain charm with the locals.”

Zevran nearly pursed his lips, barely refraining from doing so, “Quite true. But he did turn down Duncan, my friend.”

“True. We’ll just have to find the right bait.”

’Sides that, who’d want to be a Warden durin’ the Blight anyway, not like the dreams are any good.’ Freya reminded them that Alistair’s dreams had been particularly active as of late. They were grateful that Leliana had taken to keeping the Warden company at night as it made for easier wakings.

Twadd hadn’t wanted that fate for Rory, it was just as surely a death sentence as what had happened to the others. He said none of this, keeping his own counsel. Zevran took heart in the promise he had wrangled from the bluff warrior, that if he still desired to become a Warden, that first there would be tests to ensure that the Joining would not kill him. While true there would never be any little Rorys running around, the other costs of being a Warden - voices, deterioration of the body, rotting of the mind - weren’t worth enough in his opinion for the young Gilmore to Join. If he truly only wished mental companionship, he could easily take up with a Warden and gain a secondary amulet. Not sure how much of that was his own desire to keep Rory safe and how much of it was Twadd’s, he set aside the worry for the time being.

Instead he changed the subject, “I believe there is enough Archdemon blood left for an amulet for Morrigan.”

Nathaniel frowned, “Pardon?”

“Like mine, but a copy of yours,” he waved a hand, the crystal glass of his wrist flickering in the light. “It would aid communication in battle or enable her to call for help should it be needed.” Shaking his head, “I wish I had the master collar, then I would have a secondary of yours to give her if it was chosen.”

Freya advised him in a private sending, ’Avernus has more dried blood in his freeze box upstairs. This was the Warden Stronghold after all.’

“It may ‘aid communication’ however, I don’t think she would appreciate my tracking her so easily.” The frown deepened, “It is an interesting idea, but it would have to be her own.”

Spreading his hands, “She is an intriguing woman with many hidden depths. You will know when you should offer it.”

Consternated, “You’re doing it again.”

Mildly even as he fought off a laugh, “Who? Me? Doing something? Why, I never! For shame, making accusations without proof! Lies and slander!”

Later that evening, Alistair was uncharacteristically quiet, his head in Leliana’s lap, Morrigan had a hand clapped over her mouth to stop herself from laughing aloud as Nathaniel whispered a story to her. Rory had sprawled on the floor to look up at the ceiling counting the many beams and boards with Zevran flopped crossways over his stomach, and Freya was dancing, humming an odd little tune. Everyone was feeling warm and giddy in one fashion or another, the evening quiet and unguarded. Beneath his head he could hear the air moving in and out of Rory’s lungs, his heart and its beating, the blood moving through thick veins. If he closed his eyes he forgot when he was, not where, but when. So easily he and Twadd could be right there, but that was neither right nor fair, and Twadd could never roll and twist his hips the way Freya could, her spine sinuously weaving through the steps of the song as he watched her through hooded eyes.

Mumbling to Rory, because frankly he didn’t have anyone else to talk to about it, as Twadd had become rather withdrawn himself, sliding in and out of memories as he did sometimes, “I do not know what to do.”

“Huh? Oh, uh,” a hand came down to lay on his chest, “‘bout what?”

“What do I always have a hard time with? Hmn?”

“Ah, yeah,” Rory’s head bobbled on the floor to watch Freya also. “Don’t you mean ‘who’? Or is it ‘whom’? Um...my head feels funny.”

Patting the large hand, “A bit like being drunk, no? Who or whom as a pronoun does not matter - I understood what you meant.”

“Why? No, wait, I mean, what’s whom doin’ now?” Reconsidering, “But ‘Why?’s probably the next question though.”

Clearing his throat, “She was putting forth ideas for what would make me feel...as we talked about earlier. A sick day. And yet that answer did not feel correct, and I, as usual, put foot firmly in a pile of brown and steaming, hmn?”

Random pieces came together, sliding into place, “That innocent thing...but what does being sick have to do with it? Oh. I know that too. You want to be taken care of. She’s a - not supposed to say - and so she would think of caring for someone who needs help... Zev, what’s wrong with that?” Rory tried to push his elbows into the rug under him, so he could lift his head, but ended up doing nothing productive.

“There is nothing wrong with it, other than it did not feel quite like the answer,” making a face. “It is readily apparent that I am not good with these things. Asking for what I need is hard enough when I know what it is I need. Asking for what I wish for when I am not entirely sure how to go about it...requires a process of elimination. It is all I have to go on, the goal, but not how to get there, do you see?”

Giving up, Rory rolled his head back to look at him, “Is that why you decided to poison us with cake? So you didn’t have to play infirmary with Frey-ah? Least she’d be nice and not stick leaches or mud on you. An’ how does she move, when I can’t lift my head without feeling weird?”

Rolling to a squat, Zevran grabbed Rory’s wrists, “Concentrate on the sound of my voice, hmn?” He tensed his arms and shoulders, “Now, pull against me so that you can stand.” Gradually Rory did as instructed, eyes blinking owlishly at the change in perception as he was made to stand, and Zevran had to catch him about the waist to keep him from falling down completely, “Ah, now lift a foot and put your weight on it, like so.” Demonstrating resulted in an odd shuffle-dance, “There, you see? The world feels odd, your body belongs to you and yet everything is distant, but that also feels alright, no?”

“No. I mean, yes. Zev, why do you suggest answers? Are you not answering my question about the leaches?” swaying.

“No, I am not. I was helping you figure out how to move, yes?” step-swaying side to side with him. “The ‘poison’ is cannabis, that not-tobacco stuff I smoke. And it makes for good-relax-happy sensations, like the better part of being drunk. At least to me. For me to be drunk would require oh...at least two or three bottles of wine for a mild distortion, or two bottles of brandy, three of wine, and half a bottle of rum. If I wished to be ah...what was the term? ‘Three sheets to the wind’. This way, everyone can enjoy, a much smaller amount of intoxicating substance can be used, and more easily transported. As to offering suggestions...how can I suggest when I do not know? I told her the things that had elicited that feeling before - mostly surprising gifts when I had never received a gift in my whole life. Not even for Saturnalia...well...perhaps a cup of coffee or a nice dinner, but I usually paid for that with my attentions afterwards, an unspoken thing, yes?”

“I don’t ‘member her being surprising and if you’ve already had a first gift that can’t happen again, can it?” Thinking about it, “No, first times can’t happen again. And for Saturnalia, we had a good dinner and told stories or sang round the fire. I don’t remember gifts this year.”

“Gifts themselves are unimportant but it is the thought, particularly if the gift comes from something said offhand,” switching how he was standing, he looped Rory’s arms over his shoulders while putting his back to the broad chest so he could watch Freya. “No, I do not expect to recreate those scenes. I just know what it is that will not cause the same reaction in myself if it is put forth. A process of elimination. Perhaps it was a combination of surprise that I was cared for, even if it was only a minute amount at that time, that the words spoken had weight and merit, along with the care...tchk, see, I cannot even explain it to you.”

Resting cheek and chin against his head, “Your idle words said in half jest were taken seriously. You’ve said enough to understand it. She still mostly does what’s expected of her. I don’t know what she was like there with you, but I’m guessing other than claiming you as her own has stayed in her assigned roles. An’ even that woulda been something expected, to reward her hero.” Rory squeezed a hug, “So you know that you don’t wanna play that game, what else?”

“I know that I wish to know what she wants of life,” mumbling as Freya twisted into an impossible shape. “Each time I ask, the only thing I am told is that she wants me. No matter how it is put, no matter how I cajole...and my greatest fear that the time she spends speaking with me is just...something to do, yes? A duty, some obligation, some role that is expected of her. Like she speaks with the others. Something to check off the list of what needs doing that day.”

“So she tracks Alistair and Nathaniel like she does you?” Rory snorted, “That didn’t come out right. She doesn’t track them, that’s tha point, but she always knows where you are.”

“Of course,” head rolling to the side, quietly mimicking the bellydance moves. “But it would no longer surprise me if it was habit, obligation, and not knowing what else to do.”

“The only thing I know is that she’s been rejecting someone repeatedly and seeks your company after doing so. Zev, maybe you need to disturb her routine? You’ve, or rather she’s settled into another one since being here.”

“Who? Alistair?” he couldn’t help it - he laughed, laughed hard. “Oh, now that is funny.”

“No.”

Startled, “What? Who?”

Rory actually snickered. “Nice rump, good waist, muscular thighs, and a chest that puts one in mind of large, solid, dependable construction,” the remembered phrasing was repeated.

Blinking for a moment, “Ahhhhh. Yes, I should have thought of that. Tchk, not that I would mind at all. But she has never shown interest in bosoms before. And Twadd only because, well, he had a different mindset about things, hmn? But now that I think about it, that does explain Cyni’s choice with Varane...odd I had not thought of that either. However, what do you suggest for getting her out of the rut I have put her in? I am more than happy to hear and consider suggestions as I am quite desperate.”

The warrior did not answer as Freya had drawn closer to rub against Zevran, purring. His choice of words regarding her ‘rutted’ state may have been very apt. Orbiting around the pair of them she even ran hands over Rory’s back and sides, brushing against them both, before coming round the other side. Giving off a purr of his own, he twined her closer for a moment, his own hands gliding over her soft curves, forgetting for a moment the presence of anyone else, and if he noticed, he wouldn’t care, but as he didn’t, it was a rather moot point. A bare foot and calf hooked around his leg, sliding up to his hip, pulling them closer. Reaching up, she brushed fingers over Rory’s face, not quite crossing the line of what the red-head could not accept from her. At least her fingers didn’t, her foot may have started something however, given Rory’s sharply inhaled breath in his ear.

Chuckling into the side of Freya’s neck as the three of them wound this way and that, no music in the air, but drums would have been nice. ’Beautiful.’

In the background, the sound beyond their breathing, the air from their lungs tickling his skin, his ears, and his own throat as it issued, Alistair reminded him rather jarringly of the company. “Oh-ah-Maker! Can’t they, oh, I don’t know - get a room?”

Flicking a glance in their direction he saw Leliana rap Alistair sharply between the eyes, “Alistair Theirin, be nice.”

“But-but- they-she-he-they-they’re doing things right there!” an indignant squawking whine.

“Yes, well, I think it’s terribly romantic and quite sexy,” it was stated very primly.

“Wh-but-b-they-what?! You do? What’s sexy about -?” confusion all over the young man’s countenance.

The bard leaned forward enough that with Alistair’s head in her lap, her bosom rested veritably in his face, “I just do.”

“Mumphrgrumphwhuup?” an indecipherable and rather muffled sound that could have been anything.

“That’s what I thought, no more complaining out of you good ser,” a rosy and amused blush spread over the dimpled cheeks.

Eyes on each other, Nathaniel and Morrigan were snickering for reasons entirely their own. Dark hair was undone and flowed over their shoulders in the flickering firelight. Morrigan explored the flexing muscles on Nathaniel’s chest as he nipped her neck leaving behind light marks raised in her dusky skin. A bit of light from her fingers danced over the rogue’s skin; anyone who ever played with Anders had called him ‘Lightening Fingers’, perhaps this was a similar trick. Either way, his protege appeared to enjoy it thoroughly.

Freya also employed a bit of magic in this dance for his interest, but used it far more on Rory than himself. For example, that straightforward rub against the man’s trousers wasn’t simple as she had employed a bit of blood magic to roust Rory and focus his attentions. Especially since Rory, who wasn’t exactly demonstrative publicly in such a way, was brushing his lips over the side of Zevran’s neck, rubbing his cheek against his as he leaned down, a hand moving to touch Freya softly in thanks. It was an echo of the same she was giving his face, but of her shoulder, nothing more, nothing less than thankful affection. They shared him with each other even if they did not care for each other so intimately. It was not himself with Twadd and Moira nor Haf’cath with Gaeaf and Moira. In both cases the individual Moiras and Feroxes cared for each other to the point of having children together. It was unknown if this pairing would progress that far. But it was in many ways more like Cyni, himself and Varane, two relatives knowing and sharing a person, comfortable with the arrangement, as ‘peculiar’ as some would find it. No matter that most didn’t think of or know of his lovely girl and the young man as ‘kin’, it was much of how their relationship went historically, and Zevran’s view was that such roles were fluid, comfortable with how things changed to suit needs.

Humming his pleasure at both of them, he leaned back, dancing with Freya and Rory both in their way. There was a dip and in unison they each were at his neck, nuzzling, pressing tight, enfolding him, but it was Rory first whose tongue darted out, tasting a point, then the space just behind his jaw, a bit of a tremble at the daring it took to do that with so many present. Freya gave an encouraging trill, her hand on a blushing cheek, guiding him to do more if that was what he wished, and Zevran could only purr his contentment. A purr that stuttered into a sharply indrawn breath, much to Freya amusem*nt, when a large palm slid down his stomach, pausing briefly before giving his straining and trapped erection, a nearly playful stroke. His instinctive reaction was to just haul them both off to what was now their bedroom, but it should be learned that not all touches of an arousing nature had to result in sex. Or that it was expected to the point of demand. There had been enough ‘demand’ in Rory’s life to last many lifespans. And sometimes he was certain Freya had forgotten that too. Of course later there would certainly be lovemaking - he wanted them, together, separately, or both - but it need not be a ‘touch here or there and sexual congress must occur right away’.

Not that that stopped him from reaching back to tangle a hand in red hair, or slide his tongue into Freya’s mouth. Reaching through while touching his wrist and its precious amulet to fair, freckled skin, Zevran shared with them emotion. The warmth, the companionship, affection, care, love, letting it suffuse them. The want that they not know suffering, and that if it was there, that it would be a burdened shared. Good times, bad, so-so, that the presence of ones who were loved were to be there. Zevran wanted to impress upon them both the safety and love he felt, that once his heart was opened, it didn’t close, and was a thing that had no strings attached other than to be allowed to love, to serve, to share, to connect. Bringing them close, it was a similar sharing as he had done with Bryce and Eleanor, but not quite. Zevran didn’t pull them into his mind, into the private library he shared with Twadd and Cyni. Instead it was more his heart, or wherever the source of his emotions lay. Freya shivered, moaning into his mouth, at his back Rory shook, a long arm wrapping around he and Freya, holding them tight to him, his other still pinned between them.

As the healer had done before him, he did also, the mental and spiritual embrace paired with the physical told each that they were most important, that they were vital, that they were loved, his, wanted and safe. Rory accepted everything from him, each gift received with few questions and little doubt, just grateful to be there. Freya, if she had questions, they were not present. Almost as if she had imbibed too much, her ‘self’ was blurry.

’Love you, Zev.’

Just for her, ’Mi hermosa corizon. In all things and all ways, yes? I love you.’

....

After munching on the baked goodies, Zevran had enlisted assistance in moving a couple of the thick straw ticks upstairs, as well as packs and other items, to the newly outfitted, hot spring piped, Commander’s office. Figuring that although Rory would be less inhibited, he would still not be able to withstand Alistair’s fuss, which was akin to Wynne’s complaints. If Nathaniel and Morrigan found a similar nest away from the Templar, the snow cave lept to mind, he wouldn’t blame them. And Zevran would have to defend his partners’ honour from Alistair’s ignorant quibbling and whining. Truly, someone was going to have to get that boy so wasted and take him to some real brothels before he became king, just so he had an idea of what could really go on between two or many, many more people. Making a mental note to see whom of his father’s men were...flexible...Zevran set that notion aside for the time being.

As he locked the door to the office behind them, he spied that Freya had tugged Rory to sit on one of the mattresses and kneeling behind him was giving a backrub, kneading at the knots that always seemed to crop up. Or so Zevran and Freya always said, giving the excuse to grant a nice touch to one in need. Well, if asked anyways that was their go to excuse. In general none were necessary, and Rory happily would pick up a foot for a massage or a brush for hair, pull out hair thongs, and clearly found a sort of comfort in doing those things that he had done for his sisters. Little bits of care spread out between them, soothing Zevran for the familiarity. There were only a few years of his life where he had not lived in some form of triangle, first with Rinna and Taliesin, then Twadd and Moira, until Cyni and Varane - with a nice heap of Twadd on the inside of his mind as there was nothing of such a set of actions between he and his granddaughter. Cyni slept with both of them and Varane did not come to Zevran’s bed nor he to hers. The customary care for closeknit family that had existed the entirety of Varane’s life of course and neither of them disturbed it.

’Zev-err-ren’ Freya still had a tune in her head, ’I think Rory needs’a kiss.’

Apparently he had gained another to remind him when kissing time was. Was he not an adult when he met every single one of them? What was the saying, ‘I got married because I was too rich and bored and had children because I couldn’t remember what to do?’

Rolling his eyes as he toed off his boots, digging his toes into the soft wolf pelts on the floor, he teased sarcastically, ’I am all the way over here, querida. If he needs a kiss so badly that he cannot wait a few seconds, then you do it.’

’Well okay, but if he squawks, it’s your fault.’ He raised a brow in surprise, watching as she pushed Rory’s head back towards her to look at his fuzzily blinking eyes before kissing the large redhead.

He hadn’t thought she would do it, nor even intended it as a dare. But it was interesting. Zevran had always known they would look good together even if they didn’t do anything, but seeing Freya’s full mouth pressing softly to Rory’s, who gave an only slightly startled twitch before his lips parted, definitely did something for Zevran’s libido. They paused blinking at each other in curiosity before Rory scooted around to face Freya who clambered into his lap to face him, legs wrapped around the boy’s back, and resumed the exploration, testing the differences. A faint rumble in the back of his throat and Zevran had to adjust himself to prevent too much pressure. Freya was petting Rory’s shoulders, who had placed shy and very gentle hands on her waist, framing the way her dips and curves swelled.

A slow tasting kiss was shared, flavors she could discern were compared to his own. Continuing to hold Rory’s attention, Freya asked, ’What else are you too busy to do?’

’Oh I do not know,’ huskily. ’But anything you are both comfortable with is always something I am receptive to, mi princessa. I would never force or request anything of either of you in such matters that neither were comfortable with. Not intentionally.’

Slowly stripping his shirt off as he continued enjoying the view and sensations, Zevran paced over to drape himself over the mattress, sliding a hand beneath their shirts to touch their backs, giving his wordless permission and approval at their curiosity. Briefly he closed his eyes as he focused to feel them both, stroking their minds and their senses for a moment before opening his eyes again. And then he showed them how he saw them, how it affected him, how he was happy with their sense of safety to do such things, that there was nothing to fear, that intimacy was good if it was desired. Zevran moved his hand from Freya’s back towards her front as he sensed her arousal slowly warming and he petted her mound lightly several times before leaning up to kiss the side of her neck.

Lifting the hem, Freya tugged Rory’s tunic off over his head. Any Ferox on watch that night would have been horrified as it was tossed out of the way, not caring where it landed, and without even a token folding. Slim brown fingers brushed through the profuse red hair over the broad chest as she continued to kiss him happily. Then as if remembering that fair was fair, pulling away with a grin, Freya pulled off her own blouse and tossed it to the four winds. Now, while Rory had seen a profusion of bosoms in his brief life, as being an elder brother sometimes resulted in having a sibling racing past to grab something or other, or so Zevran had surmised, and there was the more than daily sightings of Freya’s breasts - Zevran somehow doubted that Rory had ever had any right in his face, at least not since he had last needed a pair to feed from. So of course in his currently relaxed state, faded blue-grey eyes went straight to them, blushing he hesitated.

Leaning in to whisper in his ear, “It is all right, Rory. If you like to, you may, otherwise she would not have put them out like that for you, hmn?”

Rory glanced up at Freya a hand having automatically begun to reach up, but paused, double-checking with her himself, “M-mmay I?”

As she answered, “Please,” Freya caught his hand and kissed the palm before pressing it into a curve. “Touchin’ and tastin’ feels nice.”

It was the surprise on their faces that made it worth it, and a nearly boyish giggle worked its way out as a big hand cupped the breast she had put his hand to, “You’re so soft!”

Zevran felt how Freya’s skin picked up the way the strong and broad palmed hands with their completely different callouses as they rubbed, massaging the mounds. Rumbling, he leaned forward to lick over the back of large knuckles, between fingers to Freya’s warm honey skin, twin indrawn breaths sharp from his lovers’ throats. Nosing the back of Rory’s hand to urge it down enough to reveal a nipple, he lapped and swirled at the bud. In his mind he felt his husband perk up, his beautiful Twadd coming out of his rather comfortable resting spot, surging forward to add his own eager touch to that which was available.

Freya’s back arched, “Oh!” hips coming down to grind over Rory who had been completely entranced, a startled “Maker!” coming from him. Zevran could only laugh exuberantly, breathless as something other than hands engaged his body while his eyes and his own hands were focused elsewhere. An unseen and unforgotten tongue ran his length with no need to pull him free from cumbersome clothing, lips locking tight around his girth, an exact copy of it kissing his back and another lapping at his pucker. As he could feel what the others did as well, he knew that they were not being given quite the same treat as it likely would have been too startling and been too far, too fast. Twadd had missed this. And he had missed Twadd dearly.

Rory moved in to kiss Freya once more hands still exploring and stroking her chest, just as she was doing to his and Zevran moved with them, finding places to kiss, lick or nip.

There was a mumbled, “So warm,” thick arms wrapping around Freya, cheek rubbing over a breast, “and soft. You’re so soft, Fre-yah.”

She chuckled, “An’ you are fuzzy Roar-ee.”

He gave her a bear hug, “Can’ help it...”

Zevran found a ticklish spot on Freya, or more like rediscovered and reconquered it, “Glad we are that you cannot as it is rather nice, hmn?”

Caught, she laughed. “I like it, very much!”

They all rolled around playing like that for quite some time, to Zevran’s everlasting delight. When everyone’s pants finally were down, he was rather certain that he had to be glowing, however nothing could outshine the giggles and laughs, except perhaps a stray raspberry or two. Of which many were placed upon a muscular stomach and a slightly rounded one, and then a fuzzy one when someone got the drop on him and the two pinned him enough to have their wickedly evil way with him, making Zevran struggle to roll around, giggling with toes curling tightly.

’I’d say you deserved that, Love,’ his beautiful Twadd did a few himself. ’Oh! And that one too!’

Freya and Rory flopped on and around him still chuckling and searching for a ticklish spot.

“There’s this one...”

“No, I like this one better.”

Twadd reached for another lever and hit them all, howling with laughter as Zevran curled into a ball. An explosive and raucous laugh had Zevran wriggling all over the bed and them. Touching them, his lovely husband took advantage and reached through him to tickle Freya and Rory. Zevran’s hands spasmed as he continued jittering, twitching and shaking, sharing with them the experience as best he could. Twadd kissed their faces quick and plentiful, the warm molasses laughter filling all of them.

Rory held Freya, who was back to petting and rubbing the red pelt on his chest, and Zevran was doing the same to the red head’s freckled and thankfully hairless back. Briefly he wondered if the Gilmore’s mother mated with a bear to create such a hairy body. Likely the only reason such a kind child had resulted all things considered, though he knew that such protracted harm generally bore bad results. However he couldn’t think about that now and banished those dark things from his mind, focusing on their sweet play.

The smell of them in the air, the sounds of them carefree, and the sight of them, had Zevran thrumming. With a purr, he scooted down, giving Freya’s bottom a light pat to make it rise into his hand, granting his mouth access to her sex. On his back between the tangle of parted thighs, he began lapping at downy soft folds, a pleased whimper his reward. Savoring the way his senses were filled, his lips pulled at the soft peak, swirling lazily over her cl*t repeatedly, one hand stroking her muscular rump, the other hooked under Rory’s thigh, curling around it to keep amulet contact and stroke the hardness of his co*ck. Musky sea salt essence spread with each swipe of his tongue over Freya’s sex, her hips rocking and wriggling in time to the intimate tasting, her mouth busy with Rory’s tongue, a quiet mewl issuing as Zevran felt her org*sm lift her up, tingling over her shared nerve endings. Rory sank back, Freya still hovering over him, petting, kissing and stroking his upper body, and Zevran rolled over, his head between them, adding his lips and tongue to the play of his hand on the big warrior’s body.

Loud groans, sounding like they originated somewhere in the vicinity of his toes, Rory’s hips jerked upwards with each long suck. Cautiously he began slowly touching the backs of thick thighs, listening for any sign of discomfort or fear, but heard none. There was only the overwhelming sense from both of them that where they were, who they were with, was safe. Firm and gentle, Zevran teased at Rory’s entrance, rubbing along the exterior with the length of his finger. It didn’t take long for him to require oil or unguent, which was thoughtfully beside the mattress in its usual spot, even if it had been left unused for weeks now. The moan was eager rather than surprised as his finger slid in.

The thought skittered all around the shared link, trembling, almost frightened, joy in it, ’It doesn’t hurt!’

Having anticipated that healing might be needed, Freya’s hand was flat over the pelted breastbone. “Roar-ee, it’s not suppose’ta hurt. It’s suppose’ta be good.” Relaxing her guard, she returned to kissing the boy.

Zevran slowly twisted his finger, coupling his lovely girl’s words with action, ’Yes, it is.’

Shifting to his knees, one hand still busy, he guided them more onto their sides, so he could slide into Freya’s wet and slick channel. Covering their twisting and tangled bodies with his own, he pleasured them, taking joy in the joining, doing his best to give it in turn. Spilling as Freya thrashed, straining out her completion until she sagged against Rory, who had at some point begun curiously touching the sopping folds as Zevran’s member slid in and out, assisting and satisfying. His girl flopped onto her side, lolling and drifting in her bliss, but Rory’s bit lip and deep flush all over, spurred Zevran to begin pressing his sticky tip to Rory’s hole, testing and going slow, a strong hand keeping the young man from thrusting back on him, over-eager to find out just how good it could feel. It was Freya who urged them on, with tasting biting kisses, praise, and filling her mouth with Rory’s length. They became a curling, twisting, writhing, thrusting, licking, nipping, kissing mass, sensory overload until even Zevran was tired, drained and wrung out from the experience.

Stretching legs and arms, from toes to fingers, Zevran groaned happily, before quickly curling and wrapping Freya up in his arms, kissing her sweat-sheened face. ’I love you, so very much, querida.’

She laughed tiredly, ’An’ I love you, Zev.’ Freya opened herself with the amulet, showing love to him. It was a light and uncomplicated thing with many gossamer threads that attached to things that one might point to and say ‘this is why she loves you and this is what is needed’. He kept asking, wanting to know what she really needed from him.

It almost made him sound like Cyni.

It was nearly as basic as breathing for her. Tiny things he did, most without thinking, a light hand on her spine to guide her through a crowded street, the warmth of his skin on hers, flexing his fingers to indicate a turn or something to watch out for, the care that was shown. The way his eyes slid lazily, analyzing a situation then as they focused on her there was that moment of recognition that caused a spark of pleasure. His steady heartbeat and breath beneath her ear and reassuring presence were all essential parts of him. All these small things were precious to her, nothing complicated, all open and obvious, there was no secret to it, nothing hidden. It just was. To come up with complicated reasons or desires would have been impossible and that’s what she thought he had wanted to hear. She did not love him or want him only for his form, for the beauty so many craved, it was a bonus. Beauty and skill were cranberries that would not be rejected, and if they went missing her love and need for him would not change.

It was a beautiful thing, yes. Not to be rejected. But he wanted to do things for her. It was who and what he had always been. So he looked deeper searching for what was essential, what he could do. She didn’t long for a gift or a present, she didn’t want to own anything or anyone, it was not important, but he already knew those things. All that was wanted was these tiny things, these everyday and comforting touches. Twadd had asked to be able give up everything and wanted only a story of a plantation with a turquoise door. Cyni needed acceptance of his status as a ‘deadman’ and to belong to ‘Desire’. Gaeaf was selfish and needed to be the only one. None of these needs from any of them were tangible. Even so, he needed to do, that was his essence, and it clashed with hers in this matter, because she wasn’t built that way. He was a giver, it was what he was, he required a goal, a direction, any direction, any goal, any need.

So she had created a need to satisfy his. Had supposed that they required additional space, which was not untrue, especially if a business were opened, others accompanied them back or joined their family. It was not an uninteresting topic, but it was not her need that created the idea...the need came from fulfilling his desire to do something. In considering what would be wanted in such an environment, the desires of others were weighed and considered as well and recently these included her own, still small ideas in an infancy of ‘wouldn’t this be nice?’. Hopefully they would lead to something tangible.

Sometimes he wished she would just come out with something that she wanted - just for herself. Freya had once wanted pretty things and at the time he had told her no, so Nune had provided. Briefly he wished he had given this, because now she asked him for nothing solid or substantial. It was as if her hand had been burned and she remembered not to touch that fire again, even though it was no longer hot.

If only she would ask for something, anything, It would give him something to work with, not leave him standing there wondering if there was any actual use to him being there. The revelations weren’t new per se, but more concrete, a solidified thing that was a worry and had been one for a long time. What was his use when all that was required was his presence? Use and need were forms of interaction, connection, revelation of self. Without these things they could literally sit there or walk around, never talking, never doing any actual interaction, and she would be ‘happy’. As happy as two trees side by side, if trees had emotions. It was a purely static state, no evolution, no growing, simply sitting there like rocks.

That wasn’t a relationship, that wasn’t an interaction, it was merely breathing in a vegetative state.

If a person could wither away to nothing with nothing to do, so too could relationships. And that was exactly what was proposed. It made Zevran want to scream and howl, because such a thing meant as much personality as a rock. How could he interact in a meaningful way with a rock? Someone had ruined her - himself probably, Cyni quite likely, this idea of what was supposed to be perfect for him more of a macabre construct than anything else. There was only the thinnest veneer of ‘self’, everything else was for others. All of the Feroxes had a solid core, Gaeaf’s was represented by a stone tower, Twadd’s tower was similar, even Cyni’s once crumbling stone cliffs were solid pieces of self. Where was hers? She had had one as a child. Even after they went to Antiva...but not for long.

What had they done to her?

He would have to begin again, smaller this time, choices would be given over what to have for breakfast, which weapon to use while sparring, everything he could think of, not accepting, ‘whichever’ as an answer. Not fooling himself, at first there would be little actual thought behind the choices other than to make him ‘happy’, so the next step would be to press for why something was chosen over another, find out what need she was or thought she was fulfilling for others and then remove that until a choice was made for herself. It would be like teaching a small child all over again. But he would do it, because there was no way that the source of friction could remain, nor could they continue in that fashion. It wasn’t good for her, it wasn’t good for them, and it wasn’t much good for him either. Of course another man would find it utterly perfect, but he wasn’t other men.

….

Cyni had sprawled diagonally across his bed, the only movement other than slow breathing was the flicking of a finger on the quilt of impossible colors and textures. Shuttered doors were opened leading out to a balcony. As if the room were up on a hill, city lights were in the distance, yet no sound of it reached them. Even with the open doors, the noises of the night were no louder than what would eventually put him to sleep and other than stars and the far away city, the once ga’ni did not have other sources of light in his private space. As Zevran entered, although his boy did not open his eyes, an arm was stretched out in invitation to come lie down next to him and be held close. Clambering onto the corner of the bed, he tucked himself in tight to Cyni’s side and the arm wrapped around his back.

“Desire, you are disturbed,” the low voice contained its usual growl even as the tone was concerned.

He knew that this would have to be approached delicately. Although it had been a very long time since Cyni last tried to hurt himself, criticizing his work or a forceful attempt to change an inflexible mind would distance his sweet boy. Cheek resting against Cyni’s chest, an ear pressed to the low steady heartbeat, he approached carefully, “Amora. I am worried about Freya. She is...not a person. At all. She only makes choices based on what others want or need, she does not include her desires in those choices. When I ask to hear her needs or what she desires for the future, none of what I hear is for her. What was changed about her? And why?”

Rumbling, “I am beautiful.” Cyni pleased with his creation, could not see a reason to find fault with Freya.

“....Yes, you are both beautiful.” Trying another angle, he tried again, “Amante, what is it I have always loved about you and Twadd?”

Quiet, the spirit man thought for a moment or two. Their connection indicated that this was unknown and had never been considered, “You are Desire.”

Mulling over the simple sentence, one he had heard for far more than two hundred years, it occurred to him that Cyni might be accurate. Zevran’s need, or addiction, to a person, was very similar to what what an actual Desire demon did. He tried to provide his loves everything they wanted, fulfilling their needs, creating the dreams in which they wanted to live, seeing to their happiness, becoming what they needed to love, then finally ‘devouring’ their essences as they were essentially what sustained him. Did the others, Haf’cath or the little healer, those who preserved their loved ones this way, consider the ramifications, this line of thought?

Repressing a shudder, “Yes, I suppose I am for you.” Tipping his head, he kissed Cyni’s chin, “And what does Desire like to do?” The place to start was where his boy was at a loss and could possibly be able to consider something new.

The answer was quick, without doubt. “To be wanted and loved.”

“Yes, this is true.” Another kiss was given to award the correct answer. “But, I want to be wanted and loved by someone I want and love.” He cupped Cyni’s chin with an old familiar gesture so that his boy, whose attention wandered, was held to the conversation, “What do I love about those I love?”

Time passed as the question was reflected upon. Finally Cyni shrugged, “This is unknown, Desire.”

“Personality. Self. Ideals, thoughts, needs, a person. A person, not an empty vessel. If I want a vessel, I could buy a clay pot off of a street vendor, fill it with something random, and I will have a vessel filled with something possibly useful, possibly not. It is a vessel. It has no personality. It is an object. Not a person. Why is Freya an object?”

Denial, “I am not am object.” The connection indicated that Cyni was certain even as he tried to reconcile the example with what was done. “You were unhappy.”

“I have been unhappy much of the last decade. But I never wanted anyone to stop being a person. Stop being a self. Stop having thoughts of their own. Now I have to teach her as I would teach a four year old. She is a potted plant with the ability to move, but none to reason, none to think on her own, other than what another puts forth.” It was too many words at one time, but he was desperate, begging, “I would no more remove your core, your own thoughts, your own logics from you, than I would her. Yes, convince, beg, cajole, certainly. This current state, it creates friction, which creates pain, anger, hurt, and makes me want to give up. Cyni, I am hanging on by a thread. As is she. Meddle for her health but not in her own free will.”

Picking through the overabundance, Cyni growled, “Nothing was removed. It was hidden and restrained.”

Anger flared in him, how dare he maim her, how dare he make that decision for her, even if Cyni thought he was Freya, “Oh, but I know how the conversation went that convinced her to allow that. To embrace it. ‘You love Desire, this will make Desire love you more’. That is the same as removal, it is just a set of semantics. Would you do such a thing to your children? You never had, you never would. Not unless it was for their safety.”

Cyni growled, almost a snarl, and repeated, “Not removed. Hidden and restrained. Everything can be restored. Destruction was not our purpose, Desire.”

Heaving a sigh, “Let her be herself. Even if that means she is headstrong. She is headstrong with being nothing more than a vessel for poking and filling of holes.”

“You will be unhappy.” A warning was issued. “One will be placed in danger.”

“Cyni, I will be unhappy regardless. Now, tell me what will change so that I can compensate and protect.”

Seeing ahead, or was it finding the right angle to see through the threads, or peering into Freya’s changed nature, “The relationships as they are will be in peril.”

He was quiet not wishing to disturb the Sight, “Freya will wish to be with someone else? Leliana?”

The rumbled humor so warm from one who so rarely laughed or expressed great emotion caught him off guard. “No, Desire. I long only for you, just you. I have since the day you arrived, claiming you for my own. I am yours.”

It took a act of will to resist pouncing on his sweet boy, “What of Alistair and Leliana?

“They have always been unimportant. Their path is not mine.”

“Nathaniel and Morrigan?” There was a need for the Wilds Witch, “We need someone to perform her ritual.”

“Yes, the ritual is important for survival. They are unaffected and the ritual planned for will take place.” The former ga’ni was gentle, “Desire, those individuals are not what you hold in your arms today.”

Shifting next to him reminded of the the one on his other side, “...Rory...?” Cyni was quiet.

Swallowing his dread at just what such a thing could do, the evidence and abject lesson of Rinna and Taliesin never forgotten, “Jealousy?”

“He will be rejected. An attempt to return to brotherhood and the ways of things past would be made. It will fail.” Hope was not offered, nor would platitudes be given.

Whimpering, he saw just how badly that would go, saw how Rory would feel shame. Hurt. Hatred - of himself, blaming himself. He would only see himself having done something wrong to hurt. It would destroy the boy. Zevran rubbed his temples, mapping it out to the obvious conclusion, where something high up would be found, air embraced, and a sudden, painful, bone crunching landing would occur, no hope for healing.

And Freya’s healer’s heart...the guilt, the anger at herself, all of it would be repeated. The ‘center would not hold’, because she would hate herself for having felt something. She would blame him too, and rightfully so, for having taken the numbness. Mutually assured destruction all around.

Swallowing thickly, “Mood swings like the release of a pent up volcano - these things, those I can handle. Come now, I dealt with yours for how long?” The attempt at levity was weak, as was his laugh, but he softened the terrible teasing with a kiss to a long boned hand. “Will she seek death?”

“Not outright, nor will I wish to cause harm to others.” Cyni was careful to draw attention, “I do not send others to do what I will not. I will desire to complete the task of the Archdemon. Plans have already been made for prevention and salvation.”

“Yes, that solution is simple. Morrigan will gladly have Nathaniel’s child. In fact, I will speak with him myself, and tell Morri to talk with him. Freya need not even know.” Shrugging, “Better to deal with her being unhappy and angry with me later for hiding it, than have her do something reckless.” He rubbed his temples, “Other than the problem with Rory and his presence, the damage and harm it would do for jealousy to take root and spread its vile poison - I see no issue. Yes, there will be drama, but I will feel less inclined to go kill myself because I serve no purpose other than to cushion and cocoon her.”

Drawing in a sharp breath as realization struck him a mortal wound, “Maker - Cyni - do you even know what you have done? You have made me - me - into the box. You made me the box.” Breaking, he hid his face in shame and horror, “I know I kept you from killing yourself, I know I captured and dragged you to my Thedas. But other than keep you from doing yourself harm...Maker...why? Why?” Shaking he grabbed for Cyni, holding him tightly, “Oh, querido, I am sorry I made you feel boxed, so sorry, but punishing someone else, punish me for it, do not...do not...” The pain was terrible, “Do not use me to hurt someone else! Please, I beg of you, please!”

Growling at the great quantity of words, the shared link sent back frustration that words had not been understood, “There is no punishment here.” The increased growl notwithstanding, “Desire, I am not angry at the taking. That is long past and is not now.” Twisting around him, Cyni softened body and voice, “You have assumed that all choice was removed. In most cases, extremes were softened.”

“It does not change that I became the box, Cyni,” choking on the shame. “I hated myself as is for forcing you to come with me, even if it was to protect you overall. I’ve only ever done such things to protect, not to make my life easier. To protect you and then bent over backwards to make it better... Oh, I hurt you so much and I am so sorry, and I now I have hurt her. Having any choice removed is not a good thing...oh f*ck, f*ck f*ck, Rory.” His face was pressed to his boy’s chest whose arms were tight around him as if he were the lifeline.

Stubborn as always, Cyni still attempted to clarify what was not heard, “Desire, to choose to remove options is a choice. I made the choice!”

Burrowing under his boy’s tunic, Zevran stopped, pulling his head out from under the silk fabric to look at the mild brown eyes, confused. “You are saying she...she chose to have this done...to her?”

Cyni nodded. Relief that he had been understood radiated in the link.

“No, if it makes you unhappy, confront it, find a way to work around it, with it, change it...not...not box it up and let it...rot.” Making a face, “What do you think I am doing right now? Confronting the problem. Changing it, working around it...fixing it...that’s logical.”

“I am the problem?” Curiosity, “Will you finally change me?” The link indicated that he was unafraid and Cyni was interested in how ‘Desire’ would go about it, perhaps believing he could learn something.

Wincing and adamantly enunciating, “No, you are not the problem!” Sitting up, Zevran pulled Cyni up into his arms tightly, “You are not the problem. No, no, no, and no. No, I am saying the actions taken are a problem, what was done, was the problem.” He paused, letting that sink in. “Now we are fixing it. You were always a joy to me, always have been, even when it hurts, and I love you so much that it makes me rather crazed, and I miss you constantly.”

Zevran made Cyni tip his face up, to look into those loved brown eyes, “I miss seeing you out of the corner of my eye, so matter-of-factly changing a diaper. I miss finding the random drawings you put on everything - even when it was my favourite shirt.” Each thing was said slowly, memories and sensations shown. “I miss being able to reach out and hold your hand and run my fingers over the callouses,” picking up that hand, doing just that and placing a kiss to knuckles and the tips. “I miss how I would wake up and have you all twisted around me like a pile of rope that was improperly wound up and left out. I miss seeing the littles lean against your leg curiously and you staring at them cautiously.” A flash of image, one of Amarra’s children sitting on Cyni’s bare foot, a finger in a small mouth, staring up at him. “I miss walking into the Work room and feeling everything you have done for the day.” Threads of song wafted in the room. “I miss coming in on you taking a nap, half buried under a pile of my dirty laundry. I miss you stealing and switching our pillows around so that you can always have the one that smells the most like me. Those things brought me so much joy, because you did them. You are not the problem, you never were, you never will be. An action that has consequences that were never thought of or considered, even that itself is not a problem. It is the outcome and hurts it does, that can be.”

Stroking from shoulder to elbow, “So that is the problem that is being confronted and having a way for it to be fixed...” Concentrating, he showed more images and memories, spooling and unwinding around them like a diorama, sliding and passing through them as he described each, “I miss how...do you know when I knew you honestly loved Fergus?” He named the result of Cyni and Varane’s first union. “You had picked him up, and brought him to bed, a little pouch of milk in your hand, and you were not singing to quiet him. You just sat there, dribbling little bits of milk and staring at him, not caring if he was ‘real’, a ‘deadman’ or a demon child, still simply fascinated, with no need to sing to gain silence.” Blinking at the sweetness, “Life is a series of memories and experiences, like a strand of pearls, each pearl infinitely precious and lovely in its own way. It can be a complete thing on its own, or it can be added to on and on and on. The times I was unhappy when we were back home where when I did not know what to do to help, when I was helpless, when I could not do anything to heal you, when you did not even know how to accept that you were loved. That was when I was unhappy. That is how I have felt at the core these days of late. Because no matter what was done, it seemed hopeless. But we got through it. We found the solution - together. That is what we do. You are not a problem.” Carefully he layered words, action, memory, sensation, hoping that it was all understood, taken in, remembered, “Your presence has always been an impossibly beautiful gift, something I have always been thankful for. Even when you act like a total, aiesh, a complete idiot and do stupid things. Well, guess what? I do stupid things too. As evidenced by how unhappy and how often I cause Freya to withdraw because she and I have no understanding of each other.”

Cyni gave a heavy sigh worthy of Gaeaf, whether it was from the images and emotion or the agreement given, it was not said. “I will undo what we have done, as you Desire it.”

“Why would she think it would make me happy?” settling back against the headboard, comforted, curiosity finally was allowed to enter.

“Not just your happiness, my own, Twadd, Rory... Anger, throwing glasses makes you unhappy, yelling makes everyone unhappy, crying for no reason makes me unhappy, arguing makes everyone unhappy, worrying makes me unhappy, being selfish or jealous would make you unhappy and would make Twadd and Rory unhappy as well. So these things are set aside, hidden,” scratching behind an ear, searching for a better description. “Everything is there, filled in. Flattened and smoothed out to be level.” Clarifying, “Fear of the underground keeps returning and has been unable to be hidden for long.”

Shaking his head, Zevran echoed the sigh, “Fear is alright, it can be combated. A thrown glass or two happens. With age comes control of such outbursts, and learning other ways to display temper and displeasure without throwing things. But sometimes throwing things just feels too damn good to resist, hmn? And at sixteen, crying happens for ‘no reason’, hell, it happens to me and I am centuries old. It is...not really for ‘no reason’. It happens for a reason, even if the reason is not understood yet. Yelling makes people unhappy, but being...a potted plant means no one is happy. Only pretending.”

Perplexed, “Fettering is bad, but ‘medication’ is good?”

“You mean all the cannabis I smoke?” a brow rising. “It helps keep balance without numbing everything. Or your brownie a day? It helped level you without numbing. It is like wrapping a thick cloth around one’s hand to pick up something hot. Just a bit of a buffer, not something to dull it all away. Which is where she has been. Dulled to a point where you-she were...not people, but things.”

“Desire, I learned to put away some destructive tendencies of my own, so that a blade or poison could remain on a table untouched. Twadd hides that which he does not wish to know. Gaeaf used pigeon holes to distance himself from what disturbed him. I will learn this skill as well.” Repeating himself, “I have already said I will undo our requests. Lay out your restrictions so no missteps will occur.”

Mulling it over, another sigh broke free as he held Cyni tightly, listening to the adored and remembered heartbeat, “Rory needs to be protected from what would happen...I have no issue with being strictly monogamous but since he has been added, and since he is so damaged...it would be wrong to do further harm to someone fragile by removing him, or have deep jealousy playing havoc. Keep him safe from that, and keep her safe from that line. Also, I love him and care for him as well, so it would hurt me too if aught were to happen to him... When he has finally died or moved on for whatever reason, then release it...and I will handle the fallout.”

Now that all that arranged, Zevran moved to take care of Cyni. He had not lied when he said he missed being able to just reach out and touch his sweet boy, he never lied over such matters, such vital things. Tutting to himself when he realized his boy had, even in this space, let his soles become rough and need work, he pulled one into his lap, imagining pumice and a light oil for the work. Humming quietly to himself, Zevran found his own bliss in this tiny action. All the while he sent waves of love, yes, it was a simple and bright thing, but it was also deep and complex. It was a long equation of many layers, another thing always added on to the creation, making it more varied and deep with each breath.

….

During the night, a scent that had been stable and didn’t fluctuate greatly, even with her monthly cycle, changed as her natural hormones flooded through her body. He hadn’t noticed the stability before and now it was utter chaos. Freya had been leveled, just as Cyni said and the wash of chemicals scoured away the sand that had hidden the rough contours of her core bedrock. Before she woke or even opened her eyes, salty tears pooled and slipped down her cheeks. Drawing her tight to kiss the dark crown of hair, Freya’s face pressed against his chest as she sobbed. Her healing abilities and wards placed upon her flesh were quickly overwhelmed by the deluge of emotions no longer contained and boxed up. Into the morning she slept like that, and he sent Rory downstairs to help, saying that nightmares had given her some issues, that a dam had broken and she might need some solitude or just him for a little bit. Rory had been worried it was due to the evening before, Zevran quickly reassured him that this was not so, that it was just something a long time in coming, and that they needed some privacy to deal with it.

As the flattened plateau was washed away that day, the shadows returned, doubts were uncovered, and anger and frustrations were revealed. Sorrow reigned in the beginning, until something, probably very minor caused the anger to snap to the forefront. Pushing away, desperate to prevent harm and seeking the elusive ‘air’, the first thing to go flying was her own Joining amulet to stop the silent communication, insight, and touches.

Zevran of course searched it out, retrieving it for when she would desire to have it again. Patiently he dealt, shadowing her, and since she no longer wore the amulet, she couldn’t sense him trailing her when she would seek air. Others were more surprised, except for Nathaniel and Morrigan, both of whom were never overly ruffled by sudden changes of such nature. Alistair had been upset, but Leliana had pulled him aside, rapid words whispered of stress and ‘too much, too young’ uttered. Rory, for his part, was desperately cheerful, playing the big brother, getting out from underfoot when that was needed, getting underfoot when that was needed, providing a shoulder on which to rail about whatever topic pushed her to ranting and venting, whenever his lovely girl could bring herself to do so.

For him though, Zevran stepped lightly and gingerly, waiting and watching. And he made the dark pair of his protege and his witch divulge just how much ganja they had access to, as it was needed. Small amounts of oil were added to Freya’s meals, just enough to keep things from devolving into pure nightmare, no more than wrapping a hand in a piece of cloth to handle something too hot. A buffer, a thin one, but one nonetheless.

Each of the Feroxes before Freya needed something to keep them from depressed moods and frozen anger. Cyni was terrible with his serious and intentional attempts at suicide, he had not wanted to be saved. If what the former ga’ni said was true about boxing off parts of himself, something Zevran had no reason to doubt, Cyni was without doubt the worst. Gaeaf would have been next in severity, it probably seemed the worst at the time, as he was first Ferox and his Zevran, Haf’cath, did not know what the man needed to be stable. Gaeaf had not been very careful about his person and, until loud objection was raised, regularly reviewed his plans to remove himself by leaping from a tower. And Twadd, for all of his careful balance would often take a depressive sink if the self blame was not caught in time. Ganja had been prescribed in two of the three cases, and if the third and technically first case had been more amenable to it, it would have been prescribed there too, as the times it had been used had helped. In smaller doses taken around the time of day that most had the worst mood swings - night, afternoon, morning, or evening - it helped maintain stability. His sweet Cyni had always counted on the one dose, but frequently it was added to other items of his food - a salad dressing, or dip, or a bowl of soup, to help keep him level without overwhelming his thoughts or abilities.

Good Howe used ganja to help him sleep or unwind, a small portion around bedtime or after the day was done, much like any normal person would have a serving or two of drink. Zevran suspected it also kept the naturally cynical and harsh aspects softer, as though those aspects were learned and not native to his personality, something of a defense mechanism.

He, himself, smoked more than most would think was wise, but it was that or drink all day long. And bottles, flasks and kegs weighed far more than a several month supply of cannabis. Zevran smoked far more now, since coming to this Thedas, than he had in his own - he needed the buffering or he would go mad, lay down and give up, or start screaming at people who wouldn’t move fast enough. It kept his temper in check which was necessary to deal with not just the larger items of the Blight, but day to day interactions.

He had gone out hunting with Morrigan and Nathaniel, the Wilds’ witch taking on the form of a wolf, sniffing out dangerous game. This trip was per Zevran’s request. It was time to make something special, just for Freya, perhaps it would help her open up to him. Either way he had long since intended on finding good pelts to fashion her own cloak. A great spear was on his back, Sorrows in hand, the magically preserved and waxed string durable even with the cold and wet. Beside him, the young Howe padded along, their boots whispering crunches in the hard pack, wicker snowshoes making their steps ungainly and easier at once. The young Warden had acquiesced having several ‘extra’ amulets made, one of which Zevran wore, Morrigan relenting for the duration of their hunt, as words would be difficult with the cold, and the muffling headwraps. Along with the minor fact that she was a wolf of course, however, Zevran had always managed with Horsie when on a hunt.

When the trail was found for drakes, they went to that business with gusto, slaughtering several. He wondered if they were the result of ‘Andraste’ and were one of her clutches, or if there was another high dragon they would have to worry about. Or the darker thought, one he hadn’t uttered, or let himself think on much - Urthemiel. Could an Old God still breed? Even Tainted? The very notion made him shudder. Darkspawn could reproduce, Avernus’ studies said that Mothers required male seed, darkspawn or otherwise, it made him wonder. Either way the drakes and their cave carried not a single whiff of Taint so he was unworried about those that they were currently dealing with.

They raided everything, setting it aside, and the cave would make a good emergency camp if they couldn’t return before nightfall. In companionable silence they finished such tasks, then went out again, slowly spiralling out from the center that the cave provided. Morrigan eventually put nose to the air, signalling she smelled a bad front coming in and they quickly retreated, only diverting long enough to gather a few fat snow hares that she had killed and they had hung up to cool and drain.

“I’ve a wonder,” Morrigan shook off her cloak as Nathaniel gathered snow to melt.

“And I likely have some form of answer,” snapping rabbit bones he set them in a pot to await snow, along with an onion and pinches of spice from the pack he had brought.

Scoffing, “You always do, elf.” Sulfuric eyes looked at him thoughtfully, “Just who are you? There is something...off about you, elf. As though you know me.”

“I know many people,” carefully he flayed tendons and muscle, throwing cartilage and anything that was not easily eaten, into the pot with the bones. The rest he skewered, small wooden bowls beneath them to catch any fat. “But that was not the original question you wished to ask, it is only one that has freshly come to mind, hmn? Ask that one first.”

“Mother’s book, her grimoire, do you know of it?”

Snorting, “As I was the one who searched for it, found it, procured it, and brought it from the Circle as well as that staff for your lovely self, why yes, yes I do. Even if it is in Arcanum, tchk, her handwriting is appalling, truly.”

There was a crackle from her hand before it quickly made a fist, the energy dissipating with obvious will, “You read Mother’s grimoire?”

“I have always wanted to, to see just what was in it, so yes, I did,” he wedged their meal in place so they could cook before leaning back, legs extended towards their firerock fire. “She is a rather interesting piece of work. So, you wish us to kill her, hmn? But you cannot come with us, as you will be at risk, yes?”

“You actually understood what was in there?” surprise all over her countenance, the earnestness and youth she tended to hide, the vulnerability, coming to the surface along with her curiosity.

“Enough was understood, yes,” he nodded. “I also know what you seek. A pregnancy with a Warden, near the time when we will find Urthemiel. To save any Warden who takes the final blow. And also a sound tactical decision - anyone can kill her then, so long as you are near enough, even if there are no remaining Wardens to do so. So, I propose a trade, would you like to hear the terms?”

Nervousness was quashed, replaced by the veneer of aloofness, “Speak your terms, elf.”

“You remain under our good Howe’s protection, raise the child with him. It will make that task easier upon you, worry him less, and he is more than strong enough to follow you, wherever you go,” he put it forth. “And we will kill Flemeth’s current body, destroy the amulet that holds that fragment of her essence. But we will wait to destroy the amulet until her body is dead. It may not permanently kill her, but it will at the least remove her as a player off the board for a very long time. But we will want that amulet destroyed when you are nowhere nearby, let alone with child, no? To keep you and the infant safe, yes?”

Morrgian shivered, “That is all you require in trade? That is no trade, fool!”

“It is the terms - you have already chosen him as your partner and guardian, whether you realize it or not, my dear,” he pointed out. “Besides, what would you do with a child on your own? On the run? Infants require much care, this I know well, as I have raised many. Even another set of hands, something, anything. He will not shirk the duty, but share it. And it would help prevent you from losing your temper or hating a child that you would have offered to make to protect those you - silently albeit - count as family. That secret is safe with me, my dear. We will not hurt you, but protect you, as you have protected us. Either way, even if you reject him, go to Antiva. Go live amongst the clans, or the Dalish, or perhaps the Hundred Pillars. None will bother you or call you apostate. You will be left in peace. Much better than heading to Orlais, hmn?”

“I...I find your terms...agreeable,” she looked away, rising quickly, but he smelt the salt welling up from her eyes, though she had moved far too fast for him to see the tears of gratitude or shame or fear.

Cyni had been ‘missing’ since releasing the fetters, likely to avoid Freya’s anger or insistence that they be restored. That night as he slept in the cave away from the Keep, the thin man crawled back into his mind to rest. Zevran welcomed him with open arms, cradling him close, praising and gently loving him, showing that even if the other self was angry, he was not, would not, could not, be angry at him for doing the right thing.

“It is a sad day when your mind is not safe and neither is the Fade,” was muttered as the brown eyes closed. “Good news, I further my education.” Usually everything was ‘the Fade’, but today a distinction was made as at the moment neither Cyni nor himself could not be reached without Freya putting on her amulet. It also indicated what her activities were in attempting to reach the former ga’ni.

Stroking his lips over Cyni’s left temple, “That is good news. Education and learning are always beneficial in the long run, even if the learning is difficult.” He cuddled his sweet boy close, “Is there anything I can do for you, precioso? To help? Make a partition where it is more difficult for her to reach? You know I can block her easily, yes? We could do that so that you have a safe place to come and be without worry over being pestered, amora.”

“This all that is needed.” Settling himself the spirit man intoned, “Do not hide me from myself, else I travel in dangerous places to search. I could not carry your sorrow over such a loss.” Arms tightened around him, “I am yours, do not forsake me.”

Rocking him gently, “Shh, then I will not do it, I would not willingly put such risks as that or strains in that manner. Never will I forsake you, any of you, querido.” Zevran lay back on their perfect Antivan bed, with its impossible spread of patterns and colours, enfolding his sweet Cyni in peace, “I keep what is mine. I protect what is mine. I take care of what is mine. I love what is mine, and you, you my sweetest, kindest, gentlest Ferox - you are mine. And I will always love you, no matter what, my precious, sweet boy.”

A last protest before an exhausted Cyni drowsed, “I am not Twadd,” was breathed into his chest.

Zevran shook his head, murmuring, “I have never expected you to be anyone you were not, Cyni. It is for yourself that you are loved. Centuries later and you still do not understand this...” Knowing that Cyni was ‘asleep’, it did not stop him from saying to his sweet boy, “And I could count endless things you have done that are kind, sweet and gentle. Silly man. You are so precious and sweet it should make my teeth hurt.”

….

After the debilitating sorrow and then the raging anger passed, as the Twadd and Gaeaf before her, Freya did everything to tire herself out before she fell into bed. Much time was spent in the training yard wearing the heaviest armour she could find in Mikhael Dryden’s shop or when that was no longer enough, layering leathers under a larger set of metal armour. During bad weather she was in in the sparring room. After she was physically tired, Freya could then be found in the tower practicing her spells with Avernus. Everything was practiced over and over again until she could hardly parry or cast even a minor cantrip, let alone lift a spoon of ‘Whenever stew’ to her mouth. Although she answered general questions, in the first month she didn’t talk about anything that meant anything and if someone pressed, she got up and left. She had not lost her quietness, except when she was aggravated and then would vent before stalking off to go hit a training dummy. Touching was, well touchy. In bed or having initiated the contact, she didn’t mind it; any other time seemed to be irritating. She did not dodge Rory’s hand on her shoulder or a hug and tried not to flinch when someone else wanted to give her the same, but the closing off of self was not missed by the observant.

Entering their room, a platter in hand, “You did not eat, preciosa.” His voice was soft, soothing, “I made your favourite - berries too.” Zevran set down the large bowl of mashed grains with some of their remaining honey and plenty of spices, a dash of brandy, and as many of the dried wild berries they had collected that he could find. And a strong dose of cannabis, as this was the fourth day in a row Freya had worked herself to a literal collapse. Her body wouldn’t hold up under this constant strain - eventually it would break if it didn’t have the needed time to repair. “Please eat, amora.”

The look she gave him could have peeled paint, “Don’ wanna. Too tired.”

Clearing his throat, “Then I can help you. Let me take care of you, Freya. Let me help.”

“No,” turning her face away from him dismissively.

“Too bad,” Zevran sat down on their pallet where she lay, pulling her between his legs and propping her against his chest. “One Zevran Special, coming right up.” There was resistance, but of course it was futile. “Open your mouth, amora. This is asking nicely. Do not press me to ask not nicely.” Reaching around her front, as her back was to his chest, he tugged on her chin gently. “Look, all you have to do is the swallowing part. I will gather up small amounts, twist the spoon on your tongue, and then you swallow. Very simple, yes?” Lowering his voice, “You would do this for me in a heartbeat if I was feeling this way.”

“Tha’ not - ” ending up with a spoonful in her mouth and talking around it anyway “ - Mmph, fair.” Swallowing, “Zev-- ” nearly wailed as another spoonful was inserted. “I really don’t,” turning her head before swallowing the second bite, “Want any.”

“Your body requires fuel, princessa,” firmly. “You may not feel hungry, but that is because you have pushed your body into starvation and crisis mode. So, food, you will have it, you do not have to like it, but you do have to eat it.”

“How come - “ giving up and grudging allowing the third bite, “ - You always know best?”

Snorting, “Because I am old and have had to deal with many, many difficult people. Sometimes, subtlety is not the answer as it is lost upon the other person.” As her mouth was full, “Also, I would appreciate it if you did not seek to force Cyni to put everything back the way it was. It was unhealthy. Neither is this, but this is part of growing up, and you put it off for far too long, so now, it is happening all at once. I did not pull you out of a box to put you into another one.”

“He was doin’ it first.” Twadd would have said that ‘a rooster could’ve laid an egg on that lip’.

“He was blunting the extreme reactions you were having,” he gave the bowl a stir to reincorporate everything. “Like when you grab something hot off of the stove or out of a fire, you do something to protect your hand. You do not completely wrap your hand so that you cannot feel where things are, or how hot things are. You do just enough to keep from being harmed. No more, no less. Instead - while I comprehend the logic - you willingly put yourself in a box to rot. A box, querida. A box - I was willing to kill my good friend, your father, over the very idea of him locking you away in a bloody box.”

“Ya - Zev!” as she received another mouthful, “Weren’t lecturin’ me at least.”

“Oh? Truly. Look back upon those fuzzy memories and see just how much ‘lecturing’ there was. Also, do you know what it is like to live with, love, and deal with a potted plant? That is what you had become.” Enunciating each consonant, “A. Pot. Ted. Plant. So, I will then ask you - do you know what I love about those I love?” He didn’t really wait, because her mouth was full anyway, “Personality. Self. Thoughts. There was very little to be had of those very, very, vital things. Any thoughts had to do with what others wanted of you. Any personality was just a copy and extrapolation of what had once been. And there was no sense of self. That is why you were nearly incapable of critical thinking and deductive reasoning on a broad scale.”

“An now yer doin’ this cause Avernus says I can’t paralyze an’body.” No doubt there would have been a flash of anger, if she had been wearing her Joining amulet. “Tattle tale.”

He snorted, “He need not have told me anything. Besides, this old man has quite a few tricks up his sleeve that you know nothing about. If you are lucky, you never will. If you are unlucky, you will find out just what I am capable of, and you will not like it.” Thinking about Cyni and how often he had had to keep him from self harm. Even Twadd, who once or twice had flown off the handle, rare as it was, none of them handled being locked down very well. And all it took was a touch. “They never do.”

“So ya got all those things. Are ya happy, now?” Her edges were ragged and Freya was having difficulty not fighting him physically as another spoonful was put in her mouth. Talking around it, “No, yer not happy, cause you’ve never been happy. It’s all fake! So it doesn’t matter what I do.“

“Did you know that it usually takes five to ten years to mourn the loss of something important, someone, or many someones?” he asked. “Now, here is a hypothetical situation. One day you are happily going about your business, you become wounded, and then the next thing you know, you no longer have the surety of a very large family, many of whom you helped bring into the world, a world that you are no longer in, missing both your soul mates, and are set a difficult task. Now, a year or so later, you get a piece or two of that world back, but that other world - it is gone from your reach. Dead for all functional purposes. Everyone you knew - from the trash pickup driver, to the vegetable carts, to the spice merchant you have always gone to, because they have a family recipe for garam masala that is to die for. Nothing, nothing is yours, or what you knew. And you still have to pick yourself up and start over from scratch, because failure means hurting those around you. If you have any heart, you mourn. And you mourn hard, princessa. It is a struggle, a gasping struggle, a crushing one, to get up each day and do what is necessary. Your only respite is in one person, who gives some light and hope and meaning and worth to that struggle. But you would still mourn.” None of this was likely getting through to her, but that didn’t stop him. “So you get up, you do your best, and eventually you start to relearn the process of what it is to live. And then you find out that the on person who had given anything meaning, had been play-acting the whole time as you tried to claw your way out of a dark abyss. Mourning is natural. I would like to see you do better. Mourn eight generations of family that one moment you were leaving the house to say you had to go do some work for the day, the next - gone. Functionally destroyed. No warning. No fight. Nothing. You think I was unhappy and that anything was false? It was all I could manage while so deep in a pit of despair, and you were my only light! And to find out that the last few years were just a mirage? Of course I am unhappy now. But there is hope to regain it, do not be a fool, girl! You are smarter than that!”

“It’s okay to be sad and be fake but not be sad when one is gettin’ faked? Oh wait! You were! Z’at’s a double standard, Zevran.” Pushing away the next bite, “Stop, it’s too much an’ I’ll be sick.”

“I never ‘faked’ you,” he set the bowl down. “Not once. I smiled for you, because you made me smile, made want to smile. It may not have been a very good one, but it was one that you caused when there would have been none. If you cannot see that then nothing I can ever do would ever prove it to you because you do not want to have it proven.”

“An’ you could say the same thing to Alistair when he’s bein’ dumb or any of the Drydens. You think that stupid amulet only works one way an’ that I can’t figure out when you’re not all here either.”

Growling, he lay his hand on her cheek, amulet in full contact, ’Then read this so there is no mistake. You took the Joining after you had already boxed yourself up and away. The disconnect was due to the fact that you were refusing connection, so I pulled back. Even now you refuse it and refuse to see that I love you and that there is hope for us to have a good life, whatever of it you wish. Instead it is too much work for you to bother with and numb yourself to everything.’

“Oh yes, that was why it was done...too much work. It wasn’t done because I made you unhappy, all the time, oh no that would be bad. ‘Don’t ask stupid questions, do it my way ‘cause I said so, but you better ask questions or else I think you don’t care. Don’t be angry ‘cause that doesn’t get us anywhere.’ You know, you’re absolutely right, just like ya are with everything else, that’s too much work to figure out. I told you to go away, said that I’m too tired, but no, we have’ta have this conversation right now. And look yer not happy....surprise!”

“You did it after the garden, after you gained what you pressed so hard to have,” he reached for calm. “I have told you why I was unhappy and it had nothing to do with you. Now it has everything to do with you, because you lied to me for years. Because you forced me to be the excuse for boxing yourself up. You put yourself in a box, preciosa! You...do you think I am unaware of what harm that is to you? That you would do that to yourself? It is akin to suicide! It is suicide of the self!”

“When you didn’t like something it was put away. I was wonderin’ what would be left. If there’s anything that you really liked ‘bout me at all?” There was more curiosity than sadness, but it was there as well.

Sighing, Zevran sagged, shaking his head, “Right now, anything I say will be considered a platitude. We need to start over, I have wronged you, been vastly unfair while coping poorly with the situation and my grief. Are you willing to do that with me? To give me another chance? You need not agree right away, take your time to consider what you want and the ramifications, I will be here.”

Matching his sigh, “Not ‘wants’ again, Zev. Isn’t that what started this?”

“It is what clued me in to what was going on. Very well I shall put it another way - what you need of me, beyond my presence. What I can do that will make us gel, make us work together, goals. Even if it is to sit with just each other for five minutes every day and hold hands, I do not care, so long as it is something that you desire - for your self and your well being,” seeking to phrase it some way she would understand. “You tell me when you have come to a decision. Hopefully we will not be in battle though, as fighting things tends to be distracting.”

“What do you mean by start over? You hate introductions. An’ as far as workin’ together, none of them, ” gesturing at the door, including everyone outside of it, “Were unhappy until I lost my temper and cried afters.”

“I mean you and I, querida,” he took her hand between his, stroking the bones of fingers and wrist. “As a couple. And I do not think they were happy or unhappy prior. Now they see you as a person, a leader still, but a person. Not something...someone distant. But right now, they are not what is being spoken on. The...the state of our relationship - please, do not laugh, I am having a difficult time not doing so, and that phrase is just...yes, well - what you and I want and need to not just function, but thrive as a couple. However, if you wish to start from the beginning, and do introductions, that can happen also.”

“I’m not the leader, they all talk ta you. No, wait, stop that’s not what I mean. Yes, I mean it, jus’ not right now.” Sighing, “An’ I’m still pickin’ a fight.” Zevran didn’t cut her off, only raised her hand to kiss the fingertips, leaning in to listen, as he watched her huff, working out what she needed. “I mean, I’m sorry too, ‘cause I was wrong an’ we both screwed up.”

Closing his eyes, Zevran pressed her hand to his cheek, “Apologies from you were unnecessary, but not unwelcome. Thank you. Now, well, not right this moment, hmn? We do have a Blight to deal with, however, we also have a relationship to deal with, yes? We will take it slow, finally, truly, get to know one another - no lip service this time. Not from me, not from you. Others - certainly, but us, we should never fall into that trap again. Can we agree upon that? Would you like to add something?”

“What do you mean?” Freya gripped his hand tightly as if he meant to leave. “Are you not going to keep the..” trying to find how she used to describe nightmares as a child, “...scrabbly things in the dark away?”

Puzzled, “Why would I not keep them away? Querida, this is not abandoning or leaving this is...relearning the steps, so that we dance together, not against each other. I am not leaving you, not ever. True, sometimes I may be called away, or you may be called away, but that is not... Leaving. Abandoning. If there is some other meaning to your question, apologies, I am not understanding it.”

“You said, no that was me....” Another tired sigh, “So if we’re not starting at the beginning or starting all the way over, where are we starting?”

Unable to help a chuckle, “I had not meant literally! Wherever you would like to.” Kissing her palm. “It is your decision.”

She snorted, “Is this how you get me to make a decision at long last, cause it’s a really long and convoluted way ta finally get that.”

He stuck his tongue out childishly, “Ny-uhhh! No, you tell me what to do, and I do it, or in this case, respect your decision. And yes, it is difficult to pin you down to get one. But no, not even I am so tricky and insane to have come up with such a meandering path to such a goal.”

“I tell you what to do and you do it? Are you sure?” charily.

“In terms of our relationship - yes,” he nodded. “With the sole proviso that it not do harm unto those we care about, yourself, myself, Twadd, Cyni, your family, and Rory included.”

Rolling her eyes, “Zev, I don’t wanna hurt anybody.”

“Well yes, granted, however, it never hurts to add that, as while I consider it an obvious thing, it should still be said, just in case it was not obvious,” rubbing the back of his neck. “As I do not know what you find obvious in comparison to what I find obvious. That is part of what this is about, yes?”

“Fine.” Arms crossed, expecting to be told ‘no’, “I wanna soak and clean hair and lots of kisses. Then I might be able ta have another bite or two of your fruity grain bowl.”

Cracking his knuckles, Zevran gathered up what they would need, including clean clothes, scooped Freya up, “Your wish.” As he settled the pack better on his shoulder and Freya in his arms, “Is my command, hmn?” He kissed her temple, “Also, I wish to put forth an idea that may help blunt the worst of the ups and downs? But only the worst, it will not smooth everything out, it will not dull your ‘self’, amora. A buffer, that is all.”

“That’s not a very good sellin’ point, Zev. I wasn’t too unhappy bein’ dull and boring. Another sigh, as her forehead rested against his neck. “But tell me, what is it?”

“It helped the others, but cannabis during the times of day when the swings have a tendency to be worst,” carrying her down the halls. “Learning to deal with one’s self is part of the process of becoming an adult, querida. Just as a toddler learns how to communicate and handle their confusion, anger, fear and frustration rather than have tantrums, so too, do adults learn how to cope with difficult odds. That is not to say that assistance in keeping one’s self on an even keel is bad, but unless one is missing a leg or has a broken one, crutches are unnecessary. A cane for someone with a bad leg is natural. That is what I am proposing its use as, something to help, but not something that is all that you can depend upon.”

“I don’t see the difference ‘cept the need to repeat one and not tha other, ‘dosage’ can differ in either one, an’ one is steady and always there, even Cyni said that much when ‘splainin’ why he was helpin’.”

“He was seeking to keep you from his state, and he only blunted, very lightly,” explaining. “And dosage will have to vary anyways, as the state is not constant. Some days you will require more, some days, less. There is no true cantrip or spell or herb or action that will just - poof - make everything steady. Life is also about learning to cope with the ups and downs, without obliterating self or numbing it to the point where it is nearly the same.”

“I get it, you don’t approve,” Freya growled. “So why even do tha other? If life’s all about copin’ then we all gotta go do it on our own an’ go without help or fixin’ anythin’.”

Shaking his head, “No, no, ah...I am saying it wrong. Like medicine for a cough, or going to a healer, or stitching a wound. No one is perfect, and if they are, they would be bloody boring. Just because say...I can stitch a wound on myself, does not mean I should not have a hand. Just because you have difficulty, does not mean you should do without assistance. We each get by with a little help from strangers and much help from our friends or family. You have some issue with the balance of spirit-heart-mind, of what sort I do not know. See,” he paused trying to figure out a way to phrase it as they entered the spring. “Hmn...um...it sounds contrary to you?” He co*cked his head, “Alright, imagine orders of magnitude. To crack a walnut, force is necessary, yes?”

“Just have oxen walk on ‘um in big bags sewn shut.”

“A walnut. A single walnut, amora,” he set her down and began stripping, then unbundling her. “A small paint brush or a large can of paint. Delicacy. Does this make sense? If you have a single scratch in the paint, do you throw a whole paint bucket on it? Or do you take a paintbrush? Or say you have killed someone in a fight. The fight is still going - do you stop and butcher them some more, rendering them down to bone and gristle, or do you move on to the next target? A light hand versus a heavy hand. Just enough versus overkill. Overkill is a waste of energy, time, resources, and often does more harm or opens things up for harm.”

“Well,” ducking to help pull off her blouse. “One walnut isn’t enough to do candied walnuts or to grind up for flour. It isn’t even enough for one person really. They’re too hard to open just one at a time and not worth it, ‘less you have no choice, that’s why you do a bunch.” Freya covered a yawn, “An’ why are you paintin’ them, anyway?”

He set her things aside and hopped into the spring, reaching out to pull her in with him, “Shh, you are tired and I am not making enough sense for you right now. We can discuss this after you have had some rest, hmn?”

“I heard you, you’re havin’ a fight with painted walnuts, although rocks would be better, cause the nuts probably aren’t gonna kill someone, Zev. I suppose somebody could choke on them,” giving him the benefit of the doubt. With disgust, she fingered through her hair, “Avernus doused me with something sticky today when my shield was too slow.”

“Hmn,” he nodded, “yes, I can see that.” As he begun working on her tangled and messy hair, “Sometimes you put the strangest things together. The walnut was an analogy. As was the fight. As was the paint. But they were separate analogies, princessa. When you are rested it will make more sense, yes?”

“I know you usually call me princess when you are annoyed. I also know that you are fixin’ your painted walnuts with a little paintbrush instead of just dunking them in the bucket. I still don’t see the difference, either way the walnut’s covered in paint. An’ yer saying that I don’t need ta be dunked.” It was twisted, but the conclusion was nearly correct.

“I call you ’princessa’ not when I am annoyed, otherwise I would have been annoyed with you for the first six to eight years of our knowing each other, querida,” he pointed out. “But when you require more care, that is when I am more likely to use it I suppose. And no, no one is dunking walnuts in paint. The analogy was that the wall had a scratch, one uses a brush to fix it, not a bucket of paint.”

Dunking her head in the pool when he had worked out the tie and most of the braid, Freya gave up trying to understand what sounded like a very silly story. Avernus had been working her hard, and not just today, It was as though spring had been sensed and was soon to arrive, so he pushed her abilities until there was not more then pulled more out of her.

At first the old mage had determined the extent and direction of her casting abilities were headed. Then daily tests were given to see how Freya would counter spells cast at the group, by either demonstrating or by explaining who would do what, or he called out that someone was incapacitated asking what was an alternative, until the party was whittled down to herself or another member who she then had to pretend to be. The skeletons scattered around the laboratory were placed to represent what they, or rather she was up against.The skeleton known as the Templar ‘George’ usually took the place of any opposing mage or emissary, an assignment which always made Avernus cackle.

Words tangled, she told a funny story that ‘George’ had gotten off some sort of a glue patch, accomplished by a badly tossed pouch of the stuff, however, she hadn’t counted on Avernus’ error and ended up getting doused. Needless to say, ‘George’ ended up with a shield bash and several daggers in his spine, and ‘Morrigan’ toasted his friends while ‘Horse’ and ‘Nathaniel’ cleaned up. It was much like playing with dolls, but with a much deadlier outcome.

By the time he got her all clean, Freya needed to be carried truly this time, as her eyes continued to slide closed drowsily, her arms around his neck. Eschewing clothes, he merely bundled her back into the blanket, trews on for himself, as he could always return some other time to grab the items they had brought down. His lovely girl, his very cranky and lovely girl, was in need of rest and needed no worries over the difference between a light and heavy hand. Tucking her into bed as he had done when she was little, Zevran poked his head out the door to see if Horsie was with Rory or not, as the hound had kept the big warrior company on nights when Freya was particularly not in the mood for people.

...

Finding Twadd was not hard, he was reading contentedly in the library, taking notes and updating how memories were filed. Much to Zevran’s amusem*nt, while the body was young, or relatively so, he had the wire rimmed glass eye-pieces that were made to magnify small print on his nose, looking for all the world like a very large, very burly - and very beautiful - version of the librarians at the Great Archive in Antiva City. A large ledger was beside him, alphabetized tabs to keep things in good order at his elbow, a stack of books before him on a tiered desk as he sat on a comfortable and low chair, one leg outstretched.

’And what is my most gorgeous husband up to?’ a mental shift provided the necessary widening of the chair to accommodate him so he could sit beside Twadd, pressing close, inhaling his scent. Whiskey had long since gained a musky undertone of cloth paper and leather that wasn’t sweat stained, bespeaking home and quiet evenings, writing or studying. ’You have been awfully quiet of late, amora.’

’Ah, Love. I have missed you,’ leaning forward to set aside the heavy records on a low round table with its levels to provide more storage and easily reached tomes. ’I had thought at first that perhaps I had done too much in the Fade. Cyni said it can be tiring.’ Removing the lenses, they were placed carefully on the open pages of the ledger, even though Twadd could dream up another set in a moment and not that they were actually needed here. His husband enjoyed things that did not change, so instead, they were a reminder of how things were. Similarly, if a chair was moved out of place, he was the first one to put it back ‘where it belonged’. Everything had its place, which made for quick retrieval or access to what was needed. Settling back, Twadd patted his lap, the usual invitation for Zevran to make himself comfortable.

Quickly he scooted in, letting out a contented sigh. ’At first?’ He was made to feel safe and secure, no wrong answer, patience and love wrapped around him just as concrete as as the arms about him.

’Cyni says that there is no long lasting harm, although that spoils the ending of my little story, hrm?’ rumbled the warm voice next to his ear, giving comfort while teasing with the little question at the end, which he would have used. Twadd took his time taking in Zevran’s scent as well. Yes, his husband was quite aware who he had been with, spoke to, and what tasks had done all day, but often that occurred in the background if Twadd was in the middle of something or tired as he had been this winter.

Rubbing his face against his handsome husband’s, ’Story? What story? Out with it or I shall have to wrest it from you by vicious Crow means.’

’My, my, ‘vicious Crow means’... the things you say...’ The rumbling deepened, ’It has been some time since you ‘wrested’ anything from me...I believe you might be trying to distract me, my love.’ Taking a taste of sunshine, it was the one of the few bits of coin accepted in the library, other than perhaps a few nips on an ear or some other sensitive place, Twadd resumed his explanation. ’I was touched, or rather struck, by the Sloth Demon repeatedly. From what I gather from Cyni’s ramblings and cryptic illuminations, spirits like us do not recover as quickly. I did ask why he was still working, having gotten rather close to the thing himself, but received no intelligible answer.’

’And the unintelligible?’ prompting, worried and intrigued, but also mostly just longing to hear a voice that was familiar and made sense, while being loved to small pieces and then glued back together again, several times over.

And of course one that listened and didn’t drive him half mad.

’Anguish stops for no man, just his Desire. He has learned to arrive very quietly so that he has time to recover slightly before you find him. I have watched him stumble in here grey with exhaustion and lent him enough energy so that he can make it to his room, to fall over and hibernate before going out again.’ Twadd thought about it for a minute, ’Zevran, when we were in the Fade, hanging onto a thread and husbanding our resources, I couldn’t tell you where Cyni pulled out the energy required for those last few months. At the end, I didn’t have any, he certainly didn’t feel or act like he had any...’ Twadd shook his head, the subject was a little too close to what the gentle man did not like to look at.

’Someone else provided it,’ lips pursing. ’And there were many in our family who would have easily given it.’

’That was my first thought as well, but - and if anything I’m an amateur in this field - I would think that the taste of it would have been different and it wasn’t.’

’Possibly, possibly not, it depends on who handed it over...no, no, none alive would have been close enough,’ rocking back slightly, arms crossed, chin in hand. ’He could drain Fade lyrium, Spirits, Demons, but that would change it. There are also more than one of us, you, him, me, so on, so forth...’ A thought occurred, ’I wonder if he found his Zevran?’

The idea made him strangely jealous, a bolt of it striking hard. It would explain the constant assurance that he had not ‘left’ him. Wouldn’t Cyni be able to tell the difference? He paused, then growled, of course Cyni couldn’t necessarily tell - half the time he was certain that he and Varane were the same demon.

’Aren’t the dead supposed to progress beyond the Fade? At least per Chantry Dogma. Unless someone sucked his soul in, and per Cyni’s story, there was no such thing available.’

’And when do we believe the Chantry knows much of anything, querido? You may be a much ‘better’ Andrastian than myself, but I have found that they tend to not know much. However, we are all linked. Perhaps he cannot go? That I and Haf’cath - at least I assume he is still going, tough as an old boot that one - yet live, perhaps his soul cannot fade? Or the stillborn of myself,’ it was almost more palatable that Cyni found the infant, as Cyni would care for the babe’s soul, than it would be if he had found the other, adult version of his self. Yet, as lucky as Zevran was, he wouldn’t rely upon that. ’If there is something to hold a soul, be it will, interest, unfinished business, or something in a similar vein... Or in our case - because of the interconnecting net if you will...perhaps it holds them in the Fade.’

Exhaling, Twadd rubbed his eye socket with a thick palm. ’It makes more sense than debt repayment for the loan of energy, which is what I have come up with.’

’Hmn, repayment of whom? And perhaps that is also true, they lent the energy needed, and now it has had to be paid back?’ worrying at the puzzle.

’Cyni’s not here, when he comes back he’s exhausted and is adamant that he hasn’t left you, says that all he does is done for you, and gained access to energy to sustain us that tasted like us... Am I missing anything, Love?’

’No, no I do not think that you are,’ sighing. ’So, he has someone to speak with, ask for help when it is necessary, and to spend time with outside of us.’ Finding his dry humour, even as he fought the jealousy, ’Well, at least our boy is all grown up and becoming social.’

’What worries me is the talk of ‘breaking’, of a ‘shattering’ of ‘Desire’. However it is past tense, whatever it is has already happened as he ‘cannot do it again.’ forehead furrowing.

Zevran nodded, ’And of the center not holding. Perhaps when we are all dead we will find the truth of it all. Pressing him only agitates him, so that is unwise. Better to watch for further clues.’

’He has left no new memories since arriving. I suppose you could try his room of drawings. I could venture further than the door, but it is not a public space.’ Twadd met his gaze again, ’Although Cyni sustained and refused to cast me away to save resources during our stay in the Fade, we are not true brothers.’

Stroking at his husband’s temples, ’It was Gaeaf’s doing, obviously. It has left its scars upon his psyche. I swear, if I ever get a hold of him again, I am going to -’ making a face. ’Well I will probably jump on him and hug him. And then give him a piece of my mind. Like Cyni, he does what is in his nature, what he understands... However, he was cruel. And deserves to have his ass kicked from one room to another several times over.’

’Cyni did not refuse Gaeaf’s assistance with the singing. As much as I would enjoy assisting in the booting, that anguish may have been forgiven by the one who was actually wronged.’

Grumbling, ’Or more likely to ensure that it succeeded. As anything he has done ‘everything for Desire’ as he is wont to say.’

Twadd cleared his throat, ’But, the beating of Gaeaf and the mystery that is Cyni is not why you have come to seek comfort or laughter, only one I appear to have offered you so far this evening. And that comfort appears to be rather questionable at the moment, too.’

Kissing his beautiful husband all over his strong features, ’Your comfort is never questionable, amora. Your name should be Chysuro for all things comforting. Or Fenwyd for joy. Because for me those are things you always are, amora.’ He snorted, ’Besides, I crave adult conversation you know and it is in short supply these days, hmn? Either it is not understood because it is some strange puzzle, or it is received so...convoluted... How in the blazes did anyone ever explain the concept of delicacy and overkill to Freya? Did nothing Zama put into her head stick? Because she surely would have explained such a vital concept to their magics...’

Snickering, ’You forgot how nearly all of our children, and theirs in turn, forgot everything they learned for a time. Simple things, is this an angry or happy face? What happens when a glass gets knocked over? Who cleans it up? Who does the laundry? Why can’t I find my shoes? She’ll need to finish climbing out of that pit. And no doubt Avernus is refreshing those very concepts of that again. No, you are not crazy. Yes, she will become human or adult or whatever term you would like to use to define the end of the stupid phase.’ Pulling him closer, ’So, what other minor nuisances can I provide fatherly reassurance over?’

Squirming deeper into Twadd’s embrace, he just sighed, ’I cannot imagine ever having a stupid phase...it must truly be a trial to have misplaced one’s mind.’ Burrowing in, as though it were possible, Twadd’s tunic parted with a thought, then stretched oddly so that it could hold him too, ear tucked against the side of neck. ’I just have my irritated or needy phases. Hmn...I believe I figured out why Helion was always so high during his teens - to cope with Bryce! Hah!’ Grousing, ’And she complained about my consumption, said it was no different. She locked herself away in a box, because she thought it would make me happy. And she cannot comprehend that I was in mourning. Truthfully, I still am, but it is getting easier, yes? Granted I was an ass, but, I am only a man.’

’Even though it will hurt to hear, I will say it as my intent is not to harm but to provide knowledge for understanding.’ Squeezing him with tight hug, ‘The boxes we put ourselves into are chosen...even the very first one was a choice. Your box of being here, was not chosen by yourself and I am very sorry for that. You were beyond asking when the question of success without death was answered. I maintained that you should have been asked at the first, but Cyni was unwilling to raise hopes and yes, I understand his concern, even now. I’m sorry, Love.’

Kissing him again, soothing, ’It is alright, amora. What is done is done, shh. It is your lives also, just because the third party was not present, the majority ruled and chose.’

Chapter 6: Złota Baba's Augury

Chapter Text

The Dalish were next, after a brief pit stop in Denerim, where Zevran quickly slinked off to see Ignacio. Who had been rather...surprised...by having someone enter so easily. There was a moment when things could have gone very badly, but didn’t as he released a bit of information that he had been holding, something he had long suspected, but never had proof of. Adaia had been a Crow, was the Crow who Ignacio ‘chased’ to Ferelden. And that she had died in such a mean fashion, not even dead from Crow retribution, but at the hands of guards who she could have so easily killed. If Mio hadn’t been in the alleyway that day and at risk. Ignacio had shuddered, sinking back down into the ceramic bathtub, willing to listen. They had discussed how Miolanai’s education in Antiva progressed, he passed on the news of Shianni and Nelaros’ wedding, chuckled at the hiring of the Guild to kill Vaughn, and how payment had been received. No matter that the Arl was dead and gone, his contract had been sent out before such trifling details as patricide occurred. It was only important that a poisonous snake in the garden had been removed before hapless children startled it and were bitten.

“So, you are the soothsayer?” Ignacio looked at him askance. “Some interesting news has been heard from my homeland.”

“Oh? And what has our roost said?” perched comfortably on a table, legs akimbo, elbows on knees as his fingers twined together.

“You intrigue them, especially since you have said often to a dark-skinned bird that you are not one of us,” water sloshed as the Crow Master rose unselfconsciously to dry off.

Lips quirking, “I am not an active Crow any longer, this is true. The Guild in this place has no hold over me, nor should they wish to. The consequences could be...far-reaching and a change in management would happen rather speedily.” He flicked his fingers dismissively, “However they are smart enough to be cautious. For now I do not seek to meddle in their affairs. When I do, I will let you know, as I have had a soft spot for one who cares for Mio. It is a pity that Adaia could not be saved also, but that would have caused...complications, yes?” Shrugging, “Never mind all that, it is not why I have come. You have work for us, work that will prove to the Guild that any contract Loghain offers is to be left aside. We have already handled those at the Pearl. The Kadan-Fae are next, yes? I have also killed a Sten of the Beresaad that was in Lothering. He would have passed on information vital to an invasion force for the Qun’ari into Ferelden.”

Ignacio shook his head, “It is lamentable, but the contract has already been received. I cannot hinder them, but I also may choose to not assist beyond what they are allowed to requisition.” Washed out grey eyes met his evenly, “That much is to be done for what you have provided before. Salvail also sends coded greetings, something about a healthy wariness for the familiar.”

Taking in the information, Zevran processed it. There were many Crows he had known in his days. Most were moderately memorable, all would be familiar.

Grunting, he changed the subject, “Armand. He is under your command. Did you send him to Antiva or is he here?”

“Antiva of course, he is a familiar face for Mio,” a shrug. “I would have sent Cesar, but I need him here to handle the day to day affairs.”

“Take note - he will be a good Guildmaster one day, unless Salvail takes the seat first,” rubbing the side of his nose with a finger. “I am undecided if you should be the next one after this Blight business is finished, for the Qun’ari come next. You are intelligent, cunning, and you have a fondness for efficiency while not mistreating those under you. And the hot air will do your old joints some good. If you decide to take it, then send Salvail here as the Crow Master - Armand will not leave Mio’s side is my guess, and she would be unhappy here. Of course, it would be up to you.”

A thick piled towel was wrapped around hips, covering the sagging skin of thigh and ass, but those were minor things, Zevran could see the line of muscle was still there, still tight, and knew that Ignacio was still a force to be reckoned with if roused to anger. “It is an interesting concept you have of not meddling.”

“Ah, yes, I forget sometimes that people have a difficult time with knowing their futures,” smiling enigmatically, having not forgotten at all and they both were aware of it. “But take it as a warning to take care of yourself and yours. The hammer and the anvil must be strong and have the will to be what they must.”

Glasses of wine were poured after the bottle was shown, but Zevran waved to take the bottle instead, an action which made Ignacio twitch a smile. “So the other things Salvail hinted at are true. Interesting.”

“Quite possibly,” he took a long pull of the red wine, thick, sweet and dry at the same time, with a soft lavender and peach finish. Savouring the treat, “All winter the best I had was cannabis grown by my protege and his Chasind witch. Not a drop of wine worth drinking, only cooking with. Thank you my friend, it is greatly appreciated. As for any poison in it - ”

“If you are a soothsayer then you already know,” Ignacio sipped from his glass.

Smacking his lips, Zevran took another pull, letting the wine roll around in his mouth. “Or I just have a very delicate palette. At least you put nothing in it that I cannot resist. Adds a nice cocoa layer to it. I like it. Hopefully next time we meet, you have another bottle prepared similarly, as I do enjoy the taste of blackblister in this vintage. Quite nice, hmn?”

Ignacio chuckled in surprise, “You are either very good at fortelling things, or you truly do have a good palette.”

He took a sniff of the bottle, “I am an elf, Ignacio. Much like your daughter in all but blood. Frankly though, I wonder sometimes... How far back you may have had an elf in your family?”

There was a twitch of an eyelid, but no other indication of surprise, “Everyone has an elf in the woodpile as they say. And her eyes are just like Jeraldin.”

“I barely remember him,” Zevran frowned, thinking. “He had a fondness for women who were tiny. Which Adaia was, yes? Could play the little girl, the angel and the whor* for him. No wonder she killed him. I would have done it myself in her position. Sometimes scum is just scum no matter the gilt and glitter it wears.”

Ignacio also frowned, “I do not remember you having been in the training barracks or even the apprentice warrens.”

Brows bouncing high, “Ah, yes, true, true. Well, perhaps you will hear the story from Salvail himself sometime. I am merely here for the work you wish carried out. Also to ask what sort of ruckus Alba or Indira might raise over the Crows sent on the contract? Whose head will be mounted upon Alba’s walls? Whose body might be stuffed and posed in their death throes? Perhaps someone should kindly remind the Guild of the core tenents of why we exist. Antiva first, its protection - from within, without, and below. And while you are asking such vital questions, perhaps adding the one as to why a Warden might be important during a Blight.” Sloshing the bottle at Ingacio as he scooped up the ‘interesting reading material’, “I will take this as a gift, and as for pay of the services already rendered and those that are coming - purchase hearty seed grain and have it sent to Bryce Cousland. The Bannorn burned some and the devistation is...not good for the coming time. So, please do that in advance?” Taking a page from Cyni’s book, “The anvil must not crack, or the hammer will shatter it. And the blade will fly, yes?”

....

The key to working with Herren was to make ‘Master’ Wade feel appreciated and give him worthy materials for his crafting. Most might, given the forge, assume that the smith only worked on heavy metal armours, but in truth, he was also artist with leather. Anyone looking at the Felon’s Coat on display should have been able to see it. The story of the armour was known, that it had been owned by someone particularly dangerous. Wade, was a very fickle man and perhaps had grown unhappy with the owner so the merchandise was repossessed. Given his skills alone, Wade was a good man to keep happy as he would be needed in the future as well.

And so he entered with a large bundle of materials, drakeskin, teeth, bone, snowy pelts, and solid silverite pieces that could be melted down or reworked. However, the other trick to working with Herren, was to not desire all of the materials for their own. Rory needed better armour, his own was fine but showing it off to Wade would be a good idea, it might lower the prices. And Leliana could do with some solid drakeskin or something inscribed. His main purpose, other than to get something decent for Rory, was to have Wade work on a cloak for Freya. He didn’t like her just making do with layers of cloaks and pelts, and while spring was well on its way, they still had to travel, who knew with Ferelden weather what would happen as they continued their trek? Granted for now her method would be good enough, giving Wade time to work his art while they went to treat with the Dalish.

Sauntering in he dropped the large pile of goods on Herren’s table, “Ah, hello Herren, it is good to see you! I have a few requests to make and many purchases, and I have brought some passable materials.” Unfastening the bundle, “Ah, let me see, yes, drakeskin, some good bone, hrmn, silverite, a bit of that elven metal - what was it?”

Wade veritably danced in, “Veridium? Ohhh - and silverite! Oh oh and look Herren - drakeskin!”

“Mmn, yes, I see that Wade,” Herren was clearly unimpressed with all of it.

“And, why, yes, I do, ah...” Zevran hid his smile as he pulled out several ingots of white steel he had ‘found’ in Ignacio’s warehouse, plunking the wealth down as though it were nothing.

Wade nearly squealed, certainly squeaked, “White steel!?! Oh Herren! You simply must let me use these!”

“Wade is a genius,” assured Harren nasally, “Truly you will be amazed by his work. But he shouldn’t deal with customers. If you need anything, please talk to me.”

“Even from my far off homeland, I have known of Wade’s work, and I knew that since I was in Ferelden, I simply must look up such an esteemed artisan of the craft,” Zevran leaned on the counter nodding sagely. “So of course I would speak to you first, but having the pleasure of meeting Master Wade in the flesh, why, it is truly remarkable to meet the great mind behind such things as this,” his hand reached out to caress the Felon’s Coat. “Even the common and everyday armours,” wandering over to a rack bearing inscribed leathers, “are crafted so carefully. How can they not be admired? It never ceases to amaze me the quality of work poured into mere chainmail for soldiers. How many lives has such a thing,” he picked up a heavy length of chainmail, giving it a shake to display the tight patterns and how, while heavy, it still moved wonderfully, “as this saved?” Tutting theatrically, “These are just as vital, and appreciated by their wearers no doubt about that, my friends, as the fantastic and pure art of the craft.”

Wade was nearly bouncing around trying to show him things, complaining about this or that material, the process for each thing. Zevran played dumb, even though anything short of actual smithing with hammers and forge, he knew the inside out of. He probably even knew a few tricks that Wade didn’t, but those were clan secrets and not something he would divulge unless asked outright. As it was cold yet, Zevran was wearing his cloak, the camel and silk blended interior was a detachable cloak in of itself, in molted colours - green, grey, black, brown and white since he was in Ferelden. The second lining was in his pack, lighter and the colours of the steppes. But with the cloak on, as he and Wade paced back and forth across the shop and then even into the forge, it eventually brushed the smith. Which Zevran had intended, as the cloak’s make was far heavier throughout than just a mixed media fur and wool one would be.

There was a pause, the bald head co*cking, “This cloak...”

“Hmn, yes, I happened upon a snowcat and thought it would make a fine cloak, much as I have found a second pelt to have a second cloak made,” whisking it off of his shoulders, unhooking the clasps from his baldrics. “Pelt, drakeskin, a few hidden pockets, yes? And a fine lining of my people’s own art.”

Wade was momentarily serious, snatching the cloak from Zevran’s hands, examining it. Fingers worked at the ties, as Zevran went to the sour faced Herren. There had been a mixed set of chain-scale-plate mail that he had noticed earlier.

Pointing to it, “How much would that be?”

“Eighty sovereigns,” Herren didn’t even glance. “It is a historical piece and Wade uses it as an example, so it is not really for sale.”

“Eighty sovereigns? That is all?” raising a brow. “Make it ninety if you throw in a fitting for my friend, boots and gloves,” he pulled out from his pack the great weight of gold and silver, beginning to count.

Herren scowled, “Your friend?”

“Yes, my friend,” mildly, flicking a glance up towards the blond. “My wife has her own armour and has no need of new at this time.”

The shemlen relaxed slightly, “Oh. That is good then.”

Snorting as he realized why the man had been so tense, “Do not worry, the other armour is for my lover. I like them big and broad shouldered. Your territory is safe.”

“Well then, Evon the Great’s mail will cost you seventy-five sovereigns, eighty-five for boots, greaves, and vambraces,” turning surprisingly generous.

“Herren! Herren! What is that customer’s name?” Wade’s voice was almost shrill.

Zevran handed over the coins for what would be Rory’s new armour, “Zevran, Zev to my friends, sometimes gentleman, sometimes Crow at your service.”

“Zevran, Wade, what is it now?” the put upon air was back in full force, reappearing faster than it had been gone.

“This, this -” the cloak was shaken, a small stamp near the collar showing Wade’s maker’s mark.

Herren looked at it, then back at Zevran, mist swirling up from his hands, the smell of magic heavy in the air, the voice distorting, “Who are you?”

“A customer, nothing more,” Zevran would not reach for his weapons, not just yet. “From a different place, a different Wade made that, still your worry.” Nose flaring and the back of his neck prickled, “Demon, be unafraid, I am not here to take your prize, territory, nor banish you. Your business here is your own, so long as the harm you cause to others is minimal.”

‘Herren’s’ voice rolled out, a queer, echoing blend of male and female, “You call me a demon?” Laughter, “Very well - what is it you want in trade for our safety?”

“To do business, nothing more,” mouing in distaste at the demon’s statement. “I will buy the chainmail, some other items, request a cloak similar to the one your partner holds, and at later dates, bring dragon scale and bone for use. Your secret is safe with me, as I find you more useful in your current contexts than you would be in others.”

The smoking vision that faintly stretched Herren’s form to that of a Desire demon subsided, returning him to the state of being ‘just’ a man. “It will be a pleasure doing business with you then.”

Inclining his head briefly, “A mutual pleasure, yes.” Zevran moved to stretch out the cloak, showing Wade its specifications. “There are pockets here that are doubly lined to keep contents safe, food pouches, books, missives, similar things, yes? And straps inside to keep everything in place.”

“What’s this, what’s this?” the smith was distracted as Zevran’s arm twisted, while gesturing, brown eyes tracking the motion and he grabbed his forearm, examining the vambrace.

“Something from home,” Zevran said softly, wistfulness entering his voice unwillingly. His fingers traced the sigils in the flesh. “From my eldest daughter.” A touch to his left pauldron, “My second daughter.” The chest piece, “My first husband.” He turned, showing the back, “My mother.” He tapped the skirt, “All of them.” His leg pieces came next, “My adoptive father.”

Wade blinked, not comprehending, “The dyes, how did the dyes get in the leather like this?”

“Because it was tattooed into the living flesh, healed, and when dead, the areas removed became my armour,” he explained, unable to keep from running a hand over the breastplate. “My mother in law called this the Endless Embrace, as it came from those I loved. It is the way of my mother’s people, yes? Our dead serve us if they were honoured, our loved ones protect and are cherished, our enemies are made practical with their deaths as well. Boot soles, saddles, buckets, tent partitions, waterskins, so on, so forth.” Offering, “I have one that was dubbed Skins of the Fallen that you may examine if you wish, but do not alter it in any way.”

Wade was amazingly unflustered by the admission of the leather source, “Yes! Let me see it - straight away! Bring it with you when you come for those fittings!”

Bowing, “Your wish then.”

....

Conveniently, the Arl of Redcliffe was dead and no one had been appointed in his place as Teyrn Loghain, acting as Regent for his daughter the Queen, had yet to call a special Landsmeet. Quick to take advantage of the Arl’s now empty estate, except for a few servants who were squatting and quickly put to work, the companions stayed there. It was probably not as nice as the Cousland’s Denerim estate but for obvious reasons, they could not stay there.

The Arl’s library, as in times past, contained a vast number of tomes. Freya nearly squealed as they had read everything available at the Peak, the limited reading material was passed around the companions. Bodahn, who had arrived in Denerim just after they did, complained because much of the wagon was loaded with looted books and maps. As for the rest of the estate, anything locked was opened and gone through to see if it was useful, although the servants had gone through some items, most were hoping to be re-employed so anything that was particular to the estate, in a hidden vault, or was too large to move was still on site and intact. So Zevran drew up a few letters for Teagan and left them in places as not quite ‘I owe you’s but more to explain that it wasn’t the serving staff who had made off with the goods.

As for the late arls of Denerim, Zevran considered going through there, and he likely still would, as he remembered there was a particularly tricky set of locks with a nice prize of forty or fifty sovereigns, but for the most part it wouldn’t be worth the visit. However, Nathaniel was technically the rightful heir to the estate, as Rendon had had paperwork and writs stating that he could have the title in the event that there were no surviving claimants after Ostagar. Since there were not - Ignacio had seen to that, interestingly at Bryce’s request apparently - that made Nathaniel the de facto heir to all of Rendon’s holdings. For now, Delilah held Amaranthine in technical trust.

Zevran with Nathaniel and Leliana contentedly plowed through the minor tasks in the city, the bard switched out for Rory and Freya, with Horsie romping along happily for what he knew would be the heavier items that required actual fighting. Or fighting with heavy hitters frankly. He had to admit that Rory cut a very fine figure in his new armour, as did Freya, but hers wasn’t so ‘new’, even if Alistair had whined over the fact that he ‘never’ got new armour. Of course that completely ignored the fact that Alistair, himself, and Nathaniel had had the best armour at the start already, with Freya running a close second. Rory had to make do with his well worn guard’s scale-leather and chain set, with Leliana and Morrigan the worst off with either the clothes off their back at the start, or something that was almost passable in Morrigan’s case.

It made Zevran wonder sometimes at the extreme differences in others during that age. Some, like his lovely girl and the big buffoon, seemed to misplace their logic-brain and common sense when understanding certain things. While others, like himself of course, Nathaniel, Rory and even Morrigan, never let go of their firm hold on such vital things. He supposed it had something to do with safety and security. And the case of those he had just listed, they were all jaded, supremely so, other than Rory, who only had a faintly sarcastic edge. But then there was also his beautiful husband - he had never completely lost his head, and the memories he had seen of ‘before’ had been similar. Twadd was always faintly serious, more so than Rory, who between the pair, had been the joker, making light of things and teasing his gorgeous and studious Twadd. Sometimes it was all Zevran could do to not gnash his teeth and tear at his hair, sending him fleeing for the ‘adult’ conversation and presence of Nathaniel like there was a fire under his ass.

But from the mouths of babes came wisdom, as Nathaniel had pointed out during one of his grumbling and swearing episodes, his words unintelligible, the good Howe had reminded him that the others had yet to lose their innocence. And then he had asked Zevran if that was what he wanted - to see the others have such things ripped away from them, rather than allowing it to fade. Well he had to admit that the young man had a point. But Zevran was completely obligated to point out that he could still bitch to a fellow cynic, especially since said cynic owed him one - and he was collecting on the debt in the form of having someone sardonic to help him keep his feet firmly planted and prevent him from devolving into a shouting match with the ones who lost their brains somewhere along with their shoes and kept asking him to go find them for them.

Sadly it was usually only the footwear that was found.

As for Rory’s new armour, Alistair’s upset had been firmly put in place by the sweet tempered redhead, and rather well at that. Zevran had sat back with Nathaniel, sharing a bowl of popped corn as they smoked their ganja, trying hard not to do more than smirk. Even Leliana who was rather sweet on Alistair had been reduced to smothering her giggles. Especially when Alistair tried to assert that he was a man, not a boy, and that he was older than Rory, who had only nodded and said ‘okay’ a few times. That had left Alistair so flustered his arms had almost waved in consternation, nearly hopping as he tried to rein in his impulsive denials. It had been altogether entertaining.

The scene became even more amusing, when Freya, who had not heard the exchange, as she had been busy fishing a few items out of the dwarves’ cart, came over. Interrupting she asked Alistair to hand over the shield he had been using and when he did so, he sputtered when Freya handed the shield, which had once belonged to Eamon, to Rory. As the blond began to open his mouth and really complain, she handed him a new grphyon emblazoned shield which they had found at the Warden Vault. Picking up Rory’s shield and returning it to the cart, Freya missed the flabbergasted gaping fish mouth expression left in her wake, but the laughter it caused in the audience would be easily remembered months later. All anyone would have to do was to make a fish face and Alistair would turn red as everyone howled. Even Nathaniel who had an amazingly light laugh, something that had been rare since their return to Ferelden and if Morrigan was nearby - which she generally was - if one looked her way fast enough, her expression would be both confused and soft at once at the sound of young Howe’s laughter.

Isabella was of course at the Pearl and her greeting was typically lascivious and warm, however she didn’t know him. Apparently recently freed of her husband’s shackles, she had become even more of a wildcat, her offer to bed everyone in the party - at once or one at a time - bespeaking of just how recent that freedom had been. He was happy she was well, even if the weight of her gaze caressing Freya from head to toe for long minutes had him ready to roll his eyes and tell her to shove off. Instead Leliana got pushed forward somehow along with Alistair, who, even more to Zevran’s amusem*nt, had gone off, lead by the two women.

Shrugging at Freya, “Perhaps there is hope for that boy yet.”

Cloak collected, finished with amazing alacrity - then again the leather had been tanned over the winter and the pelt had been properly tended as well so there was rather minimal work that had to be done on it - he squirreled it away and they left Denerim for the Brecilian. He wished he had his father’s nose and ears to aid the search, but Morrigan’s would do as an extra, as would Horsie’s. Zathrian grated as much as the last time he had been spoken with, the way his eyes lingered over Zevran making him come close to snarling. Even if the Keeper hadn’t moved his clan around much, he was old enough to have travelled as far as Antiva and to know the clans there. To know of the sorts of things they whispered of, trying to frighten each other around camp fires.

This time, Zevran actually understood why he had garnered the reaction he had from his mother’s people. And it also added further understanding to Sarel and Zathrian’s reactions to him. Varathorn was also old enough to have been at least sent to other clans for further study and was also obviously aware of Zevran’s ‘differences’. However the craftsman seemed more intrigued rather than put off, especially when viewing Zevran’s armour. While the others were off playing in the camp and setting up their own, or in the case of Freya, assisting those who were injured, he and Varathorn settled in for a good time working on armours or other items, discussing technique and, for Zevran, relaxing.

“There was one like you that came by here some time last year,” Varathorn said in his smoothly robust tenor. “Looked a lot like you.”

“My father,” Zevran tested the spear they were working on before tucking it back in its place under the pile of coals. “Eu’rai’ddvinnen.”

A furry grey brow shot up, “Something day?”

“The language is lost more here in Ferelden, but it is ‘golden dawn’,” grunting as they moved to the anvil to work on the spear’s head, a broad leaf shaped metal blade. “I suppose then that he gave his use name? Nune? For ‘no one’ or ‘none’.”

“Hmn, that he did,” the head was pulled from the fire, ready to be struck. The hammer clanged musically, but it was loud, and Zevran’s ears curled in to protect and funnel the worst of the noise away. “Shemlen scarred him? As I see you are intact - “ a glance was flicked towards Zevran’s ears as they flexed, the craftsman’s own unable to do more than twitch to filter or block sound.

“The clan scarred him,” correcting. “A rival and rather than kill...well, the Arlathanlen are barbaric. A challenge, he lost, and that was done to him, then he was cast out.” Grinning, “Though we returned some time later to pull them out from their hovels and tell them it was time to join the world, or to live in shackles. You would do well to go to the Hundred Pillars with the clan at some point. They are in sore need of learning some of what you know, just as you are in need of learning much of what they know.”

The afternoon had passed companionably in that fashion and Zevran let himself focus while wandering, settling into the actions. Varathorn had him pass this or that item as they worked, Zevran happy to be the apprentice in this, and a few of the carved handles and bone knives he had made were traded as payment for the education and supplies. He also promised to show Varathorn the method in which Nune made his stone blades, the chipped obsidian and quartz sharper than most metals, even if they didn’t hold up as long and weighed more.

Wandering over to the halla, Zevran told Elora what the issue was, sniffing at each of the animals once as though checking each over. His fellow elf had hugged him exuberantly, her relief palpable. He had only nodded and told her to keep the infected halla separate, that they would deal with the curse and not to worry.

Having traded for a massive wheel of halla cheese, the firm and piquant smell of it made his stomach rumble happily as he began carving into the four pound wheel, cutting it into manageable sections. Alistair had gravitated to him almost immediately, salivating at the smell, and Zevran handed him a wedge for eating, another, larger chunk to keep in his pack. Getting the future king of Ferelden addicted to Dalish cheese was amusing, as the thought could easily be put in place that trade with the Dalish for such foodstuffs would be a good starting point for softening the difficulties between shemlen and the clans.

A bag of medicinals was tossed Morrigan’s way, along with some poisons and the like, and a pair of earrings he had found were passed off to Nathaniel.

“And you think these will look good on me?” a wry twist of lips, one of the dangling silver and shimmering citrine fishhook earrings held up beside his face.

Rolling his eyes, “Yes, I am courting you my good Howe. I like a man who can wear earrings with impunity.”

In his mind there was laughter from Twadd, a tickle of his left earlobe and the earring there.

“Then I’ll have to decline and give them to someone who would look much better in them,” Nathaniel set the fine filigreed set back in their tiny leather pouch.

“Oh that is too bad for me then,” lamenting theatrically. “I am to be left wanting! Woe! And again I am rejected! My life is pain! Misery I say!”

It wasn’t until after dinner that Freya returned from the makeshift infirmary looking several years older wiping recently washed hands on her thighs as if she couldn’t get the blood of them. No doubt she had tasted the magic in the curse while healing the infected elvhen and knew that something nasty was afoot. Pouring out her healing reserves, which had been deepened over the winter’s practice, she had been eventually welcomed by the family members caring for the sick, but Zathrian had kept a discrete and watchful eye on her. Thankfully, as the Keeper’s attention was elsewhere, this allowed the rest of the party to move about almost freely. Alistair and Rory assisted in a wheel replacement on one of the aravels and Leliana learned new stories and songs courtesy of Sarel and the children - no doubt ones to teach how evil and mean all shemlen were - and later spoke with Lanaya.

Ducking into the yurt for a clean set of clothes, Freya headed to the pool near the camp to wash the stains and smells from herself and her clothes. The glance she gave him and the hound on the way indicated that their company would not be unwelcome. And so he made his goodevenings and ventured into the dragon’s lair to see what new thing had developed.

Tugging off his boots, he piled them where they wouldn’t get wet, “Hmn, you look lovely as always, preciosa.”

“Either you are tryin’ to be funny or you didn’t really look, Zev.” Throwing her tunic and leggings in the pool, she was quick to follow them into the chilly water with a gasp.

“Or it is quite possible that perhaps I think you always look lovely, querida,” he snorted as he slid into the water. “And since I have always thought you looked lovely. It is my opinion and trying to change it would just be illogical. Even when things are thrown or gore is splattered, lovely is what you are.”

She set a rock on the clothes to hold them under the surface and so they wouldn’t float away while she washed. “Yes or no. Could we have stopped this...” Unsure what to call it, Freya waved a hand back at the clan’s fires, “Before it all started?”

“No,” he shook his head, not elaborating as all she requested was a yes or no, even as he itched to explain somewhat, to tell her that it was an old curse.

“Fine then we’ll go play in the woods tomorrow. I’ve pushed everything back and maybe bought a day or two.” Vigorously scrubbing with sand as if trying to remove a layer of skin, “I’m getting creepies up my spine.”

Raising a brow, “Creepies from what direction?”

Ducking her head, she came back up with a cold chill shudder and another handful of sand, “Everywhere, but it’s probably just from the taste of the blood. It’s bad, an’ twisty, an just wrong.” Vehemently scrubbing her other arm, “I just want it off’a me, out’a my mouth…it’s all I can taste an’ smell. All magic an’ hate.“ Muttering, repeating herself, “It’s just wrong.”

“Yes, it is,” moving to help her with her hair. “We will right the wrong. And perhaps Alistair will stop grumbling over armour for a little while.”

Everywhere Freya could reach was scoured from brown to almost raw, had she been a snake she probably would have torn off several layers of skin just to get the the feel of the curse off her. “Why’s Alistair complaining? I thought he was happy with his new shield... Oh,” seeing the connection, “Rory’s new armour...”

“Because it is bright and shiny,” agreeing. “Of course the Alistair I knew upon a time nearly pissed himself in joy over Duncan’s shield. Like an excited pup that does not know whether to wag or squat and so does both.”

She sighed, “The Gryphon one was a nicer shield, but Rory’s not a Warden so it’s only right that Alistair have it. But I didn’t think that Duncan and he were very close. Zev, was that because of something that was fixed?” Twisting to kiss him, to thank him for helping, Freya delayed the answer for a minute.

Eventually parting, “Yes. He would have been locked in cloistered life for years, Isolde having driven Eamon to that length. Not that the old bastard treated Alistair all that well either, as evidenced by Alistair’s memories not being so glowing once he had a true example to compare things to. But with Duncan’s death, he became disconsolate, changing from a sarcastic and somewhat staunch-willed young man to...how we see him on his worst days. He relied upon Loghain and Eamon far too much, and was seen as not strong enough to bully the other lords when it was needed. For now, our Alistair may be a bit...trying to deal with, but he is learning, while having the safety of the group to watch his back. When put upon the throne, he will have some further growing pains, but by the time the anvil is needed, he will be ready.”

“He doesn’t even know who everybody is, an’ if he really becomes King he’s gonna need help and ‘nora not all that friendly.” Tutting, “Poor Alistair, I’d turn around go home if I were him, she’s not worth the ride across tha country.”

“He could rule without her,” he put forth cautiously. “Gain a princess or some other noble or common woman whom takes his fancy. Say a redheaded bard? Though, personally, an Antivan princess would be better. Tie the countries together enough so that Antiva has a ‘reason’ to give aid, yes?”

Sorrowfully, “But to have everything planned out like that...might as well name his children an’ his dog an’ announce which side of the bed he’ll sleep on.”

“And having him share with Anora would be better?” asking, honestly curious as to how she would possibly think that. “Put him on the throne and Ferelden will survive without half of it laid to waste. Beyond that, anything is left to others’ choices. Except Anora. She will get in the way and will be dealt with by someone, without me even having to tell them or suggest to them that it would be wise.”

“Zev, I didn’t say that any of it was bad, I said that it’s sad to have no choice about it, especially something so important. It should go to someone who not only will do a good job but wants, or doesn’t terribly mind, being there. I know, ‘anyone who wants the throne will want it for the wrong reasons’.” Sighing again, “I’m just sorry for him, ‘zat’s all. Well, an’ wonderin’ who’s going to be unhappy next.”

He co*cked his head, “Give it to Bryce then. The man has done enough that he has functionally become the ruler of Ferelden. But then Alistair is a threat, no matter that he will not be one. Others will use Alistair. Or Anora. Both would have to die. It is better to rule from the throne, than be chased by agents who wish to put you on it, or kill you. Braska, if I actually wanted the responsibility I would do it myself and sit on a throne. But they are too hard and the crow weighs too much - have you ever sat on a throne before? It is enough to give a man piles.”

“King Maric had a pillow and it was squishy,” a sly grin on her face, but brown eyes dropped to the water for a moment as she considered the Alistair problem. “He hasn’t gone around announcing that’s he’s anything other than a Warden. Sure, we all know, but last time I checked few seem to care what we think, let alone ask.”

“By the time a Landsmeet is called to deal with all of this, everyone will know. Bryce has been grooming Alistair for the throne, querida,” finally moving to wash himself. “It is not a secret and has not been much of one for quite some time. I have always wondered why Cailan specifically said Alistair must go light the Tower of Ishal’s beacon. Twadd was uncertain and has been divided about my supposition. Cailan knew Alistair was his brother. And sent him to what he thought would be the safest point in the battle. How does that sound to you? What does that make you think of? To a tactician of any skill, it should sound like a backup plan for the country.”

“Shoulda put ‘nora on the front lines, darkspawn all would’a gone home just ta avoid comin’ in for tea. But, I’m not gonna argue with both you and Papa, there’s no use in my even tryin’. All I’m sayin’ is, I wouldn’t want to know and Alistair won’t either.” The smell of blood finally out of her nose, she sniffed him. “You’ve been playing with fire. Anything useful at the craftsmen?”

Quashing the urge to over-explain, “Some things, yes. I promised Varathorn he could look over my armour at a later date, traded some of those blades and handles I had worked on over winter, and got us a few things. Not even Alistair can pack away a four pound wheel of cheese by himself, so I am not overly worried about it...”

“Oh cheese, with some round hole-y bread, an’ grapes - I mean, I like apples, but not as the only fruit - an’ some dry sausages or salami, an’ some good wine.” Surprised, “I’m hungry.”

“There is some cured meat, yes, and dried fruit, a hearty bread of nut flours,” he nodded. “But no wine, sadly.”

“Here, turn ‘round and I’ll get’cher back.” As he turned, she scooped more sand to wash him. “Where did you find good wine when you were here last? ‘Cause that seems a pretty important thing to remember. Mmm, or brandy to soak all the dried fruit in, but that would go good with wine too.” Almost whimpering, “Hungry for good food.”

He sighed forlornly, “None to be had, truly in the case of drink. And the last bottle of wine I had was poisoned. However I thought it added a nice layer, yet I do not think anyone else could drink it, perhaps Howe, but unlikely. As spring comes in, supplies will as well, and if we pass by Denerim again, I am sure I can beg some from a few old friends there, so then I can cook you something more palatable.”

“No wonder Twadd says you were scrawny. Deer and potatoes or grain and cabbage are nice once and a while... Oh! I know! I know! Fiddleheads, they taste like asparagus and ferns grow all over in the woods and the swamps in the springtime...cooked in some oil with couscous with yogurt and dill. And garlic, definitely. I bet halla milk will make nice yogurt and garlic grows wild...” Freya’s stomach growled. “This isn’t helping.”

Turning in her embrace, Zevran kissed the side of her neck, “For now, food is food, however, you are delicious, hmn?”

….

The forest did supply the fiddleheads curled tightly, as well as the usual assortment of wild animals, although much larger than normal or, thanks to the plentiful and edible darkspawn, blighted. In addition there were the less than usual werewolves and walking sylvans and the Grand Oak’s poetry was less charming the second time around. Twadd rang a warning bell in his mind before they approached the shady campsite, lured in by its promised comforts and Zevran learned where the Dalish gloves had been found. Seeing his gaze on them, Freya handed them over, watching as he stroked the thick embroidery. They had long since lost importance in terms of his mother, but the connection to Twadd was all he could see. Raising them to his lips he kissed them once before holding them to his cheek, eyes tightly closed, before putting them in his pack.

While the party gathered armfuls of ironbark to take back to Varathorn, Zevran excused himself to scout ahead after instructing them to take as much wood as they could carry back to the camp. After everything they had encountered, Horsie insisted on accompanying him.

Spying Danyla, Zevran gestured Horsie to remain unthreatening, he kept his voice soothing, “Danyla, I know the curse burns your blood.”

“You come from the clan?” growling, gasping, in pain.

“Athras misses you,” he spread his hands. “I know this curse that you bear. It burns, does it not?”

She yipped at the pain, hunching in, ashamed, “I was not always this beast.”

“No, you were not. Please, please listen to me Danyla,” crooning he approached, pulling out a waterskin filled with calming tea. “This curse - we will end it.”

“You will grant me peace, lethallin?” hope, wan and needy.

“Yes, we will grant you peace. All of you will know it. Listen to me, to my words. Zathrian in his anger and need for retribution - he drew the Lady down, did he not?” a small bowl was pulled from his pack and he poured some of the skin’s contents into it. Danyla hesitated before trying to grasp the bowl, “Shh, do not try to hold it with your hands as they are. This will soothe your throat.”

A whine, tortured at the ineffective paw-hands, and Danyla ducked to slurp up the tea. “You will give me peace?”

“Yes, peace from the curse. And you will be cured,” gingerly he touched her skull, stroking it. “But you must stay strong. A few more days. Can you last a few more days? Just three. Three days. We will press on as fast as we can. The curse will be lifted by Zathrian. This I swear, lethallan. Upon my mother Arainai’s name, upon my father’s clan and his name, Eu’rai’ddvinnen, son of Dorf’adahl - if you can just hold out, the you will be free of the curse. Please.”

She crouched down, crying without tears, broken as he moved to comfort her, ignoring the risk, “It burns.”

“The Creators will free you Danyla, you need not die to be free,” whispering urgently. “Think of Athras. Think of the da’len’en you wish to have with him. Hold on to that. Please, it is worth it, is it not?”

Danyla released a muted howl, “It burns.”

“I know,” he hugged her massive shoulders and back. “Focus, Vir Tanadahl. Focus on the three trees, say the myths. Last. Last for three days and you will be free, free of the agony, free of the burning, and you will have the comfort of your husband. Of safety, of the bow in your hands. Please, let Mythal give you her mercy, her saving, and blessing.”

She lay her head in his lap, fearsome and anguished, “Three...three days.”

“Three days, hold out, hold out until you are changed, swear this to me, upon Elgar’nan, whose wrath was calmed by Mythal and her soft touch,” he worked at the pained and tight muscles.

“I swear...I swear to hold out...on...on Creators’ names...Elgar’nan, Mythal...Andruil,” panting as she gasped for air.

“Hold on, your hope will be rewarded,” treating her as a person, for that was what she was, beast though the curse sought to force her to be. “You do not have to die to be free. Please Danyla. Remember - the curse will be lifted. The Lady wishes it.”

She lapped up wretchedly more of the tea as he poured her more, “The Lady is not what you think. Zathrian...”

“Yes, Zathrian pulled the Lady from the other realms, bound her to flesh,” repeating. “This is known. He will give up his anger and she will be ready to finally pass, so that all of you may be free of the burning.”

“The burning...Athras...” so forlorn.

“Will stop and you will be reunited with your Bonded,” his hands passing over her back and shoulders and head, trying to impart a belief and the strength of hope. “You are Danyla, a scout and hunter, a fierce woman of the Dalish, you can hold on. Never again will we submit. Neither will you. You will last and you will be free.”

....

From Revenants with their undead the Juggernaut armour was collected and with each piece, Alistair’s grin got bigger and he grew more confident and a little over eager. As he woke up looking at the canopy of trees, it was decided that the ‘lump’ on his head would have to recede before he could rejoin them and as they escorted Deygan back to camp, Alistair was made to return as well with Leliana to keep an eye on him. And there was also the time constraints for Danyla. Granted, he had subtly moved the promise from three days to ‘indefinite’, but that was semantics.

’Dragon!’ Twadd called out nearly too late. The traps had been entertaining them and not all of them were disarmed. That should make for even more interest. How had they accomplished this last time? Ah yes, nearly the same way.

As it landed, the young dragon was small and young, or relatively so but if she lived she would eventually become a high dragon, Zevran leaped back, hands grabbing a wing and yanking with all his strength as she tried to lunge at Freya. Rory was striking the beast in the face with his shield, Horsie harrying at haunches. Freya lashed out with her own sword, circling around to try and get the other wing out of commission. Throwing his weight into it, Zevran tried to hyperextend the wing enough to gain access to a joint. Grunting with the effort, and not bothering to dodge the lashing tail, he snarled with pain as a fracture formed in his femur. Reaching for memory and words, he began snarling out the focusing chant, the ink in his armour blazing for a moment, pouring energy into him, and with a lunge and downward thrust of his entire body, the wing broke at the dragon’s shoulder. The head snapped around, great jaws barely missing his nose as he jerked back. But he got a face full of fire as he exhaled quickly, dropping down to the floor, rolling around, fighting through the pain. Healing energy flowed into him, restoring him enough to grab his potions and draughts, which shoved the agony away as his lips healed enough to part, pain lancing through the flesh of his face. Up again, he went for the dragon’s tail, ignoring the damage for now - he couldn’t afford to be lax.

With a flick out came the hatchet he kept for chopping small brush, and set to work on the root of the dragon’s tail, giving up as he was battered. With singed lungs he roared, jumping on the dragon’s back, punching a dagger down into the sinewy neck. She bucked and writhed, partially broken limbs flailing, seeking to dislodge him. Zevran echoed her growls, grunts and snarls, twisting the blade deeper, the blood pouring from her wounds mixing freely with his. With the mixing came more energy, fueling the latent spells in his armour, the inks replenishing and feeding off of the dragon’s death, giving him the strength to hang on until she finally collapsed under him.

Shoving his helmet off with a bloody hand, Zevran stood, surveying the scene.

“Rory, get the head off jus’ ta be sure. Horse guard. Zevran? Are you okay?”

Croaking as he yanked out a jar of salve and spread it over his face and neck just to be sure, “Water.”

Handing up a skin, Freya rested a hand on his leg and began to check and repair the damage while humming an odd tune.

It was a struggle to not just guzzle the water until he vomited it up, but he made himself stop, ’How bad is it?’ “Braska - I am too old for this bloody game.”

’I would guess that she’s going to call an end to your dragon riding for today. I’m sorry, Love, I forgot about that one. Checking ahead...’ Twadd flipped pages in their individual journals looking over the maps. ’Let’s see, spiders, skeletons, more skeletons, even more skeletons, how nice an Arcane Horror, just to keep things interesting... oh yes, the sarcophagus and the little ritual with the water...”

’Do not forget the werewolves and how...overwhelming they can be,’ leaning down he shoved his hands into the still hot carcass, letting its blood work with the magic he wore and Freya’s own. Spitting out a wad of thick, blackened phlegm that might have once been a piece of lung, “I repeat, querida - how bad does it look?”

Lifting her eyes, Freya looked through him, the hum becoming more of a song as Cyni joined in lending energy and she directed it. With the additional assistance it became easier to breathe. And, within a few minutes, between the absorption of the armour and the healing poured into him, the dragon appeared to have bled very little.

Blinking to focus her gaze, Freya finally answered, “Looks bad, tha’ outside’s a little crunchy, but inside’s fine now.”

Grunting, “Mph. Good. A few more minutes and I will be good enough to go through the rest of this place, but we will need to stop before entering the lair.”

Cyni stretched out on the leather sofa in the library of his mind, uncharacteristically kicking off his boots, ’Twadd says you breathe fire, Desire.’

’Certainly, with the correct implements, but not on an inhale, yes? That would be bad,’ amused. ’Which would be why I exhaled during that full blast I received.’

’And you ride these dragons as well...although that would keep you from breathing flame and up off the ground.’

Sipping from the waterskin, ’True, if the dragon’s neck were heavily armoured. But when young enough, they are very, very flexible and can whip their necks around almost enough to bite or breathe between their shoulders like a swan or goose.’

’That is true. I cannot say what happened here for me, it was probably a bad day where little was noticed as it could not get through. Although,’ Cyni looked at the floor, ’I do remember that pattern of traps. It could be why Alistair, Morrigan, and Lel’s were so angry with me that day.’ Shrugging, it clearly wasn’t important to his boy, not then and not now.

Freya rested, sitting on the floor with her back to the creature. Having removed the head, Rory was afraid to move further because of the traps around them that hadn’t yet been disarmed. Thankfully, the dragon had set off several, trapping its feet, which is probably why it didn’t rise back into the air and cause more damage. With a groan, Zevran set about dealing with the last hindrances. As the stairs down were just off of this room, he and Rory took the time to salvage the hide, wings and teeth, while Freya used those minutes and remaining dragon blood to complete his healing and check over the others. In addition to its physical donation, the dragon had collected a nice pile of coins, gems, potions, and a bow called Falon’Din’s Reach. Flipping it around in his hands once, testing it, he had to think for a moment who had received it last time, then shrugged as that was truly a simple piece of logic - Leliana had.

The rest of what happened was a relatively exciting - in that it got his blood pumping and he could forget about the weight of time or that it was just a repetition with different players - until they found the deep pool that they would have to swim through. They set up a temporary camp, the others’ rests uneasy, but he was comfortable enough, knowing that at most, a werewolf might come up through, but that it was unlikely. Probably because the beasts weren’t very good swimmers as he had seen them floundering ungainly as they would try to ford a deep stream, an actual pool like this would be too much and too uncomfortable. Of course they still guarded the back entrance - heavily, old remembered wounds aching with sympathy, along with the chimes of the newly healed. After several hours sleeping they were as ready as they could be, rope to drag their heavy equipment behind them so it wouldn’t weight their limbs directly. Although she said not a word and did not protest, Freya’s fear spiked in the amulet as they entered the dark water to swim through the passageway. When they resurfaced, he held her and did not say what wetness on her face was tears and what was water, before rearming themselves in the next chamber.

Getting to Gatekeeper was as ugly and nasty as it had been the other time, more shattered lifeforces used and drawn upon heavily, unto a point where Freya was actively yanking essence from the werewolves with spells rather than siphoning as they died. Seeing the new forces under her command didn’t bother him, but Rory had a moment. Not a bad one per se, just a moment where he was obviously questioning what his friend had ‘become’, before it was quickly shaken off, the answer always clear - Freya had become more of herself. Just as she had always been in one format or another.

Attaining the Lady’s chamber, the creation healed their wounds completely, her root fingers twining around limbs and torsos, then healed her remaining werewolves. The creatures had been foolish to throw themselves at their blades, they did not have endless numbers and despite his requests to negotiate, refused. So many centuries had passed since the curse was laid on their ancestors, yet the signs of werewolf children were few. They must have been hiden them elsewhere, no doubt with an adult willing to kill them before they could be taken by the ones who did Zathrian’s bidding. Two clans, one elvish, the other human, horribly interconnected by crimes that no one but the Keeper and his creation remembered, the aftereffects felt by the many times great grandchildren of both.

’What will you do, amora?’ asking, neutral though his hope was that they all be free.

Straightforward, “We will fetch Zathrian and he will release the curse. What he did was wrong and enough have suffered for it.”

He had been certain that was the choice his lovely girl would make, but it caused the tension in his shoulders to ease. Calculating how much time had been spent, he nearly hissed his worry though. Danyla’s time was shortening and Zevran sent prayers to Creators he didn’t believe in, that they would give her the strength she so desperately needed.

Zathrian was balky, but brought to heel anyway. Forced to see that his hatred was useless, beaten down and worn, he finally gave in and let go of the fight. The Lady gained her end and freedom, as did the Keeper. Perhaps, finally, souls were laid to rest. As for the human clan of once werewolves, they scampered away just as fast, except Zevran ran to catch up with the slowest, pushing himself through fatigue, warning of Blight, telling them to go north to the Bannorn, they would need help, or to Bryce, who would know where to put them so that they could regain their lives.

On the way back they took the route that brought them to where Danyla had been, and because they hadn’t had to fight anyone on the way back, they got there to see a naked elven woman huddled in the dirt. Curled in on herself, deep in shock, signs all around her that she had fought the curse, scrabbled marks in the earth, counting time. Immediately he fell upon her with his cloak, bundling her up and easing potions down her throat as Freya worked upon her. Rory had to take his pack, as Zevran gingerly hoisted her on his back, carrying her as he would carry a child while giving a piggyback ride.

When they made camp for the night, Danyla was still catatonic, and they had to slowly spoon a thin, brothy gruel into her mouth. She needed fluids more than she needed food, though she needed that also. He and Freya stayed up with her all night, dozing off and on, as he sought to give her something familiar or someone familiar nearby on the off chance she awoke. As they met the Dalish sentries, they stared at their burden, Danyla’s face tucked over Zevran’s shoulders, one of the sentries running off immediately as Zevran and the others made their way to the infirmary. Athras ran straight there to sit by her side as soon as he was told and Freya stayed there with them and again, gave every drop of healing to the survivors.

As Cyni assured that Freya was herself. But she was not an adult in Zevran’s eyes and probably never would be. He believe that she would never be his equal, and frankly he was disappointed. Yes, he loved her, couldn’t help but love something that was a part of Ferox, but she wasn’t them, Freya was something completely different, she was everything they were not, as if the leftovers were rolled up and put into her. Being completely honest with himself, in a hidden corner inaccessible to Twadd and Cyni, he believed that he had been set up to be disappointed since arriving in Ferelden. Short of her of taking over the whole expedition, there was no way he would be convinced otherwise. Freya was baggage that had to be carried about from one point to another.

Certainly she healed, but so did Wynne and Morrigan, well Morrigan as she was the one with them. She fought with sword and bow, but so did Alistair, Rory, Nathaniel, Leliana, and himself. Thanks to Twadd and Gaeaf, she knew her Ferelden herbs and food sources, but so did Nathaniel, Morrigan, and himself. She might point out that she warmed his bed, but in actually it was Rory that warmed it for them. There was nothing Freya did that someone else didn’t already do and she knew it. In the ruins, she only spoke up and gave orders when he was incapacitated or busy, she did not seek to lead if he was there. He admitted that her winter practice with Avernus had paid off, as she understood what each person could do, what their specialties and skills were, both on the battlefield and off. Not all skills or interests had been discovered, so Freya continued to make the rounds, to touch, assist with whatever task someone was involved in, checking to see if needs were met and they were as comfortable and happy as they could be. He did this too and he already knew what they were capable of. It was duplicating what was already duplicated. Was there something only she could do?

It didn’t matter. Or rather, it shouldn’t have mattered. And he hated himself for letting it matter at all.

She was getting a little better at expressing needs, little things a bath, a meal, good food – that desire he wished to fulfill for his own sake, not just hers. Thinking of food, after Alistair was warned not to eat them raw, the fiddleheads were sautéed in a bit of oil, delicious with their asparagus flavor and served on the side of the usual deer roast and potatoes. After that meal, everyone became very interested in snapping off the tightly spiral curled fern fronds as they stopped to water the horses or paused for a meal. The thought of gathering them was attributed to Morrigan, as the Witch lived in places like this, and Freya said not a word as compliments were given for the fine treat. The fiddleheads served two purposes, good food and gaining Morrigan positive attention. So the request for good food assisted in someone else’s need for appreciation. It was not what he had hoped for, but it was progress.

Having purchased a small journal from Varathorn, Zevran began painstakingly putting down ‘predictions’, couched in phrases that sounded prophetic and mystic. Bryce, Alistair, Nune, and Ignacio would need copies. Possibly. Planning for the worst, that was what he did best. There needed to be back up plans of back up plans and then a few further fail-safes. Some of it would turn out to be the ravings of a lunatic, because he was fairly sure that was what he had become. Portents of famine, trade, marriage, war. Outline after outline, warning signs to watch for, names of those of import - sometimes clear, sometimes oblique - hint after hint, were put down in varied handwriting, as though he was possessed by the spirits of those who came before. With a humourless snort, he laughed, the others in the group giving him strange looks that day - after all, was he not just a vessel for others? For those that came before?

A man could go insane thinking such thoughts.

But the three massive cataclysms he had lived through - those were put to paper. Of course it had been on an increasing scale. The Blight was bad enough, but the Qun’ari were worse, and the Blight after that, even worse. It took seventeen years to deal with that last Blight, another ten to cope with its aftermath - the Architect and his altered proteges were the least of their problems. Someone had woken something old, angry, and twisted near Kirkwall. And it hadn’t been a Flemeth that arose. After that last Blight, the Wardens were nearly obliterated, disbanded for their secrecy and corruption. Zevran had nearly sent an army to crush the Anderfels and sack the libraries for information, but instead sent silent footed Crows to do just that, then fire the Warden caches of anything only moderately important. After that, the Wardens had to come to him, bowing, scraping, while shaking tattered treaties at him, but he had them either re-educated or removed. Anders had taken Avernus’ place at Soldier’s Peak, Justice-Vengeance sustaining the Warden mage’s life. He had become the book keeper, the knowledge hidden and aware of the world, though it was unaware of him. Apparently the foolish decimation of the Chantry in their Kirkwall - no matter that they were all the same - yielded death for Anders. However, that was a mask, a fallacy. Nothing could easily kill something like Anders-Justice, since Justice hadn’t shown himself, unlike Uldred and his Pride demon.

And so the supposedly dead body came back to life after it was given a burial - a mark of a traitor against the Chantry. Foolishly that was done, however, it was beneficial to Thedas as a whole, no matter that they didn’t know it, and Anders-Justice had gone to Antiva, not knowing where else to turn. Where Zevran had seen his use and put him to work. The Wardens after that last Blight were Wardens no longer, though they carried the name still. If, as Haf’cath suspected, there were more Archdemons than a mere seven, endless in possibilities, then Thedas would need to adapt or die. So too, would this one.

Whether Zevran and Freya were there to implement it or not.

He turned conciliatory, keeping up appearances, forcing himself to not truly withdraw. Expectations and hopes were forcefully quashed, the desire to teach, to try and mould Freya held back and down. Forcing her to learn on her own as much as she could while he quietly ensured things went how they needed, without undermining her. Alistair was clay beneath his hands - he was moulded instead. Nathaniel required little of it, the young Howe was farseeing enough to know what had to be done. Morrigan, too, was reshaped, slowly, gently. Zevran didn’t know what her lifespan would be, but he suspected it would be a great deal longer than her dark rogue’s. She would become, eventually, another tool to keep guard on Thedas, a silent watcher, from swamp, mountain or steppe. In that, Nathaniel was helpful - he taught her to love, hopefully, in time, she would learn to open her heart enough to love Thedas also, rather than be crushed by Nathaniel’s aging.

But Freya - Freya, Zevran left alone. He coped with her ‘stupid’ phase, swallowing every
urge to correct, to lecture, instruct. Instead he would nod, kiss her, hold her hand. He stopped giving warnings beyond ‘danger’ or ‘watch out’. He struggled to do anything that would make her happy, choking down on himself, the poison of disappointment locked far away from any of them but himself. The disease of self-loathing eating at him silently, where no one could see it. He was just another sacrifice on the alter, hopes, dreams, desires slaughtered, the blood of those things filling the runnels and going to fill whatever bucket held the hope for others.

Orzammar was a nightmare for Freya, he knew it would be. He provided every ounce of sun he could and then some, punching holes in the bedrock of identity to find more reserves to give to her. No one knew, he wouldn’t let them. He was tired of making others miserable because he wasn’t enough, or was too selfish. He gave up ‘just Zevran’ and became ‘whatever was required’. Oh he still pissed and moaned to Twadd, Nathaniel, sought advice and steadying from Rory. But only because if he suddenly stopped, they would know something was ‘wrong’. Not that anything was ‘wrong’ - he had given up those parts of himself, let them wither away as they had only hindered and made others hurt, slowly easing from the pretense, as though he were happy and had found his equilibrium, had become ‘whole’.

Not that he knew what that was anymore.

In the Feroxes, they would say that pieces crumbled, sheared, calved, or broke off from the bedrock. However, they were solid creatures. He was sunlight - supposedly - fluid, mercurial, hot. So those parts that in another would ‘break’ only melted, shifting to another place, filling in any gaps. Losing their form, their importance, providing substance for other things. While any man had a breaking point, Zevran saw his, passed it, and chose to not break, melting and reshaping, hardening enough to hold for as long as that form was necessary, before flowing into another shape once more.

Freya’s nightmares were of becoming a Mother. That he could promise would never happen - female Wardens became ghouls, just like any other Warden. Somewhat sentient once the transformation was complete, but still shaped much as they had been in life, rather than the great, jiggling mass, darkspawn crawling from gaping vagin*l flaps by the dozen. Of course that didn’t help the nightmares, they still came, however he fought them with her, for her. The darkness and song could be banished by a taste of sunlight at least for a little while.

It was a race from Ostagar back to the Peak. They stopped long enough at Redcliffe to take ship to Kinloch, requisitioned the back up horses, and hooves pounded to try and outrace weather and season, before passes were frozen solid. Loghain must not be able to pin them down or find them. The Hero of River Dane was zealous, Anora in fits over Bryce, constantly seeking to find any sign of collusion with the remaining Wardens. Of course none was found, and the Bannorn began to hate. Taxes and tithes rose, soldiers on the roads did little to help with the darkspawn, more concerned with finding Wardens. The Antivan Wardens didn’t go into hiding, not the way Zevran’s group did. A few paid the price - drawn, quartered, or crucified, those who sheltered them hanging from gibbets lining the Imperial Highway.

The populace began to hate even more than the Bannorn. Quiet mutters that Bryce was the only fit ruler were voiced by the foolhardy or drunk, in dark corners of taverns that had no beer left. Storehouses were seen to by the Couslands, Wulffes, Guerrins, and sole remaining Howe - Delilah. Tiny, hard hit hamlets, were absorbed by the Dalish, becoming nomadic, joining the ranks of the elves, no matter that they were shemlen. The populace slowly moved north, militias supplied by unknown coin, silent, horse riding soldiers who refused to speak beyond giving orders in clipped Common, going south. Harrying the darkspawn and moving too fast for Ferelden’s marching soldiers to keep up with. All of that happened between them leaving the Peak the spring after Cailan’s death and the early winter that they raced, pounding up the hidden paths to return to their bolthole.

With a grim smile, Zevran knew his plan had been successful. Antiva was mustering forces and had been trickling in even more than what had been proposed, Ignacio’s fear having infected the Guild, Nune’s long term preparations having finally been made obvious. Antivan Dalish had come in over the mountains from Jader, hiding their numbers, rallying to the old treaties.

The Peak attained, Avernus at his tower, standing high, magic crackling from him and a trio of ga’ni, willingly called up as the word had spread like brush fire amongst the clans, Zamitie’s words and sendings travelling faster than any rider. Storms were corralled, held back, just long enough for the horses to be put in the modified halls cum stables. And then the blizzards crashed down upon the Peak, sealing them up, as though no one had passed through. During their seasons away from the bastion, it had changed radically. Dwarves had been shipped from Orzammar by Bhelen, engineers and artisans, hard marching straight to West Hills to be brought by ship to the tiny hidden, smuggler’s routes that were the only ‘back entrance’ to the Peak, guarded by the influx of Dust Wolves. They and the Dust Wolves who took refuge at the Peak, along with a couple old, half crazy Antivan architects with Voldrik had taken the Peak almost completely apart. Hundreds of them had put their backs and shovels and picks to reworking the entire thing careful not to disturb the hot springs that welled up from below. Little of it remained that was original, some bizarre mating of dwarven and Antivan architecture left in its place. None of the added things Zevran expected were there - yet. Ballestae, catapults and trebuchets would come later. As would a full curtain wall. For now, barracks, a watch tower and a center tower were what was there, the ragged edges of the old remaining. Soon it would change. It would have to.

....

There was a proper, deep sided box cot in their bedroom. A rack for weapons and armour, and someone had salvaged a few old chests for personal belongings. But the bed was what held Zevran’s attention, calling to him. His body was tired, would require rest, but a spoken, glissandoing series of words triggered the Embrace’s abilities, granting him renewed vigor. It would need feeding but the energies generated by sex were as good as blood and would require no death. And it didn’t require being worn, so long as it was nearby.

His old ga’lin tendencies had returned with renewed force, the constant practice of the march providing the venue. And the blood. No, he would never be on par, even with Ani, but he could feel the witch blood that Zamitie had shared with him at his birth roiling in his veins as it had never done before. Not even during the last Blight had he fought in day to day battles, saved for rare appearances, a general who had to see the field from on high to direct it, neck and wrists heavy with the shackles of his Taint abilities, Warden vessels pressed to his skin beneath leather and metal. But he had not had the same pounding, demanding, driving practice that would bring him further control. Now he did. And now it hummed in his limbs and veins, the Embrace’s caress bolstering them, Zamitie and Ani’s sigils teaching him with urges, giving him the intuitive push here or there to know how to make the next leap.

The terror on his last foe’s face as his hand had reached out, bare fingers locking on cheek and over mouth as he sucked him dry of blood and essence, etched itself in his mind. It was just another tool. He taught Nathaniel, Rory and even Alistair, some of how to gain strength from the death around them, but held back the darker things. They didn’t need to know or have their notions of right and wrong ripped from them.

Turning to Freya he helped her from her heavy armour, Rory setting it aside, properly on the stand, piece by piece. As soon as hers was removed, Rory saw to his own, then left to go find what news the Peak held, leaving he and Freya alone. She helped him with his own, hands only remaining on the old, tanned and tattooed flesh for as long as necessary to take it off and put it away, unconsciously recoiling from the ink.

Taking her into his arms, Zevran held her close, inhaling the scent of metal, horse sweat, and Freya. “Querida.”

“Yes, Zev?” The question still and undemanding.

Kissing her cheek lingeringly, “Nothing, I just wish to hold you a moment.” Arms tightening around her, “Are you alright? It was a hard ride, yes? Dare I say, a bit gusty?”

“Everything is good as I am with you. But yes, I am glad the storms were held off, even with the buzz of magic it gave.” Chilled fingers found their way next to his warm skin. Except for the hottest months of summer here, Freya was always looking for her gloves for some part of the day.

Concentrating, he raised his body temperature, his blood pumping harder and faster until it made his chest hurt, but the warmth bled over to Freya. “Ah, yes. It does make the ears ring a tad, no?”

“I didn’t notice that, was too busy getting shocked with static like bees were in my armour and my arms and legs had been asleep and were waking back up. Alistair kept saying something like that too, must be the metal armour.” Healing flowed from the warming fingers to offset the damage he caused himself.

He nodded his understanding, “Ah. Most unpleasant, but you are likely correct. Metal carries energy - heat, lightening, cold - and amplifies it. Though I would think that Juggernaut would limit his somewhat? A curious problem.”

Eyebrows pinched as she considered it, “Could be his sensitivity to the Fade. Rory looked uncomfortable, but wasn’t twitching.” The opinion was cautiously advanced as if someone who knew more would step through the door and gainsay whatever was put forward.

“Ah! I had not thought of that,” he gave her an approving squeeze. Zevran expanded, on her hypothesis and what she had noted, “Rory also has become rather sensitive, however, look where he sleeps - with us so often. With us and both of us are rather entwined with the Fade, so he likely just has learned to cope. But Alistair has not, yes?”

Standing together, a difference she had sought to prevent was noticeable. In holding back what fluctuated her emotions, she had also held back her last few inches of height. When Cyni released everything that too had been contained, that also changed. There was unspoken unhappiness when she had discovered it, as if there were rules for things he had always been, older and taller being the first two of that list of, no doubt, many things. The first one remained intact, so there was no fear of the world ending, but the other caused his girl to frown. Who would she have been left as a potted plant as even now she sought to hide this disappointment away, trying to avoid upsetting him, only he could feel this and the other way she was just missing the hurt, unworried. Was it still the right thing?

Giving her another kiss, he knew it was. For her to find any of her own happiness, she would have to learn to be herself. And all that entailed. Now was growing pains of several varieties and he merely flowed to fit whatever she needed. He knew himself, or what had been himself, and was tired of being that, so he at least knew what he was, once. He knew what he had melted down like slag metal to pour into new moulds. She, did not, so there was no use locking something away that might be useful to her one day.

The discussion was nothing important, few things were, and the point was conceded. “Of course, I had not considered those facts.” No conflict as ground was sacrificed again, as if they would shatter if a collision occurred.

He rubbed his cheek against her, “Neh, it is just an expanded thing. Nathaniel is virtually numb to it at this point, then again, look who he keeps company with, yes? Alistair and Leliana were the most tetchy about it.”

“It’s not terrible to be sensitive to it, especially if it’s against us,” cautiously venturing out again.

Zevran nodded receptively, “Oh yes. Never know when a hostile entity might use magic of some sort. Demon, mage, witch, so on, so forth.”

“Are your ears still ringing from it?” Thoughtfully, Freya returned to the ‘health of the issue’.

Wiggling an ear to test it, “No, it is mostly faded to nothing.”

The movement never failed to bring a light to her eyes and a need to touch the flexible appendages. Even when she was angry or frustrated, a mere swivel would still gain a brown finger tracing around the earlobe up to the point. As a child she announced that she wanted ‘ta have some just like Zev’s,’ as if hers could just be popped off and another pair put on. This time there was a start of a smile and a soft snort, but instead of a icy hand, which were still pressed to his lower back, Freya impulsively used her tongue. He leaned in, a soft trill working its way from his throat, hands tightening around her hips. Thus encouraged, she did not stop after an initial lick and lips parted to pull at the point as her exhaled breath tickled the sensitive nerves. Closing his eyes he gave himself over to whatever she wished, keeping her pressed close, releasing a soft groan at the attention.

Voice low as she was right there, “Will you vent your frustration at me now that we are behind stone wall and alone?”

“I have a stone in my shoe that has been rubbing and then settling in one spot, then moving around - that has frustrated me, yes?” nuzzling at her face. “I am also trying not to be enraged by the crucifixions and other tortures perpetrated. At this rate, Loghain and Anora might be dead by the Guild, hired by the Order just for the trespasses. But until they are dead, they will anger and frustrate me. My other venting is nothing important. You were right and I was quite incorrect, apologies mi querida.”

Letting the apology pass, “Sit then and allow me to take care of something for you. You have become too absorbed in the task to think about yourself.” Ducking her warmed fingers out from under his tunic, she pulled away to find salve.

Flopping, he twisted to begin tugging at a boot, moaning deeply as his foot was freed. “Ugh, I am as tough as a boot sole, I really should outgrow my whining, yes? At my age it is most unbecoming and I have grown rather tired of the pretense it presented, as its usefulness for disarming people is long since passed.”

A cooling elfroot concoction in hand, Freya clambered into the end of the bed and settling herself cross-legged, pulled his foot into her lap. “I’m not disarmed, whine at me anyway, or tell me how somebody doesn’t understand something, or how instead of healing Rory in the last fight I should have healed, oh I don’t know...Horse or Morrigan or even you,” wrinkling her nose at the thought of the ogres.

“Ah but those are your own mistakes to learn, amora,” sighing as he let his foot move into her lap. “Judging the battlefield is something that takes time and experience, not lecturing. Besides, you did well.”

Pulling off the two pairs of socks, one heavy and warm the other the other thin cotton, “My mistakes are injuries and hurt for others. Throwing a gloss on it doesn’t change the truth.” Scooping out a dollop of liniment, it was held in one hand so it would not be startlingly cold and with the other, checked for aches and sores that required easing. “If you will not lecture me then tell me something else that you say is too unimportant for venting.”

“Hurt or no hurt, the reality is, is that anyone learning to deal with a battlefield must make such mistakes. We are lucky, the likelihood of any of our own dying from such things are slight,” yawning. “Unimportant things...I do not know, I am aggravated over how obstinate people can be, how they can do so many stupid things. Then I look in the mirror a good long while and know I am no better when it comes to having done stupid things. In fact, I am likely worse, as I have lived a great many years longer. Ah...sometimes it is enough that I think the world would be better off with me in tattered clothes, living in the middle of a swamp and cackling out riddles to no one in particular or perhaps some trees...”

A grin ticked her cheek, “I noticed that a rather nice shack opened up deep in the Wilds...and the Chasind’s recently lost their resident mad person.” Freya’s mood lightened slightly and she became less careful and teased him, “Perhaps there’s an opening? I wonder if there’s an application process or tests?” Strong fingers and thumbs began to work the healing balm into the sole of his foot, pressing firmly they rolled up from the arch to the ball.

“Well if mental instability, voices in one’s head, and the ability to be oblique, while reading the entrails of butchered chickens or foes, then I have likely passed the exam,” quipping as his foot scrunched contentedly. Waving his hands ‘mystically’ he hacked a laugh, “Bring me your chickens and frogs! Now where did I put my stockings? With the three headed dog lies the truth and the moon is hung high at noon! And oh, look, a spoon. One can never have too many spoons, much like thoughts, always there when you do not want them, never around when you need one, yes? Or is that a no? Is there a consensus?” Tapping his head and giving it a shake as though to rattle his brain around, “Ding dong, bing bong, why look I may have come up with something or is it wrong? Oh, never mind, I do not know! Pass the rats. Wait - rats? Rats make me crazy. Crazy? I was crazy once...then they locked me up with rats.”

Snickering, she continued her ministrations as he ‘played’. Snagging his other foot, she removed the other boot and socks and proceeded to heal and apply the salve to it as well.

“And of course, ladies, take a look at your man. Does your man look like me? Of course not! But he can smell like me - here, just rub some twigs on him,” turning to a snake oil salesman.

“Stinging nettles switches might be better, and it’s good for arthritis especially if you make an ointment from the crushed nettles to take away the sting afters.”

“Ah, yes, forgot about that part. And the leeches. One should never forget the leeches. Right on their arsehole,” cackling maniacally, wriggling his ears and rolling his eyes in opposite directions. “It is a surefire way to keep him interested all night long!”

“The leech would be very interested. But the husband? I don’t know if you should give a guarantee ‘bout that.” Wrapping her leg around his calf, so he wouldn’t accidentally jerk away if it tickled, Freya worked between his toes and over the top of the arch to the ankle.

Squinting at her, “Tchk, fine. No leeches. Still, ragged old, crazy man in a swamp. That is likely where I belong. Dispensing wisdom and cookies made of mud.”

Intent on her task, Freya did not look up, “Horse an’ I’ll visit and promise ta make tea fit for the Queen, ‘cause all ol’ soothsayers are probably hermits anyway,” she shrugged. “We’ll just bring you lots’a ‘tatoes and cabbage to stock your food stores, knowing how partial you are to ‘um. We can live over at tha ruined tower that Alistair and Nathaniel found and punt over on’a reed raft when you’re ready to hand down or interpret an omen or portent.”

“Mn, be that as it may, I think I would prefer a small hovel with real tea nearby. And coffee.”

“Well, as I said before, there’s that little townhouse next to Zama, although I would think that some of the unfortunates on the street corners might compete for customers though, especially the one with the really wild beard and hair...”

Grumbling, “Well I could always use their entrails for auguries.”

....

Again the winter’s rest brought healing to all of them and again the relationships between the companions were repaired and cemented. Alistair had became more serious and thoughtful, still with light undertones that could turn anything into a joke, usually on himself. He and Leliana had become rather close, a relationship that might prove difficult later, or be very helpful depending on the Landsmeet which would be held after the spring planting was complete. Their personal hardenings and forgings past, Nathaniel and Rory remained steady and reliable like the bedrock that was so often was exposed in this country. And even Morrigan began to trust a little that no one would even attempt to harm her. And as her opinions were trusted, so the Witch learned to give the same consideration. As for Oghren, who had recently joined them, he remained the same, unbathed and fermenting beer and fish about his person.

Except for the nightly dreams of Mothers and Urthemiel’s song, Freya’s tiredness and fears eased during the respite and after a few weeks forgot to check her reactions before they were made. Returning to almost a pre-Ferelden state of relaxation, she whispered and went about organizing everyone for a real Saturnalia celebration. Crafting gifts or planning pranks, looking over and setting aside supplies for baking and what would be had for the feast, there was excitement. Again, it was a simple thing that she started and in doing so everyone had something enjoyable to look forward to in the dark evenings ahead.

As the days grew shorter, a replica of a large dragon was built in the courtyard and their daily sparring and practices included an assault on the ‘creature’ at the peak of the day. Zevran had warned that it was a possibility the party might be divided, some to guard say the front gates of a city or perhaps various locations within, while others battled the Archdemon directly. Avernus and the ga’ni lent a sense of realism and movement to the ‘dragon’ even throwing a few fireballs and used wind to simulate the buffeting of wings and the companions assessed their skills and noted who worked best with whom. Though by now he would’ve hoped they had all figured that out already, even with the addition of Oghren. He set that possible irritant aside with a patient blink and a fast laugh for others.

And on he flowed, watching them and moving to swiftly meet needs, play roles, and be what was necessary.

After one such drubbing by the replica, Avernus apparently having felt rather spry that day, Alistair, Nathaniel, Rory, and Zevran were soaking in the springs. The dwarves had laid stone on the floor of the cave to reduce the propensity of mud to be drug upstairs, hung glowing crystals from the walls, made one of the side areas a dressing area, and put stone seating around the pool so one could sit in comfort while bathing or relaxing, much like Gaeaf had remembered from his days at the Peak after its remodel by Voldrik and his crew.

“Um, Zevran? Will you do some of your fire dancing for Saturnalia?” Rory asked hopefully.

A smile broke out warmly over his face, “If I can find enough fuel for the fires, yes.”

“Well Freya - “ Rory nearly clapped his hands over his mouth. “Oh, no... Don’t ask me, please. I’m sure it’s a surprise.”

Alistair interrupted, “What this ‘fire dancing’? You’re not walking on coals or anything, are you?”

Snorting, “Yes, that is exactly what I am going to - no Alistair. Tchk. There is not enough pumice for me to do a fire walk here and while my feet are used to taking a beating and requesting more, the last time I walked over actual hot coals was not a thing I care to repeat during your lifetime if I have any choice.” He rolled his wrists quickly at the waterline, a spraying fan of water produced by the motion, “With blades dipped in a mix of fuels that are then lit, I dance. Or with ropes or chains with wool sponges soaked in the same form of mixture. Or I can breathe fire - spit is actually more apt.” Sinking down he sipped up a bit of water before spraying it out in a fine mist. “Alcohol is better for that - spitting the fluid through a flame produces a great burst of it, though it does not travel far.”

Rory, studiously avoiding his slip, described for Alistair what he saw at the gathering at Castle Highever before remembering, “Oghren’s always drinking something, that burns the hair outta the nostrils, if you can’t find something stronger,”

“Could just be the week old fish he finally stuck in lye,” Nathaniel pointed out. “Mentioned something about crafting a great delicacy and more for him when I inquired as to the stink.”

Thinking of Cyni, “Armpit gin. Apparently it is very good for removing rust.”

“Nah, pretty sure I heard ‘lute fish’,” corrected Alistair. “Although how he can make a lute outta fish is beyond me, Oghren must be drinking armpit gin to think that.”

Nathaniel climbed out of the pool with a snicker only an elf could hear.

Smirking at Alistair, “Oh, you will like it.”

Rory stuck with Alistair so that he would not be left alone with Zevran to have secrets tickled out of him, ‘or worse’. It was clear what the young man did know was on the tip of his tongue just waiting to be spilled. He only raised a brow and did not press as he could guess well enough. There was an urge to retreat, set aside forcefully before it even registered fully, and he bantered with them back and forth.

Little things, whispering, hiding, scheming, snickering, and he was tired of it before it even began. To the best of his abilities, he let it blur. Dutifully he finished cobbling together gifts for the others, Freya’s already seen to. Still he made her a few things with what he had on hand and leftover. She surprised him one afternoon handing him what was a long hollow wing bone and asked him to put finger holes in it so it could be played as a wind instrument and later that day Rory asked for his assistance finishing the lacings on a small set of drums. Rather than simply lace it, he corrected the tuning, using a heavy paste of oils and ash to summon up a glissando afterwards. A few quick taps and he was satisfied after showing Rory how to do it. Zevran didn’t sigh, only smiled and kissed his cheek, nor say that he found them painfully obvious. All he really had to do was prick his ears up and listen, which he hadn’t done. Even with Twadd pestering him to find out, he would just smile for his beautiful husband as well, telling him to let the children have their fun.

His, or rather their room, had been safe from fluff and silliness, until he found Freya sitting between Rory’s knees on the bed learning how to knit. Pulling on the smile quickly to prevent the sigh or twinge, he simply entered to putter around and make ready for a nap after giving each a kiss. Patient in his instruction, Rory did not let her stop until the row was finished. Setting the few inches on the long needle aside, along with a skein of red yarn, they made room for him.

“‘mon, Zev. Rory’s done.” Freya complained, “Well, he’s not done snickering ‘cause he found something I don’t know how to do, but that’s nuthin new.”

Stretching he bent backwards until his spine, hips, knees and shoulders cracked, “Ohhh...there are many things we each cannot do. I cannot tat lace, but I make excellent nappies and lightweight booties and leggings from camel hair and silk blends. But I cannot weave, however if I pestered Cyni enough he could teach my hands how to do it.”

“After someone liberated my scarf, I requested a replacement. Turns out the punishment fits the crime,” Rory laughed as Freya stuck out her tongue at him.

“An’ he won’t take it back now, lousy bum.”

Changing his stance to gain more shifting and popping in joints and muscles, “So now you are having to replace it?”

“‘parrently. I just needed it for a minute cause Horse barked and it was cold. But somebody said it had girl germs on it and wouldn’t take it back.” Muttering, “I’ll give ‘em girl germs.”

Rory shrugged, “Never liked the color and when I saw the red worsted stuff some of those riders brought in...well, it was soft and not scratchy.”

“Camel and silk, or camel and llama, or halla and - well one or two of those,” shucking down to shorn leggings he squished himself into the over sized bed, settling in.

“I’m pretty sure they said it was sheep, but I’ve never found wool that soft before.” Stretching out on the side, Rory hugged him as Freya flopped on the other edge. “Since somebody was nosing about as to what I wanted, I admit it, I took advantage of the situation.”

She pressing a cold nose and colder hands to his flesh, “An’ all my free time. I still say yer a lousy bum, Roar-ee. Now Alistair’s paintin’ cookies without me an’ probably eatin’ half of ‘um.”

"Not even Leliana would allow such a thing, querida,” mumbling.

“That’s what I said,” the red head pointed point reasonably, rolling to his back with a groan.

Freya didn’t answer, probably because she was pressing a damp cheek to his chest, and anything said would have given away her unhappiness.

Stroking her shoulder, ’What is it, amora? What bothers you so? Come, tell your Zevran.’

Her head shook slightly, ’Rory’s happy, I won’t ruin that, Zev.’

’Freya, please, tell me,’ deep inside he double-checked the mirrored surfaces and was confident of their strength.

’I’m just tired of change. This won’t stay the same, cause we’ll leave in the Spring to travel everywhere again. An’ nothing’ll be the same until we go back to Antiva...so there’s no use wishing it so. It’s silly. An’ doesn’t really matter.’

The Feroxes he had known did not like to travel. Even Gaeaf, who enjoyed being away from Denerim, preferred the comforts of Vigil’s Keep or Soldier’s Peak to actually being on the road. It wasn’t just the comforts of home and hearth, but rather it was the stability that offered and knowing what to expect each day.

Another tear rolled down her cheek, ’An’ I did want to paint cookies, but Rory’s happy cause he gets to play big brother. ‘Sides this is all Leliana’s idea anyway...an’ that makes her happy an’ she needs that.’ Like Morrigan before her, Leliana was receiving complements on her ideas for on the makeshift band, skits, and other Saturnalia festivities, credit Freya gave away without a spoken word. The things shipped and brought in, that she had arranged with Nune and with letters to Zamitie after their first Saturnalia, some things still hidden from the others, but the rest had been taken over. The last time she painted cookies with colored egg wash surrounded with family was when she was eight in the kitchens at Highever. And she felt guilty that she could not let it go and enjoy learning how to knit for Rory. All of this was tumbled through the amulet. ’I’ll be fine, it’s just a sad day an’ tomorrow it’ll be nothing.’

’Why not stand up to them?’ curiously, without judgement. ’And why not tell them to scoot over and let you do your thing?’

’Do my thing? I have a thing?’ Humor was mixed in the disbelief.

Twirling a bit of a curl around thumb and forefinger, ’The cookie painting. Your idea, your thing, and now they have taken it. Why walk away? Is it not worth keeping it for yourself even a little bit? Is it not worth fighting for and putting your foot down? And if not fight for the thing that brings you joy, why fight at all? And no, I do not mean fight with mean words or weapons or spells. I mean saying for once that something was your idea too and that it is something that you enjoy and wish for yourself?’

’No they didn’t ‘take’ that, Rory collared me and this makes him happy.’ A fat tear welled in the corner of her eye.

’Then put your foot down, Freya,’ he brushed moisture from her cheeks. ’Find the boundaries, just as you have with me and be firm - some things must be yours, some time for yourself to do things that you want for yourself because they bring you joy. Do not do things simply because it makes others happy - how happy do you think he would be if he had a notion that there were truly other things you wished to be doing? That this made you sad?’ Zevran shifted his face enough to kiss her crown, ’Look, why do we not do this - you and I will go and paint cookies, hmn? Rory can come or not come as he chooses, he is a big boy and can tie his own britches.’

A silent laugh was breathed on his salt wet skin, ’You came here for a nap, to be away from the fuss and my being down in the dumps shouldn’t change that. Twadd told me that he’d pretend it was your birthday about now, an’ you don’t have ta do something you don’t want to for me, ‘cause you’re not happy either.’

’Because my birthday is right around now,’ pushing a few strands of his hair back from his face. ’The eve of Saturnalia. But at my age, birthdays are just for others enjoyment. As for happy, I am perfectly content, querida. You are becoming an even more beautiful and fine woman each moment, stronger, more yourself. Did I not say I would always love you? Through thick or thin? Hmn? Come, let us go about making you some pretty cookies. However - I am not putting more clothes on. Let them gobble and gaggle.’

Squirming up, Freya gave him salty kisses all over his face. ’Love you, Zev. But you don’t need ta fight that battle for me. If you sleep with Rory, I can sneak down and do some before they’re all done. An’ that way neither of you has to be unhappy for me.’

’Oh, but you might get a laugh, particularly if I shamble. Or, oh, oh, I know, I could pinch bottoms left and right - male, female, accompanied, unaccompanied...’ winking. ’Act as though I am overheated, ‘oh, oh, my is it warm in here? Where is some frost rock, parts of me are just aching with heat...’ It should be good for a laugh.’

’I haven’t told anybody ‘bout it being your birthday so playin’ an ol’ man wouldn’t get you ‘zackly what you’re thinkin’.’

Snorting, ’What? No soft mash for my tender, toothless gums?’

Rory’s breathing deepened as sleep took him. Soon the snores would come with their thunderous cacophony.

’They’ll just grow back you said. ‘Sides that if you were pinching everyone they’d think you were pranking and it would all begin. I’m guessin’ that Avernus is gonna make the dragon fly, he’s been workin’ on smaller ones in the tower...but everybody’s just waiting for somebody to go first.’

’You say that like it would be a bad thing,’ wry.

Sighing, ’Zev, I don’t like prank unless someone deserves it, an’ I can’t think of anybody who does.’

’Ah, I should definitely get a good one in on Alistair,’ he made grasping, pinching motions with his hands. ’Just a little pinch. I like to pinch.’

’A pinch or a prank? Or both?’

Lips curling, nose scrunching, a wicked glint in his eye, ’I wish to know just how high he jumps.’ Waggling his brows, ’I could even kiss the back of his neck and comment how handsome he is. Whenever he is annoying, you can just threaten to toss him my way and I could ‘whip his ass’ into shape, yes?’

The beginnings of a grin appeared, ’Is that how high he jump while in armour or out of it?’ Looking over his shoulder at Rory, ’You’d have to be careful ‘bout that,’ concerned.

’I will reassure him, querida, he is smart enough to know when I am playing, particularly since it is not Alistair that I touch constantly,’ he pointed out as he poured himself a cup of tea, frowning at it and tossing in more leaves to make it stronger. ’Also I could just -’ he stopped, perturbed.

He had been about to say he could just send his intentions, but that wasn’t possible. Zevran was falling into old habits, where half the people in the household all had amulets or were constantly intuitively leaping in similar fashions, if not always the same direction. Scattering like mounds of petals from a basket, of the same type of flower, if not the same colour, each one different and identical.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Zevran downed his tea, ’Ah, never mind, instead I will warn him beforehand, hmn?’

’Good man, you’re very wise,’ sliding off the side of the bed, Freya refilled his tea again before hunting for her boots. Stopping, she looked at Rory intently, ’He’ll sleep an hour, two max. Thank you, Zev.’

There was regret that she did not play the game he suggested and put her foot down. Leliana needed to feel important, that she had a place and could do something to make others happy, something that was within her skill and would be useful to Alistair, if Zevran’s plans were fulfilled. Finding one across the room and another under the scarf Rory disowned, she snuck out the door closing it quietly behind her, leaving him to his nap.

Sighing, he poked at the skeins of yarn, rubbing it between thumb and forefinger, testing it. He waited a few moments after Freya left to go find some of his countrymen to trade for more, preferably undyed. It was a thankfully fruitful excursion and then he settled into the bed beside Rory, needles softly tapping time to time as he knitted. It wouldn’t be much different than making soft footies for small ones. The lace light weight spun from his fingers rapidly, but it would still take many hours to make the gifts for his girl. No different than the little bottomless and waist-less leggings or as Zamitie had always called them ‘thigh socks’ had been fit for chubby legs when it was cold on the steppes and in the mountains. Apparently the Arlathanlen employed similar things, but they usually laced into the loincloth belt nearly all wore. It would be another layer to keep close and snug against delicate skin that got too cold too easily. However he would have to work very quickly. Settling into the rhythm he let his mind blank to nothingness as his hands did their task.

....

It was not the first prank, but the dragon was the best. ‘Moving’ like normal from side to side, ‘lifting’ its feet, and swinging its head and tail, all was normal. Alistair was up close, being threatening, using the shield to smack the creature’s chest, swiping a sword at whatever was nearest, head, neck, or leg. Leliana, taking careful aim was shooting into missing scales, hampering buffetings wings, and taking any other opportune shot which became available. Dancing with the tail, Nathaniel had abandoned his bow and was attempting to get on the dragon while Morrigan healed and tried to keep the thing stationary. As the rogue finally got ready to make his move, the creature unexpectedly jumped into the air, the wind from the wings caused most of them to stumble backwards. Oghren, who was supposed to be on the sidelines this fight charged into the fight, but the dragon was easily out of his reach, beginning to circle the tower. Those with bows were still occasionally hitting the creature, but the rest stood there with mouths open.

Raising a brow, Zevran tapped Rory’s shoulder, signalling he wanted a lift. His big warrior helped him up and he found handholds, scaling rapidly as he yanked stealth around him. In his mind Twadd looked around, but didn’t know what he intended until he got up high enough. And by then it was too late, Zevran flying through the air, arms and legs wrapping around the neck. Beneath him the animated mock dragon shuddered, the smell of blood magic, likely animated by some imp that Avernus held in thrall for so long. After all the maleficar had to have had supplies brought to him during those centuries locked in the tower. The ‘dragon’ circled, dodging bowshot, but never entered an aerial dance he couldn’t handle. Whooping with exhilaration as Twadd struggled not to scream in fear for Zevran’s life. Wind in his face and hair, he loosened a hand with great reluctance - he didn’t really want to bring the ride to an end. Stout and long as his forearm, the dagger he used solely for close quarters and punching through tough materials was in his hand, the dipping and swaying requiring constant adjustment of body and muscles, before he punched it through, twisting and wedging it in place. Once that was secure, the dragon roaring convincingly, he used it as a handle, straightening to sit up, legs and thighs tight and spine curled low, but his chest no longer pressed to the animated thing’s neck. Short sword fought him as he pulled it free of the scabbard on his back, the wind stinging his eyes, yet he couldn’t stop laughing as he began hacking away at the neck, further up, seeking to decapitate it.

’Zevran! Real or not will it still fly without a head?!?!’ Twadd was very worried.

The archers ceased their pelting of arrows at the creature after a frantic cry below.

’Hmn, a good point,’ glancing around even as he continued his butcher’s work. Twisting, he aimed for a wing, the backwards swing difficult against the force of the air, ’Hah! Time to lose some altitude.’ Crowing, though likely none could hear him beyond the laughter, “Now we play a little!”

Behind him half of a wing was shorn off, the dragon swaying and flipping, desperately trying to maintain lift, but they were tangled up and falling together. In a flash the preternatural calm of seeing every which way in all directions, up, down, left, right, forwards and backwards, almost as though time paused, something that occasionally rose up in his mind came. Seeing the direction he needed to leap, he did so, muscles bunching, pulling, and he was flying again, arching up and away, rolling for a moment, before he stretched his body out, slowing the fall minutely, then tucking in once more, twisting, feet striking the ground only long enough to spring him forward once more, the shock shooting into his teeth. But he kept going forward - to stop or try to stop now would be to shatter. Through legs that dove out of the way he continued springing until he twisted, using the force to send himself launching back towards the animated creation, blade swinging down in a two handed grip, the last of the energy of the fall granting all the force of gravity to it. The head, snapping and snaking went through the air, landing in a skid as Zevran’s forward momentum carried him also, straight into a wall.

Grunting at that last impact, he fell backwards onto his back, laughter bubbling up out of him. “Again! Again! Ha-hah!” With some difficulty he bounced to his feet, dusting himself off, giddy, feeling genuinely alive for the first time in so very long. Arms flung wide, Zevran shouted, “Avernus my friend! We must do this again! Where are you, you old goat?! Come down here, animate this thing again for me!”

’Tchk, have faith in your husband, my beautiful Twadd, yes? I always come out ahead,’ boisterously rising high on adrenaline. ’I ride these things for fun.’

Avernus grumped in the amulet, he had been watching from the bridge, but returned to his tower to perfect his creation.

Twadd snorted, ’My husband, is ridiculously lucky and if I had a heart, it would have stopped.’

’Hmn, I would not have let anything happen to you, any of you, so that means I had to be alright as well, yes? While I may have pulled a Riordan, I am far more nimble than he...’ Adding his agreement, ’And vastly more lucky.’

Having figured out what the old mage had intended, Freya had not been frozen to stand gaped-mouthed either. Bounding across the courtyard, she nearly bowled him over, arms around his neck, kissing him. In a hop, her legs wrapped around his waist. The combination of laughing, purring at the magnificent sight, and worry were all rolled together, competing for dominance. He caught her, groaning, his body protesting even as it responded to being alive after a thrill like that and his arms full of woman. Healing poured into him along with her joy that he was not terribly hurt.

Feet back on the ground, she broke from the kiss with a grin and turned to the companions standing around looking between him and the dragon. “You heard him, set it back up! Move it!”

“Querida, I hacked its head off,” amused as logic began to return. “And controlling the demon he used likely took a great deal out of him. That would be my guess. However he is lucky I did not drain that thing down to nothing. And who knows what that would have done to him?”

“I have eyes, Zev.” Turning back to him she was still in high spirits, “They’ll just have to make a repair to the structure. I’m sure there’s a tree or two around here. It’ll be a couple of days, but the second group needs their exercise today too.”

Stretching, “I was bored...and wanted to have a bit of fun, yes? It has been awhile since Flemeth was ridden to the ground. Also - wings. Wings should always be taken out first.”

The purring in the amulet had not ceased, nor had Freya released him completely, “If we did that how could you have another flight?” ’I know, the Archdemon, wings out first.’

He shrugged arm curling around her armoured waist, “Dragons like high peaks and mountains. Of which Ferelden has many. To be sure we could find a few more.”

“Have we killed all those you remember, then?”

A noncommittal grunt, “Things change, yes? Who knows.”

’It’s about time.’ Another kiss and she pulled away to check on Avernus, leaving him with laughter.

Zevran watched her leave then stalked away, maintaining a normal pace until he was partially masked by a door, shadows opening and pulled around him with a whisper, their embrace a susurrating brush against his senses. Of late it had become louder, he blamed his strengthening ga’lin and unifying further with the Embrace. Truthfully, he didn’t know, it was useful, that was all that was important. He felt that it didn’t matter, ignoring what ‘Herren’ had spat at him, the fear in its voice meaningless. Finding the mostly completed first thigh sock, he went off to find a spot of solitude. If others wished to find him, it would take little work, however he was making sure to not be ‘separate’, as he had no patience to put them off or twist statements further.

Cyni curled around his back, his touch firm and weighted. ’I believe your Twadd has gone to update his journals.’

More yarn was gathered and pulled in accordingly as he leaned back, relaxing, ’Hmm, new things to add I suppose. How are you, amora?’

’I am with you, Desire,’ the customary answer given. ’How are you?’ Cyni didn’t normally ask, usually he looked and determined for himself.

’I am here,’ sinking further into the solidness, eyes closed. ’Everything is going well, hmn? Freya is happy. The others are working together. Plans and hoped for effects come into play.’

’Good, sooner we will be done. I would say that was more than just ‘happy’, however.’

Grunting, ’She will be as she will be.’ The border was almost finished, he only needed another inch or two, but the yarn was so fine that it required a great deal more length than something bulkier. ’If she is happy, then that is the purpose of my being here.’

’Is that what it is?’ Cyni was in a ‘U’ shape, legs on one side of him, stomach pressed against his back, and an arm wrapped around his thigh. ’I was unaware.’

Mildly, ’To come and fix what could be fixed, save what could be saved, give her the safety, comfort and happiness she deserves. And to hold the center for whatever other thing requires it. If there is some other purpose, then I am unaware of what it could be.’

’Do not worry, Desire. Your path is well chosen and prepared for.’

’Of course, it always is,’ his knitting done on the first leg, he finished it off. It would need to be dyed, but that could wait, as it wouldn’t require much time to do that, and he would rather know what dyes could be fashioned from what was on hand. ’I am unworried.’

Worry was for a self to have. He had none, so there were no worries. The concept slid by him, the meaning lost and given up on. Along with the hurt. The disappointment. The anger. No core left but a constantly swirling mirror, a globe that hid the fires that melted the metal before adding the annealed substance to the endless shift and light. He danced to their tune for their need and enjoyment, glowing for them, his only purpose that remained.

’I have interrupted your thoughts’.

He shook his head, ’You are never an interruption, my sweet boy.’ The long sock set aside he curled into the embrace, ’And I was not thinking on anything all that meaningful, just going over the plans, nothing more.’

There were no thoughts to interrupt beyond the surface and deep enough to reflect what should be there, what was expected. They forgot who the true master of the amulet was, they always did. That was to the good, they would only be disturbed or hurt or angry if they tried to dig further, to find a core that was just heat and the blaze to constantly redistribute what was needed, smoothing what would have been broken pieces, made so much slag and pasted to the endlessly reborn areas.

‘As you say. The call of wildness woke me, it is rare in you.’

Humming, ’It has been a long time, yes.’

’You would have been most interesting to travel with in these days, Desire. Twadd’s stories do not speak of this...’ Unable to find another’s word, ’Craving for wildness.’

A noncommittal shrug as he rested, listening to the heartbeat that was and wasn’t there, the constant rumble tingling in his head and along his nerves. ’Elven ruins, Andraste, numerous drakes, Flemeth. Even Urthemiel for a few minutes. Apparently he was undecided if I was insane or attractive in those moments. And he did not witness the first slaying of the snowcat. Too long as Grandmaster was spent, no real time for such obvious risks of my person after that. Such urges were put away to be replaced with responsibility.’

’It is regrettable. I prefer you unrestrained and enthusiastic. Yes, exactly that. Alive, joyous.’

Zevran sighed, ’That was a long time ago, my sweet boy. I am no longer that man who has no thought beyond the moment. Time has worn it away.’

’Ah, so I was awoken by something else entirely.’ Cyni teased, the perpetual growl softening into a rumble. ’Dreams are difficult to interpret.’

Chuckling, ’Well, there is still some of that left. Rare though it is to find such things to put a spring to my step, are.’

’Why are you wasting it here with two old men, then? Are you waiting for it to pass?’

Patiently, ’I am waiting for nothing to pass, querido. I am as I have been made, how I am needed to be. Seeking only causes pain, but when I find such things, I take them up as long as is responsible. Such games are for the young and irresponsible, and I am neither.’

’Then it was no look of Desire and longing or leap of joy I saw upon my face.’

’She had other things to do and left to do them, I am not hard to find,’ sighing. ’Is it not I who chases her nonstop? Sometimes a man gets tired.’

Cyni unwound himself ’My error. I will be your age soon enough.’

Weakness welled up in the pit of his stomach as Cyni abandoned him, anger that almost flashed to momentary hate, quickly diverted back to himself before it could ever be felt, even by himself. Zevran sank back behind his mirrored walls, letting the pain flow over him as he curled into a ball and cried without tears. They expected him to keep picking himself up, he would do it, he would smile instead of sigh, he would bounce instead of rant, hug instead of lecture or curse. But he was still a man and the poison ate at him as undeniable as the Taint. Taking a deep breath through his raw throat, Zevran checked the crucible, made sure it was hot enough to keep him burning, put on the mantle of light and searched out Freya to be what was needed and dance to their need once more.

Like a corpse hanging on a gibbet, twisting in the capricious wind.

….

He smelled the change within days of it happening. Zevran came close to ordering her to stay at the Peak for safety, as they were just about to head out that morning, when he caught the difference. The other thought was to dose her so it would be lost. For its sake. Her sake. So the knowledge slid behind the mirrored walls and he set Horsie to sniffing out ginger root constantly, stocking up, grating and drying it on the march to handle the dragon sighted near Orzammar. ‘Andraste’ was making herself known and it wouldn’t do for the forces to think she was Urthemiel. Freya had nearly danced, asking him excitedly if he would be a dragon rider again. A smile sprang to his face, naturally and organic, reflecting her excitement back at her, shining with it, saying that he might be convinced.

By the time the high dragon was fueling his armour, Freya’s stomach was beginning to bother her and he passed her a bottle of the heavily ginger spiked syrup with a kiss, as she informed him that her stomach was just bothering her. He nodded and said ginger helped for any sort of upset stomach as they marched into the inner sanctum of Andraste’s resting place. The real Andraste. Just as last time after they passed the Guardian’s ‘test’ they each met and saw someone different, unaware of what the others saw. Zevran waited coldly, staring at himself, a rueful smirk pointed at him.

“At least you change to fit the times,” crossing his arms.

“Hmmn, hmmn, yes,” an agreeable nod, chin cupped. “I am rather adept at that, are I not? Or, you are, more accurately.”

“This mountain is nearly solid lyrium, the ashes are a lie, or at the least heavily augmented to that point,” Zevran shrugged. “You are nothing more than an image summoned up by the tattered will that they once contained, the spirits of those who were tied to them, and the one who waits behind us.”

Mirrored beaten gold irises blinked at him slowly, warm and shining, “How long can you keep your hand in a vise?”

“Longer than you,” brushing past, readying for the next ‘challenge’ as the others would still be discomforted by their visions.

The apparition called out, a parting shot, “And you have so much practice with that, no?”

The ashes, oh how holy, how wonderful, how....why didn’t they leave Leliana outside?

“I still say that is a nice vase,” grinning. “In fact, I had one commissioned just like it back home. Perhaps I will again, put a few dead enemies in it? Or perhaps those who have suffered from the Maker’s abandonment? The unfortunates who sought to protect the Maker’s creation, but were left to rot? Tortured?”

Freya sniffed, “Since He’s turned His back, seems like most everybody’s been abandoned.”

Leliana protested, “He just - He needs to see that we are worthy!”

Zevran grunted, “Believe as you wish, fair bard. I would take a pinch as it does have remarkable abilities. Zamitie should like to study it probably. Or you never know when such a panacea might prove useful.” Hopping over the side to find the chests, “Me? I am here for the treasure. A few starving mouths abandoned by the Maker might suffer a little less with these lovely donations.”

With a shrug, of ‘what can it hurt’, Freya removed the lid and looked inside. It was ashes, that much was obvious. Taking the allowed pinch, generous yes, but a pinch nonetheless, she put it in an empty little spice box, wiping her blackened fingers on the side of the opening before sliding the lid into place and resetting the lid on the urn.

The entire time the Affirmed bard recited a prayer.

....

They ‘stumbled’ across the hapless merchant with Shayle’s control rod and they nipped down quickly to grab the ornery golem, then went to Redcliffe, taking ship to Kinloch, and met Bryce who had already received word from outriders, and all of them aimed straight for Denerim. Civil war was brewing in the meanest fashion, held barely in check. The populace were ravaged by darkspawn, the Crown’s soldiers, and it was all those loyal to the Couslands could do to prevent a mad rabble marching on Denerim with pitchforks and starving bellies. However the starvation wasn’t as bad as it could be, that much had been prepared for. Nune stayed behind with Eleanor, holding the proverbial fort for the moment, the spring plantings done in nearly record time in some areas, as ships had landed, storm battered, having clearly risked the Waking Sea to reach Ferelden in time to help. Free Blades were unloaded along with supplies. Apparently little birdies chattered on and on. That and Nune’s constant reports of the Blight’s ravages and warnings of Qun’ari sightings - only slightly exaggerated, possibly, except his brief meeting with the source of his blood had new weapons and a drinking horn that looked like it had come from a horned kossith - had spurred Antiva to rouse the languid beast. Ferelden’s north would be protected, the Bannorn cleared as fast as could be, in preparation of the anvil.

Bryce was rather displeased with Zevran’s quiet news of Freya’s pregnancy, two days out from Denerim, the teyrn had to be held back from marching to his daughter and ordering her to ‘safety’. That was when it came out that Oriana had died, defending the fields from the fires that had burnt from the falling star. The metal had been found on their trek, sent straight back to the Peak for Mikhael to work his smith’s magic upon. Freya had come to him, crying after that, needing to be held tight at the death of her sister-in-law, a woman she only knew from correspondence and the brief time they had spent in Highever.

Loghain was mad with paranoia, demanding Freya’s head upon a platter as soon as she was seen. Freya had told him to come and take it if he could. And of course the teyrn of Gwaren backed down at that, publicly at least.

In an alleyway he saw them. Heard and smelled them before he saw them. And he felt nothing. Nothing at all, even when Rinna’s blood splashed in his face, her head bouncing down the steps. Or when Taliesin screamed his rage, losing control of himself at the sight of his lover and companion dying. However he was surprised when Freya and Nathaniel tore the armours off and began skinning the corpses, knowing that it was his way to do that to those who deserved to be given honour. He only walked away, riffling through the possessions of others to see what was of worth or could fetch even a few coppers that might go to rebuilding the country.

Anora needed no rescuing, there was no such subterfuge. Delilah on the other hand had needed rescuing. So they tore through the estate, Cauthrien spitted on blade and drained of essence. Anora deposed, Loghain dead, Alistair on the throne, Nune and other Wardens marched upon Redcliffe when the signal fires had been lit, knowing to wait near to hand on ships on Lake Calenhad, so that they could be dispensed where ever they were needed.

And Urthemiel flew.

Nathaniel lay with Morrigan, the ritual complete. Zevran would have landed the blow, but Alistair demanded it, taking Nathaniel’s place. Freya had nearly said she would take it, yet went silent when he lay his hand over her stomach, voice soft, begging her not to risk it. She might as well have done it herself considering the blast seemed to be centered on her, even though they stood well back with him shielding her with his body.

When Maric’s blade struck, Cyni began to sing and he was joined by several distinct voices as the world exploded.