Dragon Age 1. Confidant

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**A/N: **Twice Bitten is the tale of the Fifth Blight, as told from the point of view of Zevran Arainai to his friend Danica Amell.

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><p><strong>Chapter One – Confidant<strong>

I never would have expected to find myself speaking so easily of my past. Well. Perhaps _easily_ is not the best choice of words. I had sworn to myself to take some of these tales with me to the grave, until I found in my friend's lover the sort of audience one does not generally see twice in a lifetime.

The first time my actions, and their consequences, and my thoughts, were not judged, I fell in love, and was repaid with the bitter loneliness born of my own folly. The second time I dared to speak of my actions, and their consequences, and my thoughts they were, while questioned, accepted as part of who I am. And I fell in love again, to be repaid with the bitter loneliness born of another's duty.

Though I have returned to the wily and carefree demeanor of my past, I have yet to reach again for the touch of another. My wise friend under the crown has managed to convince me I was not betrayed. Or at least not betrayed by _him_, though his duty still resonates in my memory like the traitorous beast I know it to be. But I had resolved to keep my secrets close, if for no other reason than to protect those with whom I might otherwise be tempted to share.

But in _her_, I find I have an outlet, and perhaps speaking of _all_ that is in my memory, as she has so graciously and silently allowed me to do, will give me some measure of the peace I seek. While it is rather charming the way my crowned friend reacts to certain thoughts and observations, I would not wish him the genuine distress of hearing me remember aloud my one great love. The attraction _did_ begin with the physical allure, after all, though of course the fact that the man saved me – eventually from more than death at his own hands – did play a part.

She forgives me my lurid observations, and accepts that I have at times been crude, and is content to simply listen as I unburden myself of the winding tale that chooses to be so present in my thoughts, even after almost a decade has passed. I cannot decide if it is her acceptance or her silent willingness to let me conclude what I will from my own words that I value most.

Hmm.

I think it may simply be that I know I will never feel for her, not as I felt for Rinna, and not as I felt for Aedan. Perhaps what I value most in her is that I will never curse her to share the fate that follows my love. I have been twice bitten, and turning the fangs of grief on another I would call friend is a betrayal my conscience could not bear.


	2. Best Laid Plans

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><p><strong>Chapter Two – Best Laid Plans<strong>

Crows are trained for success in many ways. From a very young age, the little birds of ill omen are taught that failure brings only pain and misery. With a primary lesson as fundamentally effective as torture, the rest comes quite easily. Crows learn to desire success, and once they have mastered this lesson they are taught to define success in an entirely new way, so they have something they can aspire to reach. This is followed even more completely by teaching them to redefine the concept of desire. They are taught to take care, in their actions, in their movements, in their plans.

Crows are taught of contingency and consequence, and they are tested mercilessly on their understanding of the effects their choices will have. They learn that consequence can lie dormant, and long after the accolades have passed rise up to turn a success into a bitter and brutal failure. And they are even taught to manipulate failure itself – how better to eliminate a target from afar than by creating consequence where the mark had previously seen strategy?

What can go wrong can also go right, and I have taken more care with my plans for this commission than any other in my career. It cannot fail.

I have recruited only the best-suited allies, hand-selected from the gutters in Denerim and lured to my side with promises of more swill than they can dream of consuming. When the time came to begin preparations for my chosen location, I paid them in full.

The image of intimidation and readiness put forth by this location is most excellent. Nature itself has offered much in the way of concealment and advantage, with ample defensible positions for the archers. Of course they don't object when most of them are asked to remain aground behind me. Many of them were lucky to be able to identify a bow, much less hold one, and they have become so intoxicated by this time that in truth I am amazed they are still standing vertically.

The traps I have lain are deceptively wicked. Should they be tripped in the right way, their quarry will become as much a victim of the environment as of my own desire. Should they be tripped in the wrong way… Well. They won't be. _I_ set them, after all.

I am fortunate to have planned for contingencies, I realize with a gusty sigh. The single street slattern I recruited to my purpose is now stumbling her way back up the trail, having lain with her words the trap that there are "bandits" on the road ahead. My intention was for the cow to have lain with her body one of the Wardens so this might be accomplished with a minimum of blood or alcohol spilled. But tools are tools, and they are great in number for a reason.

Even better. It appears the Wardens found a friend or two before leaving the doomed little village and setting out on the Imperial Highway toward Redcliffe. Were my mission in accord with the ruse I presented to the heavily drinking, heavily armed, taciturn fellow in the city, I would have to scold myself for failing to leave an agent in place once their destination was known. Of course, were my mission in accord with the instructions I was given in the capital, I would already have fallen upon my blade in penance many times over for the remainder of my plots and devices.

And so, with a taunting shout, the battle is joined. It will be glorious. Shame, really, that no bards are here to sing of the target's demise. Were I able, I would sing myself as the blackness begins to claim me.

But in truth, it matters little where my body falls. I was dead before I ever left Antiva.


	3. Excise and Examine

BioWare owns all; I just play in their pond. Reviews are always welcome!

**A/N:** Sigh of relief heaved. We can start interacting with people and events now. And, you know, using names. Whew.

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><p><strong>Chapter Three – Excise and Examine<strong>

I might be angry, had I the energy to worry myself into any remotely agitated state. The lot of them have said not one word to me since they picked over the bodies of my fallen associates and left me to bring up the rear as they pressed on to their destination. My weapons were presented to me in a foolish response to my oath, even if the Warden's gaze upon me when I offered it seemed to be administering one of the more grueling tests I have endured in my time, and I have been given free rein to move as I will at their backs.

I have not decided whether they are trusting me or taunting me.

From my waking until now I have perceived everything. It is what a Crow does, even if the sounds have been muted and the sights have been slowed and my actions have been heavy, as if the steps of the so-great dance of life are simply continuing under an ocean's worth of water. Inch by inch as this odd little party of _merciful_ adventurers has progressed toward Redcliffe I have struggled with my failure. I am not one for seeking deep and spiritual meaning in anything, not least of which the fact that I yet live. And I have learned nothing so well as the lesson that dwelling on deep thoughts and feelings such as brought me here does not end well.

If I am to be cursed with living, then it shall be as it was before. Before Rinna. Before Taliesen. I will exist as befits a Crow, even if I no longer wish to claim that particular kinship. Truly, it is the only way to exist, bound as I am by my startled oath to this strange man with his so-seeking eyes.

This is perhaps the sixth time since reviving this morning I have scolded myself in such a way. It is the first time I believe it.

I hear the witch calling a halt to our progress, and from my distance I see upon her lips advice to the Wardens that we depart from the road and make camp. The large one, the blond, responds to her, and it occurs to me this is the first indication I have had that he possesses the ability to speak. Even distracted as I was for most of the day, his brooding preoccupation managed to intrude upon my consciousness a number of times. If the look the witch returns to him is any indication, he has questioned her wisdom. I could tell them the daylight will wane faster than they think, and the stream to the south will provide the only water we will find for some time to come, but I do not.

If I am to exist as befits a Crow, I must catch up on my observations. It will not do for me to take surprise from any of my unexpected companions.

The evening meal is a simple affair, and I wonder at it being prepared by the Warden who has taken charge. He is smaller than his friend, darker in his coloring and his disposition, but he seems far more comfortable in his own skin than many others I have met. If one did not know where to look, one would not see the burden he carries. Of course, one should always look at the man preparing one's meal. He has been watching his friend as the tasks of setting camp were completed, and as I expect he hands me a wooden bowl full of… something… and a wedge of hardened bread and retreats from the log where I have seated myself.

I wonder when watching one's trusted allies became such a sport, that no one speaks until the meal is finished and the dishes stowed and the ladies departed to find the river. And even then, no one speaks to me.

I would begin by considering our leader, but it appears he has an agenda. He summons his fellow Warden by way of a brotherly smack to the shoulder and a jerk of his head, bidding him follow to an edge of the clearing where even _I_ cannot hear what might be said. Perhaps I have already begun by considering our leader; clearly he is at least observant enough to know his friend's mind is burdened by something.

The blond one is not at all comfortable and does not speak. Before they both turn away from the camp, I think I may see a man's name pass the Warden's lips. Hmm. A father, maybe? Brother? Knowing where the two of them have been, I would not be surprised. Or it could simply be shared trauma and tragedy. I would swear the darker Warden is the younger of the two, but it is he who now stands in support for the blond. One need not be within any particular range to recognize such an expression of grief.

For now, I will concern myself with the others. I tell myself the feeling that I should not intrude upon such emotion is simply decent, even if I know otherwise. There is not much upon which I would not intrude, given enough curiosity or incentive. But it is too close, yet, to reminding me of the grief I have so recently excised from myself.

As I begin to select another target for my consideration, I am interrupted. Something cold and wet presses itself against my elbow. Ah. Fereldans and their dogs. I have never seen the charm, but this close to I must admit to seeing a hint of the intelligence for which the breed is known. It is alarmingly disconcerting, maintaining eye contact with a dog who looks as if he knows what I am thinking. He makes some small chuffing sound, and appears to be content to rest his head in my lap for scratching while I return to my deliberations.

I will have to watch as we travel to see if I can puzzle out why the dog would come to _me_ of all people for attention while his master is away.

Of the remaining members of this merry little troupe, the only one I have seen consistently for any length of time is the tall one. I remember hearing something, somewhere, about Qunari who do not bear horns, though I am at a loss to recall it now. He has said as little as I since this morning, but in his movements it is plain: he is dangerous. Well. I should hope so, if he is to be running about a nation at war alongside the men charged with ending the Blight.

And now the Wardens are returning to camp, and they are followed shortly by the two women traveling among us, the witch and the Sister who is not a Sister. So it is the men's turn to visit the river, and my contemplations will have to wait.

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><p>The frigid water of the stream has successfully washed away the worst of the day. Or perhaps it has simply hardened my resolve to return to things as they were. I am tempted to take a seat closer to the fire as the others will no doubt do to hasten away the remaining water in their hair. But I do not. The days are still warm enough that the evenings might be called pleasant, even if the rivers have already taken the chill of the season to come. Watching them as a group from the log I occupied for my dinner will be just as educational, and I… have not been invited.<p>

The other men return now, the Wardens engaged in casual banter between themselves and the Qunari striving to remain silent and scary as he has done for most of the day. It is most curious, however. Even after the chill of the river, the dark-haired one has not replaced his tunic. Of course I do not expect his current company to give notice to such a thing, even if the ladies pause in whatever their current occupations are to raise a brow. It seems he is unaware of the attention he calls to himself – I myself must admit he is in possession of some of the more… pleasing attributes I have seen in my time.

I have barely a moment to wonder when I was last able to attend to necessity at the brief reminder my body chooses to offer, however. The dark-haired Warden does not take notice of the witch who has set herself up some distance away, nor of the Sister who is not a Sister who lounges by the fire with her parchment in her lap. He does not stop to take a seat with the others returning from the stream. He pauses only to place in his tent the clothing and bathing items he holds, and continues to the edge of the camp where I am seated.

He does not ask for an invitation. He simply sits on the log beside me, staring over the rest of the camp as I have done for most of the evening.

One does not lead the life of an assassin without understanding certain truths, one of which occurs to me now. It is well known that one on the brink of death might feel a bond, an illusion of closeness, with the one who prevented it, so I should not be startled whatever my intentions may have been this morning. Perhaps I simply needed to recall this fact, convinced as I am that I can feel the press of heat from his body even though he allowed a modest space between us when he sat.

Foolishness. Whatever he may have done, he is now the man who holds my leash, the one who wields my blade. I must remind myself again of my prior convictions, as allowing my body to lead me in this dance of life when my surroundings are so uncertain will be a grave mistake. He still has not spoken, but I know the game he plays. He is waiting for me to fill the silence, unaware that this natural habit is among the first to be broken in young Crows. I keep my seat and count the breaths that pass, until he speaks.

"Crow habit, then? Seeing to ablutions and rearming yourself that quickly? Saved me having to try for introductions in the shadows, though."

Unsure as I was of what to expect, I am nonetheless taken aback by his casual tone. Even speaking quietly to prevent the carriage of his voice, my ears perceive it as deep and rumbling, commanding. "One of them, yes. It is never wise to stray from your steel for too great a time."

"Are you expecting a knife in the back?" He asks this with no hint of accusation, turning his head so I might see the honesty upon his face. He simply wants to know.

"In truth? I do not know. The Crows will not know of our arrangement this quickly, and you have taken a similar oath from the others, I suspect, in whatever language they found meaningful. I prefer caution, given the events on the road this morning." I try a small smile, and am rewarded with a laugh.

"Then let's get the rest out of the way. I'll bring you up on who we are, and then we'll figure out who _you_ are."

He tells me he is Aedan, as he believes I will remember from this morning. I am no little bit relieved at this quaint Fereldan custom for reintroducing oneself with one's party, as I had forgotten most of the conversation prior to the offer of my service. He gives me details on the others in the group, granting me names to associate with faces, adding to the impressions I had begun to form on my own, confirming what suspicions had presented themselves in my mind. I realize from the glimpses he provides that he is trying to speak to my need for a certain level of comfort with each of them, and he is not entirely failing.

Some acknowledgement will be expected, and a prompt to show my engagement arrives in my mind rather easily. "I believe I am still missing an introduction. There is a mabari…"

"This is Ferelden. There's always a mabari." He grins and whistles, prompting the dog to rise quickly, kicking up the dust under his feet and leaving it to settle as he approaches. "Rass, have you introduced yourself to Zevran?"

The dog – Rass – barks once as I reply. "He – I assume he gave you a positive answer. While you were… conversing with Alistair earlier, he spent some time with his head in my lap."

"Thought so. That settles it, then. If he likes you, you must be an all right sort."

An all right sort? The son of a whore who trained as an assassin and worked for years to make a name for himself in the most brutal and underhanded profession in the world? I had been thinking I understood some things about Fereldans and their dogs, but I see now I was mistaken. There is, however, no need for my companions to believe otherwise. "Rass, hmm? Is there a story for how this name was earned?"

"Yes." Aedan's expression has closed, the warmth of his humor retreating. He is young, then, in experience if not in years, for I can see a hint of the pain he thinks he has hidden. If the whine is at all significant, Rass detects it as well. The Warden stands and steps away. "Join us at the fire, yeah?"

I believe now this man may have an ocean of his own, not so far in the distance. Perhaps this is why he has not entirely failed in his attempts to make me feel at home.

I will follow, once he has had a moment to return from whatever memory I have sent him into.


	4. Inquiry and Insight

BioWare owns all; I just play in their pond.

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><p><strong>Chapter Four – Inquiry and Insight<strong>

The winding road we are traveling leads into a village that is trying its very best to appear picturesque. Were it not for the archery butts in plain view in the valley of the town proper even from this height, I might even have believed its attempt. Though I do wonder: what _is_ it with Chantries and arrows? First the Wardens end up with Leliana in Lothering, whose apparent skill with a bow hints to me of the deeper games played in her native land. And now in Redcliffe, the peasants forget to look out for the faithful before attempting to puncture straw targets from such small distances they may as well be using daggers.

Not to mention the man with his cheeks so sunken I can see the caverns of his jowl from this many yards away, as we round the corner and spy him standing upon a bridge.

But it is here that Alistair asks to stop, though the hour is late and after several days on the road we all agree – perhaps for the first time – that a proper meal will be welcome. The not-quite-Templar is clearly uncomfortable, which seems to be the state in which he always exists, though he becomes more so when he realizes aloud that there is no room to maneuver for a private discussion with his fellow Warden. Unless they wish to retreat further up the road, which Aedan's cocked brow seems to be both offering and discouraging at once.

After but a moment, Alistair resigns himself to the fact that the rest of us would learn of his news before long in any event. He confesses to being a bastard, pausing only momentarily to glare at Morrigan's uproarious mirth before specifying the nature of his birth. I fail to see the issue with this, being one myself, but he is quite transparent in his shame over not having shared this with Aedan sooner. My opportunity to study my companions – most particularly the Warden who spared me – comes, however, when Alistair identifies his father.

Morrigan dissolves further into laughter, and were I not seeing this with my own eyes I would not believe her capable of such levity. She eventually stumbles to the side of the path to lean against an embankment as she struggles for breath. Sten remains still, not even glancing aside at hearing the news. Leliana must have been some time out of the Game for me to have recognized the flash across her face, though sure I am now that she was once a player, as her gaze snaps to Alistair and her features settle into a canny expression so full of calculation. Even the dog tilts his head, as if in invitation for the man to repeat what he has just said.

Aedan is harder to read, but as Alistair fumbles to finish speaking, I do once again catch a glimpse of whatever I saw in the camp during my first night in his service.

"I should have told you, but… I didn't." Alistair heaves a breath and looks at his feet, and I wonder for the first time what he may know of life, that he is so awkward with others and seems to expect some reprisal from Aedan. Although truthfully, I myself have no idea what to expect.

"Alistair," Aedan seems to be waiting for the not-quite-Templar to look up again, continuing after a moment when he does not. "Why would I be angry with you for not telling me who your father is? It isn't as if I volunteered that detail about myself."

"That's it? It's just that… Everyone always thinks…"

"You were the one who told me Grey Wardens give up any claims to their titles, so why should you be anything other than Alistair to me?" Aedan's logic is sound, though I begin to believe that Alistair's life has not thus far been ruled by logic. "And if there _is_ something in that bit of knowledge that can prove useful to us for stopping the Bli-"

"Whoa. Whoa. Wait!" Alistair looks up now, holding his hands out before him as if to reinforce his words. "Remember that part, a minute ago, where I said I can't be King? That's all they ever told me, and I wouldn't even _want_ to be King! I don't know anything about… about nobles or courts or royalty."

Still calm logic, Aedan counters the panic. "I never said anything about making a bid for the throne, Alistair, but you were also the one who said the Wardens will do whatever is necessary. Neither one of us can say now what _will_ be necessary, so – hold on. Didn't you say Arl Eamon raised you? How did he not teach you anything of nobility?"

I wonder if Alistair's dislike for being questioned is rooted in his past or in the present, especially as it manifests so clearly like a child's frustration, a display of clenched fists and suddenly dampening eyes. "Can we… Can we just not talk about this? Please?"

Aedan's face transforms. I have seen this expression before, as he wore it days ago when showing his friendly concern for Alistair's feelings over Duncan. Recalling this, I am puzzled anew, having heard that Alistair's association with the man lasted only six months. I would not have thought such a bond could form in so little time. Neither would I have credited one so young as Aedan with the logical step toward using Alistair's bloodline to aid with the Blight efforts, and I must think on what he has had to say about not naming his own family.

I cannot hear whatever follows, but Aedan's words appear to have given the not-quite-templar some comfort. Good. I am starving, and I would _kill_ for a proper bath.

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><p>I am most displeased. It would seem there are no comforts to be found anywhere during a Blight. I have had to resign myself to being content with a hunk of bread as I wander about the town, inspecting defenses and instructing villagers as Aedan has asked me to do. Of course I was not surprised to hear him agree that Redcliffe should have our aid, as he very much seems the sort who would shoulder the burdens of those less capable. It is remarkably… moral, something I never thought I might be inclined to respect. Perhaps my regard has been kindled more at his calm resolve in the face of disapproval from Sten and Morrigan after his decision had been made.<p>

Then again, he must have been trained for this. I know not who else registered the significance when Bann Teagan called him by his name, but an assassin would certainly recognize one of the more powerful names in a country so large. Especially when that name is _Cousland_, that family reputed to be second in power only to the Crown. But none of this explains to me the weight Aedan carries, as I have not been aware of any gossip or news of Highever during my time in Ferelden.

And in spite of his noble upbringing and his noble charity, there is also his straightforward practicality. I have heard from Sten his approval of the threats employed against the spy in the bar, something I saw for myself when he confronted that dwarf in the cottage. I might have been taken aback, just a little, at his lack of hesitation in picking the lock to gain entry to that cottage, however. Until then, there had been no indication that he studied anything other than swordplay. I may have been curious at his use of the speed his small frame allows, but it would not be uncommon for a simple warrior to take advantage of that fact and the physique he so carelessly displays does not hint at stealth.

With a sigh, I remind myself again that taking pleasure where it may be found does not mean looking for it in unlikely places. My inspections complete, I am now to call upon Leliana and assist her with laying traps along the paths we are told the creatures use when night descends. I find her back upon the cliffs where we entered the city, chattering away at the man from the bridge about her knowledge of the task at her hand.

I cannot resist. As soon as the stammering guard takes his leave and we are alone I ask her the question that has been lurking in my mind for most of the day, though I am certain I already know the answer. "Do the Wardens know?"

"About traps? I do not think they know of traps, or we would not have been given this task." Either she is oblivious or she is playing her Game with skill.

"Please. The words I have heard you sing do not come from your Chantry, my bardic beauty."

She stills, breathing deeply for a moment before meeting my eyes. "They do not know. I have not decided whether to share with them certain details. Why is this important to you?"

"I have given my oath to protect the two. I would be honoring my word poorly indeed if I did not discover your intentions."

She blows out a breath, and the look she gives me shows well the cynicism of her former life. "This from the man who laid an elaborate trap to ensnare them not a week ago? My intentions are as I declared, and _you_, assassin, are either a hypocrite or a liar."

Braska. Of course she was watching me. She is a bard; it is what they do. But I do not confess my true intentions from the ambush in the recent past, and instead give her an empty expression and a teasing nod. My secrets are my own.


	5. Duty and Devotion

BioWare owns all; I just play in their pond.

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><p><strong>Chapter Five – Duty and Devotion<strong>

I am on a boat. I am on a boat on a lake that has been posted with a sign to warn against swimming. No one will say _why_ there is a sign to warn against swimming. I do not mind boats as a rule. I quite like swimming. If I were on a boat on any _other_ lake, I might not mind the swaying and the listing from side to side so very much. But there is a reason for that sign, and I do not for one single minute believe it has anything to do with the aptitude of the general populace in that village for thrashing about in the water.

And then there was the meal. The meal was very good and very large. Large enough that I can remember almost all of it as the boat tilts to and fro. Bann Teagan, who I might consider to be a decent man had he not insisted we make use of this boat on this lake, would not hear of our departure until we had eaten, having noticed what little we could scrounge on the run while traipsing about his little village and seeing to their defenses.

I cannot look upon the water anymore, so certain am I that the reason for the sign to warn against the swimming will rise up to the surface under my very eyes. Much better to look upon the amusement Aedan so clearly feels over my discomfiture, which must be evident though I have remained silent.

Perhaps I am simply diverting myself from my knowledge of our destination. I would never directly admit to such a thing aloud, but I have never truly been at home to the idea of magic. I will be the first person to admit that Morrigan's skills have proven very useful, and I take no small amount of comfort in knowing a mage can die like any other. What distresses me is that they also cling to living like any other, and it is impossible to tell by looking at them what form their grasp will take.

And once again Aedan has confounded me. I was certain upon hearing the very reasonable offer from the boy's mother – Isolde, was it? – that he would accept. He has shown himself capable of great practicality in the short time I have observed him. But he did not, and neither did he quote the Chantry on the topic of the blood magic that would have been involved. His statement on this matter was eminently logical, both in his desire not to see the traitorous mage from the dungeons working any magics and in his statement that, if no other option presented itself, he would not on principle object to blood magic only because the Chantry does. He certainly seems to understand the Grey Warden principle he was going on about earlier.

But he would not consider this ritual. I do believe Morrigan may have been relieved at being asked to stay back and mind the boy, though she masked it with a statement of her own refusal to visit the cage the mages confine themselves to. Sten appeared… Well, he is Sten, but he did not object to the request to stay behind either. Nor did Leliana, though I suspect that has more to with the eyes she was making in Bann Teagan's general direction than with any respect she might have for Aedan.

There is a cold nose once again upon my elbow. Aedan and Alistair having taken seats at the front of the small watercraft, Rass and I have been left to sit behind. "Giving comfort to the poor assassin, hound? Or are we seeking some for ourselves?"

His head flops upon my lap, and he releases a contented puff of air as I begin to scratch. I suppose that answers that.

And then it seems I am not the only one so puzzled over Aedan's choices in the castle, as Alistair's voice soon carries back to me.

"If you weren't worried about the blood magic…" He trails off, and I am not surprised that he of all people is unwilling to speak aloud the sacrifice that might have been required.

Aedan is silent for a time, and then he offers his response, his words only barely reaching my ears. "The gift Isolde offered to give for Connor is too much, if it can be prevented. I know what mothers will give for their children, and if I can see her alive to give it again, I have to try."

They face away from me, but in this moment I can see again what will not be fully masked in his expression. This is not Grey Warden wisdom. It is something much more personal I am sure, and it is certainly not at home to the Wardens' duty that surrounds us, but it is wisdom nonetheless. Though for someone such as I, who knows much of what mothers will _not_ give for their children, I begin to suspect what may lie behind his eyes when he closes his expression so.

"You know you can... If you need, I mean…" Alistair's offer sounds sincere, perhaps made more honest by his inability to express it. Perhaps there is more to this man than I had given him credit for having, some dormant potential he may yet realize.

Aedan is again quiet, though something in his posture makes me wonder if we might hear something of his history. But we will not. "Thanks, Alistair, but… Not now. Not yet, all right?"

The remainder of the journey passes without a word. The occasional heartfelt whines from the dog really say all there is to be said.

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><p>Aedan is back on form by the time we reach the tower, enough so to be livid with the man who calls himself the Knight-Commander.<p>

"The Chantry would have us believe you're here for the protection of the mages, Knight-Commander. How is that purpose served by slaying everything in sight? How many mages do you keep here, anyway? No sane man would believe _all_ of them would of a sudden give themselves over to demons."

No, a sane man would not. But if enough of them _have_ turned, I begin to wonder whether Alistair's education has stretched so far that he might be able to debunk for me the myth – hopefully the myth – that mages can turn others into toads and the like.

This Greagoir becomes incensed, enough to let us pass through the doors he has barred. It seems Aedan has taken on another altruistic burden. I wonder how many he will take before his sense of duty to others gets him killed.

Though our venture through the Tower does seem to go smoothly enough. I might even begin to think my uneasiness with the idea of mages may have been slightly irrational, perhaps rooted in an example that did not represent the true severity of the threat.

Or not. As I fall toward a most unnatural sleep, I resolve that magic is every bit as dangerous as I had feared.


	6. Cocks and Crows

BioWare owns all; I just play in their pond. Reviews are always welcome!

**A/N:** The cocks are metaphorical. Given the setting and the point of view, however, the title was kind of asking for it.

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><p><strong>Chapter Six – Cocks and Crows<strong>

Ah. Now _this_ is a setting I remember. A plush lounge, large cushions, various sweets of seduction arranged on ornate trays. Sounds of hired pleasure echo from above, a glimpse for those in the parlor of what they might have for only a few sovereigns more. I do not recall, however, being seated thus or watching the room just so, inviting glances and fancy from all who enter. I have seen countless others being taught to create fantasy in such a way, but there is a vague discord between my current occupation and my own perception, soon breathed away as the haze of my surroundings becomes more real.

A man has arrived in the lounge, casting his eyes about in the way of those searching for a choice. He appears uncomfortable, and he looks somewhat familiar, as if I should remember him from a previous encounter. Were this true, I should most certainly be able to place him immediately, for he has not the stature of other men to visit this hall and his features are most unique even among the travelers who pass through the city so infrequently. He spies me, registering my reclining posture, and approaches. And so the dance begins.

"A weary traveler seeking… succor? You have certainly come to the right place, if you should carry the right price." Such seductive grace I have never possessed, and yet as I shift to address him directly there is no question I have caught his eye. The room around me seems to lose its shape as I consider what I should not be capable of doing, but the illusion is does not remain broken. "Perhaps you are here to make a purchase?"

The familiar man's brow draws inward, confusion plain on his face. "What? No, I…" Shaking free of his puzzlement, he surprises me with my name. "Zevran, you know this isn't real, right? It's all illusion."

Of course what is for sale here is an illusion, but that does not make it any less tantalizing for those who wish to possess it. "Ah. You wish to try, as they say, before you buy. A better rental you will never engage, _mi amor_."

"Zevran, no. You need to break free of this, out of here. _Concentrate_, and come with me."

An interesting game he plays, as he steps through a door opposite his entrance, bidding me follow. This promises to be quite intriguing. As I rise to join him, I am stricken with what must be a false memory of meeting this man on a road, surrounded by hills, intent on an end instead of this beginning. As I step through the door in his wake, the parlor blinks in and out again, and the scene is transformed.

The man I cannot quite recall is gone, and I now lay supine, my wrists and ankles aflame under the pull of rough rope. Ah, yes. _This_ feels so much more correct. My determination to earn rank and title among the Crows has such a consuming presence in my mind for so many years. I will not break. Torture will not spill from my lips the secrets I have been charged to keep. Nor will the invitation hidden in the voice or the words of the torturer who promises all manner of release, if only I submit.

And then he is there again, withdrawing his blade from the chest of the man whose honeyed tongue whispered pleasures into my ear, and his friend at the ratchet is no longer the Crow who so enjoyed his duty to test the constitution of the apprentices. A flurry of blades and a demonic shriek, and then the so-familiar man is cutting the bonds that hold me to the table. I have been freed. I have passed the test, yes? There should be celebration.

I appraise him with a glance. "Have you come with good tidings, my friend, or is that your desired reward?"

Surprise is now evident upon his face. Surely one cannot associate with Crows and remain unaccustomed to such remarks. "Zevran, damn it, _think_ for a minute and tell me how you got here."

As I recall falling to a cold stone floor in a tower I entered with this man, his name appears in my mind just as he disappears from my sight.

Though I am uncertain how we will meet again, I am amused in myself. It will be _most_ interesting to hear his opinions on what he has seen.

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><p><strong>Memoria Interrumpida<strong>

"Hold on." Danica raised a hand as she rested her wine on the table at her side.

"My dear, did I not hear you promise to listen to this tale without interruption?" Though Zevran had not expected her to remain silent and, in truth, was surprised it had taken this long for a question to occur to her.

"If you didn't see this coming, I need a new bodyguard. Are you telling me you were looking forward to teasing Aedan with images of a whorehouse and a torture chamber?"

Of all the people he knew, she was the last from whom he would suspect judgment in an inquiry, and he did not hear it as such. "Of course. He was very much an enigma at the time, in part because I had not effectively been watching him and in part because he did not like to give away pieces of himself. Reminds me of another in my acquaintance," he added, arching my brow in her general direction. "And after all, what better way is there to learn of someone than discovering his boundaries and testing their resolve?"

"Were you really interested in his reactions, or were you just remembering him wandering around the camp that night without a shirt on? I don't for a minute believe you were as oblivious as you thought you were."

"We _are_ discussing boundaries, my dear. And my body, shall we say, resigned itself to living some time before my intellect caught up." She did not speak, prompting him to turn the question back on her. "Lost in a memory of our own, are we?"

"No," she lied. "I was just wishing you'd started this early enough for me to distract from that damned _Royal Romance_ serial that started last week."


	7. Magic and Mystery

BioWare owns all; I just play in their pond. Reviews are always welcome!

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><p><strong>Chapter Seven – Magic and Mystery<strong>

He wants us to sleep here. Does he not remember what happened the _last_ time we slept here? Surely he must. It only finished an hour ago. Perhaps he is playing a cruel joke, taking his revenge for my offer of good tidings this afternoon, no?

No. Expecting to return with several mages, he has arranged with Bann Teagan for a larger boat to arrive after us, and we are to expect it early tomorrow. Irving, the wizened old man we hauled down from the top of the tower, has offered us space in the apprentice quarters so close to the entrance. And the exit. I may just make use of it and will myself to sleep on the chilly grass outside, as the foul corruption of the demonic is so distressingly near.

The small number of mages who survived the ordeal, children and elders alike, have claimed bunks on the other end of this great hall, quite visibly wishing to maintain their distance. They have been whispering amongst themselves, the children taking comfort from some of the adults who have recovered enough from the ordeal to offer it. Currently they are attending upon she of the magically impossible bosom, who joined them a moment ago to speak with them. Some of the children remain enthralled by Rass, who stayed behind to occupy them after the mage joined us for the adventure through the upper levels.

Alistair ventured to the kitchens and returned with a basket full of breads and cheeses, and prompted many a raised brow from the group opposite by encouraging them to take their fill before dropping the rest on a displaced chest near the bunks we have taken. It is simple fare, to be certain, but none of us can claim the energy it would take for anything that would need preparation.

"So," I begin, breaking off a section of bread. "Perhaps one of you would care to explain the business upstairs?" To see his entertaining reaction, I allow Alistair a brief waggle of the brows, but it seems he is too busy communing with his cheese to notice.

"I think we want Wynne for that," Aedan suggests. "Of all of us, I think she had the easiest time resisting it."

"I think I don't want to know," Alistair shivers at voicing his opinion. "I also think the next time we go anywhere that has monsters, there ought to be more than four of us."

I cannot resist. "This from the soft touch who suggested Rass might do more good keeping the youngsters occupied?"

"Hey. Do _you_ want to know what dogs dream about? I don't. And look at how much they love the puppy."

This brings a soft chuckle from Aedan, who has been rather morose since the incident in the Fade. "You're just afraid it has to do with how he greets you every time he sees you."

"That's just… I don't even… Eww."

"Truly, Alistair?" I am certain I do not sound innocent, but I must try. "And what do not-quite-Templars dream of?"

"My sister, thank you very much." Such indignation!

"My, my! I would not have thought you had it in you." _This_ time, he sees the movement upon my brow, though it takes him a moment to catch the full meaning of my jest.

"Not _that_! Never that! You're filthy! _Both_ of you! Augh!" That famous Grey Warden appetite appears to be dwindling. Perhaps I am cruel, but the red upon his face and the laugh upon Aedan's have done much to remove my own unease with the idea of spending a night in this disrupted hall.

Wynne joins us now, admonishing the gentlemen – though I am sure there is only one present – that there are children about, and whatever it is that's filthy should not reach their ears. And then she surprises all of us, addressing the Wardens with a request to accompany us as we see to the tasks ahead. I would have thought one of such advanced age would prefer to remain within the safety of the tower she called home, until it occurs to me that _safety_ is perhaps not the best word for this place, given all we have seen today.

Alistair stabs a thumb in Aedan's general direction, muttering again about horrible consequences of his leadership. I believe I hear him stammer something about bears. It is quite charming, but I do wonder again where he gets his irrational fear of taking charge.

Aedan agrees immediately. "We'd be fools to turn away such a talented healer, Wynne. And actually, we can use your consult, and not just about the goings-on here. The… dreams, earlier. You seemed better able to resist than did the rest of us, and we've questioned what exactly happened."

Wynne takes a seat on a lower bunk opposite, reaching out and breaking off a section of bread without leaving so much as a single undignified crumb in the wake of her retreating hand. It is amazing, truly, how precise her actions are, down to the shifting of her expression from one of discomfort to one of resignation.

"I suppose there is no place for my pride to withhold an answer. I believe we were visited by desire demons, creatures of the Fade that whisper to us promises of what they feel we desire the most. We are fortunate to have been called out of the dreamscape before anyone allowed a concession to a demon in exchange for whatever false gift they may have offered."

Most interesting. Aedan regards her now with a sudden respect plain upon his face, before turning away and closing his eyes. Perhaps mine was not the only dream upon which he intruded? And I wonder now, just what did _he_ dream? Alistair's innocent desire for a family connection makes excellent sense, as when he has spoken of his bastard heritage it has clearly been a source of distress. I cannot even begin to imagine what desire might have been represented in my own walk through the Fade, nor do I care to think overmuch about it just now.

Aedan continues questioning the mage, Alistair and I content to watch their exchange, curious as it becomes. "Is it true, what we heard recently, that blood magic is granted by allowing such a concession to a demon?"

Wynne becomes inquisitive herself. "I know of no other way to acquire the… talent."

"And this ritual you and the other mages have planned for Connor. If there is another such demon with hold over a nearby host, would you be able to find it in the Fade?"

"Such things are never certain, and resources would have to be spared to watch over both hosts as well as the mage entering the Fade. I cannot speak for other mages, and I would never presume my own success, but I have… faith, that I might be able to do as you ask. May I know the reason for your question?"

The look that passes between the Warden and the mage is, as they say, very pregnant. The conversation has clearly left Alistair and myself behind, however Wynne's resolve seems to redouble as Aedan says, in very nearly a whisper, "Jowan is at Redcliffe."

Wynne simply nods, once only, and bids us rest for the journey in the morning.

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><p><strong>Memoria Interrumpida<strong>

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><p>"I assume you did eventually figure out what your desire was?" Danica called a halt to the telling once more with an uplifted hand.<p>

Zevran hesitated before answering. "I was aware of it even then. I simply did not wish to think upon it, even if I found others had already done so. And no, my dear, it was most definitely not the attention or affection of anyone in my company, not at that time."

"But you do plan to tell me?"

"You shall never find out, if you interrupt the tale to question, will you?" Zevran's expression clearly indicated he was teasing. He wouldn't be telling her any of this if he didn't think she could be trusted with all of it.

"Fine, fine." The mage waved away her inquiry. "And I assume I'll hear more about the others at some point as well, but… Jowan? I remember him, vaguely. Always struck me as the sort who'd never make it."

"In the fullness of time, you will hear what has become of him." Zevran crossed the room to open a new bottle of wine, taking his time to pour out for his friend. "In the meantime, tonight is young. Plenty of time for you to hear more of the earliest adventures, no?"

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><p><strong>Memoria<strong>** Reanudó**

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><p>Well. That was bracing. Aedan took command quite well, though I might have wished to have a source more familiar with the ritual than the mages distracted by conducting it to tell me when and if I needed to worry about she of the blessed bosom. Morrigan and Sten were sent to watch over the boy, Leliana and Rass remained with me, and Aedan took Alistair down to the cells to supervise the prisoner, though I understand neither he nor the boy were told what was to take place.<p>

Wynne woke from the ritual for just long enough to be placed on a litter and carried away to rest. Teagan was overjoyed to see Morrigan, her face a picture of distaste, escorting the boy Connor into the great hall. He was vastly less pleased to see Aedan and Alistair supporting a broken and weeping Jowan through the door at the other end of the room. I had not approached his cage as we entered, and saw now that the tortures Isolde had devised for the man were many, varied, and incredibly creative. The Crows might even stand to learn a thing or two from zees woomahn.

Alistair's light rumble of laughter as he approaches provides for me a clue that I may perhaps have given voice to that particular bit of mockery. Once he has settled, he asks after Wynne.

"She was carried out just before you arrived. Exhausted, incredibly so, but I am willing to assume she was successful as both hosts have returned to us." The not-quite-Templar appears relieved, which begs a question in return. "Were you not opposed to his release when we discovered him upon our arrival?"

"I… was, yes." Alistair keeps his voice low in hopes that it will not carry above the drama that fills the room. "But Aedan let him believe we'd gone down there to talk to him, and… We rather got the impression from the discussion that he might be inclined to impose a death sentence on himself if someone else didn't do it for him."

"Truly? He was repentant to that extreme?" One might think I would have recognized such a thing, as recently as I had set such a stage on the road to this troubled village.

"That, and I don't think he liked himself very much before he got around to the blood magic, either." Alistair's color rises, and I wonder how much of the voice of experience I am hearing. Though I am certain asking that particular question will stop him in his tracks. Suddenly, the not-quite-Templar is laughing, a few short beats that show his nerves – but I do not comment upon this, either. "Aedan was surprised to hear that from me, I think, even if he said it made sense. And then he ended up giving Jowan this incredibly intense look, that even just seeing it from the side I hoped he never turned it on me."

Oh-ho! I believe I may know the very look of which he speaks. Thus I am not surprised at what comes from the sudden cacophony of outrage from the men holding court at the other end of the hall. I _am_ quite curious at the discovery afterward that Alistair seemed to know what would transpire.

Teagan is quite irate. "You can't suggest he should be released just because a kind old woman came along to deal with his demon! Even Connor will be bound for the Circle when it's safe for him to go."

Irving seconds this opinion, in his voice that sounds as if it should be reading from ancient and cracked papyrus. "The boy has acted in direct contravention of the Circle's teachings. He must be sentenced for his crimes."

Isolde joins the fray as well, nigh on histrionic. "And my husband! He poisoned my poor Eamon!"

And then Aedan silences them all with uplifted palms, a gesture requesting attention rather than demanding it, though his words are no less than utterly commanding. "That last was accomplished at the behest of Loghain, My Lady, and I am not convinced it would have been successful had the call not gone out to smuggle a mage into the castle. Regardless, we will away as soon as we are able to seek out these ashes you believe to be the cure. The more pressing concern is the need for aid against the Blight, which I believe him to be more than capable of providing."

The look on Jowan's face quite clearly says he does not believe a word that has just come out of the Warden's mouth.

Aedan presses his point further. "And in giving that aid, he will also be working against the very man who sent him here on such a grim errand. I should think that would be sentence enough to satisfy the demands of justice in Redcliffe, given the conditions of his arrival here and the conditions under which he was kept. I believe it should also go some way to restoring his standing with the Circle."

Teagan is somewhat mollified, though he does not look as if he agrees. Irving will not relent. "I understand what you are trying to do, Warden, but Jowan has not been… tested. He has not passed out of his apprenticeship, and as a result of his poor decisions I cannot allow him to be so tested at this time."

Aedan considers this for a moment, sweeping his eyes around the room to hold the gaze of those involved in the discussion for long enough that it appears he may give up. But he has a winning card up his sleeve, and I can tell from Alistair's expression beside me that they fully expected it to come into play. "Very well then, gentlemen. Arlessa. I am invoking the Right of Conscription." The Warden raises a hand now to forestall arguments the four of them – Irving, the nobles, _and_ Jowan – feel it necessary to make all at once, sounding every bit the noble he must have been trained to be. "Unless you wish to contradict a King of the Theirin bloodline, you will be aware that my invocation cannot be overturned. Jowan is now under my command, and if we are to remain as guests in this castle I will ask that a room and a bath be prepared, with supplies we might use to see to his wounds."

Isolde opens her mouth as if to speak, then closes it abruptly and stalks out of the great hall without a word. After a moment more, Irving admonishes Aedan that the consequences of this decision will lie upon his head – something the Warden surely considered before taking such a bold step – and gathers the mages from the circle to see to Wynne. Finally, Teagan nods and bids a servant see to Aedan's request.

And _now_ Aedan surprises me, as he draws me into an unoccupied antechamber and pins me once again with the expression Alistair had described earlier. "I've got a couple of questions for you. First on the list, will you tell me what it is you're looking for freedom from?" At my blank – hopefully blank – stare, he presses. "I gather that was the desire, moving as we did from one place to another in the Fade?"

"I… Perhaps. But I do not see myself as your prisoner, if that is what you are asking. I gave you my allegiance in exchange for my life. You may see these two ideals rather closer together than I do."

He shakes his head. "That wasn't what I was asking. I don't want your indenture, Zevran. I want your loyalty, freely given. There is a world of difference. I'm releasing you from your oath."

"You… do not wish me to stay?" I hate to confess it, even to myself, but the shock of this rejection from the man who so recently spared my life is… distressing, in ways I cannot begin to count.

He shakes his head again. "And that wasn't what I was saying. If you want to carry on with us, I'll gladly have you. I've seen what you can do, Zevran, in the village and now at the Circle, and I won't dishonor you by trying to wave away the value of what we'd be losing if you go. But staying has to be your decision."

What is he aiming for? I built an elaborate trap for this man just over a week ago, and now that he's walked into a strange dream he's offering me freedom? I… cannot say if it is this fact, or the hovering threat of the Crows discovering my failure, but I find myself halfway through repeating my oath before I become aware that I am even speaking. And when he nods, that expression that simply dares one to lie to him fades into a grin, and I realize he meant every word he said.

Braska. Just when you think you have someone figured out…

But I cannot reflect for long, because he is speaking again. "All right, then. Next question. Would it be safe to assume that Crows know something about the treatment of torture victims?"

"You… would be, yes."

"Then being as Wynne has exhausted herself beyond any reasonable expectation, would you mind seeing to Jowan? They should have a bath about ready for him, and Alistair and I are afraid of causing him further injury."

"This I can do for you, Warden." He nods again, accepting my word, and turns to join the not-quite-Templar in search of a meal. "Aedan. You… could well have bid me tend to Jowan before giving me the opportunity to leave."

"Could have, yes. Didn't. And won't. I'm not saying I won't make the hard choices, Zev, but I won't take a friend I don't deserve."

His face has closed again, that hint that he is remembering something he would rather I not know. Or perhaps he would rather _he_ not know. So I dip my head in return, and find the stairs to see what I can do for our new mage.


	8. Beginnings

BioWare owns all; I just play in their pond. Reviews are always welcome!

**A/N:** After the last chapter, I'd like to introduce you to Judge Me Worthy, a collection of one-shots that will grow as this story progresses. Zevran can't be present to see _everything_ that happens, but the involvement of others is still important.

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><p><strong>Chapter Eight – Beginnings<strong>

You are a Crow, he said. See to the torture victim, he said. Yes, fine, I am tending to the torture victim, who has been in turns blubbering wordlessly and shaking like a leaf now for the better part of an hour, which makes him exactly the kind of torture victim I have no idea how to treat. Were he a Crow, our orders would be to leave him to die for behaving in such a manner, because clearly he would not hold in his mind the best interests of his brothers.

I am not without my sympathy, nor am I without a shred of pity for one who has been treated such as he. It is quite vexing to be, as they say, out of my element with nary a clue how to pick my way around his terror. And yet Aedan clearly saw _something_ in this man, to have acted as he did after questioning him with that so penetrating gaze of his. I would kill for a minute alone with the man right now to ask just what that something is.

I do remember now seeing Aedan calming villagers enough to converse with them, however, as we went about preparing the village for its final nightly dance with the dead. Though I have my suspicions after Alistair stopped me on my way here, if I am to treat the lesser wounds without as much difficulty as I encountered while working on the larger injuries, perhaps I should take a page from whichever book Aedan was reading on that particular afternoon. "Jowan, the more you tremble, the longer this will take, and the more painful it will be. Perhaps if you speak aloud whatever is plaguing your mind the rest of the process will be easier, no?"

Success! I am rewarded with a string of stuttered consonants! Now let us try for a vowel.

"I usually find that drawing a _large_ breath before speaking instead of grasping at several small ones allows me to get the words out more efficiently. Shall we practice? In. Out. In. Out. In. Speak."

Eureka! He is speaking! Even if the words are racing out of his mouth as though they had lined up at the starting line for a sprint. "They said they're making me a Grey Warden!"

"I believe that is traditionally the outcome of the Right of Conscription, _mi aprendiz__ poco_. Is this the cause of your distress? I should think you would prefer living for the chance to strike against the one who used you so to dancing the hemp Remigold, no?"

"But-but-but I can't even heat a _bath_! What do they expect me to do?" His eyes are spinning about in his head almost as disjointedly as the wheels on Bodahn's rickety cart.

"Get better with practice, I assume. Necessity is a wonderful teacher, I find; much better than any classroom. I have certainly improved my skills since casting my lot with the Wardens, so I suspect casting your spells with them will accomplish the same. At the very least, I can now counter the devious side-stepping technique the commander used to disable me before." I _am_ speaking the same language, am I not? I must be. Jowan's eyes have now bugged out of his head.

"He… disables the people helping him? Why would he do that?"

I cannot stop the laugh that bubbles in my chest. "I cannot confess to having tested this theory on a representative sample, _mi aprendiz poco_, but I suspect this is the customary response given by a Grey Warden during an assassination attempt. But it is a theory only."

"An assass… An assassin… You tried to _kill_ them?"

Such a masterful command of the language this little wizard has. "I did indeed. And was, in fact, hired to do so by the same man who set you against the sleeping Arl."

"You mean… Loghain? Oh, Maker. And they want me to go against him? How do I get myself into these things? All I wanted was to leave the tower with…" He is attempting to swallow the concept and failing quite spectacularly.

"With the girl?" At his nod, I simply must plant the seed that has been growing within my own mind, finishing the last of my ministrations and stepping away as I speak. "Of course, it sounds perfectly reasonable to _me_ that the lowest of initiates within any order should have access to documents restricted for the reading of those at the top."

"What are you suggesting?" He is angry now, defensive. "She was going to leave with me!"

"Yes, she was. But…" I cannot say it, cannot bring myself to suggest that she would have abandoned him at the shore. Perhaps she would not have, but with such hurt as is resting in his eyes already I cannot add more. "But have you considered that she may have wanted freedom as much as you did?"

"But that would mean she… No, I won't believe she would use me that way."

"As you wish." The mage is now casting about for clothing, realizing the scraps he has worn in the dungeon for the last fortnight are all he has, and those certainly are not in any condition to be donned again. Fortunately, after a moment that from the look on his face must feel to him like an hour, there comes a knock at the door.

Jowan moves to stand behind me and waits for me to call out permission to enter. Ah. Aedan has arrived, and he carries with him a new set of robes and assorted other apparel, which he passes to the poor mage who gawks in disbelief. "But these are enchanter's robes! I can't wear these! I'm an apprentice!"

Aedan laughs, giving the taller man a wink. "Glad I didn't take that bet. Irving told me that would be the first thing out of your mouth."

"_Irving_ gave you these?" There must some significance I am missing here.

The Warden's grin spreads wide. "In his defense, I was going to take them whether he wanted to give them up or not. But then I told him what you were in here being treated for, and he asked me more about what we'd talked about when Alistair and I went down to visit you in the dungeons. He said something about torture being a more effective test of your ability to resist demons, especially since you were already connected to one, than whatever it was they'd have done in the Circle. So congratulations. May never go down on paper now that you're with us, but Irving apparently doesn't think of you as an apprentice anymore."

"But… I can hardly cast a proper spell! How…"

Aedan claps him on the shoulder and bids us leave so he can retire or dress or worship his garments in private, but not before he tosses out one last bit of encouragement. He tells Jowan of the events at the Circle, highlighting the involvement of the one responsible for all the chaos we found. "You resisted your demon. Uldred didn't. It'll take some getting used to, especially the fighting, but knowing that? I'd take you over an Uldred any day."

And then we are in the hall, the door closing on the mage's emotion of an entirely different sort. Hopefully this will put him in a sufficient frame of mind for the road ahead. Time will tell, but in the meantime, as the corridor is empty, I have news of another sort for our illustrious leader.

"Aedan." Though I am trying to school my face into giving no expression, I fail miserably when he jests at his misinterpretation of my tone.

"What? The bounty on my head back on now that I left you alone with him for over an hour?"

I simply shake my head, willing my features into a calm blandness. "The servants in the hall, when I arrived upstairs to see to Jowan. You know there will be gossip among servants anywhere. It… It seems news has reached Redcliffe of certain events. In Highever."

And there is that look upon his face. He does not need to speak to confirm at least the general horror of what I have heard, and I cannot imagine the strength of will it has taken him to give up no more than subtle hints of pain in the days we have been acquainted.

He asks no questions, simply stares at the wall, until I feel compelled to tell him the rest. "Do not misunderstand me, Aedan. I am not angry that this detail was withheld. Everyone is entitled to hide their scars, or so I believe, and what little I know of our companions tells me they will feel the same. The word in the castle here is that the news tells of the demise of your entire family – yourself included. I tell you this only because the choice of when or what to tell those who travel with us should rest with you and not with chance."

Still he stares at the wall, until a sound at the end of the corridor catches his attention. Alistair, likely hunting for a snack of some kind. This prompts him to action, asking me to gather the rest so they may hear the news directly from his lips.

A small change in plan has us gathered in the room allowed to Wynne, for she of the bewitched bosom has woken and professed herself in good enough health to hear a small announcement. It is now her turn to look upon Aedan with respect, not at the telling of the betrayal of his family, but at his calm statement of fact that he failed in his duty to protect those who perished. He tells the tale with an almost military precision; there is no inflection to his tone, even as he acknowledges his perceived shortcomings.

It is clear that no one in the room holds him to such high standards as he is compelled to hold himself.

When the tale is complete, he makes his excuses and heads for his own room. Though some of us may not have expected it, Alistair follows close at his heels.

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><p><strong>Memoria Interrumpida<strong>

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><p>Danica sat up, swinging her legs off her desk. Alistair had some business or other to see to that would occupy him for most of the day, though court was not convened, so she had time to linger over her morning tea and hear more of Zevran's story. They have retired to her office this time, and Zevran lies sprawled over the arms of a most comfortable chair.<p>

"So what did Alistair have to say?" Watching the elf eagerly, she leaned forward in her own chair.

"I could not tell you. I was not privy to that discussion, though he appeared to be concerned for his friend's wellbeing."

She sighed. "I'll have to remember to ask him later. Aren't you supposed to be good at listening to conversations you shouldn't know about?"

"I am quite skilled in that area, I assure you. But there was no reason to do so, especially not less than an hour after I had just told him his privacy should be respected, no?"

"So bosoms, yes; brothers, no?" Danica's eyes twinkled, but Zevran seized on something she'd said.

"You would not know it, but I believe whatever they discussed was in fact the start of what brought them together as brothers. Alistair was most certainly more focused after that night, and Aedan seemed much less burdened with the weight of his tragedy."

"Why would some of you have expected him to do anything other than go after Aedan, though?"

"Ah, well… You have heard our favorite king say that the Blight forced his maturity, no? By the time the news of Highever reached Redcliffe, I gather he was beginning to wonder what Aedan meant about looking outside himself for rewards, and Alistair was perhaps astute enough to see what an opportunity for doing so was presented to him with this announcement."

"He does tend to be rather more observant than he thinks he is, doesn't he?" Danica considered the number of times she'd seen evidence of this.

"Of course. Now let us call for more tea, shall we? I imagine I can entice you back to my sordid tale with an offer to speak of the first time I managed to insert my foot into my mouth." In spite of the years between, Zevran's face softened. It may have made him wonder if he'd thought of it, but even now he could look on some memories with fond regard.

* * *

><p><strong>Memoria <strong>**Reanudó**

* * *

><p>It was several days before Jowan was well enough to permit us to travel, though these days passed in relative peace. The weight Aedan no longer carried was sizable and very evident, something that contributed greatly to the quiet.<p>

Unless one allowed oneself to be distracted by the shrieking of the harridan – I mean the Arlessa – Isolde. The day before we were to depart, she cornered our fair commander in a corridor to berate him for the delays in our journey for this mythical pot of body parts that was to restore her husband. If any question remained as to what Aedan had learned at his father's knee in Highever after we were treated to all of his so-sad tale, the answer came in his response to her.

Poor Jowan had simply frozen himself to the spot, quite evidently wishing he could be anywhere else. He was shocked into _finding_ himself someplace else to be after hearing Aedan's very vocal outrage over the treatment of his newest follower, and his blatant accusations that the woman was a leech on those she was meant to serve. Those of us present had no idea at the time what he meant, but he finally scared her into retreating when he shifted his tirade to the merits, or lack thereof, inherent in her opinions on the proper care of children – her own and others.

Coming to find out where Alistair _actually_ lived prior to being dropped unceremoniously in the Chantry as its newest servant was purest accident, as he was unable to stop himself bubbling over in amazement that Aedan would accuse her so. We supposed he could hardly be blamed for the impolitic outburst, with his own pain so recently brought to the surface, though I may have wondered to myself if it might not be best to leave the sleeping Arl to his repose for fear of retribution. Teyrn trumps Arl, certainly, but when one has left one's title behind it may be wisest to leave the pecking order with it.

And then we were on the road, and suddenly presented with the opportunity to see just what Aedan had seen in Jowan. During the first day of our travels toward Denerim to find this Brother Genitivi, we were set upon by no small number of darkspawn. These being the first I had ever seen, I will admit it may have taken me a moment to push aside the gruesome reality of what was bearing down upon us before I joined the battle.

Through most of the action, Jowan stood paralyzed and terrified among the dwarves, but at least he was not in the way. And then, my immediate foes vanquished, I had the pleasure of witnessing his call to action. Alistair took a number of solid hits from the rather larger beast he had engaged, nearly losing hold of his blade in the process. From her great distance, Wynne immediately began a series of spells to restore him – and who would have thought such an old and apparently _soft_ lady as herself could survey the field of battle with such calm collection? – when a stray darkspawn approached her from behind, its crude sword raised for a blow that would most definitely have killed her where she stood.

Even as I called out to Leliana and Morrigan to protect the healer, Jowan's hand lit with a crackling energy quite similar to what I had on occasion seen the witch use. Were the circumstances any other, I might have been amused at the look of fearful concentration upon Jowan's face during his incantation. As he completed it and thrust out his arm, a charge of static such as I have never witnessed left his hand and struck the monster threatening our healer with force enough to steal its feet from beneath it. It did not attempt to stand again.

When the fight was over and we were certain none of our enemies yet lived, Aedan made the decision to find the closest, safest place possible to set camp for the night. Jowan returned to his shocked state – as one might expect from him, given that he had just seen his first battles with creatures that had given me pause – through the meal, turning his hand to and fro as he stared at it in amazement, until he was startled out of his condition by Wynne's quiet statement of her pride in him.

It was quite pitiful. The way the mage looked then, one would think he had never before heard such a thing.

And yet other than Morrigan, who stalked off to her own camp in disgust at the display, none of us are quite inclined to leave the fire. It is only a moment before Wynne scolds Rass, who takes the witch's departure as his cue to bound about, kicking up dirt and snuffing for whatever scraps he can find. To the great amusement of many of us, one of the first places he searches for treasure is within the confines of the lady mage's entrancing endowment. A dog after my own heart, he.

And suddenly Aedan is laughing. "You all have no idea what trouble I caught for that hound's name. Before he imprinted on me, he was already known as the troublemaker of his litter – of the kennels, for that matter. _No one_ was safe from his constant pestering, a fact that was shared with me in a moment of pity when he decided to claim me. 'Harass' seemed to be the only command he never needed to be given, so when I decided what to call him I heard no end of grief over encouraging his behavior."

Rass, sensing his reputation being impugned, promptly lies down and places his forepaws upon his nose. "If I did not know better," say I, "I might be tempted to defend his innocence."

"Don't see why that should stop you. I've spent most of his life defending the poor pup to anyone and everyone." If the dog had a tail, it would be thumping, I just know it.

Conversation becomes serious for a moment, with acknowledgement of Aedan's intent to proceed with introducing himself as the Warden-Commander when disclosure of Warden presence was needed. Such a field promotion, as it were, makes sense, with the only two remaining members of that order in the entire nation sitting here before us. Of course the formality lasts only long enough for me to begin addressing Alistair as Aedan's Second, causing much sputtering and flailing about. Though the truly amusing note to send us on our separate ways comes later, with the flush that rises to Alistair's cheeks at my remarks on having such attractive leadership to follow.

If the fabric of his tent were any thinner, I might suggest we could bank the fire for a time.

Aedan remains with me, as we have drawn the first watch for the evening. He passes the time by asking me about my years as a Crow, and about my seemingly casual attitude toward taking the pleasures of life wherever they may be found. Perhaps I am looking for something that is not there, now that the ghosts of his former life no longer haunt from behind his blank stares, but it does seem to me as if there is a lurking question he does not ask. Not wishing to damage what has become a comfortable friendship, however, and not entirely trustful of his lack of judgment at my profession of enjoyment in my work, I do not poke at what may or may not be there.

Until the time comes to retire, at any rate, when he finally works up the nerve to ask me what it is I truly fancy. If he is surprised to hear of my preference for the more feminine curves or my nearly equal pleasure in the strength of a more masculine touch, then I must worry that his jaw will become unhinged when I speak the truth that I find him personally quite attractive.

He swears he is not offended by the disclosure, after he finishes fumbling about for his words that have left him, but he is clearly disturbed by something.

Hmm. Perhaps what may or may not be there actually _is._ I can only hope, with some trepidation, that this friendship we have does not return to the simple acquaintance of a man and his master in the wake of my ill-timed revelation. I wonder what it might mean that Rass pauses, clearly bidding me good night in his canine way, before trotting after the newly named Warden-Commander of Ferelden.


	9. Sword and Song

BioWare owns all; I just play in their pond. Reviews are always welcome!

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><p><strong>Chapter Nine – Sword and Song<strong>

We have camped within an hour of reaching Denerim, careful to stay out of sight of the highway. As we pack the camp, each of us attending to the various duties we have fallen into as a matter of habit, I allow my attention to drift to my surroundings and the familiar interactions of my companions. I suppose I am relieved that Aedan has seemed determined to prove to me that he was not bothered to hear of my attraction, even if his words have seemed rather forced. Fortunately, I enjoy puzzles almost as much as I enjoy the thrill of the chase, though I have not yet decided if I am in fact chasing him.

And then there is the recent addition to the group.

Next, someone will tell me we will recruit a mountain to our cause, though truly Sten may well fit that description already. He is certainly very opposite Jowan, who has been learning proper control of his magic in between bouts of emotion over proclamations of praise at his successes. If Jowan has been a river, flooding uncontrollably at the slightest compliment, the only extreme that can possibly follow will be the stony countenance of the very earth itself.

Having heard some of the effusive gratitude pouring out of the little mage, I am unable to completely fault him, though he has begun to see positive regard in statements that do not contain any. At all. Fine. Perhaps a little. All I said to him was that I was eager to see him bring his powers fully under control, which he perceived as encouragement of his newfound ability. It was, in fact, born of my immense and urgent desire to see the last of his overloaded spells, such as the wild lightning he cast the day we left Redcliffe.

I would simply have much preferred to see him master the art of properly powering his spells before he remembered the various ways and means of producing _fire_.

No adventure is complete without the occasional comic relief, however. While one might have expected Jowan to attach himself to Aedan as a role model for the Wardens, he has instead targeted Alistair. I believe the not-quite-Templar will carefully consider his words before he ever again confesses to having changed his mind. Evidently, it took some discussion before he and Aedan reached an accord concerning what was to be done with the little mage. Alistair's apparent forgiveness of the sins inherent in Jowan's past has caused him to be placed upon quite the pedestal.

Of course it is not the puppy-like hero worship itself that has been a source of amusement – particularly as witnessed by Morrigan. No, it is instead Alistair's obvious discomfort at finding himself representing the goodwill of all mankind to the poor child of the Circle who has thus far in his life seen evidence of no such thing.

We are called together, now, Aedan suggesting that perhaps a plan for our entrance to Denerim might be in order. As we do not intend now to beard the lion in its den, says he, the waters should be tested before those with bounties upon their heads are seen within the confines of the city. Leliana volunteers to scout the city, so confident is she in her ability to remain undetected, as of those of us able to endeavor so she is the least likely to be recognized and apprehended.

She is certainly capable, detecting as do Aedan and I the snapping of a twig in the near distance, readying her bow as our blades come to hand. After weeks on the road, the others in the group have taken the habit of arming themselves at the slightest indication that one among us has perceived a threat, the warriors and mages bringing to bear their own weapons. There is a scream from a stand of trees as an arrow loosed by Leliana finds its mark, and then we are besieged.

It is most refreshing, I decide, to find myself engaged in the dance with something other than darkspawn.

The battle is over almost as quickly as it has begun, with varying reactions of surprise at the exclamation offered by one that the redhead was to be taken alive. Truly, she must have been a very excellent player of the game, as easy as it is most of the time to forget that the Sister is not a Sister. Even I have relaxed my attitude in her presence just lately, being convinced that her purpose in being here is not sinister.

Aedan himself manages to impress me a number of times in the moments that follow. First, he appraises Leliana and one of the female ambushers, bidding the pair to retreat with Morrigan and Wynne for their protection to the concealment of a stand of trees to exchange clothing. He declares it unacceptable for Leliana not to have proper armor if she is to be a target, after all, and she who was among our attackers is startlingly similar in build if not half so attractive in Sister Songster's abandoned Chantry garment.

Following this, over the protests of the Qunari and the witch, Aedan concedes to Leliana's request to show mercy to those who yet live, securing their good faith with the application of a poultice to the most hindering of injuries so they may make good their escape. Even if he did evaluate their intent under the steely gaze of one trained to administer justice, were I not certain I would have to offer other education in the immediate future I may have objected to releasing those who would so cheerfully have seen us all dead mere minutes ago.

I have locked my own eyes upon Leliana's face, and I am waiting to see what she will do. So it is that I see her brows wing up with mine, and her mouth form into a perfect Orlesian "O" of amazement when Aedan speaks.

"Now then. We're all recovered," he begins, his tone as casual as any of us have ever heard it. "Leliana the Lay Sister couldn't have harmed a fly, I'm sure. Mind telling us who Leliana the Bard managed to piss off?"

Even as I laugh with my delight at this development, Leliana overcomes her shock. "What? You _knew?_"

"No," Aedan offers, with a cheeky grin to accompany the teasing in his voice. "I suspected, strongly. What? Surely everyone heard me when I said I was raised in the ruling family of the one Teyrnir in the country as easily accessible to Orlais as you can get while still standing on Fereldan soil, yeah? How could I _not_ know what bards are?"

"But. But. But." Leliana's hands flail with her distress. "Why did you not confront me?"

"A wise man once told me everyone should be entitled to conceal their scars. You've given me no reason to doubt your sincerity, though I've given you plenty of reason to do just that – yes, on purpose – so I didn't really see it as my place to bring it up." He gestures at those of our attackers who did not survive the encounter. "Until now."

Thoroughly flustered, Leliana tells the tale of Marjolaine's betrayal, her own escape, and the refuge of the Chantry in Lothering. I believe it rings true, a sentiment with which I can see Aedan agrees. It is always the sneaky ones tempted to run from their beginnings, no? I am only grateful that all eyes are upon the bard, for I fear I may have shown a moment's pleasure at hearing my words so confidently repeated.

"If I may," I interrupt. "It would perhaps be wise to alter our plan for entering the nearby city? We will need lodging, and gossip if we are to determine the proper amount of fear to add to our caution in moving about. Of course the Wardens will be easily recognized by now, as will I. There is significant enough Chantry presence that I would not advise sending any of the mages-"

"One need not enter the city as a mage, assassin," Morrigan reminds us of her unique skills, of which I have only seen one manifestation thus far.

"Of _course_," I acknowledge with a dip of my head in her direction, "a spider larger than the tents we carry will draw absolutely no attention whatsoever as it moves among the bustle of the citizenry. We now have reason to believe Leliana may draw attention as well, with her history skulking about in the streets. This leaves us with the only option of turning to-"

"Parshaara." Sten drops his packs and shoulders his blade. "I will go."

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><p>The Qunari returns to us some hours later, complaining of the quality of the likenesses of the Wardens that have been distributed throughout the city and relating to us that the order appears to have some allies within its walls as well. He has removed a notice tacked upon one of the boards he passed, proclaiming the password provided within as if it were an edict from his Arishok before telling us he has also found lodging near the docks. The rooms are large, the beds plentiful, and after some negotiation he was able to procure separate quarters for the men and for the women.<p>

"Near the docks, you say?" I question.

"Your hearing does not appear to have deserted you." I wonder what it would take for the monotone to desert _him_. I can think of several things that might bring this about, but I enjoy having all my bits attached too much to try any of them.

"Just checking. Perhaps you will share with us the name of the, aha, establishment that will be putting us, hmm, up, for the duration of our stay?"

"I did not take note. It will suffice that I am able to lead you to our destination." A pause. "I see no cause for amusement in my completion of the task set to me." Stoic to the last.

I could warn my friends of my suspicions. It might even be considered the honorable thing to do. But one such as I takes his pleasure as it can be found, and I am convinced it will be vastly more entertaining to see their reactions in the flesh, as it were.

I wonder if Sanga has yet stopped laughing.

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><p>Oh, but I love being right. I can still hear Morrigan's mad cackling, though she has barricaded herself in the smaller room with Leliana and Wynne. The bard looked torn between laughter and scandal, while she of the magical mammaries simply massaged her temples all the way down the hall. Between Alistair and Jowan, it is a wonder that we needed anything more than their proximity to heat the water for bathing. Aedan passed a hand over his face and ended up looking resigned, as if he should have expected such a turn of events.<p>

I think he may be content to let his hound do the laughing for both of them.

Sten has remained obliviously silent, after his initial question concerning the role that would dictate men and women to prance about in clothing insufficient to preserve their decency.

And yet I remained composed, if only just, until Sanga herself allowed her smile to spread slowly from one ear to the other. Had I been fully committed to the task set to me by the impostor in the castle, I might have attempted to plan an ambush here.

The plan _had_ been to take the evening for rest – such as can be found in the Pearl of an evening, in any case, until Aedan realized those "allies" Sten mentioned could be found here. Fortunately, we did not disarm ourselves before Aedan knocked on the door and uttered the password from the leaflet the Qunari had acquired. We were just as lucky that the ladies were still decent enough to rush out to our aid when the fighting began.

Having drawn the short straw for use of the so convenient in-room bathing facilities, I am forced to conclude and dress in a hurry to join the others in the common room when sounds of a new battle reach my ears. Leaving most of my tricks behind – the bag of poisons sadly among them – I arrive just in time to see a number of men beating a hasty retreat and a very familiar woman replacing her blades at her back.

"You!" This from both of us at once. I had not expected to meet this enchantress again, although if fate was to bring us together again even briefly I can most certainly appreciate that it would be here.

"Friend of yours?" Aedan asks as he leans against the wall.

"I may have done a favor for this charming woman in a… previous life. Aedan Cousland, Warden-Commander of Ferelden, allow me to present Captain Isabela, Queen of the Eastern Seas and the sharpest blade in Llomeryn."

"You've done me more than just the one favor as _I_ recall, sweet thing." I had almost forgotten the sultry smile that plays across her face.

Aedan is also amused. And distracted, for he has had the opportunity to watch the battle I did not see. He is most intrigued by her unique style of combat, and before I can stop him he is asking her if she might be willing to provide instruction. I am almost afraid of what will come next after he so candidly counters her offer with the confession that he is "utter pants at cards."

The pirate considers. "Very well. Come with me down to the docks; we can use more open space than there is here. And I suggest bringing your nimble friend, as well." She stabs a thumb in my direction and spares me a wink. "I don't plan to play pincushion. For very long, anyway."

Ah, yes. How did I not immediately recall that Isabela can hear every word in the many languages of love, even those not spoken aloud?

* * *

><p><strong>Memoria Interrumpida<strong>

* * *

><p>"Oh, no you don't." Danica rose to her feet with Zevran, positioning herself between him and the door before he could take a single step. They had retired again to her office for more of his tale. "You didn't honestly think you'd get away with just walking off after telling me she imparted her wisdom and then dragged the both of you to her cabin, did you?"<p>

Zevran is momentarily speechless. "Aren't we the inquisitive one? What _would_ that maid of yours think to hear you pressing me so for the lurid details of such an intimate encounter?"

"All the more reason I should, isn't it? And anyway, you've hinted at me enough times this was a relatively significant event. You can't just leave me _completely_ in the dark."

"Perhaps I am shy, and my own sensibilities will be offended by the telling of such a tale." Try though he might, Zevran couldn't manage to summon an expression suitable for this statement.

"Right," Danica stretched out the word. "Seems to me you wanted to hash through this story for a reason, which won't be served if you start worrying about shocking me now. I'll remind you I grew up in a stone fortress surrounded by water and mages who could find no entertainment other than what they could provide for each other, so I guarantee you won't be telling me anything I haven't heard already."

"It seems… crude, does it not?" The occasional innuendo was one thing, after all, but this?

"Maker's sake, Zevran, I'm not asking you for a thorough… blow by blow." The mage waggled her eyebrows, startling a laugh out of the elf. "There _are_ limits, but I'll repeat. Purpose. Serving it."

On a sigh, Zevran retook his seat. "Very well. But I reserve the right to mock you mercilessly for any color that finds its way to your cheeks."

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><p><strong>Memoria<strong>** Reanudó**

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><p>It was certainly not the <em>most<em> awkward encounter in my experience. Quite close, as mortified as Aedan was with Isabela's idea of payment for services rendered. I could likely count on one hand the number of times the man's eyes opened throughout. Though if I was honest, once things became clearer to me I did look back on these events as somewhat charming, even if I was confused at the time when he never protested.

It was a blessing that his eyes were shut for most of the process of disrobing, as in the context of our surroundings I was unable to resist… seeing him, in a new and appreciative way. Ah, well, in light of the attraction I had already confessed, I had to admit to a certain amount of relief at learning that his sense of duty was, in fact, the only part of him to be… inflated beyond reason. Which made his discomfort almost physically painful, knowing then that I had no logical reason to dissuade myself of the fantasy that he might one day return my attentions.

I did not want to increase his anxiety, so I had to be very careful to avoid any contact that would shatter the barrier he had built with the lids of his eyes. Isabela, the cursed creature, knew well what I was doing and waited much longer than was decent to relocate the three of us to the cushioned expanse of wood that passed for a bed in her cabin, and from there things progressed as naturally as they were able.

I ended up on my knees in the center of the bed, the beneficiary of Isabela's talented and teasing mouth and wandering hands, finding out she had not forgotten a moment of the time we had been together before. With the added distance as Aedan stood and filled her from behind, I was more capable of losing myself in the moment and enjoying the gentle motion of the water below us that somehow suited the ever more frantic pace within the cabin.

Isabela was visibly pleased with Aedan's own movements and ministrations, doubly so after he removed a hand from her hip when a rhythm was found and used it to add to her pleasure. No more than a handful of times did Aedan's eyes open, only to close tightly again when he realized all that his vision revealed to him. Of course I was well satisfied with my own perception of events, and after fully enjoying Isabela's memory of my pleasures I was content to disengage myself and move away.

I felt almost guilty, seeing as I did the relief upon Aedan's face at my departure, and again when his own release followed Isabela's so closely after. Before he could turn away from her, I directed my own attentions to dressing and preparing for our return to the Pearl, allowing him what privacy I could afford to give.

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><p>It is almost a relief to step back into the Pearl. Aedan's pace was quite grueling during the retreat to our lodging, his face closed in that way that told of more than simple unease. He did not speak at all during the walk through the docks.<p>

He stops for a moment in the common room, scaring a few scantily clad ladies away from the innocent mage and not-quite-Templar before speaking briefly with Alistair. From the blond man's nod, I assume instructions have been given, and then Aedan is gone, having retreated toward our rented room. I am left to regret my own lack of protest, and wonder if the friendship we had just begun had now been ended.


	10. Progress and Pretense

BioWare owns all; I just play in their pond. Reviews are always welcome!

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><p><strong>Chapter Ten – Progress and Pretense<strong>

Alistair joins us at breakfast the next morning after letting Rass out to run off some energy and claim some of the local territory. He tells us we have a small shopping list for resupply and an address for Genitivi, suggesting some should remain behind as who knows what will happen to our belongings without someone to watch over them.

"All right, Jowan," he almost sighs. Clearly he hasn't the heart to turn the little mage away from this adventure, not when it is being organized by his personal hero. Jowan's excitement at being asked to come along does not diminish in the slightest when Alistair reveals the purpose for the arrangements he is making. "Since we're here, Aedan thought it might be a good time for me to run around a bit, get a better idea of what it is he needs to show me."

"Allow me to help you at the start, then, my friend," I cannot resist stating the obvious. "Rule number one: never let us know when you do not know what you are doing."

"But I _don't_ know what I'm doing." A master of deception, he.

Leliana looks on him with kindness even as Morrigan snorts with derision. "Oh, Alistair. We know. We know you're learning, but part of being in charge is acting the part. If we _really_ need to do something different, we'll tell you. Otherwise, trust yourself."

"Erm… Right, then. Leliana, I want you along as well. So you can look out for the place you recognize as Marjolaine's, not because you're nice. I mean you are, but that's not why… And Zevran, you're coming as well, for laughing at me right now. The rest of you, stay here and scare off the riff-raff." He tries a stern expression, prompting Leliana to look away before she ruins her image.

"Right," I agree, as soon as my amusement is somewhat under control. "Some aspects of command certainly appear to be well understood."

We take our time in the markets, collecting necessities for travel and giving the critical eye to other items that may aid us as well. Leliana casts her eyes about routinely for familiar landmarks, spotting at mid-morning the road that leads to the home of her former mistress. The street is very near the Chantry – about which, I note, there are no archers or butts to be found for once – and entirely too busy for us to make a run at it now.

As we pass back through the market, Alistair suggests the sneaks should take another pass closer to dark. It takes a moment for him to remember not to appear surprised when no one disagrees with his logic. This time Leliana has to detour away from us, pretending to inspect the goods on offer at a stand run by a shouting dwarf.

Before I can add "adorable" to the "attractive" observation I made of our leadership earlier, purely for the reward sure to come to Alistair's face, we hear an indignant shout from that direction. The three of us look over as one, to see the bard jumping back from a rather lecherous looking man who has accosted her. When he sees her withdrawing a dagger from underneath her bow, he breaks for the crowd in our general direction.

Only to be met by a stiff-armed strike from Alistair's plated hand. Sprawled on the ground, the lecher suddenly finds the point of our ersatz leader's blade pressed against his chest. "Something else you'd like to say to the lady?"

On hearing a stammered apology, the not-quite-Templar withdraws his blade and leaves the man to stumble away. "Ah," I remark, "perhaps you know more about this command business than you think." Of course Jowan is impressed to no end, and Alistair's face lights up in his customary display of embarrassment. Perhaps I can let _one_ such opportunity pass.

But not another. Moments later we are inside the home belonging to this scholar Genitivi. Alistair is thanking the assistant Weylon – who anyone with any sense would know from looking at him and from the rather distinct smell greeting us from the chamber beyond is _not_ Weylon – for his directions to Lake Calenhad. Leliana, flanking Alistair opposite me, lifts her eyebrow.

At my shrug, I interrupt. "On the list for your next discussion with Aedan, my friend, may I suggest a course in the more blatant signs that someone is telling you false?"

One might almost think we had planned it, so well did Leliana and I move together. Stepping around Alistair, we each find ourselves with a fistful of the impostor's shirt, and as his back presses to the wall our blades cross at his neck. Leliana purrs in his ear, "We don't care who you _really_ are, you know."

"In fact," I match her timbre with a breathy growl of my own in the man's other ear. "Some activities are so much more fun when the strangers are nameless."

"Of course with two of us to entertain, you may find your abilities somewhat taxed. We're _very_ competitive and demanding."

"So shall we call for the ropes and other assorted items of our desire, or have you perhaps been persuaded to tell us where we can _truly_ find this Genitivi?"

Slow though Alistair may be on the uptake, and red though he may be in the face, he is rather ready to drain away _Weylon's_ power when it becomes apparent he is attempting to cast a spell. Ah, well, I suppose a cornered rat must attempt to fight, no? Leliana and I are again in harmony as our blades bite into his throat. As his body slides to the floor, I note that Jowan has at last begun to see Alistair as something other than a hero.

More to the point, Alistair has noted this as well, and from the look on his face has added another question to his list for his next conversation with Aedan. Excellent. Hero worship is one issue; nerves bordering on fear is another entirely.

After a quick search of the premises, a pilfered journal, and a stop to report the bodies to a guardsman with his shield slung the wrong way around, we are away to the Pearl to report on our success.

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><p><strong>Memoria Interrumpida<strong>

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><p>"And you wonder why Alistair didn't start seeing you as a friend until much later?" Danica didn't bother to hide her amusement over the exchange with the pretender in the scholar's hut.<p>

"I never claimed ignorance in that area, my dear. I only question how you resist, when any number of things will bring about that so-familiar blush even now." Zevran lifted his brows a few times for punctuation.

"Strange that Alistair never mentioned how similar he and Jowan ended up being. All either one of them needed was a little encouragement, it seems."

"Eh… Jowan more so than Alistair, to be sure. Of course confidence does come much easier to those who have large swords." The elf ignored the mage's delighted laugh. "And you know as well as I do that Alistair struggles to view how he was raised as anything other than acceptable to this day, and is generally uncomfortable when those of us who know better remind him of our opinions."

"I'm not so sure that's true." Danica hedged.

"No? I would not have thought his distress so rooted still in his perceptions of inadequacy. I certainly made no secret of my own beginnings. You must be careful not to share his charms with your incorrigible bodyguard, so infrequently can I resist seeing them for myself."

"Please. If you needed any help in that area, you'd have been telling me this story long ago."

"What can I say?" Zevran lifted a palm, conceding the point. "You always have seen through me."

* * *

><p><strong>Memoria <strong>**Reanudó**

* * *

><p>Most of our merry little menagerie has taken space in the Pearl's common room. I am finishing an excellent meal arranged by Sanga, having proven to my companions from this morning that it pays to have connections, even in such a place where one pays to have connections. Not all of the assembled fighters for truth and darkspawn are gathered together, of course, with such divergent personalities, but all seem to be passing the time with relative indifference.<p>

Leliana has excused herself, all but dragging Jowan out for "a walk," and it is my hope she intends to speak with him on the events of the morning. Neither does our company include Aedan, who Morrigan informed us on our return had not yet emerged from the rented room. Surely he was not _that_ exhausted by the episode with Isabela. I am not the only one to have noticed his continued absence, either.

But as Alistair rises to seek him out, Rass announces himself from the hallway, startling our fellow patrons with a single harsh bark as he bounds into the room. Several of us turn our gaze expectantly to the doorway, expecting to see his master at his heels. No one comes, and I am left with only a moment to puzzle over the fact that the hound never has less reason than his master for anything he does.

And then I must puzzle again, as he growls Alistair back into his chair and rounds the table to where I am seated. His instructions can in no way be mistaken, for he takes my wrist in my mouth and begins to pull me away. Only once he is satisfied that I am following, though no less confused, does he release me from his grip and lead me to the rented room we share. There is something in his pointed gaze, though I am not sure what.

"My friend, I am not certain if I am the one who should be seeing to him now, no?" I begin to step away from the door, and am stopped by the menacing mabari. "What do you know?"

Whoever bred dogs to be so expressive should have thought more about their difficulties in communicating their intelligence. Oh, I have no trouble seeing the significance of the roll of his gaze from mine toward our room. Were I still a Crow, however, I might offer a free bounty to the first person who could explain to me why the damnable dog is so insistent that _I_ be the one to enter. His worry for his master is plain in the whine he offers now, unable though he is to grant me the reason behind it.

"As you wish, then." I breathe a sigh, allowing a brief knock to herald my arrival, and then Rass is pushing past me into the room and leaping onto the bed where his master sits staring out the room's single small window.

Aedan glances over only briefly to see who has entered before remarking on the dog's sense of humor.

"And I am always happy to amuse," say I, "though I must say Rass seems more at home with the punch than the straight lines. He was most persuasive in his demands that I come to speak with you."

Aedan himself does not seem at home at all, continuing the habit he began yesterday of looking at anything but me. Of course I suspect he has been thinking on the events from the ship, but I am reminded by a brief growl from the dog to take care with my words. Rather than speak, I move to my own bed, sitting up to lean against the wall and survey the room.

I am possessed of endless patience when waiting for the proper time to strike at a foe. I have held myself still, concealing even my breath for countless hours in my time, and it _had_ been my plan to draw upon this experience now. What I did not have during any of this experience was an impatient mabari ready to rumble in my general direction when it becomes evident his master will not speak.

"So," I offer, keeping my tone as light as I am able. "There appears to be a bronto in the room. Perhaps you would care to give it a name so we can see it on its way before we are up to our eyebrows in its leavings?"

Nothing comes. Unless you count the so-scary stare from the dog. Braska. "My friend, you know after the business with our bubbly bard I am not one to betray confidences. Something has kept you hidden away from the grand adventures of the day, and your hound seems to believe I have the wisdom that will see you back amongst the living. I can deduce the source, having seen you so withdrawn before our return last evening. Would you have me guess at the cause as well?" Still nothing. I press forward with a sigh, before Rass can press forward with his teeth. "Which duty is causing you conflict? The one to your former title, or the one to your new path?"

Now he laughs, though the sound is utterly devoid of mirth. "Does it matter?"

"It is immaterial, then? Clearly that is why you have locked yourself away. I do love learning the quaint customs of the countries I visit. Shall I continue to guess?" I have always wondered at the comparisons people have made to between obtaining information and pulling teeth. No longer, even if I am not quite so vexed as to consider my previous, more painful methods that prompted others to speak quite easily. "Very well. We _have_ discussed, quite recently, that you found such things as took place yesterday to be practical. You confessed to having sought that practicality a number of times, so I cannot believe even one as captivating as Isabela has stolen your heart and left you to pine away in the confines of a whorehouse bedchamber. I must admit, I am at a loss. I have not the tiniest clue how seeing to your needs is an abandonment of your obligation, or how my presence to help you resolve it appears to make you increasingly pulled into yourself."

His jaw works now, as if he is testing the thought of an idea that wishes to pass his lips. I fear for my safety, truly, if he does not begin to speak sense. I am certain Rass has overestimated my ability for this task. Or… perhaps he has not. When his master does not answer, the dog turns his threatening growl upon Aedan.

Which prompts more amused laughter, praise be to Rass, and a bit of a return to practicality. "I… he's right, letting this plague me beyond all reason is idiotic. There are just… certain things, that I thought I had put away so I could get on with the business of being a Cousland, that… I never thought much about it anyway, because there wasn't any point, but they've kept coming up never mind whatever else is going on."

As he falls silent again, I consider that I am still lost, as they say, at sea. "And what about the business of commanding the Wardens? Do these _things_ contradict your new purpose? A purpose which, I might add, a Cousland pressed you toward accepting?"

Now he looks at me as if I have said something interesting. "Well, no. It wouldn't have anything to do with the Wardens, really. And nobody ever said anything, not directly, but I always got the feeling they were pushing me toward this responsibility anyway. I mean, I know I gave up land and title, but it doesn't stop me being a Cousland."

"I dare say it should not. But perhaps you are not the only one who knows Wardens are not titled? And that perhaps some of the associated obligations have no bearing on the order? Surely if your family encouraged you onto this path, so long as whatever this _thing_ is does not interfere with your pursuit of justice, would it not be reasonable to assume they permitted you to align yourself with your new expectations? Though I am fully in the dark as to whatever this _thing_ might be. Perhaps if I knew what it was, I might better know what to say? Or how it has presented itself in such a way as to plague you, as you called it?"

He is thinking on my words, again. Though when he speaks I cannot believe my suspicion had not already leaned in this direction. "Do you know what I was offered? In the Fade? It wasn't the return of my family. It started to be, but I disbelieved that possibility before the images could even form. It was… I had a friend, a very good friend, looked on me like a brother, never let my title get in the way of telling me what I needed to hear. But part of being a Cousland is the whole arranged marriage bit, so I was soundly discouraged going after anything there, no matter how much I wanted… And _that_ was what the demons offered me. Claiming everything I wanted for myself. It took so long for me to remember again that they're all gone, that I wasn't being tempted with something I could actually have…"

Well, that sounds reasonable, for a demon. It could be he was reminded, yesterday, and has wanted to avoid the one who witnessed such a private connection to his past. "There is no shame in remembering, Aedan. Perhaps you should tell me her name?"

It takes him several false starts before he is finally able to make me grateful for being seated. "_His_." Aedan looks down to the floor now. "His name was Gilmore."

Ah. Bronto, thy name is desire. Fortunately, there are more immediate things to consider than just why this comes as an utter surprise to me. "I see. And you were to be wed to Lady So-and-So to cement your family's ties to some far away land. Well, there will certainly be no benefit to such a union now, my friend. And what of the women from the city?"

"Ha. Distraction. Practice. That ever-present practicality. Maker, Zevran, I don't know. I just know I didn't…"

Didn't enjoy it. Yes, I see clearly enough now where his thoughts have been. "You must know this confession will only cause me to redouble the lurid stares I send in your direction every now and again. After all, we are both confessed creatures of opportunity."

He laughs, but when he looks at me there is something almost sad in his expression. "No, Zevran. That… ship… has sailed. It didn't escape my notice how careful you were, there. And that wasn't the first time you went out of your way to do me a kindness. Nor was it the last, even if Rass had to bully you into being here now rather than doing it later. I… can't use you, like that. Maybe, in time, I can take a… favor, from a friend, if it's needed, but you deserve more than being discarded after being convenient."

For once, I cannot think of a single thing to say. It is only after Aedan stands and makes his way to the door that I once again feel the gentle pull of Rass's teeth upon my wrist, urging me once more to rise and follow. Evidently the dog has had enough of wallowing for the day.


End file.
