An Unwanted Reunion

Well-Woven Net, Knot 14: An Unwanted Reunion


Walking along streets he knew well, Alessar was so tense that he felt a distinctly irrational urge to scream and let it all out.  Returning to Denerim was never a cheerful occasion for him, but this instance threatened to make those previous visits seem like happy springtime jaunts in comparison.

With all of their treaty alliances in place, the Wardens had finally returned to the capital for the Landsmeet.  The Landsmeet.  They were going to challenge Loghain in front of all the nobles of Ferelden... and he was supposed to be leading the charge.  Him, an elf who had been born and raised in the Alienage whose walls were visible from the Palace district.  Would, could the nobles see past that?

Trying not to dwell on that eventual confrontation, he glanced sidelong at Zevran, who was walking next to him, looking as anxious as Alessar felt.  They had just come from a final meeting with Ignacio; the Crow master had assured the Wardens that the assassins would take no future contracts against them... But the original contract was still open, and that was what made the two rogues so uneasy.

"Even now, until you kill all of Taliesen's men, you will have to fight my brothers.  We never cancel a contract once accepted," the Crow master had explained, shaking his head.  Zevran, his expression guarded, had nodded in agreement when Alessar glanced at him for confirmation.  That had been bad enough, but as they were leaving the room, Ignacio had one last bit of news to share.

"I understand there is a very skilled bard in the city these days. Perhaps, between all of your comings and goings, you'll hear him perform."

Zevran had turned a shade paler, but refused to speak of whatever bothered him about that peculiar statement until after they left the tavern.  With the two Grey Wardens and Wynne looking at him in various degrees of concern, he had explained quickly.

"The 'bard' is an old partner of mine, Taliesen," the assassin had said, eyes downcast. "It has something to do with his name, I don't recall the meaning of it all, but... that is how he is referred to, when names must be avoided. He is in Denerim now, and he will certainly be seeking us."

Us -- the Wardens, and Zevran himself.  Alessar could only wonder what was going through Zevran's head right now, since some kind of confrontation seemed inevitable. Taliesen surely knew that the Wardens had to come into Denerim for the Landsmeet, and there were only so many ways to get around in the city.  The odds of the Crows finding them were very high at this point, which was why, even though they were trying to take a circuitous route to Arl Eamon's estate, they were on edge, the two elves most of all.

That exhausting state of hyper-awareness paid off, however, as the group walked through a quiet back alley.  There was a broad stone staircase leading to the rear entrance of one of the buildings, and at the foot of the stairs, something seemed off about the ground.  Alessar held up a hand to halt the others and unslung his longbow from his shoulder.

If there was an ambush here, surely they'd already been spotted; no point in keeping quiet now.  "Traps at the foot of the stairs," he said over his shoulder.  The others drew their weapons immediately, preparing for a fight.

Alessar's job at a moment like this was to find and disarm the traps as quickly as possible before joining the fray.  Ideally, Wynne or Zevran would cover him with long-range fire, but quite often that didn't work out as planned.  If there were archers hiding from cover, or melee attackers using the arts of stealth, he would have nothing protecting him but his own senses and agility.

Still, this was the role he was accustomed to, and was the reason he wore heavier armor than Zevran's light drakeskin leather.  Signaling his intent to the others, he cautiously approached the first disturbance in the dirt that might have been a trap.  Zevran walked close behind, his own longbow at the ready, but Alessar, his gaze focused on the ground, heard the other elf halt in his tracks.  With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, the elven Warden looked up to the top of the stone staircase.

A single dark-haired human man in studded leather armor stood there, his eyes boring into Zevran until he realized he'd caught Alessar's attention.  He turned to the elven Warden slowly, a calculated display of contempt.

"And so here is the mighty Grey Warden, at long last," he drawled, the sharpness of his gray eyes belying his insouciant air.  "The Antivan Crows send their greetings, once again."

"How thoughtful of them to have sent you, Taliesen," Zevran said as he took a half-step forward to stand next to Alessar.  His voice carried an overtone of uncharacteristic harshness. "Or did you volunteer for the job?"

"I volunteered, of course!" the other man replied with a short laugh.  "When I heard that the great Zevran had gone rogue, I simply had to see it for myself."  

"Is that so?"  The Antivan elf's tone was cold, wary.  "Well, here I am, in the flesh."

Nerves fraying, Alessar silently listened to the verbal duel -- it was far too sharp to be called sparring.  It was hard to tell that these two had been friends, let alone lovers; was this how friends spoke to each other, among the Crows?  Or were other things coming into play here?  Was he hearing Taliesen's anger at Zevran's betrayal of the Crows?  Was Zevran the one feeling betrayed...?

Taliesen took half a step forward, abandoning his pose of nonchalance.  "You can return with me, Zev," he said, sounding earnest for the first time.  "I know why you did this, and I don't blame you.  Anyone can make a mistake."  Zevran flinched slightly, and Alessar could guess at the emotion behind that tiny movement, but the other Crow pressed on.  "It's not too late to come back.  We'll make up a story, and they'll never be the wiser."  

"Our 'stories' do not exactly have a proven record of effectiveness, Taliesen," Zevran said quietly.

The human narrowed his eyes at the unexpected blow.  "The Masters could overlook even this, Zev."

"If the contract is fulfilled," Zevran said succinctly, eyes locked on his former comrade.

"Of course," was Taliesen's matter-of-fact reply.  He looked pointedly at Alessar.

The Warden was torn between holding his tongue -- this conversation seemed to be occurring on more than one level, and up until the last part, seemed to have little do with him -- and making his own plea for Zevran to stay.  But if he asked the other elf to remain at his side, as a friend or something more, wasn't he doing the same thing as Taliesen?  It should have been Zevran's choice -- the choice he had not been truly allowed to make until now.  He'd gone from slavery among the Crows to indenture to a Grey Warden -- voluntarily, but it could still be seen as replacing one collar with another.  

...But the merest glimmer of the thought of Zevran turning on him now made Alessar want to fall to his knees and beg.  His gloved hands tightened nervously on his bow as he watched his lover, waiting for his decision.

"No," Zevran said finally, his voice low, but hard as steel. "I'm not about to let that happen."

The other Crow's eyes widened in disbelief.  "What?"  He looked from Zevran, to Alessar, then back to Zevran again.  "You've gone soft," he said in disgust, anger hardening his tone.

Relief had almost blinded Alessar for a moment, but the other elf's declaration -- spoken and unspoken -- let him find his confidence, and his voice.  "Zevran doesn't need the Crows anymore," he said determinedly, looking up at Taliesen. "He has a place here now."

He thought -- it must have been his imagination -- that he heard a very quiet intake of breath next to him, but he didn't dare turn away from the human, who was looking at him with an unpleasant smirk.  

"A place with you, you mean?"  Taliesen's voice dripped with contempt.  He'd obviously come to his own conclusions about what was keeping Zevran here.

Seeing no reason to lie, but still reluctant to lay claim to the other elf, as if he were property, Alessar raised his chin in a gesture of affirmation and defiance.  "If that is his wish."

For a split second, Taliesen looked furious, but his expression melted so quickly into scorn that Alessar couldn't be sure of what he'd just seen.  "You don't even know who you're talking about, do you?" he said with an incredulous laugh.

It was a well-aimed strike; the Warden was sharply aware of the fact that there were many things he didn't know about Zevran, including the depth of his feelings.  But more than that, the comment seemed like a slur against the other elf, an implication that he was incapable of committing to something... or someone.  That, he wanted to answer.

Zevran beat him to it, however.  "Neither do you, Taliesen," he said softly, looking up at the human with a complicated expression of both disappointment and resolve. Alessar heard the regret in his voice, and knew that the elven assassin was committed, now.  "I'm sorry, my old friend," he continued.  "I'm not coming back... and you should have stayed in Antiva."

The silent tableau held for several moments, the two former brothers-in-arms staring hard at each other; Alessar could only guess what was wordlessly passing between them.  Finally, Taliesen raised a hand, and the expected ambush was sprung at last, nearly a dozen assassins appearing seemingly from nowhere.  Still, no one attacked -- everyone seemed to be waiting.

"You always were a sentimental fool," Taliesen hissed in a furious undertone, reaching for his blades.  At that signal, the battle began.

"Let me handle Taliesen," Zevran said grimly as he drew his daggers.  Alessar nodded and quickly knelt down to start disarming the traps at the foot of the staircase, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw the elven assassin leap to the second stair, avoiding the line of traps entirely.  Behind him, he heard the distinctive sound of Alistair's shield bashing into someone, as well as the unearthly zaps of arcane bolts from Wynne's staff.  

Arrows were flying by him, and he felt three hit his shoulders and back, stopped by his brigandine.  The thought of another arrow in his neck made him shudder and work faster -- he was disarming the third of the four traps he'd spotted, and he muttered a prayer under his breath that he hadn't missed any.

There was a startling burst of cold air behind him as he worked on the last trap; he turned his head slightly to see an assassin bearing down on him, slowed down by a blast of ice from Wynne.  Hastily, the Warden triggered the claw trap with an arrow and kicked upwards at his attacker as he rose from his crouch.  Still half-numb from the magical chill, the assassin doubled over from the unexpected attack, giving Alessar precious seconds to draw his daggers and spin around to his opponent's side.  Too late, the assassin tried to turn to keep up with him, but the Warden had an elf's agility, and he ended the bout with a stab into the unprotected area under the assassin's arm, followed up by a quick slash to the throat.

Scooping up his longbow, Alessar ducked behind the stairs for a moment to take stock of the battle as he wiped his daggers clean and resheathed them.  Alistair was defending Wynne from both a hail of arrows and the blades of several assassins; meanwhile, Zevran was locked in combat with Taliesen and two other opponents at the top of the stairs.  Thinking quickly, the elven Warden carefully aimed and fired a scattershot into the group of attackers around Alistair and Wynne, stunning them and leaving them open to the warrior's attacks.  Counting on Alistair to wrap that up, he turned his attention to the Crow archers, hoping to pick them off one at a time.  He managed to take one down with a well-aimed shot to the throat, but before he could fire off another, two of the archers, exchanging their bows for daggers, charged towards him, likely trying to pin him in the tiny corner beside the stairs.

He heard Zevran savagely shouting in Antivan, up on top of the stairs, but he couldn't spare a moment to glance up; he drew back on his bow, aiming at the assassin approaching from the left, and --

The only warning he had was the sudden slack in the bowstring.  Someone's cut it--!  He spun to the side desperately and felt a dagger slide down the back of his brigandine in a near miss: his unseen assailant had been aiming for the back of his neck.  His bow now useless, Alessar swung it like a quarterstaff, trying to buy a second to draw his daggers, but the assassin was expecting such a move and blocked the clumsy strike with his forearm, pushing the bow aside and following through with a stab aimed at Alessar's ribcage.

The Warden let the dragonthorn bow fall from his hands as he dodged the rapid strike, and realized, with a shock, that his opponent was Taliesen himself.  That was probably the reason for Zevran's outburst, and for a distracted moment, he heard the other elf cursing in at least three languages, a far cry from his usual battlefield bravado.  The two assassins who had been advancing on Alessar now seemed engaged with keeping their former comrade out of the fight, but he knew they wouldn't last long against Zevran's wrath.

Alessar's more immediate concern, however, was how long he'd last against Taliesen.  He quickly ducked down, scooped up a handful of dirt, and flung it at the Crow's face, all in one smooth motion, but once again, Taliesen had anticipated the move and turned his face away, managing to protect his eyes from the shower of dirt.  Before the elven Warden could step aside, the assassin caught his wrist and planted a hand behind his elbow, driving him to his knees with the sudden application of pressure.  Knowing he was in danger of having his shoulder dislocated, or worse, Alessar flicked his free hand sharply, bringing one of his hidden blades into play, and stabbed at the hand on his elbow.  The awkward attack barely drew blood, but it surprised Taliesen enough to let the Warden break away and finally draw his daggers.

"Pickpocket tricks from a Grey Warden?" the Crow sneered, flexing his injured hand slightly.  "I guess they really are scraping the barrel here in Ferelden, aren't they?"

Alessar bit back a retort; he had to make one final offer before there was no turning back.  "You don't have to do this," he said urgently, keeping his blades at the ready.  "You can walk away, just as Zevran did."

"Zevran is a fool," Taliesen spat.  "You can't walk away from the Crows.  Even if you defeat us here" -- that was simply realism at this point, since the Wardens' party was gradually overwhelming the assassins -- "he will be hunted down.  There is nowhere in Thedas where they can't find him."

"He won't be alone." Alessar's words were a vow, even if the other elf wasn't there to hear it.

"You sound far too sure of that, Warden," the human assassin grated.  Without further warning, he sprang at Alessar, unleashing a rapid flurry of strikes that the elf barely managed to block.  Unsurprisingly, the Crow's fighting style was similar to Zevran's, but he was noticeably stronger, and his attack had forced Alessar further into the corner.  Not wanting to get pinned, the Warden made a couple of jabbing feints to force Taliesen to back off, and tried to dart around the man's offhand side, but he underestimated either the assassin's reach or his speed -- a sweeping kick tripped him up, and he rolled desperately to avoid the twin stabs aimed at his head.

"No!"  Zevran's voice rang out from nearby; Alessar had no idea of the state of the battle at this point, and didn't know what had caused that shout of horror.  His focus had narrowed to this duel; in his mind he was fighting to save two lives, his and Zevran's, and he could not afford to lose.  

Taliesen was poised for another strike at the downed Warden; as he closed in, Alessar kicked out with his left foot and forced the man's arm wide, but that left him open to the Crow's offhand attack.  Viciously, the man drove his dagger into Alessar's left knee, drawing a howl of agony from the Warden.  He could barely think straight for a moment around the pain, and he half-expected to feel an Antivan dagger plunge into his throat, but the blow never came.

A sharp grunt of pain cut through his momentary daze, and he looked up quickly to see Zevran standing behind Taliesen, his amber eyes blazing.  As Alessar followed the line of Zevran's arms, he saw that the elven assassin had driven both daggers home in his former partner's back, stabbing upward through the man's ribs.  As the Warden stumbled to his feet, the other elf pulled back, letting Taliesen fall to the ground.

Alessar shuddered and looked away.  Had there really been no other choice?...

Zevran looked at the body of his friend for a long moment before turning to Alessar, concern in his eyes.  "Your leg... can you make it back to Wynne?"

Alessar glanced around; the battle was over, and Alistair and Wynne were headed towards them anyway.  He gingerly tried putting weight on his leg, and would have fallen over if the other elf hadn't caught him quickly.  

"Hm, just as well she's coming here, then.  Are you all right, otherwise, cielo?"  Zevran was still looking at him worriedly.  Of course, that was normal, if he had been hurt in a fight; the Antivan elf had a fiercely protective streak, and was quite unapologetic about it.

"I'll be fine, I think, that's the worst of it... What about you?"  The Warden held onto his lover's shoulder for support, but Zevran didn't seem to mind.

"Nothing worth noting," the assassin reassured him with a dismissive wave.  "I... am sorry I couldn't reach you faster," he said softly as the other members of their party approached.

"It's not your fault--" Alessar began.

"I should have known he'd go after you himself, cielo, that's the kind of person he is.  ...Was."  His expression was blank for a moment.  "At any rate... I should have stayed at your side."

"Zevran," the elven Warden murmured, "it doesn't matter. We won."

"So we did," was the thoughtful reply.




After a heavy dose of healing spells from Wynne and some careful bandaging from Zevran, Alessar felt ready to try to make the walk back to Arl Eamon's estate.  It wasn't too terribly far, and from this point, they could avoid any other potentially dangerous alleyways and back streets, even if it took a little longer.  As they set off, however, it soon became quite clear that the injured Warden couldn't keep up with even a relatively slow walking pace.  Zevran finally spoke up when he and Alessar caught up to the other two for the third time.

"Perhaps you two should go ahead.  We're not so very far now, after all; the palace district is only a few streets away, yes?"

Alessar nodded wearily in agreement.  The effort was becoming exhausting, and knowing that the others had to wait for him made him subconsciously try to move faster than he really should have.

Wynne pursed her lips, looking as if she wanted to disagree, but couldn't find a good enough reason to do so.  "What if there are more of these Crows about?" she asked finally.  "Reinforcements?"

"It would not be like Taliesen to divide his forces, my dear Wynne," Zevran replied, shaking his head.  "If his attack failed, we would be on guard against a second attempt -- as we're discussing now.  If there is to be another attack, it will not be today, and I honestly doubt there will be at all."

"And why is that?" Alistair asked, a hint of suspicion in his voice.  Alessar guessed that the straightforward warrior still had misgivings about Zevran's personal connection to Taliesen.

The elven assassin smiled thinly.  "As I said, Taliesen would not divide his forces.  He was always an all-or-nothing sort of strategist, you see.  And he certainly wouldn't want to fail in an attempt, only to have some mere fledglings come along later, clean up, and take the credit for the job."

"But... aren't they all working for the same cause?" the templar asked in consternation.

Zevran let out a bark of derisive laughter.  "These are not Grey Wardens we speak of, or a king's army, friend Alistair.  At the end of the day, every Crow is out for himself."  He turned to Alessar, almost as if seeking confirmation that he himself wasn't seen that way, and the Warden gave him a small smile of encouragement.  With a slightly lighter countenance, the assassin continued, "But we are wandering, now.  I think we will be safe enough for the short time we will be alone.  The sun is still in the sky, after all."

It wouldn't be for much longer, but in theory, the closer they got to the palace district and the Arl's estate, the safer their surroundings would be.  Wynne glanced at the sun's place in the sky, perhaps coming to the same conclusions.  "Very well," she said with a sigh.  "Alistair, if you'll accompany me..."

The human Warden still looked unsure, but Alessar waved him away tiredly.  "Go on, we'll be fine.  Slow, but fine."

"All right, all right, if you insist..."  Alistair gave Zevran a warning look, which Alessar interpreted as he'd better make it back in one piece or I'll have your hide, before joining Wynne.  The two of them soon disappeared amongst the numerous city folk going about their everyday business along the street.

"Shall we?" Zevran murmured, turning to smile at the other elf.  Alessar nodded, and they resumed their slow pace, Zevran acting as a subtle crutch.

They walked in silence for several long minutes; the Warden was bone-tired, and he imagined that Zevran had a lot on his mind that needed to be sorted out.  He was surprised, therefore, when the assassin finally spoke up.    

"So... Taliesen is dead, and I am free of the Crows," he said quietly, as if continuing a line of thought out loud.  "They will assume that I am dead along with Taliesen -- that I joined him against you -- and as long as I do not make my presence known to them, they will not seek me out, I think."

That certainly hadn't been Taliesen's opinion on the matter, but Alessar couldn't know which of them had the right of it.  He thought Zevran had a point, though -- as long as he did not draw attention to himself, the Crows would have little to go on to find him.  He wondered, with a sudden chill, if the other elf would take his new freedom to heart and leave.  The Warden couldn't, wouldn't stop him, but the thought of it...  Out loud, he asked, "So what does this mean for you?"  

Zevran's musing reply was an echo of his lover's thoughts. "I suppose it would be possible for me to leave, now, if I wished. I could go far away, Orlais perhaps, or Tevinter, or Rivain, somewhere where the Crows would never find me."

Alessar didn't trust himself to speak; he simply concentrated on setting his feet down carefully, one step at a time.  This went on for several minutes until Zevran abruptly halted; the Warden, robbed of his support, staggered slightly as he took a half-step forward.  The other elf hastily helped him regain his balance, and as Alessar looked up, he saw why they had stopped -- they had reached the estate's courtyard at last.

It seemed that the guards had been warned of their arrival; two of the Arl's men came to escort them to the house, and there was no further opportunity for private conversation until the Warden had been seen to his rooms.  Once they were finally alone again, Zevran firmly shut the door before joining Alessar by the window.

The Warden leaned against the sill, looking out at a part of the city he'd never been too familiar with.  The only elves that came here were servants, of course, and he'd never had such a desirable job.  Perhaps he might have, eventually, if he hadn't killed an Arl's son...

He looked up as Zevran stepped up next to him and slid an arm around his waist. It was more of a supportive gesture to someone unsteady on his feet than a possessive one, although if he was to be honest, he wouldn't have minded a little possessiveness.  It would have been... reassuring.

"I spoke of leaving," the assassin murmured, looking at Alessar solemnly. "But I think... that I could also stay here. I made an oath to help you, after all."  His free hand drifted up to the earring he wore in his right ear, a noticeably fidgety gesture for someone who so often held back his true feelings.  "Saving the world seems a worthy task to see through to the end, yes?"

I can't beg him to stay.  Even if I want to. This is his first chance to decide for himself.  "If... you want to go, Zevran..." Alessar said haltingly, his heart in his throat, "you can go.  I told you I wouldn't hold you to that oath."

Zevran looked taken aback at this.  "But this is what I am asking you. Do you want me to go?" His amber eyes sought answers in Alessar's expression, just as his voice asked for certain words to be spoken. "Do you need me here?"

He wants to be wanted.  The thought had never occurred to Alessar quite so clearly as it did now, and as he turned it over in his mind, a hundred tiny hints fell into place.  

"Of course I want you to stay," he said finally, feeling free at last to make the same unspoken claim on Zevran that the assassin had unwittingly laid on him months ago.  "I... do need you here, Zevran.  With me."

"Then stay I shall," the other elf said softly.  He finally smiled as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against Alessar's ear as he spoke.  "I am with you to the end."


.fin.