Chapter Text
Leliana paced in the office of the Divine in the Grand Cathedral, going over the missive she held over and over again. It was written in her specialized version of Thieves’ Cant, leading her to believe that what she was seeing was genuine.
But that didn’t make it any easier to digest.
2 Solas 9:42 Dragon
Your Holiness Divine Victoria,
I hope this missive finds you well, Most Holy. I would like to first express my regrets for being unable to attend your coronation; I heard it was a grand affair, as would befit a woman of your tastes and status, of course. I truly am saddened to have missed it.
But I wasn’t there for good reason, and I think Your Holiness will be most interested in what I have to say, for it concerns one of your former companions, if my information is accurate.
I know you have had little birds flying to try and find out the fate of one Solas, former member of the Inquisition. I write to tell you that I have news of him, and, Most Holy, I am afraid it is not good.
In the course of my efforts to find a cure for the taint, I heard tell of a group of elves traveling north of Antiva, to the site of ancient Arlathan. As that seemed...peculiar to me, I asked around, and it turns out they weren’t the only group of elves going. The remains of my own clan, they decided to go as well. When I tried to find out why...well, there’s your missing member. They were all going at the behest of Solas.
I don’t know why and I’m afraid I can’t take the time to explore on my own. I’m...close to reaching my goal. Or at least getting information that will be beneficial to the Order as a whole. Which you know we need. But I beseech you to send someone to investigate. Preferably someone who can infiltrate undetected. Because my instinct is screaming at me that this is important; and if my life has taught me anything, it’s to never ignore my instincts.
Forgive this crude means of communication. I would have much rather delivered this news in person, but I fear I’m quite far from Orlais at the moment. I wish I could have written with better news, and hopefully next time I do it will be with good tidings. But for now, I wish you luck.
Yours,
Lyna Mahariel
P.S. - Really, Leli, congratulations on the election. A bottle of Antivan brandy on me when next we meet!
Leliana sighed as she rubbed her gloved hand over her forehead, her brain working quickly to absorb the information Lyna revealed and going through the many permutations and implications such action would have. She needed to tell the Inquisitor, that much was certain. And Cullen and Cassandra. What a mess.
Solas, leading the elves into Arlathan Forest. It was...strange, even for him. And of course the ever-present question that was gnawing at the back of her mind.
Why.
Why indeed. She needed to figure it out if she were to lead Andrastians in the right direction and still offer sage advice to the Inquisitor. Maker preserve her if she was destined to preside over another Exalted March. She couldn’t do it, she wouldn’t. That would not be her legacy.
She sighed again as she considered everyone she could possibly send to do what Lyna asked. It had to be someone she trusted. Someone Lyna trusted, to be quite honest.
Of course. Why didn’t she think of him sooner? There were two elves she knew who could successfully infiltrate Arlathan Forest, who knew the terrain and had the skills she needed. And, more importantly, her absolute faith.
Shaking her head slightly as one of the faces came into her mind, she sat and began to draft a letter, not as Divine Victoria, but as Leliana, the Nightingale. As the bard and skilled assassin she once was. For it was assassins she was after.
Zevran Arainai was enjoying self-employment. He liked having no one to give him orders, or commands, or tell him where to go or what to do. He could choose the contracts he wanted and got to keep the profits. He even sorted things with the Crows. Well, mostly. There were still some who kept to the old contract, but more and more of the guild recognized his connections and skills and knew he was nigh untouchable.
In fact, his reputation preceded him so much that he was able to return to Antiva for the first time in 10 years, and it was glorious. Never mind that he was under the protection of the Montilyets as well and currently enjoying their hospitality. So maybe he wasn’t truly free. But he was home.
He had missed it, to be quite honest. The smells, the familiar voices, the hustle and bustle of the factories and the ports...although the Free Marches - with their ports and their compact districts - gave him more of a sense of home than dank, dusty Ferelden ever had. But still. It paled in comparison to the real thing.
He sighed, leaning back in his chair and propping his boot-clad feet up on the desk in front of him, minding the inkwell but not giving much care to the parchment that littered it. He interlaced his fingers behind his head and breathed deeply, taking in the acrid salt-and-fish smell of the bustling pier below him.
He was content.
That contentment was short-lived, however, as a knock sounded on his door.
“Come,” he called. One of the many Montilyet servants poked his head in. They knew Zevran never allowed the servants into his room. They weren’t allowed to clean for him. It was a sense of pride instilled in him from his childhood in the Crows - if you don’t clean up after yourself, you don’t care about yourself. If you don’t care about yourself, then you don’t care about the work. So he always kept his room immaculate.
Not to mention the instruments the servants would find in his room would probably scar them for life. And the last thing Zevran wanted to do was be responsible for some poor soul’s trauma.
He only caused trauma for deserving ones.
Smiling at that thought, he removed his boots from the desk and leaned his weight forward, the front two legs of his chair landing on the ground with a small thud. He sighed as he stood, stretching languidly. He was curious as to why the servant was here in the middle of the day. Maybe one of the Montilyets had a job for him.
“What is it?” he asked, striding to the door. He stepped past the threshold, the servant moving back to keep a respectable distance between them, and Zevran closed the door behind him.
“A letter for you, ser,” the servant said, holding out an envelope with a wax seal that Zevran immediately recognized. Surprised, he kept his voice steady and his smile placid as he took it.
“Thank you, Roberto. That’s all for now.” The servant smiled slightly and bowed swiftly, before turning on his heel and departing down the hall. Although they had never said, Zevran suspected the servants liked that they didn’t have to do much for him. It made him happy to provide this small kindness in the world.
Glancing curiously at the seal again, Zevran returned to his desk, this time sitting in the chair properly as he reached for the letter opener.
He knew that seal. It was the seal of Divine Victoria. Which was...intriguing to him to say the least. He hadn’t heard from Victoria since she was crowned. He attended the coronation to provide his own form of security, not content with the Seekers and Templars and not trusting them to provide adequate protection since they were corrupted at the hand of Corypheus. He knew the Inquisition had its forces, the Nightingale’s own flock watching over her, whether officially sanctioned or of their own volition. But still, Leliana was one of his oldest friends, not to mention a fellow peer in the business. He’d have been remiss to not give her his best.
But that profession they shared, it made her association with him...tenuous at best. Not many people knew the extent of what Leliana did prior to her ascension as Victoria. They knew of her work as Justinia’s left hand and as spymaster for the Inquisition, and it took all of the Inquisitor’s considerable influence to convince the College of Clerics to vote for her. Zevran knew the Divine intended to keep her more...unsavory contacts hidden from view. As Divine, however, it would be difficult to still run her spy network, due to the constant scrutiny she was under. To break her silence...it must really be important.
He ran his fingers over the seal, gazing at it intently, trying to determine if it had been tampered with on the way to him. But no, it was as solid as the moment she stuck her ring into the hot wax. No one would dare interfere with the personal correspondence of the Divine, it would seem.
He slid the blade under the seal, breaking it, and pulled out the thick parchment that indicated it was from the Office of the Divine. He fingered the paper, checking for any hidden sign or evidence of tampering, but found none. Perhaps this was just a courteous letter?
But then he opened it and realized with a start that the Divine had resorted to using their specialized version of Thieves’ Cant to write the letter. So it must have been important after all.
7 Solas 9:42 Dragon
Zevran,
I hope this letter finds you well and that you are enjoying all the comforts Josie’s family has offered you. I know the arrangement wasn’t exactly to your liking, but it did allow you to go home in a way that was most preferable, I’d assume, so overall I daresay you are content.
Unfortunately, I’m writing with a request for you to leave glorious Antiva. I have received information from an extremely trusted source that says something important is going on in Arlathan Forest. It involves an exodus of elves and a former companion of the Inquisitor, Solas. He seems to be gathering the elves in that holy place. I’ve had multiple confirmations of this. What I don’t have confirmation of, however, is why.
And that’s where you come in. I need you to infiltrate the elves in Arlathan Forest, get close to Solas, and figure out what his plans are. You and I have another elvhen friend who is indisposed at the moment who passed me this information and says their instincts state this is important, and I am inclined to agree. Something is happening, and I need to know what.
I also know Solas well enough to know your skills alone will not interest him. No, you need a bargaining chip. And to do that, you need to bring something...unique. There’s only one thing I know of that can entice him in a way that would get you an audience with him almost immediately.
Well, not a “what.” More a “who.” A friend of a friend. He comes highly recommended and will suit our needs perfectly. However, I have no idea where he is or how to find him. Last my birds saw of him he was crossing the border into Tevinter. Another friend of mine has given me a place to start, but the person I need you to recruit is understandably keeping a low profile. Use your contacts, get close to him. You need him and I need you, because I trust you much more than I trust him.
I cannot stress the importance of this, Zev. You must succeed. If you don’t...well, it might be worse than the first time we met.
Travel well,
Leliana
A second parchment was tucked behind the first, also written in Thieves’ Cant, along with another smaller, sealed envelope, addressed simply to “Fenris.” His target then. Looking at the second parchment confirmed Fenris was indeed who he was after and included a description of him.
“Not much to go on…” Zevran muttered, noting his last-known location. Tevinter. Well, he’s never crossed over into the Imperium before. Guess there’s a first time for everything.
Because that letter wasn’t written by the Divine. No, it was written by his friend, his contact and his peer. It was a professional assignment with the undertones of a friend in need.
And he would not fail her.
Two weeks later
Zevran sighed as he entered the tavern, removing his hood as the heat and stench of the closed space washed over him. He might be in a foreign country, but he’d discovered that a tavern was a tavern, no matter what language was spoken or what people frequented it. It was always full of three things - potential sexual partners, alcohol, and information. And he had a need for all three.
This was the 12th tavern he had been to in as many days. Although the Divine’s contact had given him a starting spot, it was a few weeks old by the time he got there. Not that he blamed the Divine or her contact; he’d done more with less.
It also didn’t hurt that Fenris seemed to be leaving a trail of bodies wherever he went. At first, he thought the bodies were just a coincidence; death was no stranger to Tevenes. But as he continued his search, he began to notice a pattern - all those who had died near to when Fenris had been in the vicinity were slavers of the worst kind. They had preyed on children, refugees, those who had nowhere to turn except indentured servitude, which was the Tevene term for slavery. They were the worst of Tevenes and Zevran found himself not minding they were dead.
But that didn’t help his problem at the moment.
Her Holiness didn’t put a timeline on the assignment, but he knew the longer he waited the more power this Solas would acquire. And if that caused the Divine to be fearful, the Warden to be fearful, then it caused him some trepidation as well. Besides, no good could come from gathering elves from all over Thedas. That concerned him.
Not that he had any connection or affinity to his race; he didn’t grow up with the culture and knew less about the Dalish than some humans probably, but still, it didn’t sit well with him, a whole race disappearing like that…
He was shaken out of his thoughts by a rough voice that sounded from down the bar, the timbre in that sweet spot that let it carry over the overall din of the tavern.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the voice growled.
“What?” another voice slurred. Zevran observed the larger silhouette that the second voice belonged to, and it seemed to sway, as if it had partaken in too much ale. “You don’t like my offer? I can go up by half, but any more than that’s gonna need some assurances from you on my expectations.”
“I think you have the wrong impression about me,” the gravelly voice said, still giving off an aura of calmness even though the voice had a hint of malice in it, Zevran could tell.
The second man threw his arm around the cloaked figure and Zevran winced on the man’s behalf. He wouldn’t have done that.
“Come now,” the drunken man was saying, “I know a knife ear when I see one, and I know what knife ears like to do in a place like this. I dunno why you’re hiding underneath a cloak, unless you’re not on duty yet? Would you like me to come back when you’re on the clock?”
Before Zevran could even acknowledge that the man had called the cloaked figure “knife ear,” said figure shrugged off the other man’s arm and had it pinned behind his back in a hold that would surely break it if he twisted just a bit harder. Not that it was any of Zevran’s business, but it seemed like the “knife ear” could take care of himself. Good.
He was about to turn back to his goblet in front of him when the hooded figure’s cloak sleeve slipped, just slightly. The figure caught it quickly and shook it back over his wrist, but one as trained as Zevran understood what he saw: markings, pure white, like Leliana told him would be.
Exactly who he was looking for.
Grabbing his drink, Zevran wandered over to the commotion, the larger man still pressed against the bar with his arm behind his back, the hooded figure whispering in his ear. Even with Zevran’s training, he couldn’t make out what the cloaked man was saying and his face was shrouded, so lip-reading was out of the question.
But regardless, that was the man Zevran needed. And this situation gave him the perfect in.
“Excuse me, gentlemen, is there a problem?” he said in his smoothest voice possible, sliding between the two and peering into the cloaked man’s face, brilliant light hazel eyes staring back at him. Zevran shook his head slightly and tilted his eyes toward his own ears, trying to indicate that he was on Fenris’ side.
“This knife ear here is being rude,” the man blubbered against the bar, face still plastered on the smooth wooden surface.
“Oh was he now?” Zevran asked, raising his eyebrows and gesturing to the other man to see if Fenris would let him up. With a disgusted noise, the other elf let the man go.
When he felt Fenris ease his grip, the larger man stood up and spun quickly, looking as if he was going to grab the other elf. But Zevran’s hand shot out, the speed of his rogue training kicking in, and stopped him.
“As the man said earlier, I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Zevran murmured.
“You’re another knife ear!” the drunken man said. “Since when is this place crawling with ‘em? It’s gone downhill, that’s for sure.”
Zevran pressed his thumb against the man’s pressure point on his wrist, causing him to begin to hiss and writhe in pain.
“Stop that!” he said.
“If you value your life, you’ll kindly exit the establishment. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of your tab.” Zevran pressed a few sovereigns into the man’s hand as he let his wrist go. “Go get yourself something nice elsewhere. On me, friend.”
The man looked at the coins left in his hand, looked up at Zevran, shrugged, then staggered out of the bar.
Letting out a breath as the drunken man departed, Zevran turned to Fenris.
“You didn’t need to do that,” Fenris told him, that deep voice of his washing over Zevran like a wave. It warmed him in a way that he hadn’t been warmed in...awhile.
Well. This would be interesting.
“I know I didn’t need to, my friend, but I’d hate to see your night ruined,” Zevran said, taking the seat at the bar that was vacated by the drunken man.
“I’m not your friend,” Fenris said, turning away and starting to get up.
Zevran wanted to reach out and stop him, but thought better of it. Something about his interaction with the man at the bar led Zevran to believe the other elf might not enjoy being touched without his consent.
So he went for the obvious thing instead.
“Fenris,” he said, quietly. Although the other elf didn’t turn to look at him, his back did straighten as he paused his movements and tilted his head in Zevran’s direction. “What did you say?”
“Fenris,” he repeated simply, still maintaining his quiet voice.
The other elf finally turned to him then, sitting down fully at the bar again, though he kept his hood up. “I don’t know anybody in Antiva,” he said, immediately placing Zevran’s accent. “Nor do I know any Crows.” Fenris peered at Zevran’s face closely, and he was again taken back by the elf’s brilliant eyes.
“You don’t,” Zevran agreed, continuing speaking quickly as the other man’s face began to darken with suspicion. “But although we have yet to be acquainted, we do have some mutual friends who suggested I seek you out.”
“Oh?” he said, that gravelly voice running through Zevran again and causing his skin to tingle.
“Yes. I believe you spent some time in Kirkwall with a certain dwarf who liked to spin tales?”
“I did.”
“And that dwarf happened to join an organization that was focused on saving Thedas from a certain magister?”
Fenris raised his eyebrow. “I’ve heard mention of it, yes.”
“And that organization employed a certain bird that was elected Divine?”
Fenris sighed, clearly getting agitated. “Yes, I know Divine Victoria was involved in the Inquisition. Get to your point.”
Zevran nodded curtly. “What if I told you that the Divine needed our help?”
Fenris raised both eyebrows at that. “The Divine requested my help? Why would she do that?”
Zevran smiled and placed a few sovereigns on the bar, enough to cover his and Fenris’ tab, as well as the tab of the drunken man. “I’d rather not say here,” he said, standing up. “Careto accompany me to someplace more...private to discuss?”
Fenris stared at him for a few moments, as if considering his threat level. “You have a room here?”
“Maker no, not here. A place down the street though. Care to accompany me?”
Fenris considered him again for a long moment before nodding curtly. “Lead the way.”
The journey from the tavern to the inn was short and Zevran took cues from Fenris regarding conversation. He seemed to be the quiet sort, which suited Zevan just fine. He could talk enough for the both of them.
Besides, one had to be content with silence and their own thoughts if traveling alone, something Zevran was intimately familiar with. So he let Fenris enjoy the quiet that he was presumably used to.
When they arrived at the inn, Fenris raised his eyebrows, seemingly in appreciation. “The Chantry pays handsomely,” he said, looking around at the well-to-do establishment.
“Oh no, my friend, the coin I’m spending on these accommodations isn’t from the purse the Divine gave me. It’s quite...paltry, compared to my usual fees. But seeing as I’m doing a favor for a friend, I’d just as easily have done it for free. Or, for an even smaller fee than what I am being given. But alas, I have become accustomed to certain...luxuries, and after spending close to a year living on the road, I’d rather spend the coin to have a nice feather bed.”
Zevran grabbed the key to his room from the proprietor at the desk and led Fenris up the plush, carpeted stairs. Fenris followed, but said nothing more until they arrived in Zevran’s room.
It was nice if Zevran was being truthful. The Tevinter Imperium was known for its hospitality and it didn’t disappoint, even if he couldn’t book the best inns - those were reserved only for members of the Altus class. As a member of the Soporoti (even a foreigner was considered soporoti if they had no magic), Zevran could only achieve near to the best.
Fenris looked around at the plush furnishings, the dark wooden paneling, the leaded-glass windows with gossamer curtains, the large feather-mattress bed that boasted a four-poster and hangings for warmth and privacy, and grunted.
“I didn’t know they afforded Soporoti such things,” he said softly. “Then again, I guess I never really cared to investigate.” He turned to Zevran, who gestured for Fenris to sit in one of the two chairs that flanked the intricately carved, dark wooden fireplace. As it was the height of summer, however, the fireplace was currently dormant, and the windows were thrown open to let in a breeze.
“The Crows must pay you well then,” Fenris said, removing his cloak and taking a seat.
“Hardly,” Zevran said. He was about to explain further, but was taken aback by the man’s beauty. Those light hazel eyes were framed by thick black lashes and dark eyebrows, though his hair was shockingly pure white, lighter even than his own pale blond tresses. The shaggy, long cut fell over his eyes as he removed his hood, and Zevran had to suppress the desire to push it out of his way.
“That’s not what you’re here for,” he reminded himself. Still, with such a beautiful specimen in front of him, it was hard to keep his hands to himself.
He was lithe, tall for an elf, and his tanned skin perfectly complemented the most shocking part about him - the intricately designed white tattoos that started along his chin and seemed to extend throughout his body. They at least covered the part of his chest, shoulders, and arms that were exposed by the leather vest he wore.
And although he was lithe, he had exquisitely defined muscles, the result of hefting the great, two-handed sword Zevran now saw strapped to his back, originally obscured by the cloak.
He was a perfect specimen of a man.
With a start, he realized he was staring. Thankfully, Fenris seemed to have missed his obvious gawking, busying himself with securing his sword in a place that was out of the way, but still within reach should he need it.
Well trained, too.
No wonder Victoria thought he would interest Solas.
“The Crows don’t give their assassins a cut of the profits; we get a small fee and enough to cover expenses. Of course, those expenses can be rather... luxurious, especially if the client’s intended target is into such things. However, I am no longer in their employ. I work on my own, and can charge quite the fee for my services. Not to mention the King of Ferelden was quite...becoming with his thanks after the Fifth Blight. A few proper investments with the right members of the Merchants’ Guild, and I could retire. Care for some wine?” he asked, gesturing to the small collection he had amassed since being in Tevinter. If Antiva was known for its brandy, the Imperium was known for its wine, and Zevran had every intention of bringing some bottles back with him. But he’d be open to sharing one now, should Fenris agree.
“Not at the moment, thank you,” that gravelly voice said. Zevran nodded and gave the other man a small smile. A consummate professional.
“You got out of the Crows?” Fenris asked, brow furrowing slightly.
“Ah, yes I did,” Zevran answered, removing his own traveling cloak and gloves and sitting down across from the other man. “It’s a rather enticing tale, but perhaps for another time? If all goes according to plan, we will have plenty of time together to discuss such things.”
“To plan?” Fenris said, tensing slightly. It was subtle though. Well trained indeed.
“Relax, my friend. No harm will come to you here. You have my word on that. And as I was a Crow, you know my word is bond.”
“You were a Crow; there is no contract holding you to your vows now,” Fenris answered.
“That is true. However, I have a few...significant people who would vouch for me. Oh, but where are my manners? Zevran Arainai,” he said, holding out his hand. After a split second’s hesitation, Fenris took it.
“Fenris,” he said, “though it seems you already know that.”
“I do,” Zevran said, nodding his head in acknowledgement. “Though I am afraid that is where my knowledge of you stops. I know who you traveled with for almost a decade - up to last year that is - but aside from that, you are as much a mystery to me as I am to you.”
Fenris stared at him a moment more before clearing his throat. “Indeed. You mentioned the Divine? I can’t imagine the Chantry would want anything to do with me after the events of Kirkwall.”
“This Divine is...different,” Zevran said. “Also, you may speak freely in this room; I’ve searched it thoroughly.” Fenris nodded and Zevran continued. “Divine Victoria...is an old friend. When I knew her, she went by Leliana, and was a companion of the Hero of Ferelden during the Fifth Blight. As was I.”
If Fenris was shocked by that information, he didn’t let on, so Zevran continued.
“During that almost year of travel, Leliana and I became close. We weren’t involved romantically, but the...similarities of our professions led us to some unique and quite entertaining conversations. For you see, dear Leliana was an Orlesian bard. We spent many hours comparing techniques, passing the time teaching each other various skills from our different training. Regardless, I would pledge my life to Leliana, and I know she trusts me implicitly. When you’ve fought an archdemon together...well, certain things just never leave you.”
“I know what you mean,” Fenris said, softly. Zevran wondered if he’d intended to speak, but then thought better of that. It seemed as if this man didn’t do anything unintentionally. He wondered what monstrous entity he and the Champion had to fight.
Choosing to ignore that, Zevran went on. “Almost two weeks ago, I received a letter from Divine Victoria indicating she was given some information from the Hero of Ferelden. Our mutual friend has been traveling throughout Thedas. While on her journey, she apparently discovered a piece of information the Divine needed. One of the Inquisitor’s companions, an elvhen mage named Solas, apparently disappeared shortly after defeating the darkspawn magister. As he was friends with the Inquisitor, the Divine was tasked with finding him before her election, and apparently still has her birds out looking for him, even after she ascended. Well. Solas has reportedly resurfaced.”
“Where?” Fenris asked as Zevran paused to take a breath.
“In the Imperium,” Zevran said. “Apparently, he has returned to the ancient land.”
Fenris’ brows furrowed, a look of confusion clouding his features. “Why? The power there has been depleted, the magisters made sure of it.”
“That’s what the Divine wants to know. But him reappearing at Arlathan isn’t the only strange occurrence surrounding him. Apparently all the elves are following him there.”
“What?” Fenris said, more an exclamation than a question.
Zevran shrugged. “I have no idea, it’s just what was in the Divine’s report, taken from the Hero. These are trusted sources, however, so I do believe this is what has been occurring. Have you noticed any lack of elves in Tevinter?”
“No, but most elves are slaves here, kept behind closed doors, never to be seen by the public.” The venom that entered Fenris’ voice at that suggested Fenris might have personal experience with such a lifestyle, which may have been an explanation for why he reacted so poorly when that man mistook him for a prostitute.
Interesting.
Zevran nodded. “Indeed. A sad tale, but an all-together not unsurprising one. If the elves have truly gone missing, then it is worthwhile to investigate I think.”
Fenris nodded. “Agreed. But what I don’t understand is - why me? I’m sure there are other elves whom the Divine trusts; like I said before, I can’t imagine my actions over the past few years have endeared me much to the Chantry.”
“Well, I don’t know anything about that,” Zevran answered, smiling slightly. He really didn’t. He’d always intended to read Tale of the Champion but always found something better to occupy his time with.
“In answer to why you specifically...there are a few reasons I can think of. The first being that you’re from Tevinter, and Arlathan Forest happens to be in this country. Your knowledge and expertise would prove invaluable. The second is of a more...well, delicate nature. The Divine wrote she needed us to get close to Solas, which can’t be done by just anyone. To do so requires something special, something...unique.”
“She wants me for my markings,” Fenris interrupted.
“That isn’t quite how Her Holiness put it, but seeing you now...yes. I would wager she believes your markings would interest Solas enough to get a personal audience with him.”
“I see…” Fenris said, falling silent.
Zevran pulled the letter for Fenris out of his sack. “She included this with her missive to me. I haven’t opened it, so I have no idea what it contains. But maybe the Divine will better explain the situation herself.” He handed the parchment over to Fenris, who took it immediately and turned it over in his hands a bit before opening it.
Zevran sat quietly as Fenris perused the letter. After a few minutes, he folded the parchment, placed it in an inner pocket of his vest, and met Zevran’s eyes.
“I’ll do it,” he said, much to Zevran’s surprise. “On one condition though.” Ah, that was more like it.
“What would that be?” he asked.
“I am not here merely because it is my homeland. You claim to not know my story, and I will give you the benefit of believing you. But know this - I am Tevene, but Tevinter is not my home. It hasn’t been my home for awhile. I am here for one reason only - to slay those who mistreat slaves and take advantage of them.”
“Ah,” Zevran said, chuckling. “I daresay I did notice your...shall I say, trail? It led me to you, though I did know what I was looking for, so maybe it wouldn’t be so obvious to one not looking. Regardless, the Imperium is full of slavers; slavery is the backbone of Tevene society. So unless you plan to petition the Magisterium to outlaw the practice...what can we do?”
“I can make a name for myself as someone who watches out for the refugees and the downtrodden and who makes sure those who do enter into contracts only have decent employers to choose from. Not all Tevenes mistreat their slaves; some actually give them an ounce of kindness. But there are some, some who don’t deserve to live.”
He paused, taking a breath, then continued. “I will accompany you to this...Solas. But I must ask a favor first. You are a Crow - were a Crow - and presumably have the skills of a Crow. I think I saw a glimpse of it at the tavern.” Zevran nodded. “I have been focused on eliminating one particularly egregious group of slavers. They aren’t just owners; they’re importers, sellers. They profit off the practice. Even worse, they take children. And they aren’t the most discerning of sellers. That ‘trail’ you say you followed? All members of the same trade guild. I intend to eliminate them. I have almost accomplished this. I just have their leader and his lieutenants left.”
Fenris looked Zevran fully in the face. “Help me eliminate them, and I will gladly join you on your trip to Arlathan.”
“Done,” Zevran said, smiling.
Fenris sat back, eyebrow raised. “That’s it? You don’t want to hear the details, know what you’re getting yourself into?”
“My friend, you seem fairly skilled yourself, and as you say, I was a Crow. I still have all the training. And I haven’t let myself get out of practice either. I am...rather well-skilled, if I do say so myself, and thus will be happy to lend you my aid. I have no fear we will fail. Besides, it’s been awhile since I’ve killed someone who truly deserved it. I would be delighted to assist you.”
For the first time since he met him, Fenris smiled. “Then let’s get started.”
Zevran had to admit he was impressed. Fenris seemed to have done his homework, knowing the guards’ rotation, where they were positioned, the location of multiple escape routes, and the time the most of them were gathered together. It seemed like he had a well-thought plan, which, given that this wasn’t his first time taking on such an endeavor, wasn’t really all that surprising.
The plan had to be modified a bit with the existence of Zevran, a two-pronged approach as opposed to one single entity infiltrating the location. They both quickly agreed that neither would be relegated to guard duty; their skill sets would be complementary, working in tandem to take down the slavers. Keeping one outside would just do them a disservice.
As Fenris wasn’t known for his stealth, it was decided that Zevran would go in first, take out anybody in the way silently, and open the path for Fenris to reach the main chamber, which was where the slaughter would begin. Fenris also had that - a schedule of the guild’s meetings. They were intending to meet the following night, which was when Fenris was going to strike. That part hadn’t changed.
“So just to be clear, you don’t worry about hiding the bodies or burning them once they are killed?” Zevran asked.
“I see no need,” Fenris replied with a shrug. “Others know who they are; I want it to be known why they died.”
“Fair enough, my friend,” Zevran said with a chuckle. “Then it is settled. Anything else we need to do before we turn in for the evening?”
Fenris considered for a moment but then shook his head. He met Zevran’s eyes. “Just know that I will not be allowing you to get in my way. No matter what happens, these slavers aren’t getting out of there alive.”
Zevran smiled and bowed his head in acknowledgement. “Oh don’t worry. I have failed in only one contract my entire life, and that was to defeat the Warden. And between you and me, I might have pulled my punches just a bit. You know, fate of the world and all that.”
Fenris grunted. “Indeed.”
Zevran passed the next day by himself, relaxing and enjoying all the comforts Tevinter had to offer. He and Fenris had agreed to meet only an hour before they were to strike, so he had time to waste. He spent the day exploring the city, the sights and sounds washing over him as he absorbed the environment. Tevinter was...an interesting place. More ancient than any of the southern countries in Thedas, the history that surrounded him was fascinating. He wished he had decided to come there while not on a mission; that way he could explore more without being concerned about that evening’s activities.
Not that he was worried. Fenris seemed more than capable of taking care of himself. If his trail of bodies was any indication, he didn’t even really need Zevran’s help. But it was always good to work with someone, to have someone watch your back. And if the slaver they were after was as important as Fenris made him out to be...then it was probably good for them to be going after him together.
Zevran allowed his thoughts to drift as he walked, though Fenris’ face kept coming into his mind. It wasn’t right, he kept reminding himself. It wasn’t nearly right that Zevran should be thinking about his mark that way.
It’s just...it had been so long since he had found somebody that attractive. He’d had dalliances for sure, and his work often called for him to get...close with people. But to have someone that he liked on his own was a strange concept. In fact, now that he thought about it, it hadn’t been since Lyna that he truly wanted someone for him.
And they all knew how well that turned out.
He didn’t begrudge Alistair her love, but still. He’d always maintain that the Warden deserved so much more than to be his concubine.
Zevran shook his head with a sigh. It wasn’t his place, nor was it his problem anymore. He swore he’d support the Warden and her companions for as long as he lived, and that was exactly what he was doing.
He smiled as he sat down at one of the many cafés that littered the city. He had no idea that Tevinter could be so...cultured. Of course, it had nothing on Orlais, and his beloved Antiva would always be his preference, but if he had to spend time here for the foreseeable future, he found he probably wouldn’t mind it.
His thoughts then wandered to Solas and Arlathan. He had no idea what to expect going into that place. What Fenris had said was true; Arlathan had been depleted ages ago, stripped clean by the magisters who stole the elves’ power and made them - us, he amended his thoughts - quicken.
Zevran shuddered. He wouldn’t want to be immortal. To live in this world forever, to deal with the people here forever...he knew he’d tire of it quickly.
He enjoyed his meal and then headed back to his room to prepare himself for the evening, the day having passed faster than he expected.
Soon, Fenris was showing up at his door, dressed in the same cloak from the previous night, which perfectly concealed his weapon.
“Are you ready?” he asked by way of greeting.
“Good evening to you, too,” Zevran said with a smile.
“The evening will be good once Valgus and his cronies are eliminated,” he said in response.
“Fair enough, my friend. And I am indeed ready.” Zevran pulled his own cloak hood over his blond tresses, hiding them from view. He loved his hair, but the color could prove difficult when trying to achieve stealth.
“Then let us go. The longer Valgus is allowed to live, the worse off the world is.”
“Indeed,” Zevran agreed. “Then lead the way.” Although he knew exactly where the guild meeting was to take place, having scoped it out - and a myriad of escape routes - during his walk that afternoon, he had a sneaking suspicion Fenris would feel better in front.
They kept quiet on their way there, Zevran slowly slipping into his assassin’s mindset. It wasn’t all that different from how he usually acted, but it allowed him to focus just that much more. It was a meditative state that cleared his mind of any distractions, giving him that honed edge he always needed.
They approached the house where the meeting was to take place. Zevran found himself impressed once again at the architecture, simultaneously ancient yet modern, white fluted columns flanking a door of solid iron, granite steps leading up to the front. Filigree gold and silver iron fencing surrounding the property and a slate sloped roof covered an elegant two-story building. It was a design that could only have been achieved with magic.
“Or slavery,” he thought.
Shaking that notion out of his head, he and Fenris made their way around to the side of the building, looking for the door that should have been left open for the deliveries that were currently being made.
As Zevran was about to slip inside to ensure the coast was clear, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Turning quickly, he was surprised to find it was Fenris who touched him. Zevran just raised his eyebrow in question.
“Valgus is mine. I don’t care who else you kill, but that one...save that one for me.”
Zevran smiled and he let a wicked gleam enter his eye. “Of course, my friend. I wouldn’t dream of taking that from you. He’s all yours.”
He slipped in the door, mildly surprised to not find a single person waiting for him.
“Interesting,” he thought, letting out a low whistle to let Fenris know it was clear for him to come in. When the other elf met him in the hallway, he raised his eyebrow in question. Zevran just shook his head, and the other man narrowed his eyes. Seemed the lack of resistance was a surprise to him, too.
That put Zevran’s senses on high alert, and he tightened his grip on his daggers, pulling them swiftly and silently from their sheaths at his back. He and Fenris continued their silent prowl forward, encountering no resistance along the way.
It was almost as if someone told the guild members they were coming.
The hallway made a severe turn to the left, and Zevran held up his hand, signaling Fenris to stop. Keeping a few steps ahead of him, the assassin peered around the corner, but saw nothing but an empty hall.
He decided then that he needed to risk it.
“This isn’t right,” he murmured, turning slightly to face the other elf. “Have your other encounters been like this?”
“No,” Fenris’ low voice came to him as if on a wind. “There have always been guards.”
“Maybe you killed them all and they didn’t have the chance to replace them yet?”
To Zevran’s incredible surprise, Fenris chuckled. “Hardly. Money is of no concern to Valgus. I doubt he’d refuse to protect himself, unless he really is that overconfident. But everything I know about him has led me to believe that he’s the paranoid sort.”
Zevran nodded. “Then let us be even more vigilant, friend.”
He was about to step around the corner when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Trap," Fenris murmured.
Furrowing his brow, Zevran wasn't sure what the other man had noticed. But then, he saw it: a razor-thin, almost invisible wire stretching across the hallway.
That settled it then; they definitely knew they were coming.
“Can you disarm it?” Fenris asked.
“I can,” Zevran acknowledged, searching the wire for...there. He moved forward slowly, keeping his eye on the wire the whole time. His gaze focused on the mechanism, where it connected to the wall and its trigger. He knelt near it and sheathed his daggers once more, pulling off his gloves to work the delicate parts more easily.
A glance over his shoulder showed him that Fenris had stayed back. Good. He really was well trained.
Zevran took a moment to study the contraption, deducing it was a fire trap. Glad the warrior had seen it then. He wasn't wearing his fire-resistant armour and he really didn’t feel like getting burned.
He removed his lockpicking set from his belt pouch and chose one of the thinner instruments. Using it to hold the pin of the trigger in place, he then pulled the wire out. A small rush of air greeted him, telling him the trap had been successfully disarmed.
“Done,” he said, putting his tools back in his pouch and pulling his gloves on again. A hand reached out to him as he was about to stand. Looking up, Zevran was surprised to find Fenris had offered him a hand up.
“Thank you, my friend,” Zevran said, taking the hand.
“Thank you,” Fenris murmured. “How did they know we were coming? I was so careful…”
“Were you?” Zevran countered, chuckling softly. “I told you you left a trail of bodies in your wake.”
Fenris let out a quiet laugh himself, the sound low and quiet and rushing through Zevran like a bolt of lighting. “Touché,” he said, pulling the sword out from behind his back. “Guess stealth never was my strong suit.”
“That, my friend, is what we like to call an understatement,” Zevran answered, pulling out his own daggers. He nodded his head forward. “Lead on.”
They encountered a few more traps - which Zevran was able to successfully disarm - but no physical resistance on their way to the meeting room. It was in the basement - as all sketchy meeting rooms were, Zevran knew - and they reached the entrance to the staircase that led downstairs without incident. The door was unlocked, and Zevran turned the handle slowly as he stepped to the side, letting Fenris be the first in, should there be a guard waiting for them at the top of the stairs. But just like the rest of the journey so far, nothing greeted them when he opened the door.
“Remember,” Fenris said.
“I know, I know, Valgus is yours.”
Fenris nodded but also looked at Zevran with a side glance. “Yes. But also, remember the majority of these we’re dealing with have magic. Be quick, be sure. No hesitation.”
“Oh, I never hesitate,” Zevran said, sliding past Fenris to be the first down the stairs in case there were any more traps. He let himself wait, just a moment, absorbing the heat of the other man before stepping forward. He thought he heard a small inhale from behind him, but he could have been mistaken.
Part of him hoped he wasn’t.
The basement didn’t disappoint, the stairs leading to a giant meeting room populated with long wooden tables and benches, each home to slavers in full leather armour and staffs either propped at their sides or lying on the table in front of them. Confirmation they were waiting for them then.
Good.
“And so it begins,” Fenris said, before jumping into action.
The battle itself was exhilarating. Zevran hadn’t been that tested in awhile, and it thrilled him. He had to use all of his considerable skills to dodge the mages’ attacks, all the while attempting to get in some hits of his own. It was rough going for a while, the two elves more on the defensive than the offensive. Mage attacks weren’t simple to avoid, and he found himself evading multiple instances of fireballs, lightning blasts, rock attacks, and one terrible instance of crushing prison.
Mages didn’t play fair, but then again, neither did he.
Tossing a black powder from his belt pouch, he disappeared into a cloud of smoke, able to flank one of the more problematic mages. Once he was down, he realized he had completely lost track of Fenris. Worriedly, he looked around for the telltale white hair of the other elf, and stopped in his tracks. He absentmindedly dodged a shock attack as he beheld the...fantastic creature in front of him.
Fenris was a joy to watch. His white markings had turned to blue, the color of the lyrium that flowed through them. He exuded a sort of...aura, a blue haze surrounding him as he swung his greatsword and cut through the mages around him in a swath. Zevran weaved as another blast zoomed past him, never taking his eyes off the figure in front of him. If he was gorgeous before, now...now he was glorious.
They continued fighting, Zevran flitting in between the mages’ blasts, Fenris plowing a path through them. He found himself staring a few times as Fenris’ markings flared, his power washing over him like a warm blast of sunlight.
Solas would definitely be interested. Zevran didn’t even know the man and he could be certain of that.
Soon, the two of them managed to take down all the mages, save for Valgus, who had somehow survived their assault up to that point. Even if Fenris hadn’t given him a description of who he was, Zevran would have known the magister immediately. He was dressed more ostentatiously than any of the other mages - as a Tevene magister should dress, Zevran thought - his robes covered with a few pieces of armour that seemed to be more decorative than practical. He also wore a hat that was so large it gave the Divine’s a run for its money. Subtly didn’t seem to be in his vocabulary.
“Valgus,” Fenris growled, stalking toward the man, his greatsword held in front of him at the ready.
“D-do I know you?” the magister asked, stammering as he took a few steps backward, trying to keep space between himself and the giant sword approaching him. Zevran stayed behind Fenris, allowing the other elf the space he needed to perform the execution. But he also stayed vigilant, making sure nobody could sneak up on them.
“You do know me,” Fenris said, still stalking toward Valgus, who had reached the back wall of the space and had nowhere else to go.
Valgus looked up into Fenris’ face and seemed to actually notice who specifically his attacker was for the first time all engagement.
“Leto?” he asked, his voice a gasp as shock entered it. “Leto, that is you, isn’t it?”
“In the flesh,” he growled.
“Leto?” Zevran thought, eyebrows furrowing at the other name. He realized there was so much about that other elf he didn’t know.
“Oh Leto, I...I beg for your forgiveness. Please. I didn’t know…”
To Zevran’s surprise, Fenris - or was it Leto? - secured his sword across his back, his markings calming down and returning to their white, dormant state. Zevran eyed the other elf warily, wondering what he was intending.
“You beg for my forgiveness?” Fenris asked softly.
“Yes, please. I can pay, I can give you restitution…” Valgus began, but Fenris cut him off.
“Restitution?”
Valgus nodded enthusiastically. “I can pay you handsomely. I have more sovereigns than I know what to do with. Give me a number, any number, and the sum is yours. Just let me live.”
And to Zevran’s immense shock, Fenris reached out to Valgus, almost as if he wanted to shake the magister’s hand, wanted to accept the offer the magister gave him.
“What?” Zevran thought, wondering what the hell was going through Fenris’ mind. That did not seem like the action of someone who told him to keep the magister alive so he could execute him himself.
Unless...unless he didn’t want Zevran to kill Valgus because he knew he would offer some form of payment.
But no, that didn’t seem right. That didn’t seem at all like what -
Zevran’s thoughts were interrupted by a sudden flash of blue. Snapping his attention to the two men in front of him, Zevran was shocked when he saw Fenris’ hand go through Valgus’ chest, his forearm flexing as if his hand was closing into a fist, before pulling out in another flash of blue. Valgus’ eyes rolled to the back of his head as his body slumped forward onto Fenris, who dropped him uncaringly to the ground.
“Good riddance,” he said.
Zevran just raised his eyebrow, but didn’t say anything as Fenris turned to look at him. His eyes flashed, as if he was challenging Zevran to comment on what happened, but he didn’t. He just smiled.
“So, shall we ransack the place and then get out of here?”
“Go ahead,” Fenris said, a timbre to his voice Zevran couldn’t place. “You can keep whatever you find. Consider it payment for your assistance. I...would like to stay here for a moment.”
“Of course,” he said, unsure of how else to respond to that. “But you know I do not need payment for this. My ‘payment’ for lack of a better word will be you accompanying me to Arlathan.”
Fenris met his eyes then, and there was a look in them that Zevran also couldn’t place. He had hardly ever met someone as difficult to read as this white-haired elf.
It intrigued him.
“I would have been unable to complete my task if it weren’t for you,” Fenris told him quietly. “I am not too proud to admit those traps would have stymied me. But please, let me be. I need...I need some time.”
“Then time you shall have, my friend,” Zevran said, already moving away. “Shout if you need me.”
“Thank you,” Fenris said, and it again struck Zevran that those words probably didn’t come out of the other elf’s mouth very often.