Over the river and through the woods (OPEN)

[elfroot]

Characters: Zevran and anyone else! (He's friendly and doesn't bite unless it's specifically requested.)
Setting/Location: Caravan balcony
Date & Time: Day 4, very early morning
Warnings: None, shockingly
Summary: After Cid Amon's little announcement, there's a great deal to think about--and do, presumably.

Comments

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Altair had been climbing the towers for this very purpose. He should've seen it coming. Then, at least, he might've been able to prepare mentally for the inevitable. Such a large river would never have escaped his attention in the Holy Land. Then again, such a great expanse of water would never have existed in the desert.

The mere sight of it made his stomach drop. And the man Cid Amon was beginning to seem increasingly feeble-minded--to leave such an important decision up to the passengers, when not one of them was a native to the area? It seemed like utter foolishness. Al Mualim would never have turned an important decision like that over to the brotherhood

[elfroot]

Indeed, Cid Amon would have made a spectacularly terrible Grey Warden, the more Zevran thought about it. Which is of course why he reminded Zevran so very much of certain qualities he had found in certain Grey Wardens who did not act or behave to the standards set by others. Not that Zevran had met a wide range; their numbers did seem to be dwindling these days, for obvious reasons. In fact, he had only two examples on which he could readily draw, and both were so exceedingly opposite that it would not have surprised Zevran to discover Cid Amon was one such man, driven mad by the Blight.

Stranger things had happened. Zevran heard the shouting in the night; he knew of the nightmares, though he had not experienced them himself.

But all of that was entirely beside the point. Zevran was old enough now--and had been through enough--not to be distracted by idle daydreams; such deep thinking would be of no use when, inevitably, Morrigan grew so fed up with his teasing that she tore him limb from limb and digested him slowly over the

[hashshashinate]

Altair rose from his crouch, straightening up while observing his companion. His first impression was a favorable one, if that Zevran was slightly overly loquacious. But then what had he been expecting from a man who talked to himself in the absence of having an audience? When compared to the staunch, strict silence of the other assassins, such conversation was almost welcomed. Almost. At this point Altair was certain he liked it better than Al Mualim's steely gaze and Malik's pointed silences.

"I did not know I was disturbing anyone with my activities," Altair replied, drawing his hood back slightly, that he might better see and engage Zevran--who had apparently spotted his climbing. Altair kicked himself inwardly. He should have considered that, and it was frustrating that he hadn't. Window ledges meant windows, and not everyone was so courteous or forward-thinking as to draw their shutters at night. "As for your other suggestion... I arrived here alone. Not to mention I wouldn't know who to ask for such a

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"The best partnerships are often drawn up in the dark," Zevran added, quite cheerfully, now. "When you do not know the name or even the face, there's a certain...spontaneity I quite appreciate. Though...in the morning, sometimes, the results can occasionally be disappointing." He allowed himself to be lost in memory for just a brief moment. It would not be wise to embark on such experiences here--then again, he was not the sort to rule anything out. A few more days of this celibacy, and he was going to feel like he had joined the Chantry

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Best not to contemplate drowning too closely, since that seemed to be the inevitable fate that God held for him here. Altair ought to have known, the country was far too lush to be entirely dry. Perhaps he'd simply been hoping for a reprieve of some kind, that the path might not run directly through a river, as it were. Then again, given the judgment of the man in charge--or his lack of judgment, more accurately--Altair supposed he should have seen it coming.

There were a great many obstacles in his life that he should have seen coming. He was going to have to work on that. Perhaps now was the best time, since he obviously couldn't carry out his assigned missions

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"What I make of it has very little bearing on what we will all have to make of it, I am afraid," Zevran murmured, maintaining his sense of humor despite how distressing this all very much was. "In short, I believe we will likely get our boots wet before the day is out. And our underthings, too, for that matter. Now we must hope there are no leeches in the water, nor any other ogres bathing up-stream, nor any quick undercurrents rushing toward the ocean, and we shall all be safe and sound on dry land eventually once again! It is the most we can hope for, I think--if we don't disappear first, that is."

His smile showed a little too much teeth.

"You would not happen to have seen anything related to that during your...travels? During your climbs, I suppose, is a little more accurate."

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"I haven't seen anything that would indicate our numbers are being spirited away in the night," Altair said, rubbing his scar with the thumb on his good hand. He assumed that was what Zevran was asking him, in part because of their mutual background; it was never safe to make assumptions, but sometimes they cleared a great deal of nonsense out of the way. "Nor do I have reason to believe they are being eaten, as I heard was suggested by a member of our party."

Just one of many reasons Altair works alone. People complicate things in such an unnecessary way with all their ideas and needs and desires that applied only to them. Anyone you asked would readily tell you that Altair was a selfish bastard of a man, but at least he preferred not to inflict his selfishness onto others. It had ended quite badly, the last time he'd done so.

"It's not exactly a comfort, is it? All that means is that no one has any idea where these people are disappearing to."

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"Ah, yes, you must mean Morrigan, I can only assume; what a spitfire, do you not agree? Often a bit too much spit and occasionally too much fire, but I suppose that is what you get when you choose to dance with a devil. Mmm, but she is a spirited lass. So long as you do not suggest anything even remotely horizontal in nature, she is even quite enjoyable to talk to now and then, though I tend to prefer my conversations tinged with a little less...stubbornness, a few less threats on my life, and so on." He waved a hand at the thought, but he was smiling fondly. At the very least, she was sharp of wit and cleverer than most, and that was appreciated when one had few other choices for intelligent conversation in the first place

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"What do you make of this man, Cid Amon, then?" Altair asked, moving much closer suddenly so that he might lower his voice and yet still be heard by his companion. It was unwise to speak ill of those in power when you were resting in the very heart of their citadel, so to speak, but Altair had little choice. It wasn't as though he could take Zevran elsewhere for such a conversation--though if the caravan continued barreling toward the enormous river at such a pace, going elsewhere was something he was bound to consider.

In addition, though he was incredibly prone to giving long, meandering answers to simple questions, Zevran appeared to have a brain in his head. This put him head and shoulders above most others--on the caravan and in Altair's native land.

People disappearing into thin air did not sit well with him. And surely the ogre would hardly be able to operate with such stealth. That left man as the only culprit, and Altair had all too much experience with the capabilities of man when left to their own devices.

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"The Way-Warrant? That depends on whether or not you are on his side, doesn't it? I would not want to say something untoward--or indeed anything that might be taken the wrong way--and have it come back to haunt me later. Or even immediately; neither would be all that pleasant."

He was teasing now, enjoying the ability to talk to someone other than himself--and not via the Junogam, which was useful in its own right, but also painfully impersonal. It made for easy communication, but it was not at all the same as sparring with someone verbally face to face, enjoying their reactions, the little expressions of puzzlement as they wondered whether or not Zevran was actually being serious. He was not, of course; he so rarely was. But he gave the appearance, at times, and at others people were simply...baffled. It was not easy dealing with him, especially for those not at all prepared; this he knew, and attempted, with varying stages of success, to use that to his advantage

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"He conducts himself like a lunatic, both in writing and script," Altair said finally, with some temper in his voice. He'd never done all that well with authority figures who speak in riddles, and it was something of a relief to be able to unburden himself without concern for retribution. Or at the very least, fear of losing his rank all over again. Despite his preference for working alone, he'd found it somewhat troublesome to have no one to speak to regarding this situation--though he had located some people with a similar skill in climbing. That was hardly the same thing as finding someone to hold counsel with, however.

"...I did not mean to be so abrupt. This business with the river is troubling me," Altair added; there, that should make up for any rashness in his initial response. It was a tactic he'd learned for dealing with Malik, but it seemed to make other assassins less likely to want to knife him in the night as well. He wished them luck with that endeavor, should they be so foolish as to try it

[elfroot]

"If only it were so," Zevran sighed, with a touch of drama. "There are a few persons in my acquaintance who--if they were to disappear without a trace--I would find myself quite happy for the boon, and yet it is always those who are useful who end up being so impossible to pin down. Then again, this Cid Amon fellow does seem notoriously difficult to engage in a straightforward conversation, himself

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"I do not see how he could be convinced unless he is first found," Altair confesses, resting both hands against the balcony railing, the better to grip it in tense discomfort. If there was a body, a single man attached to the tiresome voice and maddening text, then of course, Altair had little doubt that he'd be able to make him talk. Everyone talked, with the right amount of encouragement. It was merely a matter of tracking him down. Though, to be honest, he'd prefer to keep a low profile for as long as possible. There was no Masyaf to run back to if he broke cover, and there were soldiers enough here. Or heroes--whatever they called themselves.

Staring out at the river would do him no favors, and yet that was exactly what he found himself doing. There was no visible end to the thing on either side, nor a convenient bridge where someone might cross unharmed.

Now more than ever he regretted this egregious omission in his training. What sort of assassin sank like a stone?Obviously, the sort who conducted most of his business in the

[elfroot]

"Ah, but would you wish for him to be found, if someone were able to procure him for you?" This was an honest question, and Zevran was keenly interested in the reply. He would offer no promises, nor would he expect just anyone to leap at the opportunity. It would also be somewhat unwise to make the first violent move--if being kidnapped in this way was not considered a violent move, though about that, Zevran had his doubts. But it would always be useful to know, would it not? If they were able to keep an eye on him, for example--and if he were to do more than simply steer the caravan...

Not that he would promote mistrust amongst the members of the caravan and their fearless guide; no, of course not. It was simply that these were his instincts, and it was difficult to unlearn them all at once, especially when one felt pressured

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The idea of learning something new now, at his age, would be far more daunting were it not for the fact that he had already started over from the beginning once. Having had everything he knew stripped away made him a more patient man, though sometimes it didn't feel that way. The idea of a bath seemed less daunting than a river, certainly, but weren't there entirely different principles involved? He didn't entirely trust it

[elfroot]

The matter of the Way-Warrant settled--not concluded, just put out of his mind for the time being--Zevran turned his thoughts to other, more pressing subjects. More amusing, as well. The man before him, though obviously confident and far better at scaling walls than even the most agile of spiders, was clearly terrified of such a simple thing as water! He appeared clean, though one had to wonder--with this response--how it was he took a bath. Running through very shallow puddles, perhaps?

"Well, there is one trick in particular I would offer you," Zevran said, eyes crinkling at the corners once more. "From my long years of experience--falling out of windows and being thrown into moats."

He paused after that; always a fond memory when it came to recalling the many ways in which his enemies (and friends) had attempted to end his life. Drowning was such a silly way, really, and especially difficult when one was dealing with an elf--they always had such nimble little fingers!

"My words of wisdom are thus--and quite simple: simply do not