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

[hashshashinate]

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.

Since his training had long since robbed him of the ability to sleep late, Altair had risen at dawn, then climbed the tower that housed his room as always. Of late he'd been practicing traveling between the towers; his skill in jumping between buildings would falter if he left it to stagnate, after all, and it was such a useful one to have.

Eventually, he found himself crawling up near the mouth of the caravan balcony. Though he didn't notice the presence of another person at first, said presence's muttering soon tipped him off.

The prospect of the river was beginning to cloud his instincts. Such distractions were impossible for an assassin. Frustrated with himself, he gripped the ledge of the balcony, flipped himself over the rail to land on solid ground. Or at least, as solid as ground got on these caravans.

"Good morning," he said, keeping his face lowered. Such tactics usually worked with Malik, and Malik was often his barometer for social interactions these days, whether he knew it or not.

[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 course of the following month. It was only barely more delightful a prospect than being digested by the ogre, who was a far less pretty sight, if somewhat less intimidating.

Not having conversation was beginning to make Zevran as crazy as a Warden, himself, he suspected.

"And good morning to you, in return...if it can be called as such," Zevran replied, taking in the sight. This man was recognizable--but why? "Ah yes, of course! You are the curious acrobat whom I have seen flying from tower to tower outside my window, are you not? Yes; I recognized the clothes, though there is considerably less wind in them at the moment." What a curious fellow. "As entertaining as your exercises have been, there are so many other ways to keep the muscles limber, you know--some of them can even be practiced within the comfort of your private quarters, and occasionally, depending on who you are with, they are even less deadly."

[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--"

Altair paused, considering for the first time that Zevran wasn't referring to sparring. How curious. Was it possible that this man actually had a sense of humor? "Ah. I think I take your meaning better now."

[elfroot]

"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!

"Well, at least you caught on to the joke eventually. That is more than I am able to say for some. As for your activities..." He shrugged, holding up his hands. "I would not say they were disturbing in the slightest. Impressive, certainly; and I believe I already said 'entertaining...'"

Now that the man's face was no longer shadowed by his cowl, Zevran could take note of the scar; that detail was immediately important, and ultimately heartening. Here was someone who seemed experienced, at the very least. He was not a child, nor was his face unmarked by the difficulties of a life hard-lived. Most importantly, he appeared to be competent, and that was another necessary skill for someone Zevran deemed worthy to keep around. Especially when one was about to be drowned by an ogre.

[hashshashinate]

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.

Altair curled the fingers of his left hand carefully, not wishing to draw attention to his missing finger nor accidentally trigger the hidden blade. Time for nothing but contemplation was making him slightly...tense. The fact that the looming river was taking up a great deal of his headspace was doing little to brighten his outlook. His companion at least seemed talkative, which was a distraction in and of itself. He was dark as a native of Jerusalem, and the curious marking on his face was certainly something to take note of.

It took a certain kind of man to wear a distinctive tattoo like that in the open. Just what kind of man Zevran was remained to be seen.

"I do not do it for entertainment, exactly. I've been observing the lay of the land," Altair said. He didn't know what to make of all the innuendo, even Kadar had never been so open with his thoughts and he had been the most open person Altair had ever known.

He hesitated a moment, then pressed himself onward. "What do you make of this river?"

[elfroot]

"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."

[hashshashinate]

"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."

[elfroot]

"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.

Zevran wondered, briefly, if that scar bothered him much--Altair, he remembered the name now; something long and complicated and not familiar to Zevran from his own travels, which had taken him far and wide--then discarded the question. Irrelevant, not to mention none of his business. "If we must assume they are all missing for the same reason, that is. I do not think it is the ogre--he seems far too gentle for that, as ogres go--but if not that, then who can say?"

[hashshashinate]

"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.

[elfroot]

"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.

Whether it would amuse or anger this Altair, Zevran did not know. So far, he appeared to be handling the challenge with remarkable aplomb. He was stoic enough to remind Zevran of...

"I believe, at the very least, that there is more to this than meets the eye. More to the Way-Warrant, as well, though he could just as easily be a madman...a disturbing thought."

[hashshashinate]

"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.

But this place was different. It required an open hand, not a closed fist. Besides, Zevran's affect was such that it almost made conversation enjoyable; Altair found that he didn't altogether like the idea of alienating him so quickly. If anything, it would be a shame to lose a potential ally. "That and the matter of our companions disappearing, of course. Not anyone you know personally, I hope."

[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."

He glanced at the river again--deep, yes, and wide, certainly, but not so terrifying as an army of Darkspawn. There was more luck involved, and Zevran did not entirely envy their party's prospects, but high hopes had never been in his plans, nor were they ever exactly feasible. To stay relatively relaxed while at the same time recognizing the improbability of coming out of something in one functioning piece...now there was an enviable state of mind.

It could have been so very, very much worse. It could be the broodmother all over again; it could have been Flemeth; it could even have been the Archdemon itself. In comparison to all that, Zevran was not quaking in his boots. Discomfited, absolutely. But his drawers had not yet been browned.

"Perhaps one might be able to...convince Cid Amon to be a little more forthcoming? That is, if the ogre is not trained to protect him, and one was capable of having a little talk face to face..."

[hashshashinate]

"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 desert. Even there it had been tricky getting around the moats in the rich districts--but there was no getting around this river.

Patience and focus, Altair, he told himself, in a voice that was not entirely his own. Then, because he was no doubt turning shades of green, he turned his face away from the view.

"I don't swim."

[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.

His expression softened then, eyes wrinkling at the corners as he smiled--as though he had not just offered to shadow the Way-Warrant. (Something that was, at the very least, a dangerous proposition. He had no means by which he could gauge Cid Amon's...admittedly erratic actions and reactions.) "Are you a quick learner, by any chance? Some of the baths are deep enough...though there is little time for you to practice, it would still be better than nothing!"

[hashshashinate]

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.

"I would be interested, if Amon could be found," Altair said, focusing on the matter at hand. If he thought too long about himself submerged in water he was going to have some kind of attack. "I can promise you that much. Whether or not such a thing would even be possible remains to be seen."

That last statement applies just as easily to his own capacity for learning to swim. No matter how he looks at it, Altair can't see any great developments occurring. Nothing good ever came of a man trying to go where he didn't belong.

Except, of course, Altair had learned to travel in the air on a semi-regular basis. "Is there some... Some kind of trick to it, then?"

[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 drown."