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

[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."

[hashshashinate]

"How helpful," Altair said, shortly. It was clear the other man--if that was indeed what he was, Altair hadn't missed those ears--was mocking him. It was akin to the advice Malik would have given him, though Malik would've accompanied his words with a good strong push into the nearest body of water. Not that Altair didn't deserve it.

But Zevran wasn't Malik and despite his apparent amusement at Altair's discomfort, he had offered to make himself useful. It was best not to make an enemy of him. Which meant Altair had to go on ignoring his ruder, more base instincts. In that regard, this place wasn't so different from home at all.

"My chief difficulty, if I might call it that, is that I..." how to put it? Best to be blunt, no doubt. As clear as possible. "I sink."

A bath is a different matter altogether, since the tubs are such that he's never not touching the bottom. He hasn't been close enough to the river to learn anything remotely useful about it, but he can tell from the dark color that the waters run deep.

[elfroot]

Now here was a man who could drown in a puddle. Quite easily, it would seem. Everyone did have his strong suits alongside his weaknesses, but this one certainly put a damper on Zevran's initial opinions--he had sized Altair up, both over the Junogam and outside the window, and he had seemed a prime candidate, the top contender, to fill the Grey Warden's shoes while there was no Grey Warden to be had. Well, not shoes. More like boots. Enormously heavy and pungent boots.

He could at least do so until a time when the Grey Warden--so besieged by incompetence on all sides--at last discovered where they were, and, perhaps even more unlikely, came to find his companions...

The poor Cousland would do it, with such a head for justice, and that foolish need to help others no matter what the circumstances. That was his weakness; whereas the man standing before Zevran now, though efficient and willing to take action, had his. Water. If only they had not so quickly come to the river, Zevran might have remained more enamored of the possibility.

Still, it was a good thing to have allies, especially when living with strangers in such close quarters, and especially when there was a rash of kidnapping. Sleeping with one eye open could only get you so far. You needed to have someone watching your back--someone who would not stab it at the first chance they got, nor grow all-too-easily distracted.

"Yes, the sinking is a distinct difficulty," Zevran murmured. His show of deep thought was, of course, feigned. He was still laughing--because if he were not to laugh, he would be feeling quite hopeless, indeed. "Do you tie rocks about your person? You do not look so heavy--or so solid--as all that!"