No More Heroes, Chapter 15
Title: No More Heroes, Chapter 15
Characters: Zevran, Leliana, Alistiar, Sten, Anders, Cullen, Wynne, Loghain/Justice, Nathaniel, Oghren, Dog
Rating: T
Words: 2,200
Summary: Zevran and Leliana sit overlooking Denerim in quiet conversation. A Rite/Right is invoked.
Previous Chapters
"What do you think they are talking about?"
Zevran glanced up to find Leliana leaning against the tree beside him. The sun had not yet broken over the city's distant walls, but he had been here well before the clouds began to lighten, idly working the filth from his boots with the point of his dagger. Sheathing it, he followed her gaze toward the edge of the copse, to the panting figures leaning heavy upon their swords.
He shrugged. "Perhaps they are marveling at where the Queen manages to find such lovely gowns, despite our unfortunate circumstances. Or discussing the dreadful shortage of cheese. Note Alistair's particularly dour expression."
Leliana's chuckle was little more than a whispered sigh. She crouched beside him, watching as Sten interrupted Alistair with a wave of his hand. The smaller man looked as though he would protest, but the Qunari had already pulled the point of his blade from the dirt, stepping back to begin again. The pair of them had been sparring for nearly as long as Zevran had been sitting.
And they were not the only ones about despite the hour. Oghren had grumbled from the cot beside him as Zevran woke, muttering something about elves not belonging underground. A gentle reminder that he was indeed no stranger to dark and filthy holes had earned him another grunt, the feigned snores resuming as the dwarf rolled away.
As he slipped through the tunnels, Zevran had spied candles burning still in the Queen's map room, voices from the Templar's alcove. He had not paused, wondering briefly at his own haste. Perhaps there was some strange and long-buried elven call, but it was not the trees that he needed. It was not even the darkness, his old, familiar friend. Looking again to the walls, to the tower rising beyond, he stiffened. He could not speak for the others, but he knew well why sleep eluded him.
"And what of Morrigan?"
The words recalled him slowly, bringing a wry smile to his lips.
"She is up to something, I know it. Some plan. Do you think she convinced him?"
Zevran tilted his head, studying Alistair as he changed direction and came about on Sten's weaker side. It would have been a decent feint, but too slow. Shaking his head, Zevran chuckled. "I would not worry about it. He does not look like a man who has been recently... convinced."
Leliana caught his tone. "What do you mean?"
"He is so stiff, so angry. He moves like he were made of wood..." Zevran chuckled to himself. "And with a fuse shorter than that of a two-fingered assassin's grenade."
"What?"
"Ah, did I not mention this?" Fishing in the folds of his tunic, Zevran produced a familiar book. Such a small thing, and worn, but he paused to trail a lingering finger along the spine. Dropping it into Leliana's hands, he shrugged. "The page is marked."
"This is...?"
"Yes, yes, the horrible, murderous fiend stooped so low as to steal a poor girl's diary."
Raising her eyes to his, Leliana smiled. "I think it is sweet."
He snorted, watching as her eyes skimmed over the words.
If he was not mistaken, the page trembled beneath her fingers. "It is... almost like She is still here." Again, she smiled for him but he turned his face away, looking to the tower. The shock of the words was a moment more in coming. "But Morrigan... she-she..."
"Appears to be a woman of singularly unique desires, yes?"
"Alistair would never..." The truth of it hit her then, as he had known that it would. "The Warden. She did not need to die."
"And yet She did."
They sat in silence for a time. Still the sparrers sparred, but Alistair's strength was flagging. With a final, frustrated grunt he put his full weight behind a lunge, driving toward Sten's midsection. The big man turned the blade with ease, bringing his own around to smack the flat against Alistair's back as he stumbled past him.
"No, I would wager our Alistair remains unconvinced."
Leliana's lips twitched as she lay the book gently back in Zevran's lap. "You carry Her next to your heart."
"And such a tale you would spin of it!" Tucking the tome carefully away, he smirked. "A convenient pocket, nothing more. And it has already provided us with useful information."
"Uh huh." She leaned companionably against him and slipped a finger beneath his collar, tugging it down to reveal the soft flesh of his neck. "And this?"
His own hand moved to the mark - the mark of Her blade - tracing it unbidden. "I have many scars."
"You did not accept healing."
"There were no mages about. You may recall the city was in a bit of an uproar, hm?"
"It is not too late to lessen it. Shall I summon Wynne?" She pushed halfway to her feet but stopped as he lay a hand on her arm.
Zevran smirked. "You, my dear Leliana, are a wicked thing." He pulled the collar back into place as she sat beside him. "And what of your own troubles? You seem to have mislaid a rather handsome traveling companion."
"I have spoken to Ser Cullen. He assures me that Anders is unharmed." Her scowl revealed just how willing she was to believe it.
"And how long will he remain that way? These Templars are not known for their love of reason." He nodded to Alistair, shaking his head as the former Templar threw down his sword and retrieved his bottle from beside a tree.
"Sot têtu. He could fix this."
"Mm. He has had a great many people telling him that. A wonder that he did not tire of it sooner."
Leliana looked as though she would say more, but there was a sudden thump in the trees behind them as the trap door hidden in the underbrush was thrown open. She was on her feet in a shot, with Zevran beside her. A sideways glance at her expression sent him reaching for his daggers, but he did not draw.
Two of the sour-faced Templars were the first to emerge. Behind them came their leader - this Ser Cullen - looking as embittered and uncomfortable with his role as ever. One hand was clamped hard round the arm of the mage Anders, his desperate impression of man out for a carefree morning stroll somewhat ruined by the additional pair of Templars at his back. Wynne followed close at their heels and, strangely enough, the spectre of Loghain.
"It is... not right," he grumbled, but Wynne was speaking over him, a whirlwind of breathless anger.
"You have never performed the Rite. Have you even seen it done? Do you even know what it is that you do?"
The harried, young Templar sighed. "I have witnessed it. And Harrowings. Believe me when I say that I do not take this lightly."
"If you would only consider-"
Cullen rounded on her. "Consider what? Seven times the mage has escaped. Seven times. If he would flout laws that were put in place for his own safety, what else would he consider?"
"I might consider living to be a good thing, to start." Anders snorted, but his smirk twisted bitter. "Or at least a decent last meal."
They ignored him. "This is war, Cullen. We need every man."
"And I can't spare any more to guard him."
"Then release him into my charge!"
He looked toward the city, voice dropping as his eyes grew distant. "With the darkspawn, at least you know. Mages, though? You can never be sure." He shook his head. "He will still be useful, tending our gear, enchanting our weapons."
"Enchantment?!" Anders stopped, shrugging off his captor's grip. "To the Void with that." He spotted Leliana then, a brief and unbidden smile blooming before his eyes grew sad again. When he took a step toward them, Cullen's hand went to his sword. Anders spared him a baleful glare. "I'm not running. Wouldn't want to ruin your fun."
Leliana darted to meet him, pulling up short as she tilted her head to look up at him. If she spoke, Zevran did not hear it, but Anders chuckled, raising a gentle thumb to smooth the worried wrinkles from her brow. His arms looped around her then, crushing her against his chest as he covered her mouth with his.
It was a splendid kiss and ended all too soon. Anders stepped full away, watching her with a sad smile. "I just didn't want to never have done that."
Leliana looked as though she did not know whether to scream or weep, whether the fingers that strayed to the blade at her belt meant to sink it into Ser Cullen's chest or into her own. But Anders followed without protest now, moving with the Templars to a ridge overlooking the city, shadowed beneath the trees and the first strains of morning.
A crowd had followed from the passage, he saw, Oghren, Nathaniel and Shale among them. Even the hound was with them, cocking his head with a curious whine. Sten and Alistair had sheathed their blades, watching expressionless. Zevran studied the latter for a long moment, wondering if he would join his former fellows, but his eyes were lowered, his disinterest fearfully won.
Wynne opened her mouth to speak once more, but Cullen shook his head sadly. "I take no joy in this. I brought him here so that the Maker might bear witness, so that he might face the light."
"I've seen the sunrise before. Very pretty. Can we go?" Yet, Anders' words were flat. One of the Templars lay a heavy hand on his shoulder, forcing him to his knees. Sitting back on his heels, he laughed to himself, a whispered and desperate sound. "I suppose I should have seen this coming."
"No!" Leliana pushed forward, shouldering the Templars aside. Her gaze found Alistair, doing his best to hide beneath the shadow of the trees. "You! Why will you not do as he asks? This is not how the story ends!"
"It did end. And I already told you why."
"Because you are a coward."
"I'm not-"
"But we should have expected this, no? You did it before. You did not wish to be involved. And so you let Her die." Her lips trembled. "We all did."
Some more than others. Zevran's eyes flickered toward the tower.
"He's not going to die." Alistair scowled. He knew the words were hollow.
"In all of the ways that count. I thought Grey Wardens were supposed to be heroes."
"Maker's breath, Leliana, it's not a story! And there are no more heroes." He nodded toward Anders. "You think he's a hero?"
Anders shrugged. "I could be. You never know."
Alistair's gaze swung between them. "And I'm just supposed to do this because you tell me to? Because he thinks getting killed by the archdemon is better than living a long and peaceful life?"
"You will do it because you know that it is right, my friend." Alistair seemed surprised to find Zevran watching him, his eyes shifting uncomfortably away from that knowing smirk.
"I can't actually make him a Warden. The Joining requires the blood of an archdemon."
"But you can conscript him, yes?"
He sighed, defeated. "Who would want to be a Grey Warden? I mean, after everything...?"
"I would." They had not seen Nathaniel Howe approach, but he slipped through the crowd now, standing stiff and proud as he met Alistair's wondering gaze.
"Maker's breath, why?"
"There is nothing heroic in my family's name, or so the world would now believe. But it was something more once, and that was due in part to the Wardens. That is the legacy that I would have continue."
"Oh, sod it. If the sneering, little snotrag can do it, so can I." Oghren moved forward on heavy, limping steps, earning a raised brow from Nathaniel as he stopped beside him.
"Charming. If we are going to be brothers, I will have to think of an equally appropriate nickname for you."
"Heh. Do yer worst, Howe."
Alistair shook his head. "Oghren?"
"The Warden told me somethin' about this Joining of yours. It's been too long since I've had a good, stiff drink."
He was clearly outmatched, but still Alistair tried to argue. "You do know what being a Grey Warden means, right? You'll probably die. Probably soon."
"Yes."
"Yup."
Below them, Anders cleared his throat. Alistair only then seemed to remember him, staring at the mage for a long and uncertain moment. Finally, he reached down, clasping the other man at the elbow to help him to his feet.
"Welcome… welcome to the Grey Wardens."
The dawn darkened around them, the new light winking out before it could truly begin. As the roaring shadow passed overhead, companions new and old alike followed its progress toward the city. Zevran had little doubt now that the archdemon was biding its time, toying with them. It had taken to the skies again, recovering from its wounds as though the battle had never been. A pity the same could not be said of them.
Characters: Zevran, Leliana, Alistiar, Sten, Anders, Cullen, Wynne, Loghain/Justice, Nathaniel, Oghren, Dog
Rating: T
Words: 2,200
Summary: Zevran and Leliana sit overlooking Denerim in quiet conversation. A Rite/Right is invoked.
Previous Chapters
"What do you think they are talking about?"
Zevran glanced up to find Leliana leaning against the tree beside him. The sun had not yet broken over the city's distant walls, but he had been here well before the clouds began to lighten, idly working the filth from his boots with the point of his dagger. Sheathing it, he followed her gaze toward the edge of the copse, to the panting figures leaning heavy upon their swords.
He shrugged. "Perhaps they are marveling at where the Queen manages to find such lovely gowns, despite our unfortunate circumstances. Or discussing the dreadful shortage of cheese. Note Alistair's particularly dour expression."
Leliana's chuckle was little more than a whispered sigh. She crouched beside him, watching as Sten interrupted Alistair with a wave of his hand. The smaller man looked as though he would protest, but the Qunari had already pulled the point of his blade from the dirt, stepping back to begin again. The pair of them had been sparring for nearly as long as Zevran had been sitting.
And they were not the only ones about despite the hour. Oghren had grumbled from the cot beside him as Zevran woke, muttering something about elves not belonging underground. A gentle reminder that he was indeed no stranger to dark and filthy holes had earned him another grunt, the feigned snores resuming as the dwarf rolled away.
As he slipped through the tunnels, Zevran had spied candles burning still in the Queen's map room, voices from the Templar's alcove. He had not paused, wondering briefly at his own haste. Perhaps there was some strange and long-buried elven call, but it was not the trees that he needed. It was not even the darkness, his old, familiar friend. Looking again to the walls, to the tower rising beyond, he stiffened. He could not speak for the others, but he knew well why sleep eluded him.
"And what of Morrigan?"
The words recalled him slowly, bringing a wry smile to his lips.
"She is up to something, I know it. Some plan. Do you think she convinced him?"
Zevran tilted his head, studying Alistair as he changed direction and came about on Sten's weaker side. It would have been a decent feint, but too slow. Shaking his head, Zevran chuckled. "I would not worry about it. He does not look like a man who has been recently... convinced."
Leliana caught his tone. "What do you mean?"
"He is so stiff, so angry. He moves like he were made of wood..." Zevran chuckled to himself. "And with a fuse shorter than that of a two-fingered assassin's grenade."
"What?"
"Ah, did I not mention this?" Fishing in the folds of his tunic, Zevran produced a familiar book. Such a small thing, and worn, but he paused to trail a lingering finger along the spine. Dropping it into Leliana's hands, he shrugged. "The page is marked."
"This is...?"
"Yes, yes, the horrible, murderous fiend stooped so low as to steal a poor girl's diary."
Raising her eyes to his, Leliana smiled. "I think it is sweet."
He snorted, watching as her eyes skimmed over the words.
If he was not mistaken, the page trembled beneath her fingers. "It is... almost like She is still here." Again, she smiled for him but he turned his face away, looking to the tower. The shock of the words was a moment more in coming. "But Morrigan... she-she..."
"Appears to be a woman of singularly unique desires, yes?"
"Alistair would never..." The truth of it hit her then, as he had known that it would. "The Warden. She did not need to die."
"And yet She did."
They sat in silence for a time. Still the sparrers sparred, but Alistair's strength was flagging. With a final, frustrated grunt he put his full weight behind a lunge, driving toward Sten's midsection. The big man turned the blade with ease, bringing his own around to smack the flat against Alistair's back as he stumbled past him.
"No, I would wager our Alistair remains unconvinced."
Leliana's lips twitched as she lay the book gently back in Zevran's lap. "You carry Her next to your heart."
"And such a tale you would spin of it!" Tucking the tome carefully away, he smirked. "A convenient pocket, nothing more. And it has already provided us with useful information."
"Uh huh." She leaned companionably against him and slipped a finger beneath his collar, tugging it down to reveal the soft flesh of his neck. "And this?"
His own hand moved to the mark - the mark of Her blade - tracing it unbidden. "I have many scars."
"You did not accept healing."
"There were no mages about. You may recall the city was in a bit of an uproar, hm?"
"It is not too late to lessen it. Shall I summon Wynne?" She pushed halfway to her feet but stopped as he lay a hand on her arm.
Zevran smirked. "You, my dear Leliana, are a wicked thing." He pulled the collar back into place as she sat beside him. "And what of your own troubles? You seem to have mislaid a rather handsome traveling companion."
"I have spoken to Ser Cullen. He assures me that Anders is unharmed." Her scowl revealed just how willing she was to believe it.
"And how long will he remain that way? These Templars are not known for their love of reason." He nodded to Alistair, shaking his head as the former Templar threw down his sword and retrieved his bottle from beside a tree.
"Sot têtu. He could fix this."
"Mm. He has had a great many people telling him that. A wonder that he did not tire of it sooner."
Leliana looked as though she would say more, but there was a sudden thump in the trees behind them as the trap door hidden in the underbrush was thrown open. She was on her feet in a shot, with Zevran beside her. A sideways glance at her expression sent him reaching for his daggers, but he did not draw.
Two of the sour-faced Templars were the first to emerge. Behind them came their leader - this Ser Cullen - looking as embittered and uncomfortable with his role as ever. One hand was clamped hard round the arm of the mage Anders, his desperate impression of man out for a carefree morning stroll somewhat ruined by the additional pair of Templars at his back. Wynne followed close at their heels and, strangely enough, the spectre of Loghain.
"It is... not right," he grumbled, but Wynne was speaking over him, a whirlwind of breathless anger.
"You have never performed the Rite. Have you even seen it done? Do you even know what it is that you do?"
The harried, young Templar sighed. "I have witnessed it. And Harrowings. Believe me when I say that I do not take this lightly."
"If you would only consider-"
Cullen rounded on her. "Consider what? Seven times the mage has escaped. Seven times. If he would flout laws that were put in place for his own safety, what else would he consider?"
"I might consider living to be a good thing, to start." Anders snorted, but his smirk twisted bitter. "Or at least a decent last meal."
They ignored him. "This is war, Cullen. We need every man."
"And I can't spare any more to guard him."
"Then release him into my charge!"
He looked toward the city, voice dropping as his eyes grew distant. "With the darkspawn, at least you know. Mages, though? You can never be sure." He shook his head. "He will still be useful, tending our gear, enchanting our weapons."
"Enchantment?!" Anders stopped, shrugging off his captor's grip. "To the Void with that." He spotted Leliana then, a brief and unbidden smile blooming before his eyes grew sad again. When he took a step toward them, Cullen's hand went to his sword. Anders spared him a baleful glare. "I'm not running. Wouldn't want to ruin your fun."
Leliana darted to meet him, pulling up short as she tilted her head to look up at him. If she spoke, Zevran did not hear it, but Anders chuckled, raising a gentle thumb to smooth the worried wrinkles from her brow. His arms looped around her then, crushing her against his chest as he covered her mouth with his.
It was a splendid kiss and ended all too soon. Anders stepped full away, watching her with a sad smile. "I just didn't want to never have done that."
Leliana looked as though she did not know whether to scream or weep, whether the fingers that strayed to the blade at her belt meant to sink it into Ser Cullen's chest or into her own. But Anders followed without protest now, moving with the Templars to a ridge overlooking the city, shadowed beneath the trees and the first strains of morning.
A crowd had followed from the passage, he saw, Oghren, Nathaniel and Shale among them. Even the hound was with them, cocking his head with a curious whine. Sten and Alistair had sheathed their blades, watching expressionless. Zevran studied the latter for a long moment, wondering if he would join his former fellows, but his eyes were lowered, his disinterest fearfully won.
Wynne opened her mouth to speak once more, but Cullen shook his head sadly. "I take no joy in this. I brought him here so that the Maker might bear witness, so that he might face the light."
"I've seen the sunrise before. Very pretty. Can we go?" Yet, Anders' words were flat. One of the Templars lay a heavy hand on his shoulder, forcing him to his knees. Sitting back on his heels, he laughed to himself, a whispered and desperate sound. "I suppose I should have seen this coming."
"No!" Leliana pushed forward, shouldering the Templars aside. Her gaze found Alistair, doing his best to hide beneath the shadow of the trees. "You! Why will you not do as he asks? This is not how the story ends!"
"It did end. And I already told you why."
"Because you are a coward."
"I'm not-"
"But we should have expected this, no? You did it before. You did not wish to be involved. And so you let Her die." Her lips trembled. "We all did."
Some more than others. Zevran's eyes flickered toward the tower.
"He's not going to die." Alistair scowled. He knew the words were hollow.
"In all of the ways that count. I thought Grey Wardens were supposed to be heroes."
"Maker's breath, Leliana, it's not a story! And there are no more heroes." He nodded toward Anders. "You think he's a hero?"
Anders shrugged. "I could be. You never know."
Alistair's gaze swung between them. "And I'm just supposed to do this because you tell me to? Because he thinks getting killed by the archdemon is better than living a long and peaceful life?"
"You will do it because you know that it is right, my friend." Alistair seemed surprised to find Zevran watching him, his eyes shifting uncomfortably away from that knowing smirk.
"I can't actually make him a Warden. The Joining requires the blood of an archdemon."
"But you can conscript him, yes?"
He sighed, defeated. "Who would want to be a Grey Warden? I mean, after everything...?"
"I would." They had not seen Nathaniel Howe approach, but he slipped through the crowd now, standing stiff and proud as he met Alistair's wondering gaze.
"Maker's breath, why?"
"There is nothing heroic in my family's name, or so the world would now believe. But it was something more once, and that was due in part to the Wardens. That is the legacy that I would have continue."
"Oh, sod it. If the sneering, little snotrag can do it, so can I." Oghren moved forward on heavy, limping steps, earning a raised brow from Nathaniel as he stopped beside him.
"Charming. If we are going to be brothers, I will have to think of an equally appropriate nickname for you."
"Heh. Do yer worst, Howe."
Alistair shook his head. "Oghren?"
"The Warden told me somethin' about this Joining of yours. It's been too long since I've had a good, stiff drink."
He was clearly outmatched, but still Alistair tried to argue. "You do know what being a Grey Warden means, right? You'll probably die. Probably soon."
"Yes."
"Yup."
Below them, Anders cleared his throat. Alistair only then seemed to remember him, staring at the mage for a long and uncertain moment. Finally, he reached down, clasping the other man at the elbow to help him to his feet.
"Welcome… welcome to the Grey Wardens."
The dawn darkened around them, the new light winking out before it could truly begin. As the roaring shadow passed overhead, companions new and old alike followed its progress toward the city. Zevran had little doubt now that the archdemon was biding its time, toying with them. It had taken to the skies again, recovering from its wounds as though the battle had never been. A pity the same could not be said of them.