Two Sides of the Same Coin
Rating: M (for mature themes)
Genre: Drama/Romance/ and a touch of humor
Summary: Love hurts, literally and metaphorically. That is one lesson every Crow learns early. But there is another side to that particular sovereign. And sometimes, you learn it in the place you least expected. m/m
Hope everyone had a happy holiday! Fortunately, where I live didn't get buried in snow from the storms that have passed through recently. But hey, winter's not over yet. There's still a chance.
Well, our merry band has finally made it to Denerim. (No wardens disguised as bearded dancing girls, though.)
Posting may get a bit irregular in the next month or so (all those pesky real-life commitments). And, as ever, reviews/comments/random thoughts are always welcome.
Enjoy!
Darrian Tabris
We entered Denerim just after mid-day, when the traffic in and out of the city tended to be the heaviest. A farm wagon carrying a load of squawking chickens in slotted crates rumbled along in front. While, behind us, a woman soothed a nervous horse pulling a cart piled high with unwashed fleeces. I had expected the gate guards to be more watchful after what Soris and I had done. But they only gave our wagon a quick glance and asked our business. Wynne hadn’t even finished her statement before they were waving us through.
On the surface, it seemed as if nothing had changed. The pungent smell of horse manure mingled with the aromas of baking bread and roses as we skirted the edge of the city’s main market square. Roasting meat from inns preparing mid-day meals competed with the acrid scent of an outdoor forge. Vendors cried out their wares. But the tenor of the market-place felt different. I saw it in the darting glances people gave us, their hands staying near their purses or a weapon if they carried one, and many were. The banter between vendors and those buying sounded strained.
Walking behind the wagon, Zevran and I led our horses. Alistair slouched in his saddle, riding on the left and looking suitably scruffy as we passed a group of guards on their way to relieve a watch. In plain clothes, he seemed like any traveler picked up on the road, come looking for work in Denerim. Morrigan, perched at the right end of the wagon seat, scowled at anyone who even glanced her way.
Sten rode on the right, playing the part of a mercenary hired to help guard a minstrel, an herbalist, a healer mage, and their elven servants on the road. Tam trotted beside him.
I glanced at Zevran, his hair now a non-descript brown. I’d assured him that the plant dye Morrigan had found should rinse out with a few washings. Not used to wearing it unbound, he kept tucking strands behind his ears to keep them out of the way. It didn’t help that it was windy.
“This is why I braid it,” he muttered, then tugged at the worn grey shirt he was wearing. He glanced down at his old scuffed boots and sighed. The fine Antivan ones were safely put away with our armor and Alistair’s, all hidden beneath a pile of blankets and camping gear in the wagon. Our weapons, including Alistair’s shield were stowed in a locked chest.
Zevran glanced at me and that familiar smirk crossed his face. He edged a little closer to me so he could keep his voice low. “So, how many throwing daggers did you hide?”
“Eight.”
“The usual places?”
Let’s see, one on each forearm, two at the small of my back, one in each boot and two strapped to my chest. “Yes.”
He laughed. “Maker, we’re starting to talk like Sten.”
“That may not be a bad idea, actually. Don’t take this wrong, but the less you speak the less likely someone’s going to identify you as a foreigner.”
“Probably true, but you do realize that all that lack of exercise for my tongue is going to have to be made up somehow, yes?”
I stifled a laugh and it came out sounding like a snort. Alistair glanced at me then gave me a very subtle shake of his head. Wynne pulled the horses to a stop and we waited for a line of pack-mules to amble by, headed in the direction of the docks. Once clear, we trailed along behind them since we were going that way, as well. The inns were cheap near the waterfront, and used to a more varied clientele, so that the rather unusual nature of our group wouldn’t draw attention.
The Leaky Dinghy didn’t seem a very auspicious name for an inn, but it was large, and from the outside it looked well kept. Two elven servants hurried up, then led the horses away after we pulled into the stone courtyard behind the inn. The men didn’t even look Zevran or me in the eye when they came for our horses after taking Sten’s and Alistair’s to the stable. Zevran glanced at me and shrugged. We went to unhitch the cart horses after Wynne pulled into a place on the side of the courtyard to keep the cart out of the way.
Alistair scratched at his chin. Four days worth of beard really did make a difference. Add in a slouch, a different way of combing his hair and the plain brown shirt and pants of a workman, he seemed like a different person.
He glanced at some city guards entering the inn. “You sure about this place, Zevran?”
“The food is good, and the place is clean. The pickpockets and cutpurses stay away because the city guard likes to drink here off duty since they have decent ale and don’t water it down. Keep your face low, and there shouldn’t be any problems.”
Alistair frowned. “Keep my face low?”
“I think he means don’t draw attention,” I said.
In keeping with his disguise, Alistair just grunted in reply. While we retrieved our packs from the wagon, Leli and Wynne went inside to arrange rooms. Since Zevran and I were elves, we wouldn’t be expected to share a room with any of the humans.
“I’m going to assume you never slept here,” I said to Zevran when we found the room assigned to us. It was barely big enough to hold the bed. A rickety table held a lamp, and a chest was shoved under the tiny window through which I saw the stables behind the inn. The room seemed clean, at least.
“It’s better than sleeping on the ground,” he said as he sat down on the bed. I dropped my travel pack next to his on top of the chest. He leaned back on his arms and grinned at me. He’d even dyed his eyebrows as well, something I hadn’t thought of, but it made sense. But he couldn’t change the color of his eyes, or the lines that curved along his cheeks.
“Something bothers you, my Warden?” he asked when I frowned as I studied his face.
“The vallaslin on your face, I don’t think I’ve ever seen marks like that on any other elf.”
“You won’t, unless they happen to be a Crow. They’re-” He sat up abruptly. “Mierda. I have the brains of a fish.” He said something else, more to himself than me and in Antivan.
I sat down next to him. “We could add to the pattern, enough to disguise it. My mother taught me-
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “They’re…sacred. Would you change the ones on your face?”
“Zevran-” I raked my hands through my hair then sighed. “No, mine are sacred to. They show that I’m pledged to Andruil, goddess of the hunt.”
He arched a brow. “You know their meaning? Ah, of course, your mother was Dalish, so you would.”
“What do these mean?” I traced the line of one with my fingertip. He took my hand, then kissed it before answering.
“They were given to me by an elven Master when I was sixteen. Few elves are raised to that rank. He was…exceptional. I made an oath to him not to reveal them, not even to another elf.”
“I understand.”
I traced the lines again. With his hair darker, the lines seemed more prominent since they didn’t blend in as well with his altered coloring. Despite that he was the only elf I’d ever seen who carried curving lines like this, they nagged at my memory for some reason. Unique as they were though, anyone who recognized them would probably recognize him.
“If only Crows carry them then…what was it you said?....’you might as well put a target on your back showing the best place to stick a dagger.’ ’’
He slipped his arm around my hips and nuzzled my hair. “Well, we could stay here while the others gather information on the political situation. I can certainly think of ways to pass the time. There’s a few positions I’d like to show you that are much easier in a bedroom.”
I sighed. “Tempting as that is, I need to check on more than just Loghain. There’s my kin and…something I’m going to need your help with.”
He pulled back, his eyes widening. “You’re thinking of assassinating someone?”
“No. More like a theft…kind of.”
“My Warden, it’s either a theft or it isn’t.” He grinned. “You’re not planning on stealing from Loghain, are you?”
“Not exactly. And I’m not sure it’s really theft…unless you can steal from yourself. Well, from the Grey Warden compound in the Castle, actually. And…I haven’t told Alistair about what I’m planning.”
“Ah, you think he wouldn’t approve.”
I slipped my arm around his hips. “Partly, but I’m more concerned he might want to go with me…that he’ll see it as an opportunity to go after Loghain. Alistair…took Duncan’s death very hard.”
I swallowed, and looked away. Zevran’s hand slipped up to my cheek, and he gently tugged at my head. “And you didn’t?”
I turned to face him, and his hand stayed on my cheek. “There’s bigger things at stake here than personal vengeance. I don’t know if killing Loghain now would help, or just make things worse. And I don’t think we can afford to find out.”
His eyes narrowed, and he studied me for a long moment. “One question then, why and what do you want to steal from the Warden compound?”
“Have you seen my armor? Darkspawn blood is like an acid, eating away at the leather. And Alistair needs a better sword. When we traveled to Ostagar, Duncan told me about the armory at the Denerim compound. Warden gear is treated to make it more resistant to Darkspawn blood. The only reason we didn’t stop off there when he recruited me was that the watch wanted me out of the city by nightfall. There wasn’t time to go there and check out decent weapons and gear, then get out by sunset.”
He smiled. “It’s been a while since I’ve done a hit like that. Should be fun, yes?”
Fun wasn’t exactly the word I would have used, but I knew what Zevran meant. He seemed to enjoy a challenge. A good thing, since while getting in might not be too hard, getting out with armor and weapons was going to be difficult. And there was still the matter of his vallaslin. But I thought I might have a solution for that. I touched a line on his cheek.
“What if the alteration I did was temporary? There are inks that stain the skin, and then fade completely away after a few weeks, leaving the permanent marks untouched.”
He tilted his head and studied the ceiling for a few moments, then looked at me. “Yes, that would be alright, and I really would prefer not to hide in this room for Maker knows how long.” He nuzzled my cheek. “Not that I wouldn’t mind staying in bed with you for a week”.
I rested my forehead against his. “Neither would I.”
His hand slid under my shirt, coming to rest on my hip. “Hmmm, I believe our presence is not required for several hours yet. I can’t imagine how we’ll pass the time.”
I laughed, and pulled him down with me onto the bed.
As always, previous chapters may be found here: Fanfic:Two Sides
Genre: Drama/Romance/ and a touch of humor
Summary: Love hurts, literally and metaphorically. That is one lesson every Crow learns early. But there is another side to that particular sovereign. And sometimes, you learn it in the place you least expected. m/m
Hope everyone had a happy holiday! Fortunately, where I live didn't get buried in snow from the storms that have passed through recently. But hey, winter's not over yet. There's still a chance.
Well, our merry band has finally made it to Denerim. (No wardens disguised as bearded dancing girls, though.)
Posting may get a bit irregular in the next month or so (all those pesky real-life commitments). And, as ever, reviews/comments/random thoughts are always welcome.
Enjoy!
Darrian Tabris
We entered Denerim just after mid-day, when the traffic in and out of the city tended to be the heaviest. A farm wagon carrying a load of squawking chickens in slotted crates rumbled along in front. While, behind us, a woman soothed a nervous horse pulling a cart piled high with unwashed fleeces. I had expected the gate guards to be more watchful after what Soris and I had done. But they only gave our wagon a quick glance and asked our business. Wynne hadn’t even finished her statement before they were waving us through.
On the surface, it seemed as if nothing had changed. The pungent smell of horse manure mingled with the aromas of baking bread and roses as we skirted the edge of the city’s main market square. Roasting meat from inns preparing mid-day meals competed with the acrid scent of an outdoor forge. Vendors cried out their wares. But the tenor of the market-place felt different. I saw it in the darting glances people gave us, their hands staying near their purses or a weapon if they carried one, and many were. The banter between vendors and those buying sounded strained.
Walking behind the wagon, Zevran and I led our horses. Alistair slouched in his saddle, riding on the left and looking suitably scruffy as we passed a group of guards on their way to relieve a watch. In plain clothes, he seemed like any traveler picked up on the road, come looking for work in Denerim. Morrigan, perched at the right end of the wagon seat, scowled at anyone who even glanced her way.
Sten rode on the right, playing the part of a mercenary hired to help guard a minstrel, an herbalist, a healer mage, and their elven servants on the road. Tam trotted beside him.
I glanced at Zevran, his hair now a non-descript brown. I’d assured him that the plant dye Morrigan had found should rinse out with a few washings. Not used to wearing it unbound, he kept tucking strands behind his ears to keep them out of the way. It didn’t help that it was windy.
“This is why I braid it,” he muttered, then tugged at the worn grey shirt he was wearing. He glanced down at his old scuffed boots and sighed. The fine Antivan ones were safely put away with our armor and Alistair’s, all hidden beneath a pile of blankets and camping gear in the wagon. Our weapons, including Alistair’s shield were stowed in a locked chest.
Zevran glanced at me and that familiar smirk crossed his face. He edged a little closer to me so he could keep his voice low. “So, how many throwing daggers did you hide?”
“Eight.”
“The usual places?”
Let’s see, one on each forearm, two at the small of my back, one in each boot and two strapped to my chest. “Yes.”
He laughed. “Maker, we’re starting to talk like Sten.”
“That may not be a bad idea, actually. Don’t take this wrong, but the less you speak the less likely someone’s going to identify you as a foreigner.”
“Probably true, but you do realize that all that lack of exercise for my tongue is going to have to be made up somehow, yes?”
I stifled a laugh and it came out sounding like a snort. Alistair glanced at me then gave me a very subtle shake of his head. Wynne pulled the horses to a stop and we waited for a line of pack-mules to amble by, headed in the direction of the docks. Once clear, we trailed along behind them since we were going that way, as well. The inns were cheap near the waterfront, and used to a more varied clientele, so that the rather unusual nature of our group wouldn’t draw attention.
The Leaky Dinghy didn’t seem a very auspicious name for an inn, but it was large, and from the outside it looked well kept. Two elven servants hurried up, then led the horses away after we pulled into the stone courtyard behind the inn. The men didn’t even look Zevran or me in the eye when they came for our horses after taking Sten’s and Alistair’s to the stable. Zevran glanced at me and shrugged. We went to unhitch the cart horses after Wynne pulled into a place on the side of the courtyard to keep the cart out of the way.
Alistair scratched at his chin. Four days worth of beard really did make a difference. Add in a slouch, a different way of combing his hair and the plain brown shirt and pants of a workman, he seemed like a different person.
He glanced at some city guards entering the inn. “You sure about this place, Zevran?”
“The food is good, and the place is clean. The pickpockets and cutpurses stay away because the city guard likes to drink here off duty since they have decent ale and don’t water it down. Keep your face low, and there shouldn’t be any problems.”
Alistair frowned. “Keep my face low?”
“I think he means don’t draw attention,” I said.
In keeping with his disguise, Alistair just grunted in reply. While we retrieved our packs from the wagon, Leli and Wynne went inside to arrange rooms. Since Zevran and I were elves, we wouldn’t be expected to share a room with any of the humans.
“I’m going to assume you never slept here,” I said to Zevran when we found the room assigned to us. It was barely big enough to hold the bed. A rickety table held a lamp, and a chest was shoved under the tiny window through which I saw the stables behind the inn. The room seemed clean, at least.
“It’s better than sleeping on the ground,” he said as he sat down on the bed. I dropped my travel pack next to his on top of the chest. He leaned back on his arms and grinned at me. He’d even dyed his eyebrows as well, something I hadn’t thought of, but it made sense. But he couldn’t change the color of his eyes, or the lines that curved along his cheeks.
“Something bothers you, my Warden?” he asked when I frowned as I studied his face.
“The vallaslin on your face, I don’t think I’ve ever seen marks like that on any other elf.”
“You won’t, unless they happen to be a Crow. They’re-” He sat up abruptly. “Mierda. I have the brains of a fish.” He said something else, more to himself than me and in Antivan.
I sat down next to him. “We could add to the pattern, enough to disguise it. My mother taught me-
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “They’re…sacred. Would you change the ones on your face?”
“Zevran-” I raked my hands through my hair then sighed. “No, mine are sacred to. They show that I’m pledged to Andruil, goddess of the hunt.”
He arched a brow. “You know their meaning? Ah, of course, your mother was Dalish, so you would.”
“What do these mean?” I traced the line of one with my fingertip. He took my hand, then kissed it before answering.
“They were given to me by an elven Master when I was sixteen. Few elves are raised to that rank. He was…exceptional. I made an oath to him not to reveal them, not even to another elf.”
“I understand.”
I traced the lines again. With his hair darker, the lines seemed more prominent since they didn’t blend in as well with his altered coloring. Despite that he was the only elf I’d ever seen who carried curving lines like this, they nagged at my memory for some reason. Unique as they were though, anyone who recognized them would probably recognize him.
“If only Crows carry them then…what was it you said?....’you might as well put a target on your back showing the best place to stick a dagger.’ ’’
He slipped his arm around my hips and nuzzled my hair. “Well, we could stay here while the others gather information on the political situation. I can certainly think of ways to pass the time. There’s a few positions I’d like to show you that are much easier in a bedroom.”
I sighed. “Tempting as that is, I need to check on more than just Loghain. There’s my kin and…something I’m going to need your help with.”
He pulled back, his eyes widening. “You’re thinking of assassinating someone?”
“No. More like a theft…kind of.”
“My Warden, it’s either a theft or it isn’t.” He grinned. “You’re not planning on stealing from Loghain, are you?”
“Not exactly. And I’m not sure it’s really theft…unless you can steal from yourself. Well, from the Grey Warden compound in the Castle, actually. And…I haven’t told Alistair about what I’m planning.”
“Ah, you think he wouldn’t approve.”
I slipped my arm around his hips. “Partly, but I’m more concerned he might want to go with me…that he’ll see it as an opportunity to go after Loghain. Alistair…took Duncan’s death very hard.”
I swallowed, and looked away. Zevran’s hand slipped up to my cheek, and he gently tugged at my head. “And you didn’t?”
I turned to face him, and his hand stayed on my cheek. “There’s bigger things at stake here than personal vengeance. I don’t know if killing Loghain now would help, or just make things worse. And I don’t think we can afford to find out.”
His eyes narrowed, and he studied me for a long moment. “One question then, why and what do you want to steal from the Warden compound?”
“Have you seen my armor? Darkspawn blood is like an acid, eating away at the leather. And Alistair needs a better sword. When we traveled to Ostagar, Duncan told me about the armory at the Denerim compound. Warden gear is treated to make it more resistant to Darkspawn blood. The only reason we didn’t stop off there when he recruited me was that the watch wanted me out of the city by nightfall. There wasn’t time to go there and check out decent weapons and gear, then get out by sunset.”
He smiled. “It’s been a while since I’ve done a hit like that. Should be fun, yes?”
Fun wasn’t exactly the word I would have used, but I knew what Zevran meant. He seemed to enjoy a challenge. A good thing, since while getting in might not be too hard, getting out with armor and weapons was going to be difficult. And there was still the matter of his vallaslin. But I thought I might have a solution for that. I touched a line on his cheek.
“What if the alteration I did was temporary? There are inks that stain the skin, and then fade completely away after a few weeks, leaving the permanent marks untouched.”
He tilted his head and studied the ceiling for a few moments, then looked at me. “Yes, that would be alright, and I really would prefer not to hide in this room for Maker knows how long.” He nuzzled my cheek. “Not that I wouldn’t mind staying in bed with you for a week”.
I rested my forehead against his. “Neither would I.”
His hand slid under my shirt, coming to rest on my hip. “Hmmm, I believe our presence is not required for several hours yet. I can’t imagine how we’ll pass the time.”
I laughed, and pulled him down with me onto the bed.
As always, previous chapters may be found here: Fanfic:Two Sides