Fic - A Child Unexpected (Part 9 of 12)
Title: A Child Unexpected (Part 9 of 12)
Author: skybound2
Characters: Fem!City-Elf PC (Kallian Tabris), Sten, Zevran, Alistair, and Morrigan (the overall fic is Zevran/Tabris with Sten and some others tossed in. Liberally, at times. References Alistair/Tabris, Alistair/Anora, and Zevran/Other.)
Word Count: ~4300 this chapter (~30300 so far)
Rating: T
Summary: Heroes have problems too. That's why they need friends. In this bit: Time to travel to Weisshaupt.
Spoilers: Through end game.
Author's Note: So, so, SO sorry for the delay. Hectic life is hectic. The next chapter will not take nearly so long. Promise. Many, many thanks to pennydreadful for the beta!!! This story can also be found at FFN.
Previously: (On LJ)
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Interlude (the First)
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Interlude (the Last)
Chapter 7
Seheron - Twenty-two Months after the Fall of the Archdemon
The preparations for traveling to Weisshaupt took up a considerable portion of the following three days. It wasn't that she had much to pack (she had every intention of returning after all, so there was no need to abandon her home altogether), but between Zevran getting to know Adaia (ten fingers, ten toes, two pointed ears, and a bottomless pit of a stomach), Adaia getting to know Zevran (neither the hair nor the tattoos are removable), and Sten being generally disapproving of the entire situation, Kallian's remaining days in Seheron were fairly well-divided.
Despite the fact that Kallian felt as if she was walking a fine-line between agitation and relief at the disruption to her life, one thing that was living firmly in the land of good was Zevran's willingness to be involved in any manner that he could. Surprisingly, after just one fumbled attempt (which involved a waste-bin, the goose-girl painting, and an open flame), this had included Zevran willingly changing Adaia's nappies. It was a chore that Kallian was more than happy to relinquish.
Once the majority of the packing had been done (Kallian had very little she needed to bring, she had learned how easy it was to travel lightly during the blight, but Adaia required more than a few things to make it through just a day, let alone nearly three weeks of travel), Kallian set up payment for her home for the duration of her absence, and attempted to cull Sten's irritation at her abrupt departure.
She had become so indebted to Sten since the end of the blight, that she was certain that there was no way for her ever to repay him. The Qun spoke often of a person's role in life and the world. To her, Sten had been nothing short of a miracle. Holding her together when every instinct told her to fall apart. Reminding her constantly that she was more than capable of handling what the world threw at her; whether that be darkspawn or former lovers.
He gave her strength. As any good warrior should. She wondered what it was she could possibly give him that made him stick around for all of her dramatics. (She highly doubted it was her ability to cook pastries.)
“I fail to see the point of this, Kadan.”
“Sten. Just...promise me. I need to know that if anything happens to me, anything at all, you'll come for her.”
Sten growled, a deep reverberating noise which caused her mabari's hackles to rise, and his ears to perk up. “If you believe you will come to harm, why do you insist on going?”
Kallian ran her hand through her hair, tugging at the tresses, her eyes focused on a far off-point. A point occupied by the tiny figures of Zevran and Adaia as they played by the water behind Kallian's home. “Hell if I know.”
“Kadan-” Oh, now that was quite an impressive growl. Even her hound agreed, if his whimper was anything to go by.
“It was a joke! I was joking, Sten.”
Some of the tension eased from the qunari's shoulders, but he still appeared wary. “Your sense of humor needs improvement.”
“Look, we've been over this. I need to settle things with the Warden's properly, if I'm ever going to have a real life. I owe her that much.”
“If you had not agreed to depart so quickly, I would have gone with you.”
“I know.” Kallian lifted her chin so that she could look at him properly, and reached out to squeeze his hand briefly. “I know. But, its better this way. You have responsibilities here, I couldn't ask you to leave them on such short notice. And besides...” She glanced back to the duo by the water. Zevran was now sitting cross-legged in front of their daughter, who was drawing her hands through the sand and jabbering on a mile a minute. “This will give him a chance to bond with her.”
Sten sighed. “He does appear to be taken with her.”
Watching the two of them, responding to one another as if he hadn't just blown into their lives a mere two days before, the truth was obvious. Her mouth pulled down in a slight frown, her heart heavy. “I was wrong. Wasn't I?”
Violet met blue as Sten linked gazes with her. His own face radiating an emotion that she could only label as pity, even though she knew that it was something much more complicated. “Yes.”
Blunt teeth dug into her lower lip as she brought her arms up to cross over her chest, warding off a wash of cold that had nothing to do with the weather.
“It does little good to dwell on the past, Kadan. You know this. We make our choices, and we must live with them. This was your choice.” He lifted his chin up once more, sight focusing on the pair by the water's edge. “Learn from it, and there will be nothing to regret in the future.” Tentatively a hand rested on her shoulder, but only for a few seconds. Even so, the warmth and pressure of its presence relaxed her down to her bones.
“What would I do without you, Sten?”
His eyebrows raised in unison. “You're about to find out. “ There was a look close to amusement on his face. “It is likely you will survive.”
Laughter escaped her throat, and she wrapped an arm around him in an awkward half-hug that he only haltingly returned.
She could laugh now, but she hated that he was right.
~~~\/~~~
She waited to visit the armory until the last day. In the nearly two years that she had been living in Seheron, the smith was the only friend that she had acquired. He'd provided her with an interesting perspective with which to look upon the world, and she was grateful for the training he had so openly provided. (She may not have been in top fighting condition, but neither had she lost all of her strength, thanks in great part to her training at his hands.)
Perhaps she'd been putting off visiting with him just a tad, but the thought of saying goodbye made her head hurt. She had never been any good at those sorts of things. The fact of the matter was that the smith had been exceedingly good to her, and she both wanted to thank him, and offer up some explanation as to where she would be for the foreseeable future.
Any thoughts that she had entertained about omitting key pieces of information from her tale were firmly squashed by Zevran's insistence in tagging along. He was apparently taking this whole “not letting Adaia out of his sight” thing rather seriously.
She might have found it endearing if it wasn't also paired with Zevran's still slightly standoffish attitude towards her. It was subtle, and had she not known him so well, she likely wouldn't have been able to pick up on it. (Sten also seemed aware of the stiffness with which Zevran was carrying himself, if the narrowed-eyed looks her friend was constantly giving Zevran were any indication.)
As it was, she was fairly certain that every qunari, elf, and human they passed by in the markets assumed Zevran had climbed straight into her bed from the boat, so audacious was his flirting. The difference being that he saved all of his most deliberate and raunchy innuendos and leers for when there were witnesses. In private, the facade dropped, and all of his focus was on Adaia; with nary a word spoken to Kallian on any other topic.
They had talked somewhat extensively that first night that he had arrived, and she had thought things had been well on their way to improving. She had spoken for an absurd amount of hours about Adaia. Detailing as best she could every moment of the young girl’s life. He, in turn, had told her of Alistair’s attempts to thwart the Warden’s from finding her, and other mostly meaningless trivialities. But, he had clammed up when the discussion had lead towards more serious topics.
Or more specifically, topics directly dealing with only the two of them; and she had no idea how to clear the gap between them.
It made her stomach flutter in an uncomfortable way.
Physically shaking herself from her reverie, she noted the deep-set yellow eyes staring out from behind lined bronzed skin, with a look of introspection at the golden haired elf by her side. The smith stood - back to his work-table - arms crossed over his chest and one eyebrow lifted as he took in the spectacle that was Zevran and Adaia. (Adaia had somehow managed to pry one of Zevran's braids loose, and was tugging on it in a most amusing fashion. With her teeth.)
The smith's coarse timbre broke through to the pair. “You are the father.”
Despite the lack of question in that statement, Zevran paused, one arm tucking Adaia close to his chest, the other unsuccessfully attempting to pry the deathgrip she held on his hair loose. “I am. Although, at the moment it would seem I am acting more as a chewtoy.” Through the flop of hair covering his face he titled his head towards Kallian. “Warden, I do believe that your hound has been a bad influence on our daughter.”
The smith huffed. A second's consideration passed before he crossed the room and snatched something up from a cabinet near the wash basin. When he returned, prize in hand, a smile split Adaia's face. As she was presented with the squishy purple and blue toy, she launched herself out of Zevran's arms and into the smith's, chubby little hands grabbing for the soft material. The one corner of the smith's mouth twitched upwards, as near to a smile as he ever got. “If you plan on hanging about in here, there's a bucket in the back. And a stack of tools next to it that need tending. I trust you are bright enough to figure out the rest.”
Zevran opened his mouth, a glimmer in his eye. Several possible scenarios ran through Kallian's mind of what he might say, each one more horrific than the last. Her hand darted out of its own accord, and snagged his elbow. “Come. I'll show you where everything is kept. She'll just be in the next room.”
His eyes flashed down to where her fingers lingered; they slowly traced the appendage back up to her face, an emotion in their amber depths which she couldn't quite identify. Heat pooled low in her belly, and she allowed herself a tiny amount of pleasure in the feeling of her thumb stroking idly along his skin before she pulled away. Unconsciously, she dropped her voice to a softer, more melodic tone. “You can see what I have been up to this last year. There's one set of blades I'm rather proud of.”
Zevran glanced back towards the smith and Adaia, before inclining his head, and bending down with a slight flourish. “Lead the way, Warden.”
Oh, how she missed the way 'my Grey Warden' use to roll off his tongue. It had always bothered Alistair immensely, but she had rather liked it. She wondered if he would ever refer to her as such again.
~~~\/~~~
With much growling (her mabari), the judicious application of inappropriate gestures and suggestions (Zevran towards a young Warden who blushed a lovely shade of crimson), wide-eyed fascination (Adaia), and near-champion levels of lip chewing (Kallian); the boat had set off at quarter past noon on the third day; nearly as scheduled.
Sten was glowering from the dock.
Nocen Sea: Twenty-two and a half Months after the Fall of the Archdemon
Kallian really disliked boats. She wouldn't go so far as to say that she hated them, (that kind of passion was reserved for things like Revenants and hangnails) but they ranked fairly close to the top.
She'd held out some minor hope that her last extended voyage by sea had been so Maker-forsaken-awful due to her pregnancy; when simply everything about her body was thrown out of alignment. But no. No, that kind of luck (if it even existed) was saved for some other, more deserving soul.
One who didn't cheat death or commit lies of omission large enough to embrace the whole of Ferelden.
You know, someone distinctly not her.
Instead, she got to suffer every single wave and rock and jolt and thrust of the damnable boat in quiet, green-colored agony. The worst part was that no one else seemed to be suffering from a similar fate. (Perhaps it was petty of her to wish such a heinous thing on anyone else, but really, would it have killed someone to be just a little less perky?) She was glad to see that neither Adaia nor Zevran appeared to be experiencing any difficulties. And given how much shorter this trip was scheduled to be, as compared to the last (a mere three weeks this time), she was managing to bare it with some small amount of dignity.
As long as either a bucket or a railing was readily at hand at any given moment, of course. Andraste be damned, but she disliked boats.
While she was busy clinging to the nearest solid object (missing Sten most acutely), Zevran and Adaia were busy systematically wrapping everyone on the boat around their little fingers. And with every passing moment, one thing was becoming more and more apparent.
Her daughter simply adored her father. And frankly, Kallian would be hard pressed to argue as to why.
At breakfast, when Kallian was struggling to hold down stale toast, Zevran would swoop in, and scoop the giggling child up into his arms. He'd toss her overhead, her tiny feet kicking out, and a whoop of joy letting loose from her chest, just before she'd toss chubby little arms around his neck, and give him sloppy, mashed-pea flavored kisses.
“Mmm. Did your mother tell you that I was fond of peas?” The sound of Adaia's laughter could be heard echoing over the din of the mess hall.
In the afternoon, they would tottle off, Zevran fading in and out of the shadows, much to Adaia's delight, and constant cries of “Again, Zev! Again!” To which he would always oblige. Sometimes, Kallian would catch a glimpse of her daughter, eyes screwed tightly shut, and hands squeezing into fists, before they'd all pop open and she'd glance at her hands in obvious disappointment.
Just what Kallian needed, a 15 month old learning how to become invisible. Zevran assured her that it would be years before the babe could master such an art. She assured him that the child had managed to stand upright at only six months old, and had learned how to work the lock on the front door by the time she was a year (with the help of one mabari, who was always willing to give a leg up to the little girl). So mastering something as complicated as disappearing couldn't possibly take her more than a couple of months. Tops.
Then, of course, there were the other Wardens.
Kallian had never really had occasion to spend much time with any other Wardens. Well, aside from Duncan, Alistair, and Riordan of course. There had been plenty in the camp at Ostagar, but socialization had not been encouraged before she went through the joining (and given the death rate of the damn ritual, she could understand why), and afterwards...well, they'd all mostly been busy dying.
Now, there were three other Wardens on the boat with her, and the lot of them seemed to treat her with some kind of mixture of uncertainty and respect. Like they weren't sure what to make of her.
To be fair, she had no clue what to make of herself anymore.
“You do not care for the water, I see.” The elongated vowels of the Orlesian who had graced Kallian's door that first day were unmistakable. As was the smile that was just a tad off on the dark-haired man's face.
“That obvious?”
“Only to those with eyes, perhaps.”
Kallian supposed that her position, pressed back against one of the ship's bulkheads, arms wrapped tightly around legs, which were tucked tightly against her chest, was as good an indication as her semi-regular trips to the head (or a convenient located railing) that she was, in fact, not overly fond of boats.
Stealth and subterfuge had never been her strong suit.
“I prefer the ground beneath my feet to actually be, well, ground. There is just something...unnatural about traveling this way.”
A wry laugh was his immediate response. “Says the Warden that felled an Archdemon and lived. I daresay that you have engaged in your fair-share of unnatural activities, Tabris.”
“Mmm. Perhaps I have filled my quota, then. For the sea does not agree with me.”
“Neither did being a Warden, it would seem.” There was a bitter edge to his words that caught her off guard; even if such a statement was expected, given her actions.
The urge to defend her choices was immediate, and she was nearly powerless to stop herself. “Actually, being a Warden wasn't half bad. I rather enjoyed nearly dying on a regular basis, watching comrades and civilians beaten, burned, and mutilated. Barely rescuing my family from slavery. Having absolutely no direction or instruction whatsoever. Being bathed in secrets and rituals that served seemingly no purpose aside from keeping those of us left behind fully in the dark, and almost allowing the blight to sweep Thedas. It was an immense amount of fun. You should really give it a go sometime. I personally can not wait to drag my child into it all. What better way to show my love then to throw her on a dragon's pyre?”
Silence lingered over the pair for several long minutes, until the air was nearly crackling between them. She was torn between rage and desperation. She wanted to be angry for his flippant disregard of what she had endured. But equally, she felt guilt for having said it at all. She owed the Wardens a great debt. She would surely have been hung if not for Duncan's intervention. To Kallian's relief, it was the other Warden that gave in, confrontation avoided, and took his leave before her own will cracked.
The need for air over rode her fear of the water, and she found herself tumbling to the nearest railing, eyes clenched tightly, and stomach churning.
It was a good thing that Adaia was with Zevran.
~~~\/~~~
“I hear that you gave a subtle tongue-thrashing to the Orlesian.” Zevran's dulcet tones wrapped around Kallian as he approached from behind, before joining her at the railing she was currently calling home.
“Word travels fast.”
“Well, these Wardens know very little of subtlety. Much closer to your tried-and-true hack and slash view of life. Makes prying information from their disappointingly easy.”
Kallian allowed the tips of her mouth to curl up in mirth. “Well, that and they are all horrid gossips.”
“This as well. The younger one in particular. Treval. I’m fairly certain I know every last sordid - and not so sordid - detail of their little troupe’s travels. Did you know that your Orlesian cannot stomach Tevinter brandy? Knocks him out cold for hours on end.”
She snickered at the serious tone with which he delivered that information. “Ahh, no. I did not. That is something to keep in mind for the future, I think.”
“Indeed.”
“Treval…” Kallian paused, considering her next words. “He’s the one that turns several shades of pink and maroon when you waltz into the room, isn’t he? He appears quite smitten.”
Zevran's laughter was a joy to hear. She had missed its sound. “Hmm. Yes. He has proven to be...easily enamored.” There was a pout on his lips that warmed her somewhat.
“You sound disappointed.”
He turned from the water, and pressed his back to the railing. Her breath caught in her throat as his hair (braids all askew from Adaia's near constant tampering) danced in the wind, catching the dying rays of the sun in a golden halo. Eventually he turned back towards her. She expected him to rake his gaze over her, or to giver her one of his trademark grins. But instead, he met her eyes with an intensity that she had not seen for quite some time. “There is a great deal to be said for prey that is not so easy to catch, Warden.”
She felt herself swaying towards him somewhat, teetering on a razor's edge, and wanting little else than to be held by him once more. How did he have such an effect on her? She caught herself before she actually made a move towards him, though, and cleared her throat. “Where's Adaia?”
“I laid her down a few moments ago. Little thing wore herself out this afternoon attempting to climb the mast.”
“Wha-?”
Zevran held a hand up, long fingers mesmerizing Kallian momentarily with their closeness. “Don't worry. It was all supervised of course. She barely made it higher than my head. Your hound is watching over her now. She will be fine.”
Kallian wanted to question him further on the sorts of activities he thought it was fine for such a young child to engage in, but also desperately wanted to avoid the argument that would likely follow. Instead, she acknowledged the wisdom in having her mabari watch their daughter (a better guard they would not likely find), and decided to switch topics.
“A few nights ago you were telling me tales of your own sordid adventures in Denerim, since I took my leave.”
Zevran took the abrupt change in conversational topics with his typical ease. “And you, Warden, were doing a marvelous job of telling me very few tales of your own.”
She snorted, “There’s really not much to tell, Zevran. I got on a boat. Had Adaia. Worked for the smith. And was generally a nuisance to the Qun philosophers. But you, you stayed in Denerim this whole time?”
“Mostly. My travel to Seheron did include a rather lengthy stopover in Antiva.” He paused for a few moments, seemingly lost in thought. “But that is a story for another time.”
“But-” her protest was promptly cut off by Zevran, who once again intensely studying her.
“It surprises you that I stayed so long?”
She blinked. “Yes. It does actually.”
Kallian watched as his shoulders tensed momentarily, “Why?”
Her lip was tugged inward to be chewed upon by her teeth with no conscious effort on her part. “I seem to recall you expressing a great deal of homesickness while we criss-crossed Ferelden.”
He waved a hand, flippantly. “Perhaps. But your homeland does have its charms - there were several living in the immediate vicinity of the castle in fact. They did their best to make sure I did not long for the shores of Antiva too often.”
“I'll bet.” If a small amount of bitterness crept into her tone, neither of them acknowledged it.
“And...” He took a moment to glance over his shoulder, watching the sun set over the waves with her. The situation could have been romantic, if circumstances had been different. “I found myself with unexpected attachments to the area, which made it harder than usual to simply leave.”
Her brows drew together in contemplation and a frown graced her face. “Oh. What-ah-what sort of attachments?”
He smiled at her, with no hint of pretense. “Well, there is an elven family, perhaps you know them? One with hair the color of flames? A feisty thing, recently given the title of Bann? And her uncle. As kind a man as I have ever known - he misses his daughter terribly, but is also proud of how like her mother she is. There was also this blond. A rather excitable, soul. Desperately in need of guidance.”
Kallian stared at him, baffled. The first was obviously her cousin, and the second her father. He's spent time with my family? But, before she could fully dwell on that thought, she found herself trying to figure out who the last could be, when a brash recounting of his from the other night came back to her. “You mean Alistair?”
“Hah! And here I thought I might have provoked some sort of other reaction with my choice of words. Alas, my skills at riddles are not quite what they use to be. But yes. I do mean Alistair. He is not so disagreeable, once he is no longer feeling territorial. I might even go so far as to say that he could even be friendly. Though, that may just have been a byproduct of the amount of time spent near one another.” He gave a half-hearted shrug, still leaning casually on the railing.
“Oh.” To think that the removal of her presence from their lives allowed the two to grow close was…interesting, to say the least. When Zevran arrived, and had told her how he had lingered in Denerim, with sporadic mentions of the King tossed about, he had more or less implied that while the two were in contact, that it was nothing remotely close to friendship.
If it had not been obvious before that there was a fair deal that he had yet to disclose to her, it was now. She supposed she had not earned that sort of knowledge yet. Thankfully, she'd have at least another week on the damnable boat, and then another two by land to pry the information out of him.
As her mind was working through possible tactics to employ in order to get him talking, one sentence in particular popped to the forefront and demanded her immediate attention. “Wait a minute. Just what sort of guidance were you giving him?”
The exceedingly self-satisfied grin that split his face was highly worrying.
On to Chapter 8!