A Child Unexpected - Part 11
Title: A Child Unexpected (Part 11 of 14 -Yes! Its going to be longer than I thought.)
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: ~6700 this chapter (~43300 so far)
Rating: T
In this bit: More discussions at Weisshaupt.
Spoilers: Through end game. References to a character from "The Calling" in this chapter as well.
Author's Note: *peeks head out* *waves* Hello again! I've been gone a while, I know. But there is this THING that happens in May/June known as the "Stanley Cup" and as an obsessive Flyers fan, I've basically spent the last month+ in a hockey induced fog. The fog is clearing now though, so words - they are being written again! As always: many, many thanks to pennydreadful for the beta! And a big shout out to all my readers out there, you guys are fantastic :-) From the beginning: On FFN, and on LJ.
Previous Chapter
new roman'";">Chapter 9
Weisshaupt: Twenty-four Months after the Fall of the Archdemon
The qunari were known for their concise statements, and to-the-point questions. They did not mince words. If a statement needed saying, then it was said. And woe to the poor soul who tried to argue its accuracy. Nearly two years spent among them had given Kallian a fine appreciation for their method of conversation.
Rediscovering that most of the citizens of Thedas did not share the qunari's love of brevity was like being dunked in ice water. Abrupt, unexpected, and liable to make you scream.
The fact that the Weisshaupt Wardens seemed to love the sound of their own voices did not improve the situation at all. Well, to be fair, as far as Kallian could tell it was just one warden in particular that was in love with hearing himself talk.
It was the only explanation that Kallian could come up with for the Warden Commander Enrich's incessant, never-ending questioning. Often only varying the words within his sentences by a few bare syllables, seemingly in the hopes of getting a different response from her. And no matter her answer, it always devolved into him telling some dry tale that was neither humorous, nor pointful, before he'd veer back to the topic at hand and ask her the same series of questions. Over, and over again.
At this point, she really had no idea how she could possibly explain the events that had taken place - from the moment of her conscription, to the second she had joined Sten on the ship to Seheron - any more. No battle appeared to be too small, no annoying elf-hater villager too forgettable, no curve in the road too bland. Enrich wanted to hear it all. In excruciating detail.
Kallian thought he ought to get out more.
She'd been more than just a little on edge with the way things had gone that first night. They'd prepped her for a long line of questioning and then just...stopped. After only one question, and a very concerning inquiry regarding her daughter's conception.
Even if she hadn't spent that night in a confessional of her own making with Zevran, she wouldn't have been able to sleep. Not for the visions that were dancing through her mind.
She imagined what they might do to her the following morning. They had a mage with them after all. A mage with enough clout to have the Commander's ear. Perhaps there was some magic that she was not yet familiar with that could compel her to speak? Wynne had never mentioned anything like that (and if Morrigan had known such methods, she surely would have kept them to herself) but that didn't mean that they didn't exist. She'd even considered that they would go the old fashioned route: latch her to a table or string her from the ceiling, and attempt to eke the truth from her via physical pain.
Either scenario she knew she could handle (she still might have confessed, but she could have handled it). What she couldn't handle was the third possibility, the one that tickled the edge of her thoughts. The one where they went after Adaia. Questioned her, tested her, hurt her.
The thought made her throat close up with impending panic.
What she hadn't expected, what hadn't even crossed her mind, was that they would want to talk. And talk. And talk. She guessed they were hoping to wait out the rest of their days as wardens quizzing her on one year of her life (albeit a highly eventful one); until they could finally wander off to the Deep Roads (or wherever Weisshaupt wardens went) when their time came.
It was the slowest, most mind-numbing form of torture possible.
And they had barely touched on the subject of her child after that first day. There had been a few minor throwback questions to those first moments - inquiries into how her pregnancy had gone, if she had experienced any darkspawn associated nightmares or other such visions during those months. A few questions as to Adaia's development, and her interests. But that was all.
It was almost enough for her to let her guard down.
After that she had been prompted to discuss - for an obscene amount of time - her activities in the Fade, and the rescue of the circle mages. She'd been made to recount - no less than three times - her choice to end Connor's life, as if they expected her explanation to somehow change with each repeat. They'd quizzed her on every little facet of how she rallied four armies to her side in barely a year's time.
But what they were far more interested in, it seemed, was lengthy descriptions on each of her companions. Asking how she had acquired them, what talents they brought to the table, whether her or Alistair (or, rather the King) had every considered having these assorted miscreants undergo the joining. To which she gave them a very emphatic no.
They wanted to know more about each of her companions than anyone could ever possibly expect to know. She knew that they were feeling out her information, looking for holes, hoping to uncover whatever she, or someone she had traveled with, had done to allow Alistair and her to live when the Archdemon died.
And just because they were correct in their assumptions, did not mean that she had any plans to confirm that for them. They could look and look and look for as long as they liked, as far as Kallian was concerned. She had no intention on ever telling them. It may have been some time since she had spoken to her old companion, but she was not about to betray Morrigan's trust.
“Tell me more about the apostate, Morrigan. The one who claimed to be the daughter of the infamous Flemeth.”
Speak of the witch...Every muscle in Kallian's face twitched with the effort to avoid rolling her eyes or sighing. Heavily. It was taking more will than she had known she possessed to approach the monotonous and repetitive line of question with as Sten a mindset as possible.
It wasn't terribly effective. “You'll have to be more specific, Enrich. I believe I have divulged every tidbit of information that I could on Morrigan, aside from her preference for shirts that left little to the imagination, and staves of the gnarled wood variety. Oh! Well now, I seem to have told you all about that as well.”
She ran a hand through her hair, teasing out the tresses along with her stress, and tried to approach things from a more subdued angle. “Morrigan was a comrade. Just like everyone else within the group. Was she an apostate? Yes. Did I much care? No. Aside from the fact that we had a former Templar traveling with us as well, one who I felt fairly confident could contain the mage should anything go wrong...” (In truth, she wasn't entirely certain that was the case. She'd seen Alistair call down incredible powers on some of the mages they had encountered during the blight - a particular encounter with a group of Blood Mages within the caverns north of Haven came to mind - but she rather thought Morrigan and he would have been quite the even match.) “Aside from that, I trusted her. She gave me no reason not to.”
Three very different faces looked out at her from dais. One amused (Fiona); one bored (Hensley); and one frustrated (Enrich).
“You trusted her.”
“With my life.”
“And yet you claim not to know where it is she could have gone - this witch of the wilds.”
A spark of irritation light her up from the inside. “No, ser. I claimed nothing. I have simply told you the facts as I know them. Nothing more, nothing less. My entire contingent - such as it was - stayed together only for the length of time that it took to defeat the Archdemon. I had no right, nor any need, to demand more from them than that. In case you do not recall, I myself left Ferelden with little word or warning.”
The eye above Enrich's scarred cheek twitched. It gave her a perverse amount of satisfaction to see it do so. “Oh yes, we recall quite well.”
“My apologies, Commander, but I thought it may have slipped your mind, seeing as how you have asked every question of me no less than twice. I have nothing more to add to any of the topics we have discussed.”
“What about ones that we haven't discussed?”
Kallian blinked. “Pardon?”
“You say you have nothing to add to any of the discussions we have had thus far. Is there any information that you could provide for questions we have not yet asked?” Andraste's knickers, he was serious! He actually expected her to just offer up any random bit of information with being specifically prompted? Had he not been engaged in the same sadomasochistic activity as she had been these past weeks?
Fine, if that's how he wanted to play it. “We have not yet discussed the sixteen proverbs that make up the first portion of the qun. Would you like me to go over them chronologically, or would an arrangement by topic be preferred?”
To the right of Enrich, the mage - Fiona - let out a snort, earning herself an agitated glare from the Commander. (Kallian was fairly certain Hensley was asleep at this point.)
“Perhaps you could just tell us about your first encounter with her mother, Flemeth, once more...”
Damn it all, where was Sten and his sword when you needed him?
~~~\/~~~
Three weeks. Three weeks they'd been left pacing within the walls of Weisshaupt, and Zevran was beginning to lose his patience. Most waking hours, Kallian was locked away being probed for answers, and Adaia (and himself, if he was being honest) was starting to be affected by Kallian's continued absence.
This morning had been a perfect example. Kallian had crept from the room before the morning's first light had shown through the tiny window they were allotted, as per usual. Zevran hadn't awoken at that point, however. No, he awoke when Adaia began to sob at the edge of the bed. Large dollops of salty tears were spilling down her puffed up cheeks, and her normally clear amber eyes were rimmed in red. A chant of 'Mama Mama Mama' issuing from her small, but powerful, lungs.
He'd been beside himself with not knowing what to do. She'd never had such a fit before, and he had been helpless to stop it - a feeling he found distressing. Even slipping in and out of the shadows, an activity that normally sent her into peels of laughter, had just made things worse. He'd ended up resorting to a form of bribery, in the form of a sweet milk pilfered from the kitchens before breakfast had even been served, just to get her to calm enough to look at him while he cleaned her nose and face.
The rest of the morning and afternoon she'd been nearly on the edge of crying at all times, wanting nothing more than her mother. He'd carted her around the fortress, tucked into his arms, for hours, trying to find something of interest to distract her. He'd finally found the solution at the mabari pens, where she was slobbered on and mud-drenched until her heart was content.
But the situation was one that Zevran never wanted to find himself in again, and he found his irritation towards the Warden-Commander and his boot-licking companions increasing by multitudes every moment.
Just how many different ways could they go about asking her the same questions? If they didn't believe her by now, despite the lack of variation in her response, what could they possibly hope to accomplish with continued prodding? And so far, they had expressed no interest in employing…other methods of coercion. A fact for which he was most grateful. (He’d clocked the time it would take him to slice the Commander’s throat, and withdrawal from the fortress with both Adaia and Kallian in tow undetected, and he was not comfortable with the number.)
He was antsy. Frustrated. And more than a little angry by his complete exclusion from the proceedings.
Not that he hadn't done his best to enter uninvited. He'd employed every skill at his disposal. From sweet talking one of the housekeepers mucking about the place (that had only earned him a flustered series of giggles), to bribing the Warden-Commander's right hand man (there had been a gleam in Hensley's eye that told Zevran he was sorely tempted, if unwilling), and cajoling Treval into taking Adaia for a tour of the grounds - no questions asked - for several hours. Twice. So that he could slink in the dark recesses provided by the ample halls, and attempt to force entry into the meeting room .
But he'd failed every time. He'd gotten much better at lockpicking over the years (Leliana had been a great resource during the blight), but his skills were no match for the mage, Fiona, that was holed up with Kallian in that meeting room. She'd thwarted his every attempt, and by the sly smirk that would grace her face at every meal that they both attended, she was well aware.
Any and all attempts to seduce her into allowing him entry and been met with uproarious laughter (the kind he wouldn't have suspected from an elf her size), and Kallian watching him with narrowed eyes.
And so it had gone on, day after day. From the time the sun rose, until the moon was already high in the sky, with the three of them only in the same room when eating or sleeping.
And every morning (starting from their very first one at the fortress, where they had come and collected her at the most heinous of hours from their shared chambers) someone would be by to cart Kallian off to another meeting with the fool Commander and his lackeys.
The night following the first morning they had collected her, had possibly been the worst of them all. He had no idea what sort of question they had asked, for when she'd returned, she'd been exhausted and unwilling to talk about anything at all. She'd just climbed right into the bed, boots and all; mumbled about cookies and ale, curled up with her mabari, and fallen asleep.
That hadn't been too surprising, though, not considering that she'd barely closed her eyes the previous night, before they were awaken by wardens calling at their door. Zevran knew that well enough, as they had spent a large portion of the night in discussion, before succumbing to sleep.
“You - you are telling me that Morrigan and Alistair...” He paused, waiting for the nod of confirmation that Kallian provided. Stunned was not a word that did his emotions justice at that moment. Zevran wasn't certain that there was an adequate enough word in either her language or his.
She'd gotten quite upset when he'd begun to laugh. He'd been powerless to stop wave after wave of stomach clenching guffaws, however, despite her stern and blushing face.
He hadn't even been able to stop when Adaia awoke as a result of the noise.
Laughing uproariously with his daughter joining in, arms tossed around his neck as he attempted to sidestep the both of them away from the angry Warden in the room, had been the most fun he'd had in ages.
Eventually, he'd managed to calm down. Still completely floored by the knowledge that Alistair had agreed to conceive a child - a child with the soul of an old godroman'";"> - with the apostate. He'd always put on quite a show of hating the witch. To the point that it had almost seemed contrived. Forced. Zevran had always thought it stunk of “thou doth protest too much” and in the privacy of his own thoughts, he didn't believe for a second that it would have been nearly as awful as Kallian seemed to believe it had been.
He had no intention of dispelling that notion, however. Let her believe whatever she liked regarding Alistair. He no longer held any animosity towards the man; and had spent enough time around the bastard King to know that he was not completely immune to a beautiful woman's charms. And the knowledge that he was not as golden as he liked to pretend, buoyed Zevran’s spirits, though he’d never speak such a thing out loud.
Once they'd managed to calm Adaia, Kallian's voice - void of all inflection - had dropped the next bomb, which had been the cause of the remaining hours of missed sleep for the pair.
“I think the Warden's suspect something, Zevran.”
“Well of course they suspect something. I doubt that they would have gone to all of this trouble to locate you, and have you hand delivered by a tri of wardens, if they thought everything was...by the book.” He'd shot her the most disarming smile he could manage, given the precarious position of extricating his daughter's sleeping form from his person. “You said it yourself, you were meant to die on that tower. The very fact that you live is suspicious enough.” His heart clenched against his will, he didn't like the idea of her dying any more now than he did then.
“That's not what I mean.”
He'd finally shuffled their daughter into her blankets - pausing to brush his lips upon her cheek - and crossed the room to where Kallian had settled on the bed. Her lips were settled in a thin line, she wasn't even nibbling on the lower one like she did so often. That was a bad sign.
Long, tangled strands of hair had fallen out of the knot she kept them in, to cross over her nose. With only a small amount of thought, he reached up and brushed it back, behind her ear. Taking note of the way she huffed in a breath and held it when his skin touched hers. “Then say what it is you mean.”
“I think they may suspect that a...a child may be involved.”
The hair on his arms prickled, a chill washing through him and over him. “Adaia...”
She nodded in tandem with turning away. “It’s not possible, of course.”
“Do you know that for certain?”
She whirled back to him, her face red and eyes narrowed. “Do you have any doubts? You believe that she could-”
“No. I do not. But believing such a thing and knowing it, my dear, are two vastly different situations. So I ask again: are you certain?” While he didn't want to think such a thing, he had to acknowledge the possibility.
The irritation that had been rolling off of her in waves settled down, and the calm he remembered her exhibiting in battle took its place. “Yes.”
It was amazing how much weight one little syllable could lift from a person's shoulders.
Sleep came not terribly long after, as the sky outside was already beginning to show signs of pink and orange. Zevran had watched the light bleed through the window while Kallian had curled into the pillows and tugged Zevran's arm across her middle. He'd allowed himself bare moments of temptation, let his fingers stroke along the exposed expanse of her stomach. Soft, and curved in delicious ways. Let his lips taste the heated skin at the base of her neck.
And then that knock had come, and Zevran had been forced to bite his tongue in order to prevent the curses dancing on its tip from flying free. Kallian had gone willingly, and he hadn't seen her again until the following night.
It was the first of many days of frustration for him.
The entire scenario seemed pointless. It was obvious to everyone that they didn't believe her - or rather, that a very specific and important group didn't believe her. And yet day after day they would gather her up, and she would go without complaint, despite the obvious exhaustion she was feeling.
It was like she was paying some sort of penance.
The one bright spot so far had been their near daily lunches. Back during the blight, he'd always known that Kallian enjoyed his company - even when she was twittering around Alistair. She'd been the closest thing to an honest friend he could recall having had in his life. She'd shucked off her worries about his trustworthiness nearly from the beginning, and practically welcomed him with open arms.
For his part, he'd found her approach to life refreshing, and was awed by her prowess with a blade (despite her lack of finesse). And often (too often in Alistair's opinion, he knew) he'd been able to lure her aware for conversation over meals or some other innocuous activity. But never before had he been on the receiving end of smiles like the ones she'd bestow upon him and Adaia while the three of them would meet up for lunch.
Before, there had always been something falling in between them. Whether it was the blight, or a bastard King, or Sten (and that relationship still did not make one hundred percent sense - the idea of an entirely platonic affection was something wholly alien to him). During these lunches, however, the only thing between them was their daughter. And when both of them sent those identical smiles in his direction, it made his chest clench with nerves in a way that he couldn't recall having felt before.
And now, on a day when the connection between the three of them was most needed - given Adaia's tiny breakdown that morning - lunch time had come and gone, and there was no sign of her. Adaia, worn out from all the emotional ups and downs of the day (and the rump with the mabaris), had fallen asleep across his lap nearly a half-hour ago, mud-specks dried on her cheeks. It was time to carry her off for to her cot for a much needed nap.
With as exhausted as he was feeling he thought that he may just lie down and join her.
~~~\/~~~
It was late in the afternoon before the inquisition squad (as Kallian had dubbed them) had seen fit to release her from her irritating prison and permit her a break for lunch. She had planned on meeting with Zevran and Adaia (one of the only highlights to her days in this dreary place, well, that and the moments that she could sneak off to the smithy) for the meal, but had missed them by more than an hour. The food that was left over from an entire warden contingent's midday meal was lackluster and lukewarm at best.
Sitting alone, she just couldn't find the stomach for it this day, not without the nearly incoherent, but melodic babble of her daughter, and the sly and slick gaze of one golden-haired elf missing from her side.
What she wouldn't give to see the two of them waltz into the hall right then. Adaia propped on Zevran's shoulders and Zevran's sinful mouth pulled into an honest and toothy smile. Her stomach curled pleasantly with warmth at the thought. Every day, she found herself aching for more time with them. More time to see her daughter explore the nooks and crannies of every stone within the walls of the fortress. More time to absorb the casual return of Zevran's easy camaraderie. Ever since she had confessed to the ritual that Morrigan and Alistair had undergone, it had been like a lock had been turned. He was no longer as guarded with her as he had been, conversing with her more openly. Filling her in on life in the alienage as he had last seen it (the doors that barred it from town had long since been removed, and funds for the repair of many of the structures had been provided by the King), and discussing the many ways that one could irritate Anora without being caught (most of which, where thought up by Zevran, and supposedly perpetuated by Alistair).
And she hadn't seen Treval by his side in more than a week.
Of course, despite all that there was still one aspect where he was behaving in a decidedly not-Zevran fashion. Namely that they had been sharing a bed for nearly three weeks, and he had yet to make use of the compromising position. She had woken up on several occasions to find his arms tucked around her, his warmth and scent enveloping her, and her body responding in that all-too-familiar and completely neglected way, but the culmination she kept expecting to arrive never did.
The fact that he was not pouncing on her, made worry bubble up inside her. From the moment she had met him, Zevran had been (amongst many other things) walking sex. To have him not take what was so clearly being offered made her nervous and unsure of herself.
The most concerning part for her, was that the more time spent within proximity to Zevran; the more time she had to inhale that spicy scent of his; the more time to feel the heat pulsating from his body as they sat pressed side to side over lunch - fussing over their daughter (Kallian would attempt to extract from her hands whatever treat Zevran had snuck her under the table, only to have him produce something to replace it a moment later) - the more time she found she wanted to spend with him.
It was fast contorting into an addiction.
And when she was given time, such as now, to contemplate the two of them, she couldn't be certain which fantasy she found more compelling, the one wherein Theodore showed up to collect Adaia for some activity or another, and Zevran was able to spread her across the table and kiss his way up her body from legs to lips; or the one where they sat together as a family at the table, helping Adaia to sort out one of her puzzle toys, or seeing if she could work out a shroud knot.
The wooden bench across from Kallian's seat scraped suddenly against the stone floor, drawing her from her internal musings. The shuffle of cloth that reached her ears identified the newest occupant of the bench as the mage, Fiona. She didn't even need to look up from the mushy peach-colored tuber on her plate to confirm.
“You don't care for the food here at the fortress I see.”
A smile twitched at Kallian's lips, the answer obvious as she drug her fork through her mostly untouched meal. “I suppose not.”
Fiona wrinkled her nose. “It is not the most...tasteful cuisine, I agree. But it does grow on you after some time. I myself am quite fond of the rhubarb and beef stew.”
“Haven't had the pleasure of that one. So far I think I've experienced at least a dozen ways to massacre a potato, however.”
“Perhaps you should issue a complaint to the mess hall staff.”
The laugh bubbled up warm and quick from Kallian's throat, of all the warden's she had met since arriving at the fortress, Fiona appeared the most reasonable. (Even if Kallian did resent her somewhat for the role she played in the daily mental probing.) “And give the cooks a reason to add rashvine or bitterwort to my meals? No thanks. I think I'll take my chances with the normal meals. Sketchy though they may be.”
“A reasonable choice.” The mage shifted her hands to the table in front of them, holding her posture straight. “I want to discuss something with you.”
The groan escaped Kallian before she could stop it. She liked Fiona more than the rest, but she was still as abrupt and frustrating as any of the others at times. “More questions? Are you curious as to the color of the sky in Ferelden, or what the fashion was in the alienage the last time I was there? I think there is very little else that I have not divulged at this point.”
The other elf arched a brow. “There is fashion to speak of in an alienage?”
“More so than you would find within the walls of a circle.”
“I'll have you know there is quite the variety in circle issued robes. Why, when I was there we had our pick of blue, red, or a sort of puce colored monstrosity. Quite flattering, really.”
Kallian pointedly eyed the streamlined robe that the mage wore, a full-length deep blue piece with (in Kallian's opinion) an extraneous amount of ribbing and strategic use of feathers. It was quite lovely, if a bit odd. “Well, at least your tastes have improved.”
The other elf's lips twitched in a near frown, and Kallian got the distinct impression that she was lost in her own memory. “It's been a long time, and many things have changed.”
The silence that fell between them while Kallian continued to not eat stretched out for several beats longer than was comfortable. “If you had something to discuss, other than clothing preferences, I'd rather you just get it over with so I can continue to stare at my food in peace.”
“If you insist.” There was a beat before the mage continued. “Before you arrived, Declan sent over a briefing of his opinions via messenger. In his opinion, your disdain for the Grey Wardens - while quite evident in your abandonment of duty these past two years - was not reflected in your speech. He said that when you allowed yourself, you even seemed to enjoy discussing the battles leading towards the slaying of the Archdemon. That there was a sort of...passion, in your eyes for it.
"I confess, this passion seems to be lacking from the recount of your experiences to us. I'd even go so far as to say you found it dull.”
Kallian huffed out an irritated breath of air. “Perhaps it is the ridiculous level of questioning that I find dull. Had I'd known upon my conscription that every step I took from then on would have to be accounted for, I'd have hired a record keeper to tag along. I met several decent ones in Orzammar you know. Not that any of them would have appreciated being drug to the surface as my assistant, but I'm sure an arrangement could have been made."
“Or perhaps it has to do with your level of comfort. Declan's reports indicated that it was often your companion, Zevran, that would engage you in conversation regarding your time as an active warden. Maybe we should invite him along to the next session.”
“If you want a full retelling of all the best brothels, inns, and dirty limericks in Ferelden, than perhaps you should. However, you will have to excuse me from the proceedings, as I can't have my daughter wandering the fortress unaccompanied. She may be small, but she is a demon when it comes to knotting ropes and twisting locks.”
“You worry for your child.”
“Of course I worry for my child! Wouldn't you if you were in my position?”
The mage gave Kallian a long look, her mouth curved in a frown. “Yes. I would. There is a reason that wardens are not meant to have children, you know.”
Kallian snorted. “You mean besides the fact that we are poisoned with darkspawn blood, rendering us with little to no choice of what to do with our lives? Regardless of whether or not we even want to become wardens?”
"It is a dangerous life that we lead."
"Of that, I am aware."
“You know, the amount of bitterness you carry towards the Grey Wardens, considering that being conscripted saved your life, is both senseless and childish.”
Kallian closed her eyes for a moment, begging the qun philosophers, the Maker, Andraste, and all the ancestors in Orzammar for patience. “Do not mistake me. I am thankful for Duncan's intervention. Had he not stepped in I'm certain I wouldn't have lived to see Denerim under siege. Nor would I have ever had my daughter. But that is not the same thing as being thankful that the Wardens would have my life and my choices be no more my own now, than they were back when I awaited an arranged marriage within the walls of the alienage. Duncan did me a great service that day, but I have paid my debt in full.”
“Duncan wouldn't have conscripted you if he hadn't believed you had what it took to be a warden. And considering that you survived killing the Archdemon, no one would argue he was right.”
Something in the way that Fiona's voice lingered on Duncan's name, like she was taste-testing its sound, caught Kallian's attention. “Did you know Duncan then?”
One nod, brief, and concise. It reminded Kallian of home. “Yes. Long ago. He...also did me a great service once.”
Kallian wrinkled her forehead in confusion. “He conscripted you as well?”
“No. No, his favor to me came later. We both joined the wardens at nearly the same time. He was...a good friend.”
Kallian had no idea what possessed her, but her lips seemed to have a mind of their own. “Were you and he-”
There was a tinkling sound, like a young girl's laugh. It was strangely out of place coming from the older elf. “No, nothing like that.”
Kallian's thoughts drifted off to the dark haired man, remembering the calm way he approached situations. She hadn't known him but a few weeks, only the time it took to travel to Ostagar from Denerim really, and the stories that Alistair had told had fleshed out only the tiniest of parts. He may have been her former lover's mentor, but the two hadn't been all that well acquainted, despite what Alistair liked to believe. “Then you were friends?”
“We were.”
“What was he like, when he was younger?”
“Foolish. Brash. Quick to anger at times. An accomplished thief, and a demon with his blades. But he was loyal, even when his instincts told him to behave otherwise.”
“A thief? Hah! Oh, how Alistair would love to learn that little tidbit.”
“Alistair? Your old companion...the Ferelden King?”
“Hmm, oh yes. Yes. Duncan recruited him as well you know. He...idolized him a bit, I guess. Not sure how he would take learning that he wasn't some golden child.”
“Tell me about him.”
“Pardon?”
“Alistair - the King - tell me about him.”
Kallian dropped her fork and groaned. “Is that all this was about? Getting my guard down so that I could tell more stories, answer more questions? Don't you ever get tired of listening to me yap?”
“Yes, actually. But Enrich is determined to break your spirit.”
Kallian rolled her eyes. “I hadn't noticed.”
“Clearly its not working.”
“Not in the slightest.”
“I admit, it's not...the most enjoyable of situations. But we all know that there are things you have omitted from your accounts of the blight. Known that since day one. You can hardly expect us to just ignore that.”
“I've done nothing but tell you everything that you've asked.”
Fiona's laugh was less girly this time, more resigned and wizened. “Perhaps you have, that doesn't mean that you haven't lied about any of it, however. You showed that well enough your first night.”
The urge to tug her lip into her mouth and chew was almost impossible to ignore, but Kallian managed. “What do you mean?”
“You don't honestly think we believed your account of when daughter was conceived, did you?”
The blood drained from Kallian's face in one swift move. Oh, Maker... “I-”
Fiona held a hand up. “It's alright, Kallian. No one is a saint. And no one is judging you for wanting to protect your daughter. It is what any mother would do.” There was a fierceness to her words that gave Kallian pause, but she had little time to reflect on that before the other woman was speaking again. “It was simply the fact that you would tell a lie so readily, and so early, that has convinced Enrich that you have something to hide.”
“How do you know that I was lying about her conception?”
“Aside from the fact that absolutely no one in this place believes that your dalliance with Zevran lasted but one night? “
“...Yes.”
“Call it instinct. But it doesn't matter."
"If it doesn't matter, then why bother bringing the topic up in the first place?"
"I...am not at liberty to say. But, if it eases your mind at all, no one is going after your child, of that I can assure you." Again there was a bit to her words and a flash in her eyes that tugged at the corner of Kallian's mind, but she couldn't quite place it. "And I am not here to poke you for more information a la Enrich. I am simply...curious.”
Kallian wanted to believe her, she really did. She wanted to believe that the wardens had no designs on Adaia. But it did seem they thought that whatever had saved her life could possibly involve a child. She needed to be careful here. “Forgive me if I find inquires such as this a bit unbelievable. Why are you so curious about him?”
Fiona turned her gaze from Kallian, staring instead towards the stone archway that lead back towards the courtyard area. She looked...pensive. “You’ve spoken of him at length, but never about his personality, not really. I-I knew the old King, a long while ago. I wonder how alike they may be.”
“You knew King Calian?”
The mage redirected her stare to meet Kallian's. “No. I knew their father...as did Duncan.”
“Oh.” Oh. The distinct way that Fiona's voice changed when she spoke the word 'father’ was all the answer Kallian had needed.
Just how many lovers had King Maric taken?
If pressed, Kallian would say that it was the earnest look on Fiona's face that convinced her to spend the remainder of her lunch break discussing the finer points of Alistair's personality to a slightly enraptured mage.
What was more surprising then her sudden willingness to divulge all the silliest bits of information on Alistair that she could think of (from his favorite cheeses to his obsession with runes) to someone who had surely been just another bit on the side for his father, was the realization that it did not make her miss Alistair in the slightest. That had become a faded part of her history.
It did make her miss Zevran, though. Immensely. She wanted him there, beside her. Joining them in conversation. Not just because he too would get a kick out of having uncovered such a tawdry little secret in Weisshaupt of all places, but because of the unique way he had of telling tales. What he lacked in the poetry department, he made up with his prose. He could twist any word so that it could be laden with innuendo on second, and lesson building the next. (Zevran may not have been the most moral of men, but that didn't mean that he lacked a code of ethics - it was just…somewhat tilted from the norm.)
She wanted him there, charming Fiona with his words, while she sat next to him, pressed just slightly closer than decorum would allow. Their daughter situated on her lap, so that her senses were overloaded by the two of them, and she could make pretend that what they had was as normal a family as anyone else.
Could pretend that they were even a family at all.
And she wanted them to be. She wanted it with all the breath in her body; and it was long past time that she did something about it.
Now, if only she could get Fiona to convince Enrich to let her off early for once. After all, one good turn deserved another, right?
On to Chapter 10!
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: ~6700 this chapter (~43300 so far)
Rating: T
In this bit: More discussions at Weisshaupt.
Spoilers: Through end game. References to a character from "The Calling" in this chapter as well.
Author's Note: *peeks head out* *waves* Hello again! I've been gone a while, I know. But there is this THING that happens in May/June known as the "Stanley Cup" and as an obsessive Flyers fan, I've basically spent the last month+ in a hockey induced fog. The fog is clearing now though, so words - they are being written again! As always: many, many thanks to pennydreadful for the beta! And a big shout out to all my readers out there, you guys are fantastic :-) From the beginning: On FFN, and on LJ.
Previous Chapter
new roman'";">Chapter 9
Weisshaupt: Twenty-four Months after the Fall of the Archdemon
The qunari were known for their concise statements, and to-the-point questions. They did not mince words. If a statement needed saying, then it was said. And woe to the poor soul who tried to argue its accuracy. Nearly two years spent among them had given Kallian a fine appreciation for their method of conversation.
Rediscovering that most of the citizens of Thedas did not share the qunari's love of brevity was like being dunked in ice water. Abrupt, unexpected, and liable to make you scream.
The fact that the Weisshaupt Wardens seemed to love the sound of their own voices did not improve the situation at all. Well, to be fair, as far as Kallian could tell it was just one warden in particular that was in love with hearing himself talk.
It was the only explanation that Kallian could come up with for the Warden Commander Enrich's incessant, never-ending questioning. Often only varying the words within his sentences by a few bare syllables, seemingly in the hopes of getting a different response from her. And no matter her answer, it always devolved into him telling some dry tale that was neither humorous, nor pointful, before he'd veer back to the topic at hand and ask her the same series of questions. Over, and over again.
At this point, she really had no idea how she could possibly explain the events that had taken place - from the moment of her conscription, to the second she had joined Sten on the ship to Seheron - any more. No battle appeared to be too small, no annoying elf-hater villager too forgettable, no curve in the road too bland. Enrich wanted to hear it all. In excruciating detail.
Kallian thought he ought to get out more.
She'd been more than just a little on edge with the way things had gone that first night. They'd prepped her for a long line of questioning and then just...stopped. After only one question, and a very concerning inquiry regarding her daughter's conception.
Even if she hadn't spent that night in a confessional of her own making with Zevran, she wouldn't have been able to sleep. Not for the visions that were dancing through her mind.
She imagined what they might do to her the following morning. They had a mage with them after all. A mage with enough clout to have the Commander's ear. Perhaps there was some magic that she was not yet familiar with that could compel her to speak? Wynne had never mentioned anything like that (and if Morrigan had known such methods, she surely would have kept them to herself) but that didn't mean that they didn't exist. She'd even considered that they would go the old fashioned route: latch her to a table or string her from the ceiling, and attempt to eke the truth from her via physical pain.
Either scenario she knew she could handle (she still might have confessed, but she could have handled it). What she couldn't handle was the third possibility, the one that tickled the edge of her thoughts. The one where they went after Adaia. Questioned her, tested her, hurt her.
The thought made her throat close up with impending panic.
What she hadn't expected, what hadn't even crossed her mind, was that they would want to talk. And talk. And talk. She guessed they were hoping to wait out the rest of their days as wardens quizzing her on one year of her life (albeit a highly eventful one); until they could finally wander off to the Deep Roads (or wherever Weisshaupt wardens went) when their time came.
It was the slowest, most mind-numbing form of torture possible.
And they had barely touched on the subject of her child after that first day. There had been a few minor throwback questions to those first moments - inquiries into how her pregnancy had gone, if she had experienced any darkspawn associated nightmares or other such visions during those months. A few questions as to Adaia's development, and her interests. But that was all.
It was almost enough for her to let her guard down.
After that she had been prompted to discuss - for an obscene amount of time - her activities in the Fade, and the rescue of the circle mages. She'd been made to recount - no less than three times - her choice to end Connor's life, as if they expected her explanation to somehow change with each repeat. They'd quizzed her on every little facet of how she rallied four armies to her side in barely a year's time.
But what they were far more interested in, it seemed, was lengthy descriptions on each of her companions. Asking how she had acquired them, what talents they brought to the table, whether her or Alistair (or, rather the King) had every considered having these assorted miscreants undergo the joining. To which she gave them a very emphatic no.
They wanted to know more about each of her companions than anyone could ever possibly expect to know. She knew that they were feeling out her information, looking for holes, hoping to uncover whatever she, or someone she had traveled with, had done to allow Alistair and her to live when the Archdemon died.
And just because they were correct in their assumptions, did not mean that she had any plans to confirm that for them. They could look and look and look for as long as they liked, as far as Kallian was concerned. She had no intention on ever telling them. It may have been some time since she had spoken to her old companion, but she was not about to betray Morrigan's trust.
“Tell me more about the apostate, Morrigan. The one who claimed to be the daughter of the infamous Flemeth.”
Speak of the witch...Every muscle in Kallian's face twitched with the effort to avoid rolling her eyes or sighing. Heavily. It was taking more will than she had known she possessed to approach the monotonous and repetitive line of question with as Sten a mindset as possible.
It wasn't terribly effective. “You'll have to be more specific, Enrich. I believe I have divulged every tidbit of information that I could on Morrigan, aside from her preference for shirts that left little to the imagination, and staves of the gnarled wood variety. Oh! Well now, I seem to have told you all about that as well.”
She ran a hand through her hair, teasing out the tresses along with her stress, and tried to approach things from a more subdued angle. “Morrigan was a comrade. Just like everyone else within the group. Was she an apostate? Yes. Did I much care? No. Aside from the fact that we had a former Templar traveling with us as well, one who I felt fairly confident could contain the mage should anything go wrong...” (In truth, she wasn't entirely certain that was the case. She'd seen Alistair call down incredible powers on some of the mages they had encountered during the blight - a particular encounter with a group of Blood Mages within the caverns north of Haven came to mind - but she rather thought Morrigan and he would have been quite the even match.) “Aside from that, I trusted her. She gave me no reason not to.”
Three very different faces looked out at her from dais. One amused (Fiona); one bored (Hensley); and one frustrated (Enrich).
“You trusted her.”
“With my life.”
“And yet you claim not to know where it is she could have gone - this witch of the wilds.”
A spark of irritation light her up from the inside. “No, ser. I claimed nothing. I have simply told you the facts as I know them. Nothing more, nothing less. My entire contingent - such as it was - stayed together only for the length of time that it took to defeat the Archdemon. I had no right, nor any need, to demand more from them than that. In case you do not recall, I myself left Ferelden with little word or warning.”
The eye above Enrich's scarred cheek twitched. It gave her a perverse amount of satisfaction to see it do so. “Oh yes, we recall quite well.”
“My apologies, Commander, but I thought it may have slipped your mind, seeing as how you have asked every question of me no less than twice. I have nothing more to add to any of the topics we have discussed.”
“What about ones that we haven't discussed?”
Kallian blinked. “Pardon?”
“You say you have nothing to add to any of the discussions we have had thus far. Is there any information that you could provide for questions we have not yet asked?” Andraste's knickers, he was serious! He actually expected her to just offer up any random bit of information with being specifically prompted? Had he not been engaged in the same sadomasochistic activity as she had been these past weeks?
Fine, if that's how he wanted to play it. “We have not yet discussed the sixteen proverbs that make up the first portion of the qun. Would you like me to go over them chronologically, or would an arrangement by topic be preferred?”
To the right of Enrich, the mage - Fiona - let out a snort, earning herself an agitated glare from the Commander. (Kallian was fairly certain Hensley was asleep at this point.)
“Perhaps you could just tell us about your first encounter with her mother, Flemeth, once more...”
Damn it all, where was Sten and his sword when you needed him?
~~~\/~~~
Three weeks. Three weeks they'd been left pacing within the walls of Weisshaupt, and Zevran was beginning to lose his patience. Most waking hours, Kallian was locked away being probed for answers, and Adaia (and himself, if he was being honest) was starting to be affected by Kallian's continued absence.
This morning had been a perfect example. Kallian had crept from the room before the morning's first light had shown through the tiny window they were allotted, as per usual. Zevran hadn't awoken at that point, however. No, he awoke when Adaia began to sob at the edge of the bed. Large dollops of salty tears were spilling down her puffed up cheeks, and her normally clear amber eyes were rimmed in red. A chant of 'Mama Mama Mama' issuing from her small, but powerful, lungs.
He'd been beside himself with not knowing what to do. She'd never had such a fit before, and he had been helpless to stop it - a feeling he found distressing. Even slipping in and out of the shadows, an activity that normally sent her into peels of laughter, had just made things worse. He'd ended up resorting to a form of bribery, in the form of a sweet milk pilfered from the kitchens before breakfast had even been served, just to get her to calm enough to look at him while he cleaned her nose and face.
The rest of the morning and afternoon she'd been nearly on the edge of crying at all times, wanting nothing more than her mother. He'd carted her around the fortress, tucked into his arms, for hours, trying to find something of interest to distract her. He'd finally found the solution at the mabari pens, where she was slobbered on and mud-drenched until her heart was content.
But the situation was one that Zevran never wanted to find himself in again, and he found his irritation towards the Warden-Commander and his boot-licking companions increasing by multitudes every moment.
Just how many different ways could they go about asking her the same questions? If they didn't believe her by now, despite the lack of variation in her response, what could they possibly hope to accomplish with continued prodding? And so far, they had expressed no interest in employing…other methods of coercion. A fact for which he was most grateful. (He’d clocked the time it would take him to slice the Commander’s throat, and withdrawal from the fortress with both Adaia and Kallian in tow undetected, and he was not comfortable with the number.)
He was antsy. Frustrated. And more than a little angry by his complete exclusion from the proceedings.
Not that he hadn't done his best to enter uninvited. He'd employed every skill at his disposal. From sweet talking one of the housekeepers mucking about the place (that had only earned him a flustered series of giggles), to bribing the Warden-Commander's right hand man (there had been a gleam in Hensley's eye that told Zevran he was sorely tempted, if unwilling), and cajoling Treval into taking Adaia for a tour of the grounds - no questions asked - for several hours. Twice. So that he could slink in the dark recesses provided by the ample halls, and attempt to force entry into the meeting room .
But he'd failed every time. He'd gotten much better at lockpicking over the years (Leliana had been a great resource during the blight), but his skills were no match for the mage, Fiona, that was holed up with Kallian in that meeting room. She'd thwarted his every attempt, and by the sly smirk that would grace her face at every meal that they both attended, she was well aware.
Any and all attempts to seduce her into allowing him entry and been met with uproarious laughter (the kind he wouldn't have suspected from an elf her size), and Kallian watching him with narrowed eyes.
And so it had gone on, day after day. From the time the sun rose, until the moon was already high in the sky, with the three of them only in the same room when eating or sleeping.
And every morning (starting from their very first one at the fortress, where they had come and collected her at the most heinous of hours from their shared chambers) someone would be by to cart Kallian off to another meeting with the fool Commander and his lackeys.
The night following the first morning they had collected her, had possibly been the worst of them all. He had no idea what sort of question they had asked, for when she'd returned, she'd been exhausted and unwilling to talk about anything at all. She'd just climbed right into the bed, boots and all; mumbled about cookies and ale, curled up with her mabari, and fallen asleep.
That hadn't been too surprising, though, not considering that she'd barely closed her eyes the previous night, before they were awaken by wardens calling at their door. Zevran knew that well enough, as they had spent a large portion of the night in discussion, before succumbing to sleep.
“You - you are telling me that Morrigan and Alistair...” He paused, waiting for the nod of confirmation that Kallian provided. Stunned was not a word that did his emotions justice at that moment. Zevran wasn't certain that there was an adequate enough word in either her language or his.
She'd gotten quite upset when he'd begun to laugh. He'd been powerless to stop wave after wave of stomach clenching guffaws, however, despite her stern and blushing face.
He hadn't even been able to stop when Adaia awoke as a result of the noise.
Laughing uproariously with his daughter joining in, arms tossed around his neck as he attempted to sidestep the both of them away from the angry Warden in the room, had been the most fun he'd had in ages.
Eventually, he'd managed to calm down. Still completely floored by the knowledge that Alistair had agreed to conceive a child - a child with the soul of an old godroman'";"> - with the apostate. He'd always put on quite a show of hating the witch. To the point that it had almost seemed contrived. Forced. Zevran had always thought it stunk of “thou doth protest too much” and in the privacy of his own thoughts, he didn't believe for a second that it would have been nearly as awful as Kallian seemed to believe it had been.
He had no intention of dispelling that notion, however. Let her believe whatever she liked regarding Alistair. He no longer held any animosity towards the man; and had spent enough time around the bastard King to know that he was not completely immune to a beautiful woman's charms. And the knowledge that he was not as golden as he liked to pretend, buoyed Zevran’s spirits, though he’d never speak such a thing out loud.
Once they'd managed to calm Adaia, Kallian's voice - void of all inflection - had dropped the next bomb, which had been the cause of the remaining hours of missed sleep for the pair.
“I think the Warden's suspect something, Zevran.”
“Well of course they suspect something. I doubt that they would have gone to all of this trouble to locate you, and have you hand delivered by a tri of wardens, if they thought everything was...by the book.” He'd shot her the most disarming smile he could manage, given the precarious position of extricating his daughter's sleeping form from his person. “You said it yourself, you were meant to die on that tower. The very fact that you live is suspicious enough.” His heart clenched against his will, he didn't like the idea of her dying any more now than he did then.
“That's not what I mean.”
He'd finally shuffled their daughter into her blankets - pausing to brush his lips upon her cheek - and crossed the room to where Kallian had settled on the bed. Her lips were settled in a thin line, she wasn't even nibbling on the lower one like she did so often. That was a bad sign.
Long, tangled strands of hair had fallen out of the knot she kept them in, to cross over her nose. With only a small amount of thought, he reached up and brushed it back, behind her ear. Taking note of the way she huffed in a breath and held it when his skin touched hers. “Then say what it is you mean.”
“I think they may suspect that a...a child may be involved.”
The hair on his arms prickled, a chill washing through him and over him. “Adaia...”
She nodded in tandem with turning away. “It’s not possible, of course.”
“Do you know that for certain?”
She whirled back to him, her face red and eyes narrowed. “Do you have any doubts? You believe that she could-”
“No. I do not. But believing such a thing and knowing it, my dear, are two vastly different situations. So I ask again: are you certain?” While he didn't want to think such a thing, he had to acknowledge the possibility.
The irritation that had been rolling off of her in waves settled down, and the calm he remembered her exhibiting in battle took its place. “Yes.”
It was amazing how much weight one little syllable could lift from a person's shoulders.
Sleep came not terribly long after, as the sky outside was already beginning to show signs of pink and orange. Zevran had watched the light bleed through the window while Kallian had curled into the pillows and tugged Zevran's arm across her middle. He'd allowed himself bare moments of temptation, let his fingers stroke along the exposed expanse of her stomach. Soft, and curved in delicious ways. Let his lips taste the heated skin at the base of her neck.
And then that knock had come, and Zevran had been forced to bite his tongue in order to prevent the curses dancing on its tip from flying free. Kallian had gone willingly, and he hadn't seen her again until the following night.
It was the first of many days of frustration for him.
The entire scenario seemed pointless. It was obvious to everyone that they didn't believe her - or rather, that a very specific and important group didn't believe her. And yet day after day they would gather her up, and she would go without complaint, despite the obvious exhaustion she was feeling.
It was like she was paying some sort of penance.
The one bright spot so far had been their near daily lunches. Back during the blight, he'd always known that Kallian enjoyed his company - even when she was twittering around Alistair. She'd been the closest thing to an honest friend he could recall having had in his life. She'd shucked off her worries about his trustworthiness nearly from the beginning, and practically welcomed him with open arms.
For his part, he'd found her approach to life refreshing, and was awed by her prowess with a blade (despite her lack of finesse). And often (too often in Alistair's opinion, he knew) he'd been able to lure her aware for conversation over meals or some other innocuous activity. But never before had he been on the receiving end of smiles like the ones she'd bestow upon him and Adaia while the three of them would meet up for lunch.
Before, there had always been something falling in between them. Whether it was the blight, or a bastard King, or Sten (and that relationship still did not make one hundred percent sense - the idea of an entirely platonic affection was something wholly alien to him). During these lunches, however, the only thing between them was their daughter. And when both of them sent those identical smiles in his direction, it made his chest clench with nerves in a way that he couldn't recall having felt before.
And now, on a day when the connection between the three of them was most needed - given Adaia's tiny breakdown that morning - lunch time had come and gone, and there was no sign of her. Adaia, worn out from all the emotional ups and downs of the day (and the rump with the mabaris), had fallen asleep across his lap nearly a half-hour ago, mud-specks dried on her cheeks. It was time to carry her off for to her cot for a much needed nap.
With as exhausted as he was feeling he thought that he may just lie down and join her.
~~~\/~~~
It was late in the afternoon before the inquisition squad (as Kallian had dubbed them) had seen fit to release her from her irritating prison and permit her a break for lunch. She had planned on meeting with Zevran and Adaia (one of the only highlights to her days in this dreary place, well, that and the moments that she could sneak off to the smithy) for the meal, but had missed them by more than an hour. The food that was left over from an entire warden contingent's midday meal was lackluster and lukewarm at best.
Sitting alone, she just couldn't find the stomach for it this day, not without the nearly incoherent, but melodic babble of her daughter, and the sly and slick gaze of one golden-haired elf missing from her side.
What she wouldn't give to see the two of them waltz into the hall right then. Adaia propped on Zevran's shoulders and Zevran's sinful mouth pulled into an honest and toothy smile. Her stomach curled pleasantly with warmth at the thought. Every day, she found herself aching for more time with them. More time to see her daughter explore the nooks and crannies of every stone within the walls of the fortress. More time to absorb the casual return of Zevran's easy camaraderie. Ever since she had confessed to the ritual that Morrigan and Alistair had undergone, it had been like a lock had been turned. He was no longer as guarded with her as he had been, conversing with her more openly. Filling her in on life in the alienage as he had last seen it (the doors that barred it from town had long since been removed, and funds for the repair of many of the structures had been provided by the King), and discussing the many ways that one could irritate Anora without being caught (most of which, where thought up by Zevran, and supposedly perpetuated by Alistair).
And she hadn't seen Treval by his side in more than a week.
Of course, despite all that there was still one aspect where he was behaving in a decidedly not-Zevran fashion. Namely that they had been sharing a bed for nearly three weeks, and he had yet to make use of the compromising position. She had woken up on several occasions to find his arms tucked around her, his warmth and scent enveloping her, and her body responding in that all-too-familiar and completely neglected way, but the culmination she kept expecting to arrive never did.
The fact that he was not pouncing on her, made worry bubble up inside her. From the moment she had met him, Zevran had been (amongst many other things) walking sex. To have him not take what was so clearly being offered made her nervous and unsure of herself.
The most concerning part for her, was that the more time spent within proximity to Zevran; the more time she had to inhale that spicy scent of his; the more time to feel the heat pulsating from his body as they sat pressed side to side over lunch - fussing over their daughter (Kallian would attempt to extract from her hands whatever treat Zevran had snuck her under the table, only to have him produce something to replace it a moment later) - the more time she found she wanted to spend with him.
It was fast contorting into an addiction.
And when she was given time, such as now, to contemplate the two of them, she couldn't be certain which fantasy she found more compelling, the one wherein Theodore showed up to collect Adaia for some activity or another, and Zevran was able to spread her across the table and kiss his way up her body from legs to lips; or the one where they sat together as a family at the table, helping Adaia to sort out one of her puzzle toys, or seeing if she could work out a shroud knot.
The wooden bench across from Kallian's seat scraped suddenly against the stone floor, drawing her from her internal musings. The shuffle of cloth that reached her ears identified the newest occupant of the bench as the mage, Fiona. She didn't even need to look up from the mushy peach-colored tuber on her plate to confirm.
“You don't care for the food here at the fortress I see.”
A smile twitched at Kallian's lips, the answer obvious as she drug her fork through her mostly untouched meal. “I suppose not.”
Fiona wrinkled her nose. “It is not the most...tasteful cuisine, I agree. But it does grow on you after some time. I myself am quite fond of the rhubarb and beef stew.”
“Haven't had the pleasure of that one. So far I think I've experienced at least a dozen ways to massacre a potato, however.”
“Perhaps you should issue a complaint to the mess hall staff.”
The laugh bubbled up warm and quick from Kallian's throat, of all the warden's she had met since arriving at the fortress, Fiona appeared the most reasonable. (Even if Kallian did resent her somewhat for the role she played in the daily mental probing.) “And give the cooks a reason to add rashvine or bitterwort to my meals? No thanks. I think I'll take my chances with the normal meals. Sketchy though they may be.”
“A reasonable choice.” The mage shifted her hands to the table in front of them, holding her posture straight. “I want to discuss something with you.”
The groan escaped Kallian before she could stop it. She liked Fiona more than the rest, but she was still as abrupt and frustrating as any of the others at times. “More questions? Are you curious as to the color of the sky in Ferelden, or what the fashion was in the alienage the last time I was there? I think there is very little else that I have not divulged at this point.”
The other elf arched a brow. “There is fashion to speak of in an alienage?”
“More so than you would find within the walls of a circle.”
“I'll have you know there is quite the variety in circle issued robes. Why, when I was there we had our pick of blue, red, or a sort of puce colored monstrosity. Quite flattering, really.”
Kallian pointedly eyed the streamlined robe that the mage wore, a full-length deep blue piece with (in Kallian's opinion) an extraneous amount of ribbing and strategic use of feathers. It was quite lovely, if a bit odd. “Well, at least your tastes have improved.”
The other elf's lips twitched in a near frown, and Kallian got the distinct impression that she was lost in her own memory. “It's been a long time, and many things have changed.”
The silence that fell between them while Kallian continued to not eat stretched out for several beats longer than was comfortable. “If you had something to discuss, other than clothing preferences, I'd rather you just get it over with so I can continue to stare at my food in peace.”
“If you insist.” There was a beat before the mage continued. “Before you arrived, Declan sent over a briefing of his opinions via messenger. In his opinion, your disdain for the Grey Wardens - while quite evident in your abandonment of duty these past two years - was not reflected in your speech. He said that when you allowed yourself, you even seemed to enjoy discussing the battles leading towards the slaying of the Archdemon. That there was a sort of...passion, in your eyes for it.
"I confess, this passion seems to be lacking from the recount of your experiences to us. I'd even go so far as to say you found it dull.”
Kallian huffed out an irritated breath of air. “Perhaps it is the ridiculous level of questioning that I find dull. Had I'd known upon my conscription that every step I took from then on would have to be accounted for, I'd have hired a record keeper to tag along. I met several decent ones in Orzammar you know. Not that any of them would have appreciated being drug to the surface as my assistant, but I'm sure an arrangement could have been made."
“Or perhaps it has to do with your level of comfort. Declan's reports indicated that it was often your companion, Zevran, that would engage you in conversation regarding your time as an active warden. Maybe we should invite him along to the next session.”
“If you want a full retelling of all the best brothels, inns, and dirty limericks in Ferelden, than perhaps you should. However, you will have to excuse me from the proceedings, as I can't have my daughter wandering the fortress unaccompanied. She may be small, but she is a demon when it comes to knotting ropes and twisting locks.”
“You worry for your child.”
“Of course I worry for my child! Wouldn't you if you were in my position?”
The mage gave Kallian a long look, her mouth curved in a frown. “Yes. I would. There is a reason that wardens are not meant to have children, you know.”
Kallian snorted. “You mean besides the fact that we are poisoned with darkspawn blood, rendering us with little to no choice of what to do with our lives? Regardless of whether or not we even want to become wardens?”
"It is a dangerous life that we lead."
"Of that, I am aware."
“You know, the amount of bitterness you carry towards the Grey Wardens, considering that being conscripted saved your life, is both senseless and childish.”
Kallian closed her eyes for a moment, begging the qun philosophers, the Maker, Andraste, and all the ancestors in Orzammar for patience. “Do not mistake me. I am thankful for Duncan's intervention. Had he not stepped in I'm certain I wouldn't have lived to see Denerim under siege. Nor would I have ever had my daughter. But that is not the same thing as being thankful that the Wardens would have my life and my choices be no more my own now, than they were back when I awaited an arranged marriage within the walls of the alienage. Duncan did me a great service that day, but I have paid my debt in full.”
“Duncan wouldn't have conscripted you if he hadn't believed you had what it took to be a warden. And considering that you survived killing the Archdemon, no one would argue he was right.”
Something in the way that Fiona's voice lingered on Duncan's name, like she was taste-testing its sound, caught Kallian's attention. “Did you know Duncan then?”
One nod, brief, and concise. It reminded Kallian of home. “Yes. Long ago. He...also did me a great service once.”
Kallian wrinkled her forehead in confusion. “He conscripted you as well?”
“No. No, his favor to me came later. We both joined the wardens at nearly the same time. He was...a good friend.”
Kallian had no idea what possessed her, but her lips seemed to have a mind of their own. “Were you and he-”
There was a tinkling sound, like a young girl's laugh. It was strangely out of place coming from the older elf. “No, nothing like that.”
Kallian's thoughts drifted off to the dark haired man, remembering the calm way he approached situations. She hadn't known him but a few weeks, only the time it took to travel to Ostagar from Denerim really, and the stories that Alistair had told had fleshed out only the tiniest of parts. He may have been her former lover's mentor, but the two hadn't been all that well acquainted, despite what Alistair liked to believe. “Then you were friends?”
“We were.”
“What was he like, when he was younger?”
“Foolish. Brash. Quick to anger at times. An accomplished thief, and a demon with his blades. But he was loyal, even when his instincts told him to behave otherwise.”
“A thief? Hah! Oh, how Alistair would love to learn that little tidbit.”
“Alistair? Your old companion...the Ferelden King?”
“Hmm, oh yes. Yes. Duncan recruited him as well you know. He...idolized him a bit, I guess. Not sure how he would take learning that he wasn't some golden child.”
“Tell me about him.”
“Pardon?”
“Alistair - the King - tell me about him.”
Kallian dropped her fork and groaned. “Is that all this was about? Getting my guard down so that I could tell more stories, answer more questions? Don't you ever get tired of listening to me yap?”
“Yes, actually. But Enrich is determined to break your spirit.”
Kallian rolled her eyes. “I hadn't noticed.”
“Clearly its not working.”
“Not in the slightest.”
“I admit, it's not...the most enjoyable of situations. But we all know that there are things you have omitted from your accounts of the blight. Known that since day one. You can hardly expect us to just ignore that.”
“I've done nothing but tell you everything that you've asked.”
Fiona's laugh was less girly this time, more resigned and wizened. “Perhaps you have, that doesn't mean that you haven't lied about any of it, however. You showed that well enough your first night.”
The urge to tug her lip into her mouth and chew was almost impossible to ignore, but Kallian managed. “What do you mean?”
“You don't honestly think we believed your account of when daughter was conceived, did you?”
The blood drained from Kallian's face in one swift move. Oh, Maker... “I-”
Fiona held a hand up. “It's alright, Kallian. No one is a saint. And no one is judging you for wanting to protect your daughter. It is what any mother would do.” There was a fierceness to her words that gave Kallian pause, but she had little time to reflect on that before the other woman was speaking again. “It was simply the fact that you would tell a lie so readily, and so early, that has convinced Enrich that you have something to hide.”
“How do you know that I was lying about her conception?”
“Aside from the fact that absolutely no one in this place believes that your dalliance with Zevran lasted but one night? “
“...Yes.”
“Call it instinct. But it doesn't matter."
"If it doesn't matter, then why bother bringing the topic up in the first place?"
"I...am not at liberty to say. But, if it eases your mind at all, no one is going after your child, of that I can assure you." Again there was a bit to her words and a flash in her eyes that tugged at the corner of Kallian's mind, but she couldn't quite place it. "And I am not here to poke you for more information a la Enrich. I am simply...curious.”
Kallian wanted to believe her, she really did. She wanted to believe that the wardens had no designs on Adaia. But it did seem they thought that whatever had saved her life could possibly involve a child. She needed to be careful here. “Forgive me if I find inquires such as this a bit unbelievable. Why are you so curious about him?”
Fiona turned her gaze from Kallian, staring instead towards the stone archway that lead back towards the courtyard area. She looked...pensive. “You’ve spoken of him at length, but never about his personality, not really. I-I knew the old King, a long while ago. I wonder how alike they may be.”
“You knew King Calian?”
The mage redirected her stare to meet Kallian's. “No. I knew their father...as did Duncan.”
“Oh.” Oh. The distinct way that Fiona's voice changed when she spoke the word 'father’ was all the answer Kallian had needed.
Just how many lovers had King Maric taken?
If pressed, Kallian would say that it was the earnest look on Fiona's face that convinced her to spend the remainder of her lunch break discussing the finer points of Alistair's personality to a slightly enraptured mage.
What was more surprising then her sudden willingness to divulge all the silliest bits of information on Alistair that she could think of (from his favorite cheeses to his obsession with runes) to someone who had surely been just another bit on the side for his father, was the realization that it did not make her miss Alistair in the slightest. That had become a faded part of her history.
It did make her miss Zevran, though. Immensely. She wanted him there, beside her. Joining them in conversation. Not just because he too would get a kick out of having uncovered such a tawdry little secret in Weisshaupt of all places, but because of the unique way he had of telling tales. What he lacked in the poetry department, he made up with his prose. He could twist any word so that it could be laden with innuendo on second, and lesson building the next. (Zevran may not have been the most moral of men, but that didn't mean that he lacked a code of ethics - it was just…somewhat tilted from the norm.)
She wanted him there, charming Fiona with his words, while she sat next to him, pressed just slightly closer than decorum would allow. Their daughter situated on her lap, so that her senses were overloaded by the two of them, and she could make pretend that what they had was as normal a family as anyone else.
Could pretend that they were even a family at all.
And she wanted them to be. She wanted it with all the breath in her body; and it was long past time that she did something about it.
Now, if only she could get Fiona to convince Enrich to let her off early for once. After all, one good turn deserved another, right?
On to Chapter 10!