Fic - A Child Unexpected (Part 7)
Title: A Child Unexpected (Part 7 of 12)
Author: skybound2
Characters: Fem!City-Elf PC (Kallian Tabris), Sten, Zevran, and Alistair (the overall fic is Zevran/Tabris with Sten and some others tossed in. Liberally, at times. References Alistair/Tabris and Zevran/Other.)
Word Count: ~4000 this chapter (~23300 so far)
Rating: T
Summary: Heroes have problems too. That's why they need friends. In this bit: Conversations are had.
Spoilers: Through end game.
Author's Note: This chapter was a toughy, and underwent a couple of iterations. Here's hoping that this was the right one. Posting this early, as I have one heck of a busy schedule this week, and likely won't be online much. This story can also be found at FFN. Many, many thanks to pennydreadful for the beta!!!
Previously: (On LJ)
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Interlude (the First)
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Seheron: Twenty-two Months after the Fall of the Archdemon
Kallian was unsure what to make of the look upon Zevran's face. His eyes were two honey-colored saucers - staring unwaveringly at the slightly-ajar bedroom door which Sten and Adaia were now secured behind. She swept her gaze over him, allowing herself a moment's pleasure at the sight of him within her home. So near to her that she only had to reach out...
But no. His hands were clenched around the back of one of the kitchen chairs, knuckles white and fingertips overly pink from the pressure he was exuding. His body nearly vibrating with tension.
“You - we have a child. A...a daughter.” Still, he remained focused on the other room. It made Kallian both nervous and grateful. An overly odd combination to say the least.
“Yes. We do.”
His tongue snuck out, and swiped over his lower lip. “What is her name?”
“Adaia.”
He breathed out then, finally, and turned his eyes to her, their stare molten. “After your mother.”
The air he had just released was quickly sucked into her own lungs. He remembers...? “Yes. After my mother.”
“Why...” He turned back to the other room, and she watched as his hands flexed against the wooden chair. He took a moment, to compose himself. Eyelids closed briefly, long lashes skirting against one another. He rolled his shoulders back; some of the stiffness in his body seemed to dissipate with the motion. “I never received word.”
Kallian turned from him, reaching out to gather the small pile of clothes that had accumulated on the table. Three steps took her past him, his scent - that heady combination of leather and spice - assaulting her senses, but she succeeded in her task. Crossing the room to the clothes basket, she dropped the items in, her back still to him. She steeled herself for his reaction. “I never sent it.”
There was a bitter laugh; it sounded nothing like Zevran's, but it was his all the same. “Ahh, surely you jest. Maybe it was just a small thing. A tiny inclusion in one of the many letters to your cousin, perhaps? Something that just managed to be missed?”
The sarcasm made it easier to face him, “No. It wasn't missed.” She breathed deeply, hoping to keep her emotions tightly controlled. (The qunari always made it seem so easy, she wished it had rubbed off on her a bit more.) Zevran was struggling, she could tell, and some dark and prideful part of her didn't want to be the one to break first.
“So Shianni doesn't know of our child?” The way he said 'our' caused warm waves to flood her face. “Nor your father? You've kept such news from your family as well?”
“No. I didn't. They know of her.” Straight to the point. There was no reason to deny anything further, not with him standing in her home, and the subject of their discussion only a dozen feet away.
“So it is only me that you have lied to then?”
She bristled, “I never lied to you, Zev.”
“Zevran.” The ice in his voice lowered the temperature of the room by several degrees.
She blinked. “What?”
“My name is Zevran.”
“All…all right. Zevran.” Her hand raised a few inches, intent on touching him, just for a moment. But the look upon his face was one she recognized, though she had never seen it directed at her before. Heavy with the ill feelings gnawing at her, she dropped the appendage back to her side. Her voice was gentler when she spoke this time. “I never lied. Not exactly.”
“I suppose you're correct. You never did lie. Why make the effort to lie, when an omission of the truth takes so much less energy? A tactician to the last.” He released his grip on the chair, and slide to the side, a step closer to her.
“Zevran.” It was hard, not falling back into familiarity - but she would respect his request. “There is no denying what I've done - or didn't do. But...I had my reasons.” She did her best to keep her back straight, face angled towards him; it was a difficult task.
“Mmm. Of course. I would expect nothing less.” His approach of her had slowed, and then stopped an arms distance away; his fingers twitched by his sides. His stance: a weird limbo between offense and defense. “Reasons which obviously did not involve contacting me at all, let alone including me in our daughter's life.”
Her composure broke, and she dropped her chin to stare at her hands - twisting them about themselves. “Zev - Zevran.” She pressed away from the counter, closing the space between them by a step.
“Stop.” Anger swelled in his voice, and she despised being on the receiving end of it. But she stopped. Halted so close to him that she could readily see the tiny lines that adorned his face. All of her reasons, all of her excuses, they didn't seem so valid anymore, not with him looking at her like that. She wanted to explain, to let him see where she was coming from; to realize that she hadn't wanted to force him to shoulder such a responsibility. Chain him down again so soon after he'd broken free of the Crows...
So she did. She let the words pour forth from her, almost without thought.
His face, which had been pinched with anger, slackened. His jaw momentarily opened, before snapping shut. The chill mask he'd worn since Adaia had left the room, returned - but not before she was able to catalog the pain. “Do you really think so little of me? To think that I would feel...burdened by the knowledge?”
Her head shook back and forth, he wasn't understanding. “No. Of course not. That isn't what I meant...”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. “No? I know that you never looked upon me as you did your beloved, bumbling Alistair. But there were moments when I believed I had earned your trust at least. Your faith. I see now that you are a more consummate actor than I have ever given you credit for. Congratulations, Warden. I have fallen prey to your schemes enough times to shame all the Crows in Antiva.” He ducked his head in a curt nod, and broke their standstill to turn from her.
Visions of him walking out the door, boarding his ship, and never gracing her doorstep again shot through her brain and she felt something inside of her break. Memories blazed in cold flames before her eyes: A stained wall, the burned image of a greatsword that had never been swung marring its surface. A lonely man, wife and child long-since lost, befriending her against all reason. A stoic, solemn companion allowing her to cry herself to sleep; questions held for another time. A surprisingly tender and sweet embrace beneath a star-littered sky. Liquid amber gracing her life with a sword and a dagger, and a barbed wit.
Within a single heartbeat of her life, a decision had been made. She simply had no idea that it had been made so long before that moment.
“No!” And this time she did reach out, her slender fingers grasping for his arm, their paler skin contrasting starkly with his own sun-kissed flesh. “You are dear to me, Zevran. I see you, every morning; every afternoon; every second of my life. You are a constant presence, I can do nothing but think of you.” She choked out a laugh - it was a better option than the tears trying to edge their way through. “Sten - Sten comments on it constantly. On how like you she can be. She can barely form sentences, and still we can both see you in her clear as a sunny day.”
She clenched her hand around his arm, her grip strong enough to bruise his skin. “I swear to you, that I only kept her from you because I thought it would be what you wanted. I never heard you speak of children. Not to me. And I - I hadn't exactly given much thought to being a mother myself. I wanted you to have a chance - a chance to live whatever kind of life that you wanted, with no one else dictating the where's or the why's or the how's. I wanted it to be your life. Just once.”
She was breathing heavy now, her blood racing through pulsing veins. Hoping beyond hope that he would understand.
It was a sad smile that he gave her. The edges of his (so soft - she was helpless but to recall) lips just barely rising as he looked upon her. “And how, exactly, was taking the decision entirely out of my hands giving me control over my life? You say that you wanted me to do whatever I wished, but you denied me the opportunity to make the choice on my own. I see little difference between you and any of the other Masters that have claimed my days.”
She recalled being stabbed one particular time during the blight. Her armor had been breached by one hurlock, and another took advantage of her lowered defense to dig a dagger deep into her side. The shock of it had caused the whole world to pause around her, as if someone had frozen the moment, and granted her alone the ability to move. The pain had been excruciating.
This felt an awful lot like that.
“You're right.” Her voice was raw, scratchy. “I hadn't thought...” She shook her head. There was nothing else to say beyond that. “I hadn't thought. I'm sorry, Zevran. I truly am.”
One of his hands reached up to grasp hers where it laid against his arm, and he slowly pried her fingers from their hold. She let it fall uselessly to her side when he released it. “Forgive me, Warden, if I do not quite believe you.”
“Please-”
“May I see her?” He was turned from her now, staring back at the other room. “Speak with her?”
At first she merely nodded, before she realized that he wouldn't be able to see. There was a jagged lump in her throat, but she fought past it. “Of course. Of course. Just give me a moment.”
With a worried glance at her child's father (and oh, but that was an odd thought), she moved to the bedroom, and pressed the door open.
~~~\/~~~
Despite the fact that they had never raised their voices, the home was small enough that Sten had been able to hear the vast majority of their conversation. Just as well, for he knew should be reluctant to repeat the tale to him later. So he merely sat. Waiting in the only seat in the room, watching the door with a diligent gaze; Adaia pressed against his chest. She had fallen asleep within minutes.
“A moment, Kadan.” Kallian nodded, one hand reaching out to grasp the threshold for support. She appeared drained from the discussion with the Assassin. Aged in just a few minutes. Her face paler than typical, and a glazed-over expression creasing her face.
He unraveled his large form from the chair, and crossed the two steps to the bed, careful to avoid the snoring mabari. With gentle hands he laid the small girl down, tucking her blanket around her shoulders. Once the task was accomplished he moved towards the Warden. He did his best to keep his features soft, she had made mistakes, yes. But she would atone.
“I do not agree with your decision to travel to Weisshaupt, but I do believe that it is time to move forward. The assassin is...justifiably angry. You understand this. But the anger will pass. He is not an unreasonable man. Nor is he foolish.”
She was troubled. Unsure. It reminded him distinctly of when she'd first admitted she was with child. Prior to that, she had always been the consummate leader, never wavering in her commands. She had since proven herself to also be a more capable mother than he ever would have presumed. She was patient, yet firm. She took the barbs of the locals as easily as she accepted their advice, and she very rarely complained.
Had it not been for all the time she spent training in the smithy, she likely would have been fully accepted by the qunari women in the city.
He was oddly grateful that she was not.
“I will return tonight.” She smiled, a small pained expression; and he released a dense sigh. “You are also not a fool, Kadan.” He grasped her shoulder, once, and squeezed lightly (for him), before stepping past her and exiting.
~~~\/~~~
Zevran was angry - nearly seething with it, in fact. Red had colored his vision just a moment before she'd left the room. He'd done his best to stomp it down. An argument would do little good to anyone at this juncture.
In truth, his emotions were more complex then mere feelings of anger. Those could be counteracted by any number of means. In reality, what he felt was a boiling concoction of rage, bitterness, pain, and fear. A decidedly more difficult poison to swallow.
Anger: that she had not trusted him enough to tell him of his own child. That she'd thought it best to leave him out of the equation, not for Adaia's sake, but for his own good.
Her reasons were pitiful excuses. Excuses designed to masks truths she did not yet want to admit: that she did not trust him. Did not trust that he would be honorable enough to accept responsibility for his own daughter.
Bitter: that she was actually justified in feeling that way.
After all, he was an assassin. Bred, if not born. Built and designed. Lethality and stealth and seduction. These were the skills that he had not only honed throughout his life, but that he remained exceedingly proud of - he had never met an equal that could withstand the test of time.
Fearful: that he would do more harm than good. What use would such traits be for a father?
What use would he be to an innocent such as Adaia? Was there anything of value he could he bring to her life?
Hurt: That he had allowed his defenses to fall in her presence. He had opened himself up to her silent attack, left his underbelly exposed for the gutting.
He had known when he bedded her that she was still in love with Alistair; but she had wanted him. The want was a physical one, yes, but a foolish part of him had believed that physical want would translate to something more lasting on her part. He'd been half-in-love with her at that point. It would have taken very little for him to let go, and fall all the way. And he would of done so had she given him any indication. He could safely admit to these feelings now, now that the danger seemed to have passed.
He couldn't imagine falling so easily anymore.
Zevran heard the hinges on the door creak open, and his head shot up - heart beating erratically only to slow to a near standstill when Sten exited the room. Alone. Zevran had nearly put the qunari out of his mind, so caught up had he been in thoughts of Kallian and Adaia, and all of the confusion swelling inside of him.
So twisted up was he, staring at the door in self-reflection, that it was actually the qunari that spoke first. (Something that Zevran could only recall on a handful of occasions in the past, as usually it was he that would broach all manner of conversations with the solemn warrior. But this was an upside-down sort of a day, so he supposed it made sense.)
“Your daughter is asleep. I would suggest you do not wake her just yet. An hour at most is all she will require. Then it will be nearly time for her next meal. She is...unusually social when she eats.”
Zevran stared, surprised and not a bit perplexed. An ugly dose of jealous swept through his system, but he knew that it was unfair. Whatever place Sten had in their lives, it was not for him to judge. Not yet at least. He made sure to put a bit of flourish in his slight bow. “So accommodating, Sten. I thank you.”
He found that he meant the words even while a part of his mind cried out in protest - yelling that Sten had neglected to send word of Adaia as well. Zevran swiftly silenced the cries. He knew the warrior well enough to know that Sten would never have taken such an action. It was not his way.
Sten snorted. “Do not thank me, assassin. I tell you more for her sake than for yours.”
The first genuine bit of humor returned to Zevran. “All the same. It is...appreciated.” He stared at the door to the bedroom, through the open wedge he could just make out the corner of a bedpost. “Is she...has she been happy?” He was aware that his voice was weaker than he would have liked, but this was entirely unfamiliar territory for him.
Sten raised an eyebrow. “There is no adequate answer to such a question.”
“Ahh yes, how simple of me. Has she been well, then?”
“They,” the emphasis Sten put on the word was impossible to miss, “have been well. Yes. The Warden has adjusted well to life among the qunari. Surprisingly well. Your daughter is...small. Brash at times, but that is unsurprising in one so young. Intelligent as well. Her eating habits leave something to be desired however.”
Zevran laughed, a brief chuckle, before the importance of the situation reasserted itself. There were questions, oh-so-many questions that Zevran wanted to ask: How has Kallian adjusted? What was Adaia's first word? What is your role in their lives, my bronze-skinned companion? Brother, father, lover? Just how much has changed these years?
Sten's grumbling voice cut through his scattered brain. “Your questions are better asked of the Warden. I have duties to attend to, but if need, we can speak later.”
“And if I am not here?”
“Do not worry, elf. I will find you.” The statement sounded more threatening then comforting. The look upon Sten's face confirmed this to be his intention. It actually eased Zevran's nerves more than anything else the qunari could have said of done. He laughed. “I do not doubt it, my friend.”
With that Zevran was left alone in the room, an open door beckoning him forward.
It took him several minutes to make it across the threshold.
~~~\/~~~
She was bundled up in bedclothes, a doll that had seen better days tucked into her side, and a watchful mabari laying between the door and the bed (one eye crooked open and watching him warily): Zevran examined his sleeping daughter's features.
Her tiny nose was reminiscent of Kallian's, if not quite so stark. Her ears poked out at an incredibly straight and pointed angle against her head, framed by tumbling golden locks - the same color as his own. Her skin had the gentle glow of youth, and was a several shades darker than her mother's but still lighter than his own. She was an exceptional blend of both parents.
And a wonder to behold.
Zevran stood in the doorway for nearly an hour, propped against the wall. His gaze did not waver as the child slept. Kallian remained in the corner of the room, lip tugged between her teeth. Silence the order of the afternoon.
~~~\/~~~
When Adaia awoke it was with a wide yawn, a beaming smile, and a “Who you?” to Zevran.
He knelt before her, wrists resting on his knees, and hands hanging down in as nonthreatening of a manner as possible. The distinct pressure of his ever-present dagger a subtle throb against the skin of his calf. “My name...is Zevran. Zev to my friends.”
She giggled, a tinkling sound wholly appropriate to one her size. “'lo, Zev!”
The world could have been ravaged by darkspawn right then, and he wouldn't have noticed.
~~~\/~~~
By mutual (and silent) decision, neither Zevran nor Kallian explained who he was exactly to their daughter. Simply referring to him as a friend of “Mama and Sten's” (the fact that Sten was not referred to by some other title by either one helped to answer some - if not all - of his questions).
During the course of the early evening, leading up to dinner, Zevran discovered that Adaia might not be able to structure complete sentences, but she was completely capable of weaving tales nonetheless. Even if he was only able to understand every fifth word.
The frequency with which she dropped qunari words into her dialogue probably shouldn't have surprised him as much as it did. At some point he figured he would have to just consider the entire day to be unlike any other, and let all of the oddities of it slide right off him.
~~~\/~~~
Dinner turned out to be a surprisingly easy affair. He avoided addressing Kallian as best as he could. Still unhappy with her deceit. But, in the face of Adaia and her odd predilection for grasping onto the nearest serving spoon, and hurling its contents at any and all moving objects, that was mostly forgotten.
~~~\/~~~
The sun had set some hours ago, and Adaia had finally succumbed to sleep. He loathed to leave her even for a moment, and as Kallian pulled the door to her room shut, he said as much. “If you intend to go to Weisshaupt, know that I will be traveling with you.”
Her back stiffened, a rigid line in a cotton dress. “I would ask how you know about that, but it would be an absurd question.”
“Hah, please feel free! I have been away from Alistair for many months now, and I find myself missing absurdity.”
She twirled, hand still on the knob of the bedroom door, her eyes widened in surprise. “You've been with Alistair since-”
“Ah-ah-ah! I will not have you distract me. Not this time. We were discussing you, and your recently arranged travel plans. I will be boarding with you when the ship leaves port.”
“I'm not sure that's the best idea. The Warden's are fairly protective of their secrets, and...”
“I don't care what they are protective of; I have only just learned that I have a daughter this day. If you think that I have any intention of letting her go, you are entirely mistaken.”
Kallian parted her lips, a breath of some protest on them, but then just shook her head. “Alright.”
“Good.” Zevran dropped to one of the kitchen chairs, and tossed his feet in a criss-cross up on the table's surface. The trip to Weisshaupt would likely be a long one, and Zevran could find little use in allowing the growing tension between them to continue to burn. Best to diffuse the situation now. With a leer, he took in her form as she stared plaintively at this feet. “Now, perhaps you'd care to answer some questions about your relationship with Sten, and in turn I promise a delightful story or two about the king." He waggled his eyebrows in an over-exaggerated gesture.
She flushed several shades of red, "Pardon?"
He smiled wide. She was flustered. It was a much better look upon her face than the mostly brooding one she had been wearing. And this, this he could work with.
Onto "Interlude (the Last)"!