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peopleofthedas2011-01-22 04:02 pm
1smut_princess) wrote in peopleofthedas2011-01-22 04:02 pm
Fic: A Guild-ed Cage 3/? T For Now
Title: A Guild-ed Cage 3/?
Author: Rhion
Rating: T for now, AO - eventually
Disclaimer: Me no own, you no sue.
Summary: AU. Zev never went to Ferelden. Now, Miolanai, Hero of Ferelden finds herself in Antiva. Master Ignacio assigns her a bodyguard and guide. A guide who just so happens to have been friends with the Crow she killed so long ago during the beginnings of the Blight.
AN: My computer crashed. HARD. Very hard. Like titanium boner hard sort of crash in a very bad way. I lost almost eight thousand words worth of story and notes, that frankly if it hadn't been forbellaknoti I would be up the creek, sans paddles, and arms to use them if I had them. Basically, I'm in the habit of sending her large chunks of text via messenger (same with nagia, whom I used to reclaim my notes), that I was able to rebuild almost all of what I had lost. Really, just some tweaks etc, were lost from what I had given to bellaknoti, stuff to make certain passages a little more artistic... but trust me, if I had really lost all that, with no sort of backup anywhere... well... Guild-ed would probably stop right there, and never progress. I woulda been too upset by it. I don't handle loosing material very well at all. I become a grody, sobbing wreck, that not even karaoke singing ZG doing a little dance to White Town's Your Woman can even cheer me up.... and yes, that did happen. I did cheer up because I remembered I'd sent so much of chapter 4 to b, and was thus able to rescue Guild-ed from a horrid death.
Beta'd bybellaknoti, musing and random rambling aided by nagia, and also of course, zevguy also. Without support, this ball of fluffy color would have gone running for the hankies even more than what already occurred this morning. Even if none of the above were present during the wreck of black screen o'doom, their presences were felt. In very special ways. GET YOUR MINDS OUT OF THE GUTTERS IT'S NOT LIKE THAT!
XXX
Guild-ed 3
XXX
There were people everywhere. Miolanai hadn't ever seen so many at once. Now that she wasn't so tired, now that she was fresh and alert – and no longer paying attention to examining Zevran, as she had been yesterday – she was really noticing them. Everywhere, people. Elbow to elbow in some places, and there were fountains, and buildings and store fronts and cafes and – the list went on.
And there were still so many people.
Also, their surroundings seemed to become poorer, which she supposed made sense; Zevran was a slave, and his concept of wealth was probably different than what she had come to associate with that term. Not that she minded - she was from an Alienage and had no problem with poverty - it was just that poorer sections meant an increase of desperate people, and desperate people meant thugs...
...Like the ones she had noticed lounging against that building, ahead. A trio of dark-haired Antivans, swarthy skinned, and coarse, they had been eyeing her and Zevran as they came closer to the intersection. Beside her, the Crow had appeared to simply discount the ruffians, but Miolanai knew trouble when she saw it, and these shem shouted it, with their rough leathers and daggers, their game of knucklebones that two of them were playing. She could feel their eyes on her though, feel their scorn and curiosity. So far, in the distance she and Zevran had gone, she had only seen a handful of armed women, all of whom appeared foreign or Dalish. Or possibly Crows.
Miolanai hadn't watched the faces of the people they passed, just their body language and dress – faces meant nothing. Everything was in bearing. The trio's screamed 'thug' and 'danger' to everything in her. Reaching up casually, like she was simply adjusting her hair, Miolanai loosened her sword in its sheath.
“Hola guapa,” one of them called as they got within easy speaking distance. Or well – easy enough. “Mira la diversión!”
Miolanai didn't need to know what the tallest of the three said as he rose. “Necesitas un hombre verdardero, chica, enséñele una lección!” sounded enough like a rude catcall and challenge to her ears. When it was coupled by the three sauntering towards them, exchanging glances with each other – Miolanai decided to give them just a little bit more line to hang themselves. Besides, Zevran had yet to say anything, and even he was tense. Pursing her lips, the Warden decided that that was enough – especially with how the Crow had drawn himself up, tilted his head to one side, a grim look on his features. In a move she had completed thousands of times, she drew her weapons and dove forward. The thugs had little time to react as she hit them. The one who had done the talking – and insulting – went down first, her blades hacking at him in a whirlwind. Behind her there was a soft curse, and Zevran was suddenly beside her.
She was laughing as she tore the throat out of the second thug. “Move fast or you lose Zev – I got the first two!”
“We are not competing for points!” He snapped, even as he buried a long, slim triangular poignard into the last thug's face via his eye.
After the last man's body hit the ground, Miolanai twirled her blades, blood flying free, the queer metal shedding the viscous fluid easily. “Good, because you lost.” Sheathing her blades, the Warden began digging through pouches and pockets, ignoring Zevran who appeared to be seething. Guess he's a sore looser? Meh, his issue, not mine!
The Crow was quiet for a few seconds, before his whiskey accented voice rolled into her head. “And why did you feel the need to kill these... minor ruffians?”
“Because, they were annoying.” Grunting, she tossed away some useless-looking bits of string from the first thug.
There was a deep sigh. “You cannot do that.”
That made her laugh. “I just did, so I think evidence would say otherwise.”
“No, I mean...” Another weighty sigh made her look up, and she noted that the Crow's arms were crossed, and he wasn't even looking at her, but at the other people who had shied away from the scuffle. “I mean, normal people do not do that. You should have let me handle that situation.”
Finding nothing of value to her on the first thug, Miolanai scuttled to the second. “Yeah, I saw you were right on that.”
“...No, I could have told them we were Crows - and they would have left us be - no casualties, no bodies to worry about -” She could practically feel him rubbing his forehead in aggravation, no matter that she wasn't willing to waste the time to glance at him.
The second thug was a much better thing, particularly his pouch, and the Warden crowed as she poured the contents into one hand. “Hey! This one has four sovereigns!”
“Dear Maker, you're taking money off of them?” His voice was strained and incredulous.
Checking over her shoulder, she watched him press his face to his palm, while she explained as though he were dumb. “Yeah, they don't need it. Hey, and they buy lunch for the next month. I would say that's pretty awesome.”
He waved a hand at the corpses. “Look, my dear, normal people do not... just do this.”
Miolanai snorted, going to the last body. “Yeah, they just get raped or robbed.”
“...No... look,” the Crow growled, “The thugs attacked because you are armed and armored. They would have left us alone if you'd been dressed like a normal woman.”
“That's a steaming pile of bronto shit,” she said, rising, and wiped her hands off on her breastplate.
“No, they would have looked at me, realized I was your bodyguard and not bothered, as I was not out of place.” She could tell he was attempting to keep his temper.
But then again, so was she. She hadn't made it through a Blight by letting some fancy man carry her, and she had seen how well others did as protectors on her wedding day.
Setting her jaw, she leveled her best intimidating stare at him. “...Hah... Yeah, right.”
There was the barest flinch, and his expression became wary. “Look. This is a civilized country, Warden. Threats do not just happen upon a whim. You draw attention with how you are. That is why we were attacked.”
“Pfft,” she scoffed. “You're full of it. Come on, let's get to your place, where I can work off some of this energy, because this-” She jerked her chin at the bodies around them, scattered like broken dolls. “-was barely a workout.”
There was a gusty sigh. “As you wish. We go work out, then we go buy some normal clothes, befitting a woman in Antiva City.”
That made her chuckle, enjoying the fact that she had this man frustrated – she had a dangerous sense of fun from such things. “This is my normal clothes!” She shifted the weight of her armor significantly so it would clunk together faintly.
“So, you are just ready to kill anyone who looks at you twice? You are ready to constantly invite danger?” This was almost hissed at her, and for a moment, Miolanai felt as if she had upset Alistair, who would always be so disappointed when she rushed headlong into something without backup. “You will be beaten down eventually if you go on like that. Like a sword constantly hacking at things, you will blunt and chip your edges until you are no more. You cannot live like that! No one can!”
“Watch me.” Gritting her teeth, Miolanai held her head up high. What he said made no sense. None at all. Which is what she had to remind herself of, or she may have to face the fact that there was something about her not normal.
XXX
The tannery district stank. Then again, tanneries always stank: of cesspools, brains and bodies decomposing. That was normal. Parts of any city or town that held tanneries were always the poorest, and that held true, even here, in this country where elegance reigned supreme. Tall tenement buildings were dingy grey, rather than the sparkling white of other districts. At least none of the buildings looked unstable the way the ones of the Denerim Alienage had. Just... worn.
Even so, there were window-boxes, and half-porches, that held herbs, and on one half-porch, there were tomatoes growing, their green leafy vines twining around the metal railing. The cobbles here were not as flat, or well repaired, either, and the Warden had to watch her footing a little, as one stone had been loose and wobbled under her foot unexpectedly. There were not so many people as in other areas, either, and there were small, scraggly looking dogs that nosed about, eating from some small piles of trash on the sides of the street. A little old lady, stooped, sweeping industriously before her doorway, nodded and waved at Zevran, who returned the greeting.
“Hola, madre! Tu estas bien?” His voice carried easily, his body language relaxed in a way that Miolanai hadn't seen before.
It was like he was on his home turf. Then again, she supposed that if this was where his flat was, then he was on his home turf. It was a little startling, because she had thought him relaxed at other points, but here he was smiling, the tension having completely bled from his bearing.
“Bien, bien, guapo!” The old woman chuckled, her gray-shot wavy black hair held back by a colorful scarf bobbed along with her head, her long yellow skirt dusty brown at the hem, and the white billowy sleeves of her shirt flapped.
Leaning over, she murmured, “What did you say?”
That seemed to bring him back, and some of the tension returned. “Forgive me. Tchk, I forget you do not even know the most basic of the language. I merely said 'hello, mother, are you well'. She said 'good'.” His lips thinned for a moment. “We shall have to undertake this the way a child would.”
“What?” She frowned at him.
“I shall point to things, or you shall, and I will tell you what it is in Antivan.” He gave a tiny shrug. “You will learn better this way. I could pull books out on grammar, spelling, structure – but that is not the best way to learn. Even so, you shall have to hide how well you speak Antivan. Tongues wag more around someone who is ignorant of the language.”
Tilting her head side to side, the Warden looked high into the azure blue sky, agreeing. “Sounds logical, but a book of definitions would be good.”
She felt more than saw the Crow pause. “You can read? Ah, good then; that shall make many things easier.”
Miolanai jostled him with her elbow lightly. “Hey, I'm a bumpkin, alley rat – doesn't mean I can't read or do math. Um... but you may not want to look at my writing. It even gives me a headache, trying to read it.”
Zevran appeared to be guiding them towards a particular building, one that looked no different than the rest, yet had a different 'air' to it. “I shall keep that in mind.”
Suddenly there was a screaming squeal, and a gaggle of children – ranging in ages from four to ten – came careening from an alleyway, a rawhide ball being kicked back and forth between them. At the initial shout, Miolanai had almost reached for her weapons, but then she identified the children for what they were – children. She didn't get to see many of those anymore, not since leaving the Alienage, not unless they were refugees of some sort, so the elf paused, taking in the sight. Sunbaked long limbs on the older ones, and smaller chubby ones on the littlest of the group. All were dark-haired, though some had sun-lightened streaks woven amongst their wavy or curly hair, and all were laughing and screaming as they gamboled from one side of the street to the other.
The Crow next to her paused, for which she was grateful. These very children were the ones that Alistair had saved. Them, and all the others – from Ferelden to Orlais, to Rivain and Par Vollen. From shem, to elf, to dwarf – her friend had given himself so that people could do go about their lives. If the big, dumb, Templar-trained oaf – who wasn't really dumb, or an oaf, merely big – had been here, Miolanai was sure he would have been smiling. Chewing her bottom lip, the young Warden sighed, content to watch, not just for herself, but for her brother in all but blood.
A curly haired head, with a sunnily smiling face, glanced up from playing, and spied the pair of elves. “Zevran!”
As fast as that, the nameless game ended, and they raced towards them. Miolanai was swamped by children, some almost as tall as herself. A jumble of words that she couldn't even begin to follow was forming, one tiny girl jumping up and down before the Warden, grabbing her hand. Laughing and shaking her head, she picked the girl up without thought. This earned her a happy squeal, and a grubby hand in her hair.
“I don't understand,” she said, smiling at the girl who tugged on a white lock of hair.
Zevran paused in some explanation to one of the children. “She wants to know if a ghost scared you and made your hair like that.”
Miolanai's nose crinkled. “No, I was born with white hair.”
The Crow shot off the reply quickly, and went back to nodding and listening to the larger children around him. They were tugging on his arms and pointing one way and then another, with one proudly showing off a silver ring. The elf surmised that the youth had stolen it, and was bragging at the success. At least, that's what Miolanai guessed, even as she felt her 'dummy' coinpurse being lifted from her hip. She always wore one from her belt that usually held a few silvers and some copper bits. Usually, cut-purses would go for it, satisfied with such slim pickings, and she remembered a time, not so many years ago, that such a bounty was what kept food on her family's table. So, she didn't react, content to hold the girl in her arms, and let the others think her fooled.
However, she could see that Zevran hadn't been taken in by her ruse of inattention, and saw a twitch of an approving smile on his face. At that moment, she had to admit, he did look rather handsome. He was gold to their dark, and appeared utterly carefree. It was then that she thought maybe this was why he lived near the tanneries, for this sense of community. She knew she would have picked a similar sort of place for that very same reason.
“Speak Common, I,” a young, shapeless girl – from the voice, if not the build – said to her.
“Yes?” She turned to look at the girl.
“Good money,” she said, holding the pilfered purse up. “Big money.”
“Keep it,” Miolanai said, waving her hand at the girl.
She shook her head, frowning. “Big money. Mierda, no se!”
“Have.” Miolanai reached out, curling the girl’s hand around the purse tightly. “Bien?” Trying out the word Zevran had said meant 'good', she said it with a question to her voice, unsure if she was using it properly. “Zevran.” She cast him a glance, giving him a light nudge with her foot. “Tell her she can keep it for her and her family. There's maybe a sovereign in there in coppers and silvers. I have plenty, and I remember when every bit helped.”
“Aquí, Dieda, por ti y familia.” Zevran's words seemed to soothe the young cut-purse who made the pouch disappear into the long, belted tunic she wore that appeared to be the universal dress for the children, leaving their legs bare.
A few more minutes of gabbling children and then, as fast as they had appeared, they left, resuming their game. The girl in Miolanai's arms wiggled, indicating she wished to be put down, which she did quickly, but got a fast kiss on each cheek before the girl scampered off. Warmed by more than the weather, the Warden felt a moment of peace she hadn't had in so long. Children in Ferelden weren't so happy and free, not even in the Alienage where she had grown up, and the Warden wished she could bottle up such a thing and send it back to that abysmally gray country for all to share in.
“Well,” Zevran chuckled, “it appears you have been accepted by these locals at least. Fear not for your purse, next time, Dieda is the leader of that band, and will share out the bounty to them. She would feel too bad to take from you again, unless there was great need, or if you played so ignorant again – which is practically an invitation.”
Finding a broad smile on her face, she said, “It's weird. It stinks to the Black City and back, but I think just now was the most at home I've felt in years.”
The Crow clapped her shoulder, a brow raised. “Tchk, this is the way people are here. Are they not like this at all in Ferelden?”
“No.” Shaking her head, she followed him towards the building with green trim around the windows – most of which had at least slatted shutters on them. “They don't greet each other with kisses and hugs. Children may run in the square in some places, but they don't go up to people much. Too many stories from fearful mothers about nasty Orleasians kidnapping them away to be serfs, or darkspawn eating them for misbehaving.”
Zevran's face scrunched in clear distaste. “That is foolish. Children do not... outside of the Guild, children are cherished things, and even in the Guild, we had every fifth day off to play and be children.” Shade came over them suddenly, as he pushed open a door to the building, the deeply recessed doorway granting the dimness. “I do not like the sound of your country much. Bland food, fearful children, bah. Is there anything to recommend your country?”
Miolanai shrugged. “Strength and mabari hounds?”
“I hear stories that men cannot fall asleep without their dogs in their bed.” He appeared confused by this as he led them up several flights of stairs in the dark hall with creaking floorboards, and she found that the interior's plaster was painted with life-like scenery. “Or was that their women?”
The friendly jibe flew over her head, because she had halted on the steps, head cocked, tracing the painting with a finger. The way the scene had been painted was like the staircase was nothing more than a balcony, with artistically crumbling walls, that overlooked a bay, that were even built up with more plaster so it felt like a crumbling wall. There were even little ships painted off in the 'distance', while in the closer edges to the 'wall' of the balcony, she could see a sloping hill covered in white adobe houses with flat roofs.
“Hmm, you like?” The Crow sat on a step, knees spread, hands clasped between them. “This is the work of several months. There's more, if you wish to explore.”
Shaking off the surprise, she said, “You say that like you know the artist.”
He chuckled sardonically. “You could say that, but come, Warden, there is energy to be worked off, and I have not been to my home in days.”
Periodically she would have to stop as they continued up the stairs, simply to lean close, squinting at the artwork that the stairwell was sheathed in. She could barely see the brushstrokes, partially due to the lighting, and partially because the painter had been highly skilled, she guessed. Everything was so lifelike that it made the narrow stairway feel open and cool, like a fresh breeze was twisting through, coming off the sea. Frankly, this was awe-inspiring.
Every now and then, a hallway to other doors would come, but they continued past those. Miolanai did spare a glance down of the corridors, and saw that every inch of available space had been painted similarly to the stair. Shaking her head in befuddled awe, the elf tried to take it all in at once. The Crow hadn't appeared to mind that she liked to 'explore' as he put it, always stopping, and letting her look her fill before continuing, while a small smile played around his lips. At least he wasn't impatient, or making wisecracks, she figured.
Finally a brilliantly varnished orange door was reached at the top of the stairs, its bulbous top framed by a carved arch. Zevran hesitated, before simply opening the door. A second hesitation, and Miolanai could tell his shoulders were bunched under his armor, the tendons above one elbow shifting and tight, betraying his unease.
“Something amiss?” She asked, her voice soft, pitched for his ears alone.
“No.” A twitch, and then he waved her over the threshold, bowing as he held the door wide, “Mi casa, es su casa.”
Entering, the Warden had to stop dead in her tracks. The walls were covered in paint, from floor to ceiling – and even that was painted. How someone could paint a ceiling that high up, Miolanai wasn't sure. One wall was like a forest glen, at the edge of a cliff, that eased into more pictures of a bay. Overhead was all striking blue, with clouds and little birds. Reaching out, she had to steady herself on the door frame, jaw hanging open.
“Dear Maker, it's... breathtaking, Zevran!” Her voice was hushed and strained.
For an aching moment, she wanted to weep. She had truly never seen something so beautiful in her life. Everything was painstakingly done, with a loving attention to detail that made the wide space glow. Blinking burning eyes rapidly, she looked at him, and saw that the bronze elf was shifting, almost nervously as he watched her reactions.
“Who painted all this?” she asked, gesturing to the apartment, and back behind her, towards all the decorated halls.
“Crows are trained to be artistic, as well as deadly.” She let him tug her fully into his flat as he closed the door. “I suffered many broken bones in my hands to make me as good as I am. Artistry can be pounded into anyone, after a time.”
She glanced at his hands, which were well formed, strong and elegant. There was no sign that he had ever had born such injuries. Frowning, she grabbed the other elf's hand, flipping it over, and pressed her thumbs into the meat of his palm. Not a single telltale ridge met the exploration, which he allowed with good grace. Pinching his fingers Miolanai found nothing to ever indicate he had suffered such wounds. That meant he had had access to a very good healer, maybe even a mage, for there to have been no lasting damage.
There was a stuttering grunt, and a thump from somewhere, followed by rapid thumping footsteps that were light. Miolanai jerked away from Zevran, hand going to her sword, pulling it partially free, even as the Crow turned, leaned down as some long, spotted... cat-like... thing, leaped into his waiting arms. The creature was huge.
“Aiee, Emi, did you miss Papi?” Gargantuan ears that were like rounded triangles wiggled and waved as the animal hissed lightly, displaying a good set of sharp teeth. Zevran didn't seem to care as he rubbed his nose to the black one before him. “Aie, Papi missed you, yes; was he gone a long time?”
Some... strange... squeaking noise that sounded like 'squee-squee' came from the golden throat with its little black spots. Miolanai's eyes felt like they were about to pop out of her head as the cat-thing opened its mouth, and made as though it were biting him on the jugular several times, while making more squee-squee noises. The elf was supporting the cat under its hindquarters while he rubbed and petted its head and back, pressing his face into the the creature’s shoulder. It was like Anders with Ser Pounce-A-Lot, but... far more bizarre. The cat, 'Emi', had to weigh almost a third as much as the elf when he wasn't wearing armor, yet he was acting as though this were some tiny little mouser.
“What is that?” She gasped, finally breaking her silence.
“Oh? Ember? He is my cat.” He shrugged, while carrying the cat further into his flat, like that should be apparent and not sound insane at all. Zevran turned towards her, jiggling Ember a little to get his attention, “Emi- Emi – listen to Papi.”
The cat stopped his nipping at Zevran, ears flicking forward, eyes going large, as if he were saying, 'I'm listening!'
Zevran jerked his head at Mio, bidding her to come closer, which she did, reluctantly. “Emi, this is Mio. Mio friend. Amiga, Emi. Tu amiga.”
Another one of those hisses that stuttered, and the cat was turning large, inquisitive eyes on her. It looked from Zevran to her and back again a few times, before stretching his neck out sniffing in her direction. Cautiously, Miolanai raised her hand up, letting the large cat butt his nose into her palm. From there, it promptly nipped at the side of her hand. However, there was no pressure in it. Almost like Ser Iptitous would do when greeting her.
She chuckled at Ember. “Hello. You're just a giant pussycat huh?”
“And spoiled utterly rotten I tell you.” Zevran loosened his hold, and Ember dropped gracefully to the floor with a whump. “He may make like he is going to scratch or bite you, but generally it is only in play. This hissing he does? It is to tell you he is excited, and his squeaking, that is his happy sounds.”
Miolanai squatted, even as Ember wound around her legs, nipping at her shin-guards. “I think Anders would have died and thought himself Maker-blessed if he ever met a feline like this.” At her feet, the spotted cat rolled onto his back, his forepaws wrapping around her ankle, and she felt instant purring begin when she started rubbing the cat's stomach. “He reminds me of Ser Iptitious a little bit. Big, playful, and soft.”
There was an awkward silence, between them, except Miolanai wasn't very aware of it, focused mainly on Ember, who had just discovered the ties on her greaves, and was swatting at one of the strings. She was amazed at how gentle the cat was, because one moment Ember had flexed his paw, revealing how large and wicked his claws were, but whenever he wrapped a paw around one of Miolanai's fingers, the claws were retracted.
“On a contract three years ago, I killed my mark,” the Crow began, moving to go sit on a peach-colored, low footstool, “but I could hear this little strange sound.”
Ember seemed to know he was being talked about, and sat up partially facing his 'papi' – which Miolanai thought might mean 'papa', but she couldn't be sure. It may sound similar to 'papa' or 'papae', however it could be anything at all. The cat gave a funny little grunt-yip, and then returned his attention to her, rearing back on his hind legs and treating her to the same sort of soft bite he had given the Crow earlier.
“So you found him?” She asked, sitting on the floor with her legs crossed, which Ember quickly hopped into and set to purring, loud and deep.
Zevran waved a hand at the feline. “He was inside a small cage, with almost no food or water. I took my mark far away from the city, whilst he was poaching. No one would have come across Ember for far too long. I could not leave him, in good conscience, so, I picked the lock on the cage, and put him in my pack. There was an adolescent caracal that was also in a cage. It was rather hostile, but, I set that free. The drylands are such creatures’ homes, but many of the well-to-do like to keep them as pets. Ember is a serval, and is domesticated rather easily with enough care and attention.” She watched him shift on the footstool, a sardonic expression on his face. “These small wildcats, they are fiendishly intelligent. The caracal followed me actually, and since I was six days out from Antiva city, I continued to feed him. Whenever I leave the city in that direction, it seems like he returns to me in the nights. I was well guarded, that I know, between the caracal and my horse.”
“And Ember?” She scratched behind his ears, watching as the eyes drifted open and closed in contentment.
“Ember would hop and jump when I lit my cook fire, attempting to catch the little sparks.” A smile pulled his lush mouth upwards. “He was a tiny thing, barely weaned. I did not know he would get so big, but he has been a good companion these years. I put in little ramps for him all around,” he said, pointing to the walls, “so he could climb and jump to his heart’s content.”
Miolanai gave the apartment another look, squinting, only just able to discern narrow shelves on the walls. They, too, were painted, and blended in perfectly with the sea and mountain-scapes. The Crow could say what he willed about his artistic ability, for he truly was gifted.
Carefully, Miolanai stood, hanging onto Ember, who purred happily at being cuddled. He sure was heavy, weighing what had to be over three stone. She liked his silken fur and the vibrations of his purrs, and the way his huge ears flicked against her cheeks as he nosed at her jaw. Going to one of the walls, having long since forgotten the original intent of coming to Zevran's sanctuary, the Warden examined the painted plaster. She wasn't sure how long she did this, slowly moving as she took it all in, up to the black, wrought iron spiral staircase, but the smell of strongly spiced tea reached her nose.
Soft clinking of glass and tray came from the area where several couch-like piles of cushions sat. “I know you wish to spar Warden, but until you are ready, why not relax a little?”
Startled from her reverie, her meandering path around the wide-open flat having taken her up to a platform where a bed and two bookshelves were, she apologized. “I'm sorry Zevran. I didn't mean to snoop so much.”
He waved it off dismissively. “I do not entertain visitors much, and, other than my housekeeper and her son who runs errands for me, I am... unaccustomed to people being in my home. It is... interesting to see how another takes my humble abode.”
“What's up there?” She pointed to the staircase.
“The roof; in the summers, it is hot, and with no windows, I sleep up there.” He had removed his boots at some point, and his armor, having switched to black, loose, square-legged pants that were slung low on his muscular hips. For a shirt, there was nothing but a fuchsia vest that was held shut by three ties near the center of his abdomen, showing off brawny arms, flashes of stomach and collarbone freely. Frankly the color clash should have been unflattering, but adding in the fact that the Crow was clearly comfortable dressed like that, and the small paint stains dotting the garments here and there, did far less than detract from his attractiveness. “Also my pots of herbs, some vegetables, my rain barrels and my alchemical devices.”
Setting Ember down with a last stroke, she joined him down in the sitting area. “You have so many books. At the Vigil we had I think... two hundred. They cost a fortune, I suppose, but you have almost the same number on your shelves.”
Zevran poured tea into a cup for her and then for himself. “Did I not say that being a Crow has its rewards? I find living in a poorer section of the city allows me much funds for the... finer things. Good weapons, armor, books, things of that nature, yes? Besides, I would miss the smell of the tanneries if I were to live elsewhere.”
Wrinkling her nose, she looked at him askance. “The smell of cesspits is something you'd miss?”
One of those low, belly-warming laughs met her ears. “Oh yes! When I first was purchased by the Crows, they packed us in like crates into tiny apartments not very far from here. Ah – such interesting trouble I got into there. Good times.”
“Was it very hard being there?” Curious, Miolanai weighed his expressions. He was rather guarded, even though he appeared open and relaxed. “Your training, was it so very bad?”
“Hmm... it was better than the alternative.” Shrugging, he blew on his tea before sipping. “Shall I tell you what happened to the other whorehouse boys who didn't fetch a good price? No. Becoming a Crow, it was hard, yes. Studies in anatomy, math, alchemy – these things, they came all at once, along with learning how to fight, how to survive, beatings when you did not do things correctly, but if you did, you got a full belly, and advanced on to the next levels.”
She noted the graceful way he sat, even when utterly still; he was like some languid cat. “I imagine you did very well, then.”
“Amongst the Crows, yes.” He shrugged. “One must survive not only the rigors of training, but your fellow trainees. It is something to be proud of.”
“How long have you been a Crow?” Leaning forward, Miolanai finally picked up her glass of tea, which was far more plain than the ones she had seen up until now, but no less well-made, for that.
His head tilted to the side, amber eyes hooded. “And why would you wish to know? Suffice to say that it is longer than you have been alive.”
Blinking, Miolanai did the math. If he had been bought at the age of seven, then he had to be a minimum of seven years older than her. That would put him at the least in the vicinity of thirty-two. However, she thought he may be older than that, from the way he spoke, it was like he had had many years of experience, and more tales to tell than a room full of bards. Even though he didn’t appear to be much older than herself, older than her, yes, but vastly so.
Nose crinkling, she changed the subject. “So, tell me about your adventures then, if you've been a Crow so long.”
He gave a sharp bark of laughter. “What? Am I some old man to be shaking my fist at children, reminiscing about the good old days?”
“Aren't you?” she asked, needling him.
“Pfah! Forty-three is hardly an old man!” The words were a rough, incredulous scoff. “I may have had many apprentices in the last twenty years, but none of them were ever so cheeky as you!”
“Wow, you're old,” she remarked, surprised. “My father is forty-eight.”
That gave him pause, obviously, for he went completely and utterly still. “My dear, my only reply to that would sound excessively rude.”
“I'm hard to offend,” she replied, shrugging, and took a long sip of her tea.
“Then allow me to say this: there is a vast difference between a poorly-fed carpenter from an Alienage in a backwater country, and a man who has been raised well-fed, for the most part...” he set his cup down, gaze steady, as he continued, “...who has never had to worry for lack of a healer, and who never had to cope with the loss of his wife, and subsequently raise three children, two of whom were excruciatingly rambunctious. No. I am as fit as a man your age, and shall stay that way for quite some time, Maker willing. Crows who make it to my age are either Crow Masters, or things to be feared. Death comes swiftly to those of us who are unable or unwilling to remain healthy.”
Grunting, Miolanai finished her tea, muttering, “You'll live way longer than me, no doubt about that. I won't make it past fifty, fifty-five.” Banishing the foul thought from her mind, she stood abruptly. “You should put your armor back on; I hit hard when I spar.”
“Has no one ever told you that the true measure of skill is knowing how to pull your strikes, while seeming to put your entire strength behind it?” Annoyingly, he remained seated. “Humor me and put on a spare set of my sparring tunic and pants. I wish to examine how you move in a fight, when the view is not blocked by bulky armor, and we shall use my rattan weapons, not live steel.”
XXX
Hola guapa - hey cute girl
Mira la diversión -
Necesitas un hombre verdardero, chica, enséñele una lección - she needs a real man to show her, her place (aprox)
Hola, madre! Tu estas bien - hello mother, how are you?
Bien, bien, guapo - good, good, handsome
Mierda, no se - Shit, don’t know (the word)
Aquí, Dieda, por ti y familia - Here/have, Dieda, for you and your family
Mi casa, es su casa. - my home, is your home
Amiga, Emi. Tu amiga - Friend, Emi, your friend
Author: Rhion
Rating: T for now, AO - eventually
Disclaimer: Me no own, you no sue.
Summary: AU. Zev never went to Ferelden. Now, Miolanai, Hero of Ferelden finds herself in Antiva. Master Ignacio assigns her a bodyguard and guide. A guide who just so happens to have been friends with the Crow she killed so long ago during the beginnings of the Blight.
AN: My computer crashed. HARD. Very hard. Like titanium boner hard sort of crash in a very bad way. I lost almost eight thousand words worth of story and notes, that frankly if it hadn't been for
bellaknoti I would be up the creek, sans paddles, and arms to use them if I had them. Basically, I'm in the habit of sending her large chunks of text via messenger (same with nagia, whom I used to reclaim my notes), that I was able to rebuild almost all of what I had lost. Really, just some tweaks etc, were lost from what I had given to bellaknoti, stuff to make certain passages a little more artistic... but trust me, if I had really lost all that, with no sort of backup anywhere... well... Guild-ed would probably stop right there, and never progress. I woulda been too upset by it. I don't handle loosing material very well at all. I become a grody, sobbing wreck, that not even karaoke singing ZG doing a little dance to White Town's Your Woman can even cheer me up.... and yes, that did happen. I did cheer up because I remembered I'd sent so much of chapter 4 to b, and was thus able to rescue Guild-ed from a horrid death.Beta'd by
bellaknoti, musing and random rambling aided by nagia, and also of course, zevguy also. Without support, this ball of fluffy color would have gone running for the hankies even more than what already occurred this morning. Even if none of the above were present during the wreck of black screen o'doom, their presences were felt. In very special ways. GET YOUR MINDS OUT OF THE GUTTERS IT'S NOT LIKE THAT!XXX
Guild-ed 3
XXX
There were people everywhere. Miolanai hadn't ever seen so many at once. Now that she wasn't so tired, now that she was fresh and alert – and no longer paying attention to examining Zevran, as she had been yesterday – she was really noticing them. Everywhere, people. Elbow to elbow in some places, and there were fountains, and buildings and store fronts and cafes and – the list went on.
And there were still so many people.
Also, their surroundings seemed to become poorer, which she supposed made sense; Zevran was a slave, and his concept of wealth was probably different than what she had come to associate with that term. Not that she minded - she was from an Alienage and had no problem with poverty - it was just that poorer sections meant an increase of desperate people, and desperate people meant thugs...
...Like the ones she had noticed lounging against that building, ahead. A trio of dark-haired Antivans, swarthy skinned, and coarse, they had been eyeing her and Zevran as they came closer to the intersection. Beside her, the Crow had appeared to simply discount the ruffians, but Miolanai knew trouble when she saw it, and these shem shouted it, with their rough leathers and daggers, their game of knucklebones that two of them were playing. She could feel their eyes on her though, feel their scorn and curiosity. So far, in the distance she and Zevran had gone, she had only seen a handful of armed women, all of whom appeared foreign or Dalish. Or possibly Crows.
Miolanai hadn't watched the faces of the people they passed, just their body language and dress – faces meant nothing. Everything was in bearing. The trio's screamed 'thug' and 'danger' to everything in her. Reaching up casually, like she was simply adjusting her hair, Miolanai loosened her sword in its sheath.
“Hola guapa,” one of them called as they got within easy speaking distance. Or well – easy enough. “Mira la diversión!”
Miolanai didn't need to know what the tallest of the three said as he rose. “Necesitas un hombre verdardero, chica, enséñele una lección!” sounded enough like a rude catcall and challenge to her ears. When it was coupled by the three sauntering towards them, exchanging glances with each other – Miolanai decided to give them just a little bit more line to hang themselves. Besides, Zevran had yet to say anything, and even he was tense. Pursing her lips, the Warden decided that that was enough – especially with how the Crow had drawn himself up, tilted his head to one side, a grim look on his features. In a move she had completed thousands of times, she drew her weapons and dove forward. The thugs had little time to react as she hit them. The one who had done the talking – and insulting – went down first, her blades hacking at him in a whirlwind. Behind her there was a soft curse, and Zevran was suddenly beside her.
She was laughing as she tore the throat out of the second thug. “Move fast or you lose Zev – I got the first two!”
“We are not competing for points!” He snapped, even as he buried a long, slim triangular poignard into the last thug's face via his eye.
After the last man's body hit the ground, Miolanai twirled her blades, blood flying free, the queer metal shedding the viscous fluid easily. “Good, because you lost.” Sheathing her blades, the Warden began digging through pouches and pockets, ignoring Zevran who appeared to be seething. Guess he's a sore looser? Meh, his issue, not mine!
The Crow was quiet for a few seconds, before his whiskey accented voice rolled into her head. “And why did you feel the need to kill these... minor ruffians?”
“Because, they were annoying.” Grunting, she tossed away some useless-looking bits of string from the first thug.
There was a deep sigh. “You cannot do that.”
That made her laugh. “I just did, so I think evidence would say otherwise.”
“No, I mean...” Another weighty sigh made her look up, and she noted that the Crow's arms were crossed, and he wasn't even looking at her, but at the other people who had shied away from the scuffle. “I mean, normal people do not do that. You should have let me handle that situation.”
Finding nothing of value to her on the first thug, Miolanai scuttled to the second. “Yeah, I saw you were right on that.”
“...No, I could have told them we were Crows - and they would have left us be - no casualties, no bodies to worry about -” She could practically feel him rubbing his forehead in aggravation, no matter that she wasn't willing to waste the time to glance at him.
The second thug was a much better thing, particularly his pouch, and the Warden crowed as she poured the contents into one hand. “Hey! This one has four sovereigns!”
“Dear Maker, you're taking money off of them?” His voice was strained and incredulous.
Checking over her shoulder, she watched him press his face to his palm, while she explained as though he were dumb. “Yeah, they don't need it. Hey, and they buy lunch for the next month. I would say that's pretty awesome.”
He waved a hand at the corpses. “Look, my dear, normal people do not... just do this.”
Miolanai snorted, going to the last body. “Yeah, they just get raped or robbed.”
“...No... look,” the Crow growled, “The thugs attacked because you are armed and armored. They would have left us alone if you'd been dressed like a normal woman.”
“That's a steaming pile of bronto shit,” she said, rising, and wiped her hands off on her breastplate.
“No, they would have looked at me, realized I was your bodyguard and not bothered, as I was not out of place.” She could tell he was attempting to keep his temper.
But then again, so was she. She hadn't made it through a Blight by letting some fancy man carry her, and she had seen how well others did as protectors on her wedding day.
Setting her jaw, she leveled her best intimidating stare at him. “...Hah... Yeah, right.”
There was the barest flinch, and his expression became wary. “Look. This is a civilized country, Warden. Threats do not just happen upon a whim. You draw attention with how you are. That is why we were attacked.”
“Pfft,” she scoffed. “You're full of it. Come on, let's get to your place, where I can work off some of this energy, because this-” She jerked her chin at the bodies around them, scattered like broken dolls. “-was barely a workout.”
There was a gusty sigh. “As you wish. We go work out, then we go buy some normal clothes, befitting a woman in Antiva City.”
That made her chuckle, enjoying the fact that she had this man frustrated – she had a dangerous sense of fun from such things. “This is my normal clothes!” She shifted the weight of her armor significantly so it would clunk together faintly.
“So, you are just ready to kill anyone who looks at you twice? You are ready to constantly invite danger?” This was almost hissed at her, and for a moment, Miolanai felt as if she had upset Alistair, who would always be so disappointed when she rushed headlong into something without backup. “You will be beaten down eventually if you go on like that. Like a sword constantly hacking at things, you will blunt and chip your edges until you are no more. You cannot live like that! No one can!”
“Watch me.” Gritting her teeth, Miolanai held her head up high. What he said made no sense. None at all. Which is what she had to remind herself of, or she may have to face the fact that there was something about her not normal.
XXX
The tannery district stank. Then again, tanneries always stank: of cesspools, brains and bodies decomposing. That was normal. Parts of any city or town that held tanneries were always the poorest, and that held true, even here, in this country where elegance reigned supreme. Tall tenement buildings were dingy grey, rather than the sparkling white of other districts. At least none of the buildings looked unstable the way the ones of the Denerim Alienage had. Just... worn.
Even so, there were window-boxes, and half-porches, that held herbs, and on one half-porch, there were tomatoes growing, their green leafy vines twining around the metal railing. The cobbles here were not as flat, or well repaired, either, and the Warden had to watch her footing a little, as one stone had been loose and wobbled under her foot unexpectedly. There were not so many people as in other areas, either, and there were small, scraggly looking dogs that nosed about, eating from some small piles of trash on the sides of the street. A little old lady, stooped, sweeping industriously before her doorway, nodded and waved at Zevran, who returned the greeting.
“Hola, madre! Tu estas bien?” His voice carried easily, his body language relaxed in a way that Miolanai hadn't seen before.
It was like he was on his home turf. Then again, she supposed that if this was where his flat was, then he was on his home turf. It was a little startling, because she had thought him relaxed at other points, but here he was smiling, the tension having completely bled from his bearing.
“Bien, bien, guapo!” The old woman chuckled, her gray-shot wavy black hair held back by a colorful scarf bobbed along with her head, her long yellow skirt dusty brown at the hem, and the white billowy sleeves of her shirt flapped.
Leaning over, she murmured, “What did you say?”
That seemed to bring him back, and some of the tension returned. “Forgive me. Tchk, I forget you do not even know the most basic of the language. I merely said 'hello, mother, are you well'. She said 'good'.” His lips thinned for a moment. “We shall have to undertake this the way a child would.”
“What?” She frowned at him.
“I shall point to things, or you shall, and I will tell you what it is in Antivan.” He gave a tiny shrug. “You will learn better this way. I could pull books out on grammar, spelling, structure – but that is not the best way to learn. Even so, you shall have to hide how well you speak Antivan. Tongues wag more around someone who is ignorant of the language.”
Tilting her head side to side, the Warden looked high into the azure blue sky, agreeing. “Sounds logical, but a book of definitions would be good.”
She felt more than saw the Crow pause. “You can read? Ah, good then; that shall make many things easier.”
Miolanai jostled him with her elbow lightly. “Hey, I'm a bumpkin, alley rat – doesn't mean I can't read or do math. Um... but you may not want to look at my writing. It even gives me a headache, trying to read it.”
Zevran appeared to be guiding them towards a particular building, one that looked no different than the rest, yet had a different 'air' to it. “I shall keep that in mind.”
Suddenly there was a screaming squeal, and a gaggle of children – ranging in ages from four to ten – came careening from an alleyway, a rawhide ball being kicked back and forth between them. At the initial shout, Miolanai had almost reached for her weapons, but then she identified the children for what they were – children. She didn't get to see many of those anymore, not since leaving the Alienage, not unless they were refugees of some sort, so the elf paused, taking in the sight. Sunbaked long limbs on the older ones, and smaller chubby ones on the littlest of the group. All were dark-haired, though some had sun-lightened streaks woven amongst their wavy or curly hair, and all were laughing and screaming as they gamboled from one side of the street to the other.
The Crow next to her paused, for which she was grateful. These very children were the ones that Alistair had saved. Them, and all the others – from Ferelden to Orlais, to Rivain and Par Vollen. From shem, to elf, to dwarf – her friend had given himself so that people could do go about their lives. If the big, dumb, Templar-trained oaf – who wasn't really dumb, or an oaf, merely big – had been here, Miolanai was sure he would have been smiling. Chewing her bottom lip, the young Warden sighed, content to watch, not just for herself, but for her brother in all but blood.
A curly haired head, with a sunnily smiling face, glanced up from playing, and spied the pair of elves. “Zevran!”
As fast as that, the nameless game ended, and they raced towards them. Miolanai was swamped by children, some almost as tall as herself. A jumble of words that she couldn't even begin to follow was forming, one tiny girl jumping up and down before the Warden, grabbing her hand. Laughing and shaking her head, she picked the girl up without thought. This earned her a happy squeal, and a grubby hand in her hair.
“I don't understand,” she said, smiling at the girl who tugged on a white lock of hair.
Zevran paused in some explanation to one of the children. “She wants to know if a ghost scared you and made your hair like that.”
Miolanai's nose crinkled. “No, I was born with white hair.”
The Crow shot off the reply quickly, and went back to nodding and listening to the larger children around him. They were tugging on his arms and pointing one way and then another, with one proudly showing off a silver ring. The elf surmised that the youth had stolen it, and was bragging at the success. At least, that's what Miolanai guessed, even as she felt her 'dummy' coinpurse being lifted from her hip. She always wore one from her belt that usually held a few silvers and some copper bits. Usually, cut-purses would go for it, satisfied with such slim pickings, and she remembered a time, not so many years ago, that such a bounty was what kept food on her family's table. So, she didn't react, content to hold the girl in her arms, and let the others think her fooled.
However, she could see that Zevran hadn't been taken in by her ruse of inattention, and saw a twitch of an approving smile on his face. At that moment, she had to admit, he did look rather handsome. He was gold to their dark, and appeared utterly carefree. It was then that she thought maybe this was why he lived near the tanneries, for this sense of community. She knew she would have picked a similar sort of place for that very same reason.
“Speak Common, I,” a young, shapeless girl – from the voice, if not the build – said to her.
“Yes?” She turned to look at the girl.
“Good money,” she said, holding the pilfered purse up. “Big money.”
“Keep it,” Miolanai said, waving her hand at the girl.
She shook her head, frowning. “Big money. Mierda, no se!”
“Have.” Miolanai reached out, curling the girl’s hand around the purse tightly. “Bien?” Trying out the word Zevran had said meant 'good', she said it with a question to her voice, unsure if she was using it properly. “Zevran.” She cast him a glance, giving him a light nudge with her foot. “Tell her she can keep it for her and her family. There's maybe a sovereign in there in coppers and silvers. I have plenty, and I remember when every bit helped.”
“Aquí, Dieda, por ti y familia.” Zevran's words seemed to soothe the young cut-purse who made the pouch disappear into the long, belted tunic she wore that appeared to be the universal dress for the children, leaving their legs bare.
A few more minutes of gabbling children and then, as fast as they had appeared, they left, resuming their game. The girl in Miolanai's arms wiggled, indicating she wished to be put down, which she did quickly, but got a fast kiss on each cheek before the girl scampered off. Warmed by more than the weather, the Warden felt a moment of peace she hadn't had in so long. Children in Ferelden weren't so happy and free, not even in the Alienage where she had grown up, and the Warden wished she could bottle up such a thing and send it back to that abysmally gray country for all to share in.
“Well,” Zevran chuckled, “it appears you have been accepted by these locals at least. Fear not for your purse, next time, Dieda is the leader of that band, and will share out the bounty to them. She would feel too bad to take from you again, unless there was great need, or if you played so ignorant again – which is practically an invitation.”
Finding a broad smile on her face, she said, “It's weird. It stinks to the Black City and back, but I think just now was the most at home I've felt in years.”
The Crow clapped her shoulder, a brow raised. “Tchk, this is the way people are here. Are they not like this at all in Ferelden?”
“No.” Shaking her head, she followed him towards the building with green trim around the windows – most of which had at least slatted shutters on them. “They don't greet each other with kisses and hugs. Children may run in the square in some places, but they don't go up to people much. Too many stories from fearful mothers about nasty Orleasians kidnapping them away to be serfs, or darkspawn eating them for misbehaving.”
Zevran's face scrunched in clear distaste. “That is foolish. Children do not... outside of the Guild, children are cherished things, and even in the Guild, we had every fifth day off to play and be children.” Shade came over them suddenly, as he pushed open a door to the building, the deeply recessed doorway granting the dimness. “I do not like the sound of your country much. Bland food, fearful children, bah. Is there anything to recommend your country?”
Miolanai shrugged. “Strength and mabari hounds?”
“I hear stories that men cannot fall asleep without their dogs in their bed.” He appeared confused by this as he led them up several flights of stairs in the dark hall with creaking floorboards, and she found that the interior's plaster was painted with life-like scenery. “Or was that their women?”
The friendly jibe flew over her head, because she had halted on the steps, head cocked, tracing the painting with a finger. The way the scene had been painted was like the staircase was nothing more than a balcony, with artistically crumbling walls, that overlooked a bay, that were even built up with more plaster so it felt like a crumbling wall. There were even little ships painted off in the 'distance', while in the closer edges to the 'wall' of the balcony, she could see a sloping hill covered in white adobe houses with flat roofs.
“Hmm, you like?” The Crow sat on a step, knees spread, hands clasped between them. “This is the work of several months. There's more, if you wish to explore.”
Shaking off the surprise, she said, “You say that like you know the artist.”
He chuckled sardonically. “You could say that, but come, Warden, there is energy to be worked off, and I have not been to my home in days.”
Periodically she would have to stop as they continued up the stairs, simply to lean close, squinting at the artwork that the stairwell was sheathed in. She could barely see the brushstrokes, partially due to the lighting, and partially because the painter had been highly skilled, she guessed. Everything was so lifelike that it made the narrow stairway feel open and cool, like a fresh breeze was twisting through, coming off the sea. Frankly, this was awe-inspiring.
Every now and then, a hallway to other doors would come, but they continued past those. Miolanai did spare a glance down of the corridors, and saw that every inch of available space had been painted similarly to the stair. Shaking her head in befuddled awe, the elf tried to take it all in at once. The Crow hadn't appeared to mind that she liked to 'explore' as he put it, always stopping, and letting her look her fill before continuing, while a small smile played around his lips. At least he wasn't impatient, or making wisecracks, she figured.
Finally a brilliantly varnished orange door was reached at the top of the stairs, its bulbous top framed by a carved arch. Zevran hesitated, before simply opening the door. A second hesitation, and Miolanai could tell his shoulders were bunched under his armor, the tendons above one elbow shifting and tight, betraying his unease.
“Something amiss?” She asked, her voice soft, pitched for his ears alone.
“No.” A twitch, and then he waved her over the threshold, bowing as he held the door wide, “Mi casa, es su casa.”
Entering, the Warden had to stop dead in her tracks. The walls were covered in paint, from floor to ceiling – and even that was painted. How someone could paint a ceiling that high up, Miolanai wasn't sure. One wall was like a forest glen, at the edge of a cliff, that eased into more pictures of a bay. Overhead was all striking blue, with clouds and little birds. Reaching out, she had to steady herself on the door frame, jaw hanging open.
“Dear Maker, it's... breathtaking, Zevran!” Her voice was hushed and strained.
For an aching moment, she wanted to weep. She had truly never seen something so beautiful in her life. Everything was painstakingly done, with a loving attention to detail that made the wide space glow. Blinking burning eyes rapidly, she looked at him, and saw that the bronze elf was shifting, almost nervously as he watched her reactions.
“Who painted all this?” she asked, gesturing to the apartment, and back behind her, towards all the decorated halls.
“Crows are trained to be artistic, as well as deadly.” She let him tug her fully into his flat as he closed the door. “I suffered many broken bones in my hands to make me as good as I am. Artistry can be pounded into anyone, after a time.”
She glanced at his hands, which were well formed, strong and elegant. There was no sign that he had ever had born such injuries. Frowning, she grabbed the other elf's hand, flipping it over, and pressed her thumbs into the meat of his palm. Not a single telltale ridge met the exploration, which he allowed with good grace. Pinching his fingers Miolanai found nothing to ever indicate he had suffered such wounds. That meant he had had access to a very good healer, maybe even a mage, for there to have been no lasting damage.
There was a stuttering grunt, and a thump from somewhere, followed by rapid thumping footsteps that were light. Miolanai jerked away from Zevran, hand going to her sword, pulling it partially free, even as the Crow turned, leaned down as some long, spotted... cat-like... thing, leaped into his waiting arms. The creature was huge.
“Aiee, Emi, did you miss Papi?” Gargantuan ears that were like rounded triangles wiggled and waved as the animal hissed lightly, displaying a good set of sharp teeth. Zevran didn't seem to care as he rubbed his nose to the black one before him. “Aie, Papi missed you, yes; was he gone a long time?”
Some... strange... squeaking noise that sounded like 'squee-squee' came from the golden throat with its little black spots. Miolanai's eyes felt like they were about to pop out of her head as the cat-thing opened its mouth, and made as though it were biting him on the jugular several times, while making more squee-squee noises. The elf was supporting the cat under its hindquarters while he rubbed and petted its head and back, pressing his face into the the creature’s shoulder. It was like Anders with Ser Pounce-A-Lot, but... far more bizarre. The cat, 'Emi', had to weigh almost a third as much as the elf when he wasn't wearing armor, yet he was acting as though this were some tiny little mouser.
“What is that?” She gasped, finally breaking her silence.
“Oh? Ember? He is my cat.” He shrugged, while carrying the cat further into his flat, like that should be apparent and not sound insane at all. Zevran turned towards her, jiggling Ember a little to get his attention, “Emi- Emi – listen to Papi.”
The cat stopped his nipping at Zevran, ears flicking forward, eyes going large, as if he were saying, 'I'm listening!'
Zevran jerked his head at Mio, bidding her to come closer, which she did, reluctantly. “Emi, this is Mio. Mio friend. Amiga, Emi. Tu amiga.”
Another one of those hisses that stuttered, and the cat was turning large, inquisitive eyes on her. It looked from Zevran to her and back again a few times, before stretching his neck out sniffing in her direction. Cautiously, Miolanai raised her hand up, letting the large cat butt his nose into her palm. From there, it promptly nipped at the side of her hand. However, there was no pressure in it. Almost like Ser Iptitous would do when greeting her.
She chuckled at Ember. “Hello. You're just a giant pussycat huh?”
“And spoiled utterly rotten I tell you.” Zevran loosened his hold, and Ember dropped gracefully to the floor with a whump. “He may make like he is going to scratch or bite you, but generally it is only in play. This hissing he does? It is to tell you he is excited, and his squeaking, that is his happy sounds.”
Miolanai squatted, even as Ember wound around her legs, nipping at her shin-guards. “I think Anders would have died and thought himself Maker-blessed if he ever met a feline like this.” At her feet, the spotted cat rolled onto his back, his forepaws wrapping around her ankle, and she felt instant purring begin when she started rubbing the cat's stomach. “He reminds me of Ser Iptitious a little bit. Big, playful, and soft.”
There was an awkward silence, between them, except Miolanai wasn't very aware of it, focused mainly on Ember, who had just discovered the ties on her greaves, and was swatting at one of the strings. She was amazed at how gentle the cat was, because one moment Ember had flexed his paw, revealing how large and wicked his claws were, but whenever he wrapped a paw around one of Miolanai's fingers, the claws were retracted.
“On a contract three years ago, I killed my mark,” the Crow began, moving to go sit on a peach-colored, low footstool, “but I could hear this little strange sound.”
Ember seemed to know he was being talked about, and sat up partially facing his 'papi' – which Miolanai thought might mean 'papa', but she couldn't be sure. It may sound similar to 'papa' or 'papae', however it could be anything at all. The cat gave a funny little grunt-yip, and then returned his attention to her, rearing back on his hind legs and treating her to the same sort of soft bite he had given the Crow earlier.
“So you found him?” She asked, sitting on the floor with her legs crossed, which Ember quickly hopped into and set to purring, loud and deep.
Zevran waved a hand at the feline. “He was inside a small cage, with almost no food or water. I took my mark far away from the city, whilst he was poaching. No one would have come across Ember for far too long. I could not leave him, in good conscience, so, I picked the lock on the cage, and put him in my pack. There was an adolescent caracal that was also in a cage. It was rather hostile, but, I set that free. The drylands are such creatures’ homes, but many of the well-to-do like to keep them as pets. Ember is a serval, and is domesticated rather easily with enough care and attention.” She watched him shift on the footstool, a sardonic expression on his face. “These small wildcats, they are fiendishly intelligent. The caracal followed me actually, and since I was six days out from Antiva city, I continued to feed him. Whenever I leave the city in that direction, it seems like he returns to me in the nights. I was well guarded, that I know, between the caracal and my horse.”
“And Ember?” She scratched behind his ears, watching as the eyes drifted open and closed in contentment.
“Ember would hop and jump when I lit my cook fire, attempting to catch the little sparks.” A smile pulled his lush mouth upwards. “He was a tiny thing, barely weaned. I did not know he would get so big, but he has been a good companion these years. I put in little ramps for him all around,” he said, pointing to the walls, “so he could climb and jump to his heart’s content.”
Miolanai gave the apartment another look, squinting, only just able to discern narrow shelves on the walls. They, too, were painted, and blended in perfectly with the sea and mountain-scapes. The Crow could say what he willed about his artistic ability, for he truly was gifted.
Carefully, Miolanai stood, hanging onto Ember, who purred happily at being cuddled. He sure was heavy, weighing what had to be over three stone. She liked his silken fur and the vibrations of his purrs, and the way his huge ears flicked against her cheeks as he nosed at her jaw. Going to one of the walls, having long since forgotten the original intent of coming to Zevran's sanctuary, the Warden examined the painted plaster. She wasn't sure how long she did this, slowly moving as she took it all in, up to the black, wrought iron spiral staircase, but the smell of strongly spiced tea reached her nose.
Soft clinking of glass and tray came from the area where several couch-like piles of cushions sat. “I know you wish to spar Warden, but until you are ready, why not relax a little?”
Startled from her reverie, her meandering path around the wide-open flat having taken her up to a platform where a bed and two bookshelves were, she apologized. “I'm sorry Zevran. I didn't mean to snoop so much.”
He waved it off dismissively. “I do not entertain visitors much, and, other than my housekeeper and her son who runs errands for me, I am... unaccustomed to people being in my home. It is... interesting to see how another takes my humble abode.”
“What's up there?” She pointed to the staircase.
“The roof; in the summers, it is hot, and with no windows, I sleep up there.” He had removed his boots at some point, and his armor, having switched to black, loose, square-legged pants that were slung low on his muscular hips. For a shirt, there was nothing but a fuchsia vest that was held shut by three ties near the center of his abdomen, showing off brawny arms, flashes of stomach and collarbone freely. Frankly the color clash should have been unflattering, but adding in the fact that the Crow was clearly comfortable dressed like that, and the small paint stains dotting the garments here and there, did far less than detract from his attractiveness. “Also my pots of herbs, some vegetables, my rain barrels and my alchemical devices.”
Setting Ember down with a last stroke, she joined him down in the sitting area. “You have so many books. At the Vigil we had I think... two hundred. They cost a fortune, I suppose, but you have almost the same number on your shelves.”
Zevran poured tea into a cup for her and then for himself. “Did I not say that being a Crow has its rewards? I find living in a poorer section of the city allows me much funds for the... finer things. Good weapons, armor, books, things of that nature, yes? Besides, I would miss the smell of the tanneries if I were to live elsewhere.”
Wrinkling her nose, she looked at him askance. “The smell of cesspits is something you'd miss?”
One of those low, belly-warming laughs met her ears. “Oh yes! When I first was purchased by the Crows, they packed us in like crates into tiny apartments not very far from here. Ah – such interesting trouble I got into there. Good times.”
“Was it very hard being there?” Curious, Miolanai weighed his expressions. He was rather guarded, even though he appeared open and relaxed. “Your training, was it so very bad?”
“Hmm... it was better than the alternative.” Shrugging, he blew on his tea before sipping. “Shall I tell you what happened to the other whorehouse boys who didn't fetch a good price? No. Becoming a Crow, it was hard, yes. Studies in anatomy, math, alchemy – these things, they came all at once, along with learning how to fight, how to survive, beatings when you did not do things correctly, but if you did, you got a full belly, and advanced on to the next levels.”
She noted the graceful way he sat, even when utterly still; he was like some languid cat. “I imagine you did very well, then.”
“Amongst the Crows, yes.” He shrugged. “One must survive not only the rigors of training, but your fellow trainees. It is something to be proud of.”
“How long have you been a Crow?” Leaning forward, Miolanai finally picked up her glass of tea, which was far more plain than the ones she had seen up until now, but no less well-made, for that.
His head tilted to the side, amber eyes hooded. “And why would you wish to know? Suffice to say that it is longer than you have been alive.”
Blinking, Miolanai did the math. If he had been bought at the age of seven, then he had to be a minimum of seven years older than her. That would put him at the least in the vicinity of thirty-two. However, she thought he may be older than that, from the way he spoke, it was like he had had many years of experience, and more tales to tell than a room full of bards. Even though he didn’t appear to be much older than herself, older than her, yes, but vastly so.
Nose crinkling, she changed the subject. “So, tell me about your adventures then, if you've been a Crow so long.”
He gave a sharp bark of laughter. “What? Am I some old man to be shaking my fist at children, reminiscing about the good old days?”
“Aren't you?” she asked, needling him.
“Pfah! Forty-three is hardly an old man!” The words were a rough, incredulous scoff. “I may have had many apprentices in the last twenty years, but none of them were ever so cheeky as you!”
“Wow, you're old,” she remarked, surprised. “My father is forty-eight.”
That gave him pause, obviously, for he went completely and utterly still. “My dear, my only reply to that would sound excessively rude.”
“I'm hard to offend,” she replied, shrugging, and took a long sip of her tea.
“Then allow me to say this: there is a vast difference between a poorly-fed carpenter from an Alienage in a backwater country, and a man who has been raised well-fed, for the most part...” he set his cup down, gaze steady, as he continued, “...who has never had to worry for lack of a healer, and who never had to cope with the loss of his wife, and subsequently raise three children, two of whom were excruciatingly rambunctious. No. I am as fit as a man your age, and shall stay that way for quite some time, Maker willing. Crows who make it to my age are either Crow Masters, or things to be feared. Death comes swiftly to those of us who are unable or unwilling to remain healthy.”
Grunting, Miolanai finished her tea, muttering, “You'll live way longer than me, no doubt about that. I won't make it past fifty, fifty-five.” Banishing the foul thought from her mind, she stood abruptly. “You should put your armor back on; I hit hard when I spar.”
“Has no one ever told you that the true measure of skill is knowing how to pull your strikes, while seeming to put your entire strength behind it?” Annoyingly, he remained seated. “Humor me and put on a spare set of my sparring tunic and pants. I wish to examine how you move in a fight, when the view is not blocked by bulky armor, and we shall use my rattan weapons, not live steel.”
XXX
Hola guapa - hey cute girl
Mira la diversión -
Necesitas un hombre verdardero, chica, enséñele una lección - she needs a real man to show her, her place (aprox)
Hola, madre! Tu estas bien - hello mother, how are you?
Bien, bien, guapo - good, good, handsome
Mierda, no se - Shit, don’t know (the word)
Aquí, Dieda, por ti y familia - Here/have, Dieda, for you and your family
Mi casa, es su casa. - my home, is your home
Amiga, Emi. Tu amiga - Friend, Emi, your friend
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XXX
guilded/murder#
XXX
and a page break. It was chapter 4 I lost - not chapter 3. Chapter 3 had already been written... like a week ago. I write author's notes when I post... as those are my thoughts when posting, ergo it would be utterly illogical to spout off about things while writing it that happened weeks ago. Unless they were very important things. But basically - no. AN's and whatnot don't count towards a wordcount. Like... ever. That'd be sorta silly.
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Curse you, Shrek-like appendages!
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For me, I try and keep my stuff labeled fairly clearly up at the subject header - Fic: Insert Name and Chapter Number/Total Chapters - will always indicate if it's a fic or somethin' else. That's just my method of indexing it.
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i'd be happy to help out with anything you might not quite know the rules for, and i tend to get around as a beta, if you need one. :)
welcome!
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So, I'm glad you're enjoying this, I'm enjoying writing it (even though it's... kinda takin' time away from Murder, and I only have a chapter and a half buffer on Guild-ed) as it makes me miss Spain and the surrounding areas a little less. That and the fact that I currently have a cheese, fruit and chorizo platter by my elbow, and a big thing of coffee. Mmm...cafe con leche... :drooling Homer sounds:
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Really. Really like it. XD
Forgive me, but I'm half asleep (kids have flu, again), and not very coherent.
But I really like it! :D
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(My granny always made me drink hot lemon water with honey in it to clear colds up - worked wonders. Worked on the belly flux too - kept me hydrated. Plus it just tastes good when it's yucky wet outside, too.)
So - glad you like it!
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Hopefully then flu will be forgotten. -__-
In the meantime, I seek comfort in nice, interesting, new stories (with Zev in them, of course!)
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kiss-kiss & welcome back to the interwebs, dear. Now you see why I use my skydrive & googledocs to back up ALL my work ;)
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He doesn't mince his words, does he?
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Mio: ":flail: NOOOOO.... I'll look like a dockwhore...!"
GZ: ":scoffs: You look too plain, not normal at all - it's camouflage!"
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