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peopleofthedas2011-02-06 02:07 pm
bamftastik) wrote in peopleofthedas2011-02-06 02:07 pm
Follow that witch!
I truly did not intend to post another chapter so quickly. It just sort of - erm - came out...
Title: No More Heroes, Chapter 2
Characters: Zevran, Ignacio, Cesar & Nathaniel
Rating: T
Words: 1,900
Summary: The Blight has not ended. Alistair departed during the Landsmeet and both Loghain and the Warden perished in the siege of Denerim. The companions have scattered to the wind but when a diary fished from the wreckage hints at a past that might have been, they undertake a search for a wandering drunk and the witch that could save them all.
"Well, if it isn't the conquering hero."
Even in the twilight of camp, Master Ignacio did not relax, choosing to stand beside the fire instead of sit. He had turned to the trees well before Zevran slipped from their shadows, casting a wry smile upon the two mealy hares that the elf dropped at his feet.
"Hm. A bit skinny, do you not think?"
Across the cleaning, Cesar laughed, looking up from his crates. "Heh. Maybe the skinny is all he can kill, no? Like that skinny, little Warden. Not much meat to her either, you remember?"
Zevran stiffened, taking half a step toward the merchant, but the old Crow was watching him still. He held the man's eyes. "Shall I prepare them? Or do we throw away game now?"
The Master sniffed, showing him his back as he bent to scoop up the rabbits and carry them toward the fire. Zevran knew better than to ask. Ignacio had prepared all their meals since this strange journey had begun. Considering the company, he would have done the same. But the Master did not want him dead, not yet. And certainly by nothing so simple as poison.
He had turned to go, but the old man held up a hand. "Regale us again, if you will."
"There is nothing to tell. The Grey Warden is dead."
Cesar had turned from his inventory to watch with folded arms. "Fallen from a roof, no? Perhaps she simply lost her footing."
"Our Zevran does have a knack for covering his tracks, for making it appear an accident." Beside the fire, Ignacio smiled, never taking his eyes from his work. "There was another, was there not? A mage fallen from her carriage. Your work as well, I believe?"
"Yes."
Cesar snorted.
"Is it not your watch?" Zevran whirled before he could stop himself. The other man did not have much on him in height, but his shoulders were broad, thick with muscle and hair. As if sensing his glance, he flexed his arms.
But Ignacio's quiet chuckle silenced them both. "Cesar, go."
With a parting glare, the merchant acquiesced.
"I believe you - about the mage and Warden both - as I have said." The Master ran a blade across the rabbit's back, flaying the skin in one swift motion. "I look forward to hearing you present the tale to the other Masters."
Ah, so that was it. Zevran had expected as much. He had met the pair just beyond the walls of Denerim, bound again for Antiva City. Perhaps he had been only... distracted, recovering from his wounds, but he had fallen in beside them before he could realize his mistake. Ignacio had known of his purpose there, of course, would have heard of the abandoned contract. And so Zevran had done the only thing he could. He had told them the truth.
"Yet you waited until the final moments to kill your Warden." The Master raised his eyes. "Why, I wonder?"
Zevran forced a smile. "I have often been told that I have a flare for the dramatic."
"Hm. Yes, perhaps that is the case."
It was a dismissal, he knew, a quiet reminder that he was only of passing interest. With a last look for the crouching figure, Zevran turned for his bedroll.
He, too, showed the old man his back - though not out of pride, but of necessity. Neither knew of the book he carried, slipped now from his pack to rest between his knees. Again, guilt stirred. Guilt that he had taken this precious thing from Her, the woman that he... the woman that he had killed. He touched again the scar on his neck. It was healing well, the mark of the blade her final gift, his final mistake. Smoothing open the pages of the diary, he began to read.
Despite Riordan's promises, I do not believe that the Orlesian Wardens will come. Loghain has instilled his fear too deep amongst the men; those who hold the borders will turn them back. And when they see how far the Blight has grown, I fear that they will seek to contain rather than combat, that they will name Ferelden a lost cause and instead see to their own.
But Morrigan offers an alternative. A child, conceived on the eve of battle. It would be born of Morrigan and a Grey Warden, carry his taint and somehow this would protect it, spare us from this terrible and inevitable truth. She proposes blood magic. And - Maker help us - I considered it.
Were Alistair still here, I would not think twice about denying her. But I cannot ask this thing even of Loghain. He would do it, citing necessity, I have no doubt. But I have made enough mistakes already where he is concerned and if the cost of this is my death then—
"Ignacio!" Cesar pushed through the trees, dragging with him a bound and struggling man. He deposited him roughly on his knees, a curtain of long, black hair obscuring a virulent stream of curses.
Startled, Zevran dropped the book, shoving it beneath his blankets. It was a moment before he truly comprehended the scene before him; his thoughts were still between those pages. Morrigan had proposed an alternative. She could have ended the Blight. Perhaps... perhaps she could end it still.
Ignacio had moved to stand before the stranger, grabbing him roughly by the chin while Cesar tightened the knots his wrists. The merchant was quick with his ropes, Zevran had to admit.
"He was sneaking round the camp, ill-intentioned by the look of him."
The words did not miss their mark. The man's features were pointed, his eyes sunken above what seemed to be a perpetual scowl. Blood stained the tiny point of beard beneath his broken lip, more staining Ignacio's boots as he spat.
"How dare—"
"How dare I?" Elbowing Cesar in the chest, the man struggled to his feet. There was pride – even nobility – to his words, but also a hardened venom that Zevran knew well. "Do you know whose land it is that you trespass upon?"
Ignacio arched a brow. "Certainly not yours, by the look of you."
Of all things, the man chuckled, but his whisper did not lose its whipcrack edge "You might say I've been traveling. My family's keep lies nearby, but it is abandoned now."
"An abandoned keep?" Cesar stopped nursing his pride, glancing up with something like a smile, but Ignacio silence him with a look.
This did not escape the stranger, his scowl deepening as he flexed his bonds. "Untie me."
Ignacio tsked. "No, I do not think that would be wise. But we shall have you as our guest, yes? We shall see this keep of yours." At his nod, Cesar dragged the man away from the fire, depositing him beside Zevran's bedroll. "But we are not inhospitable. Zevran, feed our noble lord."
Filling his bowl from the cookpot, Zevran crouched before the stranger, casting a wary glance over his shoulder. Cesar had slipped away to resume his watch, while Ignacio seemed content to busy himself with his spices. He dropped his voice to a congenial whisper. "Do you have a name, my friend?"
The stranger sneered at the proffered bowl. "Nathaniel Howe."
Howe. So those features had seemed familiar. Zevran had seen them recently, though on a corpse. Perhaps best not to mention it.
"Your masters are thieves."
"They are not my masters... or not precisely in the way that you assume. We are Antivan Crows."
His eyes darkened with understanding. They had been watching the old man over Zevran's shoulder, looking for some sign of weakness. Now he settled back with a sigh.
"Their interest in your keep is merely a matter of practicality, you understand. We are rather known for it." Zevran brought the bowl to his lips. If the man would not eat, he saw no harm in doing so himself. "But I wonder why you did not remain there yourself, hm?"
"Are you known for your wagging tongues as well?"
"Alas, no. That is just I."
The man's gaze flitted away. "I travel south. My father was last seen in Denerim."
"Ah. Then I am afraid you will have a rather disappointing journey ahead of you. Denerim is beset, you see."
"I am not deaf. I know of the Blight. But there may be survivors still."
One would think so, yes. Zevran scowled.
"But it appears as though it’s three against one. And three Crows, no less." The young lord sank back on his heels.
"Cesar is no Crow, simply an ill-tempered merchant... and it could be two against two, if you wish. Though I do usually prefer to have the odds unbalanced, well in my favor, of course."
Nathaniel looked up in surprise. "You would help me?"
"I, too, travel south."
"Where?"
"The Korcari Wilds." The words escaped him without thought. But the plan had been forming all this time, it seemed. If Morrigan could be found, perhaps it could all somehow be... not worth it, never that... but perhaps it was not yet too late.
Nathaniel Howe regarded him for a long moment, a wicked smile tugging at the corners of his lips. When he spoke, the words rang loud. "You camp in the Wending Woods. Haunted, they say it is... with trees come to life, the earth itself angered." His eyes roamed round, speaking for the darkness. "But what does the earth know? We are men. It is the shortest route for our caravans and anything that stands in our way shall be crushed beneath their wheels."
Zevran knew better than to ask what the man intended, but he slipped his blades from his back. He had been allowed to keep them, of course; his imprisonment went much deeper than the simply physical. And Ignacio was always the first to rise and the last to sleep, confident that he had nothing to fear. But the old man had straightened now, looking suspiciously to the swaying of the trees.
There was a cry in the darkness, the bellow angry and familiar. Cesar. He stumbled back into the camp, wide-eyed. "The-the trees... they live!"
But he had come close to where they stood, Nathaniel's knee jerking to take him between the legs. As he doubled over, the young lord rammed a shoulder beneath his chin, cracking the jaw as he collapsed. Still his wrists were bound behind him.
Zevran made as if to cut them, but he was already turning away. "This is not the time!"
Ignacio charged them with a strangled cry, but the earth erupted between them, the entire clearing seeming to come suddenly to life. Back the Master stumbled, the fire rising up to welcome him as the trees closed round.
The main road lay somewhere in the opposite direction and already Nathaniel was dashing for it. Pausing only to scoop the book from his blankets, Zevran grabbed his pack and followed. He found the human waiting against a distant post, well out of the shadow of any tree. Finally, Zevran cut his bonds.
"Do not tell me you believe in woodland spirits, my friend."
The young lord almost smiled, the gesture out of place on those hard and sallow features. "Spirits, no. Rumors of the angry Dalish, yes." Scowling again, he fixed his eyes on the road ahead. "South, then?"
Title: No More Heroes, Chapter 2
Characters: Zevran, Ignacio, Cesar & Nathaniel
Rating: T
Words: 1,900
Summary: The Blight has not ended. Alistair departed during the Landsmeet and both Loghain and the Warden perished in the siege of Denerim. The companions have scattered to the wind but when a diary fished from the wreckage hints at a past that might have been, they undertake a search for a wandering drunk and the witch that could save them all.
"Well, if it isn't the conquering hero."
Even in the twilight of camp, Master Ignacio did not relax, choosing to stand beside the fire instead of sit. He had turned to the trees well before Zevran slipped from their shadows, casting a wry smile upon the two mealy hares that the elf dropped at his feet.
"Hm. A bit skinny, do you not think?"
Across the cleaning, Cesar laughed, looking up from his crates. "Heh. Maybe the skinny is all he can kill, no? Like that skinny, little Warden. Not much meat to her either, you remember?"
Zevran stiffened, taking half a step toward the merchant, but the old Crow was watching him still. He held the man's eyes. "Shall I prepare them? Or do we throw away game now?"
The Master sniffed, showing him his back as he bent to scoop up the rabbits and carry them toward the fire. Zevran knew better than to ask. Ignacio had prepared all their meals since this strange journey had begun. Considering the company, he would have done the same. But the Master did not want him dead, not yet. And certainly by nothing so simple as poison.
He had turned to go, but the old man held up a hand. "Regale us again, if you will."
"There is nothing to tell. The Grey Warden is dead."
Cesar had turned from his inventory to watch with folded arms. "Fallen from a roof, no? Perhaps she simply lost her footing."
"Our Zevran does have a knack for covering his tracks, for making it appear an accident." Beside the fire, Ignacio smiled, never taking his eyes from his work. "There was another, was there not? A mage fallen from her carriage. Your work as well, I believe?"
"Yes."
Cesar snorted.
"Is it not your watch?" Zevran whirled before he could stop himself. The other man did not have much on him in height, but his shoulders were broad, thick with muscle and hair. As if sensing his glance, he flexed his arms.
But Ignacio's quiet chuckle silenced them both. "Cesar, go."
With a parting glare, the merchant acquiesced.
"I believe you - about the mage and Warden both - as I have said." The Master ran a blade across the rabbit's back, flaying the skin in one swift motion. "I look forward to hearing you present the tale to the other Masters."
Ah, so that was it. Zevran had expected as much. He had met the pair just beyond the walls of Denerim, bound again for Antiva City. Perhaps he had been only... distracted, recovering from his wounds, but he had fallen in beside them before he could realize his mistake. Ignacio had known of his purpose there, of course, would have heard of the abandoned contract. And so Zevran had done the only thing he could. He had told them the truth.
"Yet you waited until the final moments to kill your Warden." The Master raised his eyes. "Why, I wonder?"
Zevran forced a smile. "I have often been told that I have a flare for the dramatic."
"Hm. Yes, perhaps that is the case."
It was a dismissal, he knew, a quiet reminder that he was only of passing interest. With a last look for the crouching figure, Zevran turned for his bedroll.
He, too, showed the old man his back - though not out of pride, but of necessity. Neither knew of the book he carried, slipped now from his pack to rest between his knees. Again, guilt stirred. Guilt that he had taken this precious thing from Her, the woman that he... the woman that he had killed. He touched again the scar on his neck. It was healing well, the mark of the blade her final gift, his final mistake. Smoothing open the pages of the diary, he began to read.
Despite Riordan's promises, I do not believe that the Orlesian Wardens will come. Loghain has instilled his fear too deep amongst the men; those who hold the borders will turn them back. And when they see how far the Blight has grown, I fear that they will seek to contain rather than combat, that they will name Ferelden a lost cause and instead see to their own.
But Morrigan offers an alternative. A child, conceived on the eve of battle. It would be born of Morrigan and a Grey Warden, carry his taint and somehow this would protect it, spare us from this terrible and inevitable truth. She proposes blood magic. And - Maker help us - I considered it.
Were Alistair still here, I would not think twice about denying her. But I cannot ask this thing even of Loghain. He would do it, citing necessity, I have no doubt. But I have made enough mistakes already where he is concerned and if the cost of this is my death then—
"Ignacio!" Cesar pushed through the trees, dragging with him a bound and struggling man. He deposited him roughly on his knees, a curtain of long, black hair obscuring a virulent stream of curses.
Startled, Zevran dropped the book, shoving it beneath his blankets. It was a moment before he truly comprehended the scene before him; his thoughts were still between those pages. Morrigan had proposed an alternative. She could have ended the Blight. Perhaps... perhaps she could end it still.
Ignacio had moved to stand before the stranger, grabbing him roughly by the chin while Cesar tightened the knots his wrists. The merchant was quick with his ropes, Zevran had to admit.
"He was sneaking round the camp, ill-intentioned by the look of him."
The words did not miss their mark. The man's features were pointed, his eyes sunken above what seemed to be a perpetual scowl. Blood stained the tiny point of beard beneath his broken lip, more staining Ignacio's boots as he spat.
"How dare—"
"How dare I?" Elbowing Cesar in the chest, the man struggled to his feet. There was pride – even nobility – to his words, but also a hardened venom that Zevran knew well. "Do you know whose land it is that you trespass upon?"
Ignacio arched a brow. "Certainly not yours, by the look of you."
Of all things, the man chuckled, but his whisper did not lose its whipcrack edge "You might say I've been traveling. My family's keep lies nearby, but it is abandoned now."
"An abandoned keep?" Cesar stopped nursing his pride, glancing up with something like a smile, but Ignacio silence him with a look.
This did not escape the stranger, his scowl deepening as he flexed his bonds. "Untie me."
Ignacio tsked. "No, I do not think that would be wise. But we shall have you as our guest, yes? We shall see this keep of yours." At his nod, Cesar dragged the man away from the fire, depositing him beside Zevran's bedroll. "But we are not inhospitable. Zevran, feed our noble lord."
Filling his bowl from the cookpot, Zevran crouched before the stranger, casting a wary glance over his shoulder. Cesar had slipped away to resume his watch, while Ignacio seemed content to busy himself with his spices. He dropped his voice to a congenial whisper. "Do you have a name, my friend?"
The stranger sneered at the proffered bowl. "Nathaniel Howe."
Howe. So those features had seemed familiar. Zevran had seen them recently, though on a corpse. Perhaps best not to mention it.
"Your masters are thieves."
"They are not my masters... or not precisely in the way that you assume. We are Antivan Crows."
His eyes darkened with understanding. They had been watching the old man over Zevran's shoulder, looking for some sign of weakness. Now he settled back with a sigh.
"Their interest in your keep is merely a matter of practicality, you understand. We are rather known for it." Zevran brought the bowl to his lips. If the man would not eat, he saw no harm in doing so himself. "But I wonder why you did not remain there yourself, hm?"
"Are you known for your wagging tongues as well?"
"Alas, no. That is just I."
The man's gaze flitted away. "I travel south. My father was last seen in Denerim."
"Ah. Then I am afraid you will have a rather disappointing journey ahead of you. Denerim is beset, you see."
"I am not deaf. I know of the Blight. But there may be survivors still."
One would think so, yes. Zevran scowled.
"But it appears as though it’s three against one. And three Crows, no less." The young lord sank back on his heels.
"Cesar is no Crow, simply an ill-tempered merchant... and it could be two against two, if you wish. Though I do usually prefer to have the odds unbalanced, well in my favor, of course."
Nathaniel looked up in surprise. "You would help me?"
"I, too, travel south."
"Where?"
"The Korcari Wilds." The words escaped him without thought. But the plan had been forming all this time, it seemed. If Morrigan could be found, perhaps it could all somehow be... not worth it, never that... but perhaps it was not yet too late.
Nathaniel Howe regarded him for a long moment, a wicked smile tugging at the corners of his lips. When he spoke, the words rang loud. "You camp in the Wending Woods. Haunted, they say it is... with trees come to life, the earth itself angered." His eyes roamed round, speaking for the darkness. "But what does the earth know? We are men. It is the shortest route for our caravans and anything that stands in our way shall be crushed beneath their wheels."
Zevran knew better than to ask what the man intended, but he slipped his blades from his back. He had been allowed to keep them, of course; his imprisonment went much deeper than the simply physical. And Ignacio was always the first to rise and the last to sleep, confident that he had nothing to fear. But the old man had straightened now, looking suspiciously to the swaying of the trees.
There was a cry in the darkness, the bellow angry and familiar. Cesar. He stumbled back into the camp, wide-eyed. "The-the trees... they live!"
But he had come close to where they stood, Nathaniel's knee jerking to take him between the legs. As he doubled over, the young lord rammed a shoulder beneath his chin, cracking the jaw as he collapsed. Still his wrists were bound behind him.
Zevran made as if to cut them, but he was already turning away. "This is not the time!"
Ignacio charged them with a strangled cry, but the earth erupted between them, the entire clearing seeming to come suddenly to life. Back the Master stumbled, the fire rising up to welcome him as the trees closed round.
The main road lay somewhere in the opposite direction and already Nathaniel was dashing for it. Pausing only to scoop the book from his blankets, Zevran grabbed his pack and followed. He found the human waiting against a distant post, well out of the shadow of any tree. Finally, Zevran cut his bonds.
"Do not tell me you believe in woodland spirits, my friend."
The young lord almost smiled, the gesture out of place on those hard and sallow features. "Spirits, no. Rumors of the angry Dalish, yes." Scowling again, he fixed his eyes on the road ahead. "South, then?"