peopleofthedas | No More Heroes, Chapter 8

Title: No More Heroes, Chapter 8
Characters: Zevran, Nathaniel, Anora, Wynne, Oghren, Shale
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. In its wake, the scattered companions undertake a search for a wandering drunk and the witch that could save them all. ~ Having reached the rebels outside of Denerim, Zevran and Nathaniel both face specters from their past. ~

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"And what of Morrigan?" Across the table, Wynne folded her arms.

They were gathered beneath an abandoned farmhouse, the cool air and rough-hewn walls having once been little more than a musty cellar. Now it functioned as a sort of command center, the surface between them cluttered with dripping candles and hand-drawn maps.

Trailing his finger along a curling bit of parchment, Zevran smiled. "This new look suits you, my dear. Arcane warrior, is it? How very Fourth Age."

Wynne slid the map from beneath his hands. Her expression remained calm, but there was a ragged edge to her breaths, the rise and fall of that ample bosom for once giving him cause to falter.

"Don't see why we're listenin' to anything he has to say." From his seat in the corner, Oghren snorted. "And if Morrigan's involved, you know it ain't good."

Shale nodded her assent. It had been with some effort that the golem had separated them – at Wynne's command, of course. He had little doubt that Shale would have been content to let them finish each other off. But Oghren had been tucked kicking under one arm, while Zevran found himself slung with great indignity over the opposite shoulder.

"On the contrary, my little friend, it is her lack of involvement which seems cause for concern."

The dwarf lunged from his seat, but a stony hand fell upon his shoulder, holding him there almost absently.

"Explain yourself." Anora rose from her own chair, moving round to cast a glance at the maps.

A look from Wynne had cleared the room of a handful of soldiers and their dice, a few gentle words sending Erlina and the elves that had accompanied then trotting back through the tunnels. Only the Queen had lingered, somewhat spoiling the effect of the companions' reunion. Nathaniel, too, had remained, hovering at her side and yet not, the pair studiously avoiding each other's eyes. It had been amusing to watch, their scowls deepening in unison at being well and truly ignored.

Looking up at her now, Zevran grinned, leaving no doubt that she had his full attention.

Anora sniffed with disgust, but Wynne was watching him still, the weight of her gaze making him suddenly well too aware of the others.

"...I have reason to believe that our dear Morrigan knows more about this Blight than she was willing to reveal." Zevran let his head sink, surprised to find his nails digging into the already pitted wood. Perhaps he had come to offer defense, to beg their assistance, but suddenly the weight of either did not seem worth the words. "Even the matter of the Grey Wardens..."

"Yeh? But you already took care of that, didn'tcha?" Again, Oghren pushed to his feet but this time Shale made no move to stop him.

"You were there, were you not?"

"Damn right, I was."

Zevran raised his eyes, one hand straying unthinking to the scar at his neck. "Then tell me, my friend. What did you see?"

"I saw you grab 'er." He began limping forward, teetering on slow and deliberate steps.

"So you did."

"I saw you arguein'. Saw Her put a blade to your throat."

"Go on."

"I saw Her show you mercy. Stupidest thing She ever did."

Zevran flinched at that but found himself leaning forward, drawing a deep breath as the dwarf's hands gripped the table's edge. "And then?"

"And then She fell."

Zevran sank back in his chair, but Oghren was not yet through.

"You pulled Her from the fight, put Her back to the archdemon. Any soldier worth his salt woulda known better. It was selfish, cowardly... but that's what you don't understand. I didn't need to hear ya; mighta said some of the same things myself. But it didn't matter, not even to Her. Especially not to Her. It stopped being about us the minute we signed up for this. She understood that more than anybody. She'd already made Her choice... and sometimes that's all it takes. But you took that away from Her."

He may not have heard Her words, but he struck near enough. "You are cruel, my friend... crueler than you realize."

"Nothin' cruel about it. And I ain't your friend."

"Oho? And how did you escape the city?"

Oghren grunted.

"It was a pillar that crushed your leg, yes? Carved in the Tevinter style? It was quite heavy, as I recall."

The dwarf's eyes narrowed. "Yeh. Right."

"Did you know that you belch even while unconscious? And the muttering! On and on about someone named... Felsi, was it?"

Oghren stroked his beard, lips twisting in an unwitting smile. "You did that?"

"I did not say that I enjoyed it."

The two stared at each other for a long moment.

"So it was an accident." Still Nathaniel stood against the wall, leaning back with folded arms. His expression had not changed; there was no question to that knife-edged whisper. "I was told a different tale."

Zevran crossed his legs, dandling an ankle on his knee. "You were told no tale at all. If I happened to imply—"

"Imply? 'Boasted' would be a nearer term."

Oghren had taken a step back and Zevran need not look to feel Wynne's gaze upon him. "I was discovered by the Crows. A tale spun from the seed of truth is easier to swallow than a lie, despite its bitter taste."

"But I am no Crow."

"Yeh? And who are you exactly?" Oghren turned to squint into the shadowed corner.

Zevran tsked. "Ah, where are my manners? Allow me to present Nathaniel Howe."

"Howe?" His eyes narrowed further. "You Rendon Howe's little blighter?"

Nathaniel nodded once, still unmoving.

"So you can see how such a thing might be a rather sensitive subject, yes? That perhaps you might forgive my small part in your father's death in knowing that I had..." At last the words failed him, fluttering trapped within his chest.

He snorted. "The dwarf is right. You are a coward."

"Enough." Reaching cross the table, Wynne grabbed Zevran's wrist. She need say no more than that; the grip, her glare spoke clear enough. At least there seemed to be some small measure of pity beneath her disgust, a quiet nod accepting his remorse. But if she found that he was lying... "You said that you were seeking Morrigan. Why?"

Slowly taking back his arm, Zevran reached into his breast, pulling free the small book that rested beneath his leathers. He slid it cross the table without a word, watching as comprehension dawned – Wynne's immediate, Oghren's some moments behind.

"You stole her sodding diary?"

"Yes, yes, I am terrible." Zevran shook his head. "But Sh— there is mention of a deal, a ritual that Morrigan offered just before her departure. An alternative to the Wardens... to their death."

"Blood magic." He had left the page marked, Wynne's eyes quickly skimming the familiar scrawl. She shook her head. "Even were we to consider this... it seems that it would still require a Warden."

"Which your Bann Teagan has gone to gather. And perhaps we shall happen upon our wayward Alistair, yes? But in order to end the Blight, a Warden must die." She noted his hesitation, he was certain of it. "So they believed and yet it seems this is not the case. And if there was one alternative..."

"There may be more." Raising her eyes to his, she sighed. "But you would hope to find what none in the Circle, not even the Wardens themselves know."

"Hope is for fools and children, my dear. You might say that I merely have nothing better to do."

Wynne smirked, those eyes weighing him still. "Perhaps one day we can afford to hope again."

* * *

He found her in the empty farmhouse. Even amongst the dust and cobwebs she stood regal, her back to him as she stared out through the cracked and filthy window. Nathaniel let his footfalls ring heavy, but she proudly held her stillness, only a slight twitch of her fingers belying the instinctive urge to smooth her skirts. So very stubborn.

"It is dangerous to be above ground."

Anora did not flinch as he moved to stand behind her, but neither did she turn round. He breathed deep, for the moment following her gaze out across the fields. But quickly did his eyes return, staying to a golden wheat that yet still lived, an arc of shoulder that had borne more than any trampled hill. Eight years was such a very long time.

"You will go with them."

"Is that a question? Or an order?"

Barking a laugh, Anora pushed past him, holding up a warding hand. "Spare me the wry wit."

"Apologies, Your Majesty." He dropped into a smirking bow. "I have had many women tell me that I am quite humorless."

The words had their desired effect. Anora's eyes narrowed, her failed attempt to school her features setting fury boiling anew. "Are you still such a child?"

"I doubt that I have ever been a child. Sometimes I feel as though I were born an old man."

"You were, once." Her expression softened. "Dour and serious, certainly. But I remember you... differently."

"It has been a long time."

They lapsed into silence, her head tilting as she studied him. "You will go with them."

"An order, then?"

"Merely an assumption."

"Why?"

"For the same reason you did not strike down the elf." Her lips pursed, but she did not smile. "You had word of your father even before you undertook your search, did you not?"

Nathaniel nodded, letting his chin sink to his chest as he turned away. The window held no fascination, but the sky was nearly dark now, the broken glass throwing back a twisted mirror of his reflection. "I visited Highever."

It was Anora's turn to stand behind him, the silence inviting him to speak.

"All dead. Guards, servants, children. There were none left to bury them. Someone had tried – perhaps those from the outlying farms – but the work had been abandoned. Even I could not say that it truly matters now; even I could not bring myself to stay." He turned, regarding her over his shoulder. "But those were not the only rumors. They say my father was but the servant; that the true monster was his master."

Anora hissed, striding away across the room. "My father has only ever wanted what is best for me."

"And what better than a king?" He followed, blocking her path, forcing her to look up at him. "Though I suppose I should be grateful. Had I not been beneath your worth, it might be me lying dead with a knife in my back."

She reeled, jerking her arm away. "Perhaps 'child' was too kind a word."

"Anora."

But again she turned, refusing to meet his eyes. "You will go with them because it is a chance to set things right. Even when sword has shattered and shield has splintered, a man may still stand on the strength of his honor, the strength of his name." Even in the deepening shadow, a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "A wise man once told me that."

He studied her profile, lit now against the window's failing light. "I am truly sorry for the loss of your father, the loss of your husband."

"Do not mock me, Nathaniel Howe."

Striding forward, he took her hand, bowing to brush a gentle kiss across her knuckles. "Never, Your Majesty."

Anora opened her mouth to protest, but he pushed aside the door and stepped into the night.

No More Heroes, Chapter 8

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