Fanfic: Twilight in Thedas, Chapter 20

[brynna]

Title: Twilight in Thedas
Rating: AO
Character pairings: Zevran/Alistair, Anders/f!Surana, Fenris/f!Hawke, Nathaniel/Leliana
Summary: After Queen Anora is assassinated, Zevran returns to Ferelden to assist Alistair in uncovering a conspiracy. In Kirkwall, tensions grow between the templars and the magi. The fate of Ferelden and the Free Marches rests in the hands of the heroes from DA Origins and DA2.

I haven't updated this story on this website recently, so here's the latest chapter! It's really become quite the monster, but Zevgirl has been kind enough to keep it leashed and somewhat readable. If you wish to read the entire story, it can be found here:

FF.net:http://www.fanfiction.net/s/6947902/20/

AO3:http://archiveofourown.org/works/220433/chapters/501572

Happy new year and happy birthday to Zevgirl!

Dust motes swirled in broken beams of sunlight that filtered through the stone pillars of the pathway leading from the Denerim Palace to the training yard. The morning was unusually warm for the season, and the teasing breeze carried the promising scent of spring, still weeks away. Rielle squinted as she glided over the paved stones and through the alternating stripes of light and shadow, wearing only a fur cloak over her woolen, winter robes. The warmth lifted her spirits, or perhaps it came from being among old friends again. She had slept better than she had in months, comforted by the assurance that Alistair would find a way to right the situation at the Circle.

There was to be a meeting after lunch to discuss their options. Rielle had woken early, hoping to catch Alistair in private. He had appeared happy to see her yesterday, but hadn’t it been her fault that he had been trapped in a loveless marriage? It was her decision that Alistair should take the throne, and at the time it had seemed the right choice, in spite of her sadness that their relationship must end. She had believed it was the best thing for Ferelden, but she hadn’t considered what was best for Alistair until the wedding. Only then did she realize the full extent to what she had condemned him; the horror of it had driven her to Amaranthine without a backward glance. An apology would be years too late, but she needed to give it… needed to know that resentment had not tarnished their friendship beyond repair.

Eamon had courteously informed her that Alistair was sparring with Zevran in the guards’ training yard, an early morning ritual that had been established upon Zevran’s appointment as bodyguard.

“Apparently, the assassin felt that Alistair had grown ‘too soft’ and needed practice.” Eamon’s dry tone clearly stated that he disagreed. “A king’s place is to make decisions, not participate in battle. I don’t understand why Alistair needs to hone his warrior skills, but he listens to the elf more than me.” Rielle hid her smile as Eamon walked off with a wounded sniff, his back stiff with righteous indignation. She remembered his disdain for elves, and Zevran in particular, quite vividly.

Zevran and Alistair were alone in the fenced-in yard; the hour was too early for even Kylon to drag himself out of bed. Rielle paused in the shadowed walkway, reluctant to intrude as she watched the two of them circle each other like alpha wolves fighting for dominance. They made a striking pair: Zevran’s golden hair whipping across his shoulders as he feinted and dodged Alistair’s attacks, Alistair’s armor flashing silver in the sun as he swung his greatsword in graceful arcs that parted the air with barely a whisper. She could remember similar mock duels by the light of a campfire so many years ago, Zevran baiting Alistair with mocking jests that elicited a flurry of blind hacks from the furious warrior. It had provided hours of entertainment in the evenings.

If either of them had lost their skill over the years, she could not detect it. Zevran, older than both Alistair and Rielle, demonstrated exceptional grace and accuracy and showed no sign of age. Indeed, the only difference she could discern was Zevran’s much longer hair, tied back in a simple leather thong rather than the braids she remembered. Alistair was perhaps leaner, with a trace of gray at his temples and a few careworn lines at the corners of his eyes that hadn’t been there before. He seemed happy, however, laughing as Zevran danced around him, teasing with small jabs of his daggers.

In the end, Zevran smartly disarmed Alistair, but the larger man pulled the lithe elf on top of him as he fell to the cold ground. Both panted from exertion, and Zevran murmured something too soft for Rielle to hear. Alistair quirked his eyebrow, and at Zevran’s grin, he burst into deep-bellied laughter that shook the assassin straddling his chest. Rielle smiled and started to move from the shadows to join the hilarity, but stopped frozen after two steps. Shock brought one hand to her lips in amazed incredulity.

Still chuckling, Alistair had reached up to cup the back of Zevran’s head, gentle with his gauntleted hands, and was pulling Zevran down into a kiss. Without any hesitation, Zevran stretched himself languidly over Alistair, stomach to stomach, and returned the kiss with obvious pleasure. Clearly this was not something new or unexpected; they kissed with all the open sensuality of established lovers, completely unconcerned with anything else around them. Rielle stepped quickly back behind the pillars, feeling embarrassingly like an intruder but unable to look away from the startling sight of two former rivals sharing such an intimate moment.

It wasn’t until Zevran reluctantly pulled back that she remembered where she was, and as the two men came to their feet, she melted back into the shadows and hurried into a nearby doorway. Her cheeks blazed hot, and she leaned against the cool stone wall while she waited for her heart to stop hammering. How did this happen? As far as she knew, Alistair had never had any attraction toward men and had seemed embarrassed whenever the topic had arisen. Then again, he didn’t exactly have any luck with either me or Anora. But Zevran? I would never have guessed….

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of heavy boots approaching, and she just managed to straighten when Alistair came from around the corner, hair disheveled and smiling to himself. He startled at the sight of Rielle but quickly recovered and rushed forward to gather her into a bear hug. There was no sign of Zevran.

“Good morning!” The scent of fresh sweat enveloped her, and suddenly realizing where he was coming from, Alistair pulled back quickly. “Uh, sorry. I was training with Zevran, and I probably smell like last week’s linen.” He grinned sheepishly. “I have to admit it’s been good for me though. Before Zev came, I was turning into nug mush, but now I’m pretty much back to form. Surrendering to Zev, as always.”

Rielle laughed, remembering how often Alistair had been taunted in camp for losing to an elf half his size. “It’s hard to get the upper hand on Zevran. But you’re still as handsome as ever, Alistair.” Impulsively, she reached up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “You’re nothing like a nug.”

He flushed, boyish as always in his modesty. “It’s really good to see you again, Rielle. I’ve missed you.” He looked away, and his next words came forward in a rush, tumbling over each other in their yearning to break free. “I’m sorry for giving you such a hard time when you said I needed to marry Anora. I thought… I thought that you wanted to be rid of me… that you were using Anora as an excuse.”

“Oh, Alistair….” Tears burned her eyes, and she reached out to him.

“No, let me finish. I’ve wanted to say this for years.” He took her hand and touched her cheek gently. “I’ve finally realized that it must have hurt you as much as it did me. You were doing what you thought was right, just like you always did, even when you left me behind to fight the archdemon. I knew how selfless you were, but I chose to ignore it because it hurt. So… I’m sorry. For driving you away.”

She shook her head wordlessly and leaned her forehead against the cool, steel armor covering his chest. “I’m sorry too, Alistair. I left you with a woman who married you only for the crown. I was thinking of Ferelden, but I should have been thinking of you. What you wanted. I’ve been so afraid to come back and face what I did to you, so I hid in Amaranthine and then in the Circle. Can you ever forgive me?”

“I already have.” He rested his cheek in the softness of her hair, and they stayed like this for a long moment before Rielle finally pulled away, brushing at her wet cheeks.

“Are you happy, Alistair? That’s what matters most to me.”

He grinned suddenly, and the sunshine seemed bright again. “Yes. I, uh, found someone.” He looked down at the paved stones, awkward in a way that made Rielle want to hug him again.

“Zevran.” When he shot her a startled look, she bit her lip in an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to be rude, but I was looking for you, and I saw you in the yard with Zevran….”

“Oh.” Understanding brought a flush to his cheeks. “You saw that.” He chuckled and shook his head. “Well, it’s not exactly a secret anymore, I guess. We don’t flaunt it, but we don’t try to hide it either.” His face hardened. “I won’t pretend that what we have doesn’t exist, even if it bothers certain people.”

“I’m assuming Eamon hasn’t taken to your… relationship then?”

“No, he’s still as prejudicial as ever. But he understands that I won’t be moved on this.” His face softened. “Zevran gives me balance in my life. I don’t know any other way to describe it. And he’s wonderful with Duncan. The kid loves him already.”

“As do you.” She smiled up at him. “Alistair, I’m so happy for you both. Really.”

“Thanks.” He ran his fingers through his hair in an all-too-familiar gesture. “I’m going to go get a bath before I scare off everyone else. We’ll talk after lunch, okay? I promise we’ll get the Circle back to rights somehow.”

“I know.” She looped her arm through his, and they headed into the shadows of the palace.

“There has to be a better way to take back the Tower without a full assault.” Alistair rubbed his eyes tiredly and then refocused his attention on the people sitting at the table around him. He, Nathaniel, Leliana, Rielle, Zevran, Connor, Eamon, Dagna, and Temmerin had gathered in a large hall that Alistair used for diplomatic meetings with the banns and arls. A massive, oval, oaken table dominated the room and was currently holding various mugs of water and ale for its occupants. Everyone looked strained and tired after an hour of debating their options. “Those templars are as much my people as the magi. I prefer not to kill them.”

Zevran had remained quiet throughout the discussion but now leaned forward. “Perhaps stealth is required here instead of weapons.” He looked at Rielle. “Would any of the templars be loyal to you? Or at the very least, not fond of the Knight Commander’s view of magi?”

Rielle tapped her lips thoughtfully. “Yes, I managed to make some friends during my time there. There were those who agreed with Greagoir and I that the best solution to the tension was mutual respect.”

“Then some might be willing to help us, yes?” At their looks of confusion, he lifted an eyebrow. “I believe the proper term is mutiny.”

“You think the templars might help us against Lutherain?” Alistair rubbed his chin, scratching at the stubble that covered his jaw. “Rielle?”

“I doubt that they would be willing to cross their Commander,” she replied. “Unless… unless he was no longer in charge.” A slow smile stretched her lips. “If we could take Lutherain out of the picture, many of the templars would probably turn to their king for guidance.”

Alistair nodded. “Leliana, is there no chance of persuading Lutherain to listen to me?”

“He believes the templars to be above all authority except that of the Divine,” she said. “And it sounds like she’s encouraging his treatment of the magi.”

“So if we capture Lutherain and imprison him, then we stand a chance of putting the Tower back in order,” said Nathaniel.

“We’ll still have a fight on our hands,” said Connor. “Some of the templars are just as bad as Lutherain. They will fight to free him and put the magi back under their control.”

“At least it’s better than an outright attack,” sighed Alistair. “Connor, are you still in touch with Petra?”

“Yes. I check in with her every night.”

“We’ll have to let her know what we are planning and then….” Alistair’s words were cut short by a loud knock on the chamber’s door.

Kylon entered and gave Alistair an apologetic bow. “Sorry, Your Majesty, but there are visitors here who insist on seeing you immediately.”

“Who are they, Kylon?”

“The leader states that she is the Champion of Kirkwall.”

Alistair gave Zevran an incredulous look to which the assassin merely raised his eyebrows. “Show them in, Kylon.”

“What is Hawke doing here?” wondered Nathaniel.

“So many visitors in such a short time,” said Zevran. “You have become quite popular, Alistair.”

“Somehow I think I’d rather not be,” said Alistair.

They all rose from their seats as a bedraggled, weary group of travelers entered. Lia Hawke was clearly the leader, standing tall in beautiful, though dirty, mage robes and flanked by a dour elf with white hair and silver tattoos. Fenris, remembered Zevran. Behind them was the beardless elf, Varric, and Isabela, who shot him a jaunty wink. A dark-haired, bulky warrior in templar armor and a thin, waif-like Dalish mage were looking around the chamber curiously. Zevran didn’t recognize them. Further back, huddling near the door was a tall man in a tattered blue coat with feather pauldrons. A dark cowl hid his face, but he carried a staff that announced his status as mage.

Alistair stepped forward with outstretched hands. “Welcome to Ferelden, Champion. Or I should say, welcome home.”

Zevran approached Lia with a toothy smile, and with a flourish, he kissed her hand. “It is good to see you again, Serah Hawke.” A low growl from Fenris provoked nothing more than a widening grin from the assassin. Lia gave Fenris a warning glare, and the elf looked away sulkily. Still broody and possessive, thought Zevran.

Nathaniel gave Hawke a nod. “You seem well-known already, Serah. Welcome to Denerim.”

Hawke smiled wanly. “I apologize for the interruption. We have come a long way to give King Alistair news, and I didn’t feel that we should wait.”

“Then by all means, give it.” Alistair’s face took on a more serious appearance, worry apparent in the set of his mouth.

Hawke took a deep breath and leaned against her staff for support. “Kirkwall burns, Your Majesty. The Circle is fallen, and Knight Commander Meredith is dead. The Chantry is utterly destroyed.”

A shocked silence blanketed the room. Rielle gripped the edge of the table, steadying herself. “The Circle… fallen? What of Orsino?”

“He’s dead,” said Lia flatly. “The magi have fled the Gallows, and the templars are leaderless, unless Cullen has taken over Meredith’s role. The Grand Cleric and all who were with her in the Chantry are dead.”

“What happened?” Alistair hadn’t moved or taken his eyes from Lia’s face.

“The Chantry was blown to pieces by a mage,” said Fenris, his deep voice echoing into the silence. “Meredith retaliated, and the magi fought back. There was a battle.”

“We defended the magi and won,” said Lia. “Meredith went insane and threatened even her own people, so we killed her. We had to flee the city after that.” She bowed her head and closed her eyes. “Many died, and I don’t know what happened after we left. We came straight here because you had told me that you would offer Kirkwall aid if it was needed.” She looked back at Alistair. “Kirkwall is in need, Your Majesty.”

Eamon was horrified. “If the Circle has fallen and the Chantry gone, the Divine will want retribution. There will be trouble.”

“Who destroyed the Chantry and why?” Rielle’s voice was almost a whisper. She couldn’t even begin to conceive of what would happen across Thedas once word of this got out.

“I did.” The mage standing by the door walked forward slowly, removing his cowl. Blond hair hung loosely around the pale, gaunt face of a man who had haunted her dreams for so long. A man whom she had loved.

“Anders.” Her voice caught in her throat, strangled by wonder and grief both. She started to reach out to him but stopped after a few steps. His eyes… they were hollow shells from which an inner fire burned, an emptiness and despair she had never seen before from the light-hearted mage she remembered.

“Anders?” Nathaniel frowned at his former friend in confusion. “You blew up the Chantry?”

Anders would not look away from Rielle. His hands opened and closed helplessly as he faced the woman he had loved and left. “It was the only way. The world needs to know what goes on in the Circles, about the way magi are imprisoned.” His voice became almost pleading. “You understand, don’t you Rielle? We talked about this long ago.”

“We never discussed killing people.” Her heart was hammering, and she felt relieved when Zevran came to stand behind her, one hand on her shoulder in support.

“It was justice.” Anders bowed his head, suddenly too weary to speak more.

“Was it Justice?” asked Nathaniel sharply. “Or you?”

“Enough.” Alistair stepped in front of Rielle and gestured toward Hawke. “You bring us grave tidings, Serah Hawke. We will have to hear the full story and discuss what this will mean, but I think your party needs rest first. You all look weary, and I would be ungracious to press for more until you’ve had time to freshen up and eat.” He motioned to Kylon who had stood at the back of the room waiting. As the guard commander came forward, Alistair gave Anders an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, but if you truly committed this crime, I must keep you under guard for the time being.”

Anguished, Rielle grabbed Alistair’s arm. “Alistair, no!”

He patted her hand reassuringly. “It’s only temporary, Rielle, and he will be confined to one of our guest rooms, not the dungeon.”

“It’s okay. I understand.” Anders squared his shoulders and nodded at Alistair. “Thank you, Your Majesty.” He didn’t look back as Kylon led him from the chamber.

“I think we could all use a break,” said Alistair. “Let’s meet here again after dinner. Serah Hawke, if you and your friends will follow me, we’ll see about getting you situated.” As he moved to the door, he shot Zevran a meaningful glance and tilted his head toward the distraught Rielle. As the others followed Alistair from the room, Zevran placed a gentle arm around Rielle’s waist and led her after them.

“Come, mi amiga. Let us go relax somewhere, just the two of us, hmm?”

Rielle sat before the fireplace in her room with her knees drawn up to her chin, staring pensively into the flames. She could hear Zevran behind her opening a bottle of wine, followed by the gurgle of liquid being poured. He seated himself beside her in a cross-legged fashion and handed her the goblet made of sparkling crystal that fractured the firelight into rainbows. She swirled the stem, watching the colors flash against the blood red of the wine.

“Drink, mi bella dama. Wine can be good medicine when needed.”

His soft, accented voice was as warm as the wine and the fire, but she still felt cold, a chill that emanated from inside. She rested her cheek on one knee and drank in the comforting sight of Zevran, the flickering shadows playing across his tanned face and golden locks.

“Your hair has gotten so long, but other than that, you look exactly the same.” She smiled as he reached back to touch his hair self-consciously.

“I had meant to cut it, but Alistair has forbidden it.” He grinned and stretched his legs out, leaning back on his elbows. “Apparently, our king has an obsession with long hair.” He turned to assess her expression. “Alistair told you about us, yes?”

“He did.” She reached out to take his hand in hers. “He seems so happy, Zev. I’m glad for both of you.”

He chuckled and squeezed her hand. “Who would have thought? And to be perfectly truthful, I’m still not entirely sure who seduced who.”

That did make her laugh, and it felt wonderful, a retaliation against the despair in her heart. “Someone told me once that fate is such a tricky whore.”

“But such an alluring whore, no? Life is unpredictable, and that makes it most interesting.” He rolled on his side and fixed her with a searching gaze. “Some surprises are welcome and some are not. Is Anders a welcome surprise, querida?”

She buried her face back into her knees. “I… don’t know. I loved him, Zev, and he left me. I thought I was past that, but then… when I saw him….” A broken sob clawed its way up her throat.

Strong arms pulled her close brought her head against his chest. The scent of sage prickled her nose and calmed her agitation. “Love is never a simple thing. It twists through our lives and leaves its touch in our blood like a potent, but wonderful, poison. It does not fade with time, but lies dormant until the blood lights with fire once again.” Zevran thought of Alistair, of hazel eyes that spoke volumes whenever they met his. “We can choose to ignore it, or we can accept all it has to offer. This Anders… perhaps he had a reason for leaving?”

“Nathaniel said he left because he was afraid. He allowed Justice, a spirit we met in Amaranthine, to merge with him. They are one now.”

Zevran frowned. “An abomination?”

“I don’t know really. Remember how Wynne carried a spirit in her body? Maybe this is the same, and she wasn’t an abomination.”

“Hmm. And are you afraid of this… Anders-Justice?”

Am I? She remembered the terrible desolation in Anders’s eyes, the pleading in his voice. “No, I do not fear him. He has changed, but he’s still Anders.” A strange calm filled her heart. “And I still love him.”

“Then go to him, querida. Tell him this.” And Zevran was right, she knew. He always was.

Alistair waited quietly in the entrance of the hallway that led to the confined mage’s room. He had seen to getting quarters for all of Hawke’s party and then gone in search of Zevran and Rielle. Her anguished cry still rung in his ears. So that is the mage she loves… and he blew up a Chantry. What an awful mess. He rubbed his forehead tiredly, feeling a dull ache beginning to bloom behind his eyes. Perhaps he should take a nap before dinner; it promised to be a long night.

Zevran appeared, silent in his approach, and Alistair wondered fleetingly how he always managed to move so quietly. He had come from the mage’s room alone.

“She wished to see him?” Alistair glanced down the hall to the closed door flanked by guard.

“They have matters to discuss.” Zevran sighed and followed Alistair’s gaze. “Perhaps this will be the first step to healing raw wounds. They should never be left to fester.”

“No,” Alistair agreed, remembering his own pain when Rielle had left him. He reached out and pulled Zevran against him, suddenly needing the reassuring contact of his lover. Zevran made a soft noise and leaned into the embrace, resting his forehead on Alistair’s broad shoulder.

“Things are changing, aren’t they?” Alistair leaned his head back against the cold, unrelenting stone and closed his eyes. “First Rielle and then Hawke bring us bad news. The Chantry and the Circle are practically at war with each other, and how will this affect Thedas? And how does Orlais figure into all this?”

“I suspect we are much closer to those answers than we would like, mi amor.” Zevran pressed warm lips against the pulse in Alistair’s neck and felt the warrior shudder in response.

“I think…” Alistair’s voice had grown suddenly thick. “I think we should retire for a bit and rest for tonight. There are a lot of decisions to be made.”

“Indeed.” Zevran smiled as he felt a growing bulge between Alistair’s legs. “Perhaps a little exercise first to help us relax?” His own breath hitched as Alistair slid a hot palm over the back of Zevran’s thigh.

“Bedroom. Now.” Alistair flexed his muscles and pushed them both off the wall.

“As you command, Your Majesty.”