Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Well, I don’t know what we should do. I’ll… do whatever you think is best.”

He was leaving it up to her ? Seriously ?

Not that Shahar Tabris wasn’t used to taking charge, but she was in a little over her head here.

She gave Alistair a look that hopefully expressed this opinion, eyebrow cocked and head tilted. At least he was giving her options. Morrigan’s opinion had been useless. Kind of badass, she was all in favor of stabbing nobles in the face, but ultimately useless. “Redcliffe, it is then,” she shrugged and turned, making her way into Lothering proper. She hoped there was a merchant- those highwaymen she’d run off had left some pretty good stuff behind.

She could get used to this Grey Warden thing.

Minus the death, at least. She'd seen more bodies in the last two weeks than in she had in her whole lifetime before this. What Alistair hadn’t seen (but Morrigan unfortunately had) when she’d awoken in Flemeth’s hut was a panic attack that emptied her of everything left in her stomach, and possibly part of her intestines as well. She’d noticed she’d acquired some lovely new scars on her torso and been amazed she was still alive.

The three of them walked through what seemed like a sea of refugees, Fereldan and Chasind alike. Before Morrigan, she’d never seen a Chasind before. They had braided hair and wore elaborate belts decorated with animal bones, much like Morrigan herself. She wondered if any of them were mages too- something she’d also never seen before.

Well, there was Surana, all those years ago, but all that happened there was another tenement burning down and Templars beating his parents senseless in the Alienage square until they gave him up.

She wondered what happened to him sometimes. Was there an alienage in Circle towers for elven mages?

Once the three, four counting Nel who barked happily next to her, of them had hit the road, Shahar had driven Morrigan nearly insane with questions about magic. Shahar thought it was incredibly useful and told her so, which Morrigan seemed to like. Morrigan might have been prickly, but Shahar couldn’t understand why mages needed to be locked away when they could do so much good so easily. They were in complete agreement on that.

After helping an elven family locate their things and slipping them a few silvers when Morrigan wasn’t looking (Shahar may have indeed stuffed some of their things into her pack when she looted the highwaymen’s supplies as far as she knew, so fair trade), they talked to a Templar that looked in-charge-ish and proceeded toward the Chantry to see this Ser Bryant.

She heard arguing from a group of people just outside the Chantry yard. She looked and saw what appeared to be a merchant wagon. They could use a restock, she thought as she hesitantly approached the group. Maybe she could--

“You profit from their misfortune!” a woman in SIster’s robes shrieked. “I should have the Templars give away everything in your cart!”

Shahar scowled when she recognized the robes. She’d never liked the SIsters. They were always yelling at her about past crimes and shame and “the Maker has a place for us all.” … which in her case was at the bottom.

“You wouldn’t dare,” the merchant stepped forward, positively looming over the smaller woman. Oh, Shahar thought. This could get good. “Any of you step too close to my goods and I’ll--”

“It’s so nice to see everyone working together in a crisis,” Alistair interrupted, positively ruining the moment for Shahar. “Warms the heart,” he finished as he stepped closer to the merchant, obviously intending to intervene should the merchant become violent. The merchant stepped back, intimidated by Alistair’s size and obvious skill, as anyone should be.

What a guy, Shahar thought dryly. If it were anyone but a Chantry sister she would have meant it sincerely. She didn’t approve of random violence, surely. Just… people getting knocked off their high horses a bit.

“Ho! You there!” The merchant had spotted her behind Alistair. “You look able. Would you care to make a tiny profit helping a beleaguered businessman?”

She almost laughed until she remembered she was covered head to toe with the finest equipment she’d ever owned. Openly carrying two blades, nonetheless. She looked… important.

She squared her shoulders.

“Get rid of the tiny part and I’ll consider it,” she quipped, much to Alistair’s shocked face.

The merchant laughed. “I’m not the only one with some business sense.”

“He is charging outlandish prices for things people desperately need!”  The Sister accused, looking at Shahar in disgust. “Their blood is filling his pockets!” Shahar flinched away from the Chantry sister’s harping voice.

“Tis only survival of the fittest,” Morrigan murmured quietly behind her. “All of these cretins would do the same in his shoes, given the chance.” Shahar didn’t think that was entirely true, but some people, sure. These people, definitely.

“I have limited supplies. The people decide what those supplies are worth to them.”

“You bought most of your wares from these very people last week. Now they flee for their lives, and you want to talk business?”

The merchant threw his arms up in frustration and turned back to Shahar. “Look, stranger, I’ve a hundred silvers if you’ll drive this rabble off, starting with that priest. I’m an honest merchant, nothing more.”

Shahar glanced around at the humans circling the merchant’s cart. They looked hungry, desperate… and very angry. One hundred silvers was a lot of money, but she suspected the Templars would be on her in a minute if she started something here. She sighed at the loss. “You don’t think you’re being unscrupulous? You won’t be able to sell anything at all if the prices are too high.” Really, if he was in danger of being run off, how was that benefitting him?

The man looked surprised. “Would it help these folks if they could buy no goods at all?”

“They spend their very last coin because they are desperate. And this man preys upon them as surely as the bandits outside the city.” This woman sounded like every Chantry sister that had ever batted her away from the doors as a kid. I guess they must all sound like that.

The merchant threw up his hands and huffed. “I’m not arguing anymore! Drive off this woman and get your hundred silvers. Otherwise, I’m taking my wagon and leaving.”

Ah dammit. She needed to resupply, and she doubted they would be running into many more merchants before Redcliffe. Still… Valendrian had taught her to always seek compromise. She didn’t really need to be attacked by an angry mob of desperate shems as soon as she purchased their stock.

“I think you can compromise and still make a profit, no?” she ventured a little hesitantly.

The merchant and sister agreed to the compromise… at the loss of the 100 silvers and any discount she might have received.

“So, we have come to solve every squabble in the village personally?” Morrigan chimed in with a look of disapproval. “My, but the Darkspawn will be impressed,”

Shahar chuckled to herself. Ah well, she lost that one. But it was done. They made their trades- Shahar wasn’t sure how much things were worth. The merchant saw that immediately. She’d turned to Alistair for some help, but it was clear bartering in general wasn’t his strong suit. She was pretty sure they’d been fleeced.

“Alistair, how do you not know how much this stuff is? Didn’t you have to buy it before?” she asked, mildly irritated that she hadn’t been able to purchase a rather nice-looking set of gloves.

“Well, no, of course not,” he replied, looking at her with a puzzled expression. “The quartermasters and administrators did all that.”

“Quartermaster… oh, that sh- man who thought I was a servant at the Ostagar camp?” she asked wryly.

“Well… not him specifically,” Alistair muttered uncomfortably. “But yeah. That’s their job.”

They moved toward the Chantry. There was a Chasind man screaming wildly about death and doom who they promptly skirted around and headed inside. There wasn’t much to be told. The Darkspawn were coming, everyone was fleeing, and Redcliffe’s knights were on some ridiculous quest for a miracle cure.

“T’would be prudent to leave soon,” Morrigan advised. “The Darkspawn will not wait.”

“They’re at least a few days off,” Alistair ruminated. “We could use a little more coin. Maybe we can check the Chantry Board. Though we should get some lodging at some point.”

“How much do rooms cost?”

She had no idea why she’d even asked. Morrigan wouldn’t know, because she lived in a shack in the forest. And Alistair just seemed to be oblivious to everything around him. She liked him, he reminded her of a very excitable puppy. But puppies weren’t exactly known for their worldly knowledge.

“I don’t know,” he said, as expected. “I suppose we can ask.”

Shahar felt the money bag at her side. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. She was so used to surviving on next to nothing, then splurging when the occasional windfall dropped. Saving money in the Alienage was a quick way to get yourself robbed and she had no idea how her father had managed all these years.

Well, she had couple sovereigns. Shem rooms couldn’t be that much, could they? Would they even let her in? Maybe they’d let her a spot in the horse stalls… Maker, it was cold in the south.

It didn’t matter, in the end. As soon as they walked in the door they were accosted by a group Loghain’s men, which really put the nail in the coffin for Shahar. She had no idea if Loghain had quit the field for a good reason or not, but leaving armed men behind to kill any Grey Wardens that might have survived seemed a sure sign he’d thrown them all under the wagon for some reason other than battle tactics.

Alistair of course was hankering for a fight and jumped in with the full force of his Templar abilities, sword clashing against the leader of the group’s own. Morrigan wasn’t going to be much help here. Too many eyes, though she thought she saw Morrigan’s fingers moving as Shahar flanked one of the men to stab him with a blade. She pulled it free and spun to face a man approaching behind when an arrow stuck into the man’s neck.

He looked about mid-30s, tan, with a scruff of dark brown hair and scar that ran diagonally from temple to jaw. He had a mole, just under his lower lip. The man blinked striking green eyes at Shahar a couple times. Then those eyes rolled back and he dropped like a stone.

So much death.

The leader of the group called a halt and Shahar finally got a glimpse of the mysterious archer. Pale, red hair like her own with a simple braid. Quite pretty.

And wearing a Sister’s robes?

Shahar returned her attention to the Commander of the group, telling him to send a message to Loghain. They were coming for him. Which was true enough, if a little lame once out of Shahar’s mouth. The man scampered off and the Chantry sister spoke up. Whatever dead cat the last Chantry sister had as a voice, this one sounded nothing like it. It was sweet and softly accented- Orlesian, she thought. There was an Orlesian merchant in the Denerim market that sounded similar, at least.

“- and I’m going to join you.”

Shahar blinked back into focus. “Wait- what?”

So they acquired an Orlesian chantry sister who was a terrible liar and their number grew to 5, counting Nel of course. The innkeeper said his rooms were full, so they pitched a tent with the rest of the refugees. Then the Qunari. Shahar had already taken on an apostate and a Chantry rogue with visions. Why not a terrifyingly huge confessed murderer? He looked strong as fuck. Shahar really had no idea what she was doing, but she did know she needed more bodies in the party.

The next two days were spent hunting hapless forest creatures, finding supplies for refugees, and oddly, helping a farmer make poison for his traps. She thought the traps were more likely to kill desperate fleeing refugees than Darkspawn, but she wasn’t going to turn away the coin. Plus, she wasn’t great at making poisons anyway. They wouldn’t do much more than stun someone a bit. Now, explosives. That she had a knack for. Just little things- nothing like exploding a good strong bolt lock. But now that she’d be fighting in the open she was excited to try something larger.

With six, they could split into teams if need be. She learned quickly that Morrigan and Sten had little interest in the more… humanitarian quests, seeing them as a waste of time. Dirty work, on the other hand, they were perfect for. Shahar had her limits, but those limits… expanded somewhat, where coin was involved.

She liked to think she was being practical.

By the end of their time in Lothering, most of the town had cleared out. Those left, notably a mother and her two daughters, waited on family to return from the field at Ostagar. One of the daughters wore a ridiculous red stripe of kaddis across her nose like a mabari as had more personality than the rest of the town put together. Leliana and Alistair urged them all to leave while they could, but didn’t have the heart to tell them their loved ones were dead. They left, fighting what were obviously scouts of the main horde on the way ( and how smart were these Darkspawn anyway that they had scouting parties? ) and didn’t stop set up camp until they were two days into their journey to Redcliffe.

Chapter Text

Dinner the night after Lothering was tense. The arrival of Bodhan’s wagon and with it fresh supplies eased things a bit, but there was no hiding that their original crew was now sharing a meal with an unusually skilled Chantry sister and a confessed Qunari murderer they couldn’t get more than half sentence answers from.

Alistair had no idea why Shahar had decided to bring these two in. He was fairly certain Leliana was insane. And he didn’t trust Sten for a second. He glanced at the enormous warrior out of the corner of his eye. The man sat stiffly in front of his tent, eating the evening’s stew. Alistair couldn’t tell if he was actually angry or if his face was just... like that. He’d never seen a Qunari to know. He’d set a tent up away from the rest of the group, though not quite so far as Morrigan and thank the Maker for that.

“Did you cook this?” Leliana asked, bringing him out of his thoughts. She was seated on the other side of Shahar, with Alistair and Nel rounding out the sociable people (and dogs) in their group. Maker, she was pretty. And that accent~

It took him a second to realize she was talking to him. “Oh! Um… yes. Fereldan cooking at its best,” he joked. He knew it wasn’t great. He was a man of simple tastes, he liked to think. But out here, it really was whatever they could scrounge together.

Leliana, not seeming to realize he was joking, replied “it’s… good.” She smiled.

Alistair turned bright red. Stop it Alistair. She’s insane. And definitely lying about something.

He had no idea why he got this way around women. He just never had much experience around them, he supposed. He slept in kennels as a boy, mostly alone or with other stable hands, and the Chantry kept men and women strictly apart once he was sent away. Even his unit of the Wardens hadn’t had any women in it. Shahar would’ve been the first since he joined.

And now he was sleeping in a camp with three of them. And the only other men were an angry qunari and two dwarves who seemed to be trying to have as little to do with them as possible.

Alistair sat back while Shahar filled Leliana in with more details of their mission and then pegged her with questions about Orlais. Leliana answered happily, telling stories about her time as a travelling minstrel. As much as Alistair was trying to be suspicious of her, she was remarkably good at getting past his guard.

After dinner, Leliana left the fire to see to her things, which gave Alistair and Shahar a chance to discuss the next day. The two of them sat close, pouring over the area map together. He quickly realized Shahar didn’t know how to read a map.

“Well, I…” she fumbled her words with a laugh when he asked. “I’ve never left Denerim before,” she admitted.

“Really?” Alistair asked, genuinely surprised. She always seemed to take everything in stride, he assumed she’d travelled all over. She seemed so… worldly.

She laughed again. “Well, there’s not much out here for a broke elf, is there?” she grinned.

Alistair thought about that for a second. Then he looked at the trees. Then a thought popped into his head. A terrible thought. He almost laughed and it must have showed.

“What?” she asked, curiously.

“Nothing!” Oh Maker, he was awful. There was no way he could say it. He stifled another chuckle.

Shahar gave him a sly look, her lips turning into a crooked grin. “Well, if it’s something about elves, you’re going to have to say it or I’m just going to assume the worst.” She looked mournfully at the sky. “I had such high hopes for you Alistair.”

Wait- no! He waved his hands in a panic. “No! It wasn’t bad! Or- that bad.”

Shahar’s red eyebrows quirked a bit. Now she really did look suspicious.

Now I’ve made it worse. How did he always manage to make it worse?

“No! Wait, I...,” he sighed. Might as well say it. “I just- we’re in the woods, right? And you always hear about elves… y’know…”

“Frolicking in the forest?” Shahar said dryly.

He slumped. “That was completely inappropriate of me. I am so sorry…”

Shahar shook her head. “So what you’re telling me is…”

I’m not telling you anything! h e wanted to insist.

“That since I’m in the forest, surrounded by trees and all,” she waved around, freckled hands motioning to the greenery.

“I should be getting in touch with my… roots?” she smirked.

Alistair practically froze. Had she just… made a bad pun? A really bad pun? He snorted. He didn’t even know where it came from. Then he laughed, with Shahar’s laughter quickly joining his. He laughed until he was nearly out of breath. He laughed until tears came to his eyes and his stomach muscles hurt.

“Maker’s breath, Alistair, it wasn’t that funny,” Shahar teased, still chuckling a bit herself.

He reigned in the laughter a bit. “Ugh, you really had me going! I thought you were so mad…” He breathed a sigh of relief, letting out what seemed an enormous amount of stress. In the week or so he’d known Shahar, he discovered she was remarkably good at making him smile.

“I needed that,” he said. “Thanks.”

She shrugged, nonchalant. Then, she leaned back onto her hands and looked up at the sky. “You know, I always imagined frolicking was a euphemism.”

Except when she does that. He immediately blushed crimson. She really wasn’t shy about that kind of thing, he supposed. It made him feel like a child. How he had gotten to 20 without doing... that was a mystery to him. But you were supposed to wait, right? Wasn’t it supposed to be special? WIth someone you cared about? Clearly Shahar hadn’t. Or maybe she had? He hadn’t failed to notice what looked suspiciously like a wedding ring on her hand. But she wore it on her thumb and it was clearly a man’s. He wasn’t sure what that meant.

She seemed to notice his discomfort. She motioned toward the map. “So... how do I read this thing?”

He pulled his mind back into focus on the task at hand. He tried to teach her, showing her where they were in relation to other things, but it was tricky since she had no sense of scale in the countryside.

She leaned in close and he felt her arm brush against his. “How much longer to Redcliffe then?

His focus frazzled a bit at the contact. Between the mention of sex and his general proximity to three attractive women, he was having a difficult time maintaining control of… certain body parts. Morrigan, sneaky witch thief though she was, was still alluring in an “I-might-die-but-it’d-be-the-best-night-of-my-life” way. Leliana was beautiful and sweet, like a painting. He stared at her quite a lot, he was embarrassed to admit.

But Shahar was so tough - she exuded competence like breathing. It was why he deferred to her even when he questioned her decisions. Even though she was an elf-- not that elves couldn’t lead, of course , he reminded himself.

And her hair. Red like autumn leaves, a little darker than Leliana’s and very curly. She wore it in a long braid that nearly reached the small of her back. A few curls had escaped over the course of the day. They looked incredibly spring-y. He wanted to touch it.

Map. Redcliffe. Right. He refocused his gaze.

“Three to four days, most like,” he answered. He used his thumb and index finger to indicate a day’s travel and placed it on their route so she could see.

Shahar nodded. “You said this Arl Eamon raised you, right?”

Alistair shifted on the log they were sharing. He hated talking about his childhood.

It wasn’t that his childhood had been bad or anything. It was just… he never had a place. He was never wanted anywhere.

I was lonely a very quiet voice in him whispered.

“Oh- did I say that? I meant that dogs raised me. Giant, slobbering dogs from the Anderfells. A whole pack of them in fact.” he deflected.

Shahar smirked and nodded. “Really? That must’ve been tough for them.”

He chuckled. “Well, they were flying dogs you see. Surprisingly strict parents, too. And devout Andrastians to boot.”

Shahar nodded along, eye wide with mock-belief. “Do you write at least? I bet your mom’s a bitch.”

Alistair snorted out loud. “Alright, alright, I give in. I cannot match your rapier wit. That was for the frolicking comment, wasn’t it?” He chuckled.

There was a brief pause in the conversation. Shahar was looking at him curiously. It was difficult not to stare too hard back. He hadn’t seen a lot of elves in his time. A few in the Circle during his Templar training, but he’d never actually had a full on conversation with one like he was now. She had slightly bigger facial features than humans, bigger eyes and mouth, and Shahar’s eyes were a bright red almost like her hair. That unnerved him a little because while he’d heard elves could have unusual eye colors too, his only experience with that had been with the mages.

They also occasionally reflected light from the fire like a cat. Which he found both very strange and incredibly attractive.

But she was waiting for him to respond to the original question, wasn’t she? He sighed.

“Let’s see, how do I explain this? I’m a bastard…”

He wasn’t sure what it was. Shahar had given him space and a kind ear while he was grieving over Duncan. She appreciated his opinions, respected them even.

… And so before he knew it he was spilling his guts about his childhood all over the firepit.

“I remember I had an amulet with Andraste’s holy symbol on it. The only thing I had of my mother’s. I was so furious at being sent away, I tore it off and I threw it at the wall and it shattered. Stupid, stupid thing to do,” he looked away, frustrated and embarrassed with himself. “The Arl came by the monastery a few times to see how I was, but I was stubborn. I hated it there and blamed him for everything. And eventually he just… stopped coming.” he breathed out the last in a sigh.

Shahar was quiet a moment. “You were young,” she finally said. She was looking at him with such kindness in that moment, for all of their banter earlier. It threw him off. He defaulted back to humor.

“And raised by dogs. Or I may as well have been, the way I acted.” He shrugged. “But maybe all young bastards act like that. I dunno. All I know is that the Arl is a good man and well loved by the people,” he assured her, trying to steer the conversation back to planning. “He’s also King Cailan’s uncle, so he has a personal motivation for seeing Loghain pay for what he did. Anyway, that’s really all there is to the story.”

Shahar smiled. “Sounds like we’re in business then.”

They talked over a few more logistical issues before heading off to bed. Shahar undid her braid as she walked toward her tent, curls flowing freely over an athletic frame.

Maker’s Breath.

He didn’t know her well.

... But he suspected he was in danger of having a very real crush.

Chapter Text

“You let Isolde sacrifice herself! With blood magic! How could you do that!?”

Oh, now he had something to say? Back at camp and safely away? How convenient for him.

“You think I should have killed the little boy instead?” she snapped back angrily.

“We could have gone to the Circle of Magi! We- we could’ve tried harder! We should’ve tried something that didn’t involve blood magic, that’s for sure! This is the Arl’s son we’re talking about here. What do you think he’ll say when we revive him?”

“He’ll see there were larger things at stake!” she shouted back. How dare he shout at her like this. Stupid- fucking- shem.

“What was I supposed to do? Leave a demon on the loose while we paraded about Ferelden? Hoping there might be another way? How much is one oh-so noble family worth?” she practically snarled.

Because that’s what this is all about, isn’t it Alistair?

“You’d have us leave, let that demon run all over the village, those people , just to save one rich woman who volunteered to die . A decision had to be made. I made it.”

Alistair’s mouth hung open in shock at her words. Shahar waited, waiting- hoping he say something else so she could explode at him again.

When it was clear she’d left him speechless, his face hardening from shock into something more akin to disgust, she turned and stomped off toward her tent.

Shahar woke the next morning feeling incredibly groggy. She’d had nightmares all night. Darkspawn and blood sacrifices and blacksmiths with slit throats all mingling together in some horrific new shape she thankfully couldn’t remember now. She sat up and pushed her long curly hair out of her face.

Maker, she felt like shit .

She got out of the tent and saw faint hints of morning light showing through the trees. She walked to the edge of camp to start her morning routine. She started down at the flat surface she’d picked out like it was the Archdemon itself, every fiber in her being rejecting the idea of exercise. She started her routine anyway. Trying to banish the nightmares, the anger, the regrets that were spinning round and round her head. Each strain of her muscles was a reminder that she was- or at least needed to pretend to be- strong. That she could see through at least today.

Even if it was not the today she had planned for.

She tried not to think about that.

This was where she was. Whatever she had planned, that life was gone now.

After her morning practice, she grabbed a solid branch to pull herself up into a tree where she looked through maps and other papers they’d come across during their travels. Fereldan and Orlesian histories, mostly. She never thought she’d need to know this stuff, but now there were Banns and Landsmeets and treaties and a Maker-be-damned bastard-prince.

She sighed, letting her arm holding the papers fall to her side. The branch she sat on was an unusually comfortable one; her leg swung freely on the side opposite her swinging arm.

Thanks for the reading lessons Pae.

She made her way down the tree, papers securely between her lips. It was no Alienage tenancy rooftop, offering a slight glimpse over the walls that kept them in, but it was something.

Alistair was already awake and prodding at the fire. He looked like he hadn’t slept much and noticeably scowled when Shahar approached. Shahar sat anyway, crossing her arms, then uncrossing them.

Alistair’s jaw was tight and he wouldn’t look at her, continuing to prod the fire into life.

Maybe I should leave , she thought. What could she say? What was done was done. And she wouldn’t apologize for a decision she’d make again if she had to.

But she could have been kinder. She could have made fewer assumptions, fewer accusations . She had been dead wrong there, letting her temper get away with her again. She’d known and worked with plenty of good shems in her life, and Alistair was certainly one of them. She’d forgotten that last night. Guilt coiled tighter in her stomach at the thought.

She always tried to think of Valendrian or her father in moments like these. They were always so… sensible. What you feel is not important in the moment. Always seek the middle .

She sighed rubbing the heels of her hands into her tired eyes. Let’s get this over with. “I’m sorry, Alistair.”

He paused in his prodding, but still didn’t look at her.

“I shouldn’t have said those things last night. I was…,” she waved her hand, as if that were an excuse, then shook her head. “I just...shouldn’t have said those things. I know you… care about the Arl’s family. And I’m sorry about Isolde.”

Alistair’s shoulders slumped. He dropped the stick.

“I just-,” he started. Then breathed. “There’s been so much death. I just… I’d hoped… I don’t know,” he leaned back. “I just wanted one thing to end well. Just one.”

They were silent for a moment. She felt like something between them shifted, just then. And then she felt guilty for even thinking that.

Because she was supposed to be better than that now. To have been better than that.

“I know you did what you had to,” he said, shaking her out of her guilty conscience. “I’m sorry I got on your back about it. I was the one that made you take charge. It should have been me.”

Shahar had nothing to say to that. It was true, after all. For better or worse, the blood of the Arl’s family would be on her hands forever because of it.

The group walked quietly that day. Maker knew Shahar could have used some Darkspawn as a distraction from Alistair’s brooding- not to mention Leliana’s awkward attempts at breaking the silence. At least Morrigan held off teasing the man for once. There were no signs of much of anything for most of the day until sunset, when a bedraggled woman called out to them from further along the road.

“Oh thank the Maker,” the woman gasped as she rushed up to them. “We need help. Bandits attacked the wagon. Come with me, I’ll take you to them.”

They followed quickly. The woman eventually stopped in front of a suspiciously tidy-looking wagon with a man standing in front of it.

A tree fell behind them, blocking the path.

The man stepped forward and gave a signal. He smirked.

A distraction it is then. Thank The Maker for small miracles. Shahar rolled her eyes and smirked back. The man’s mouth widened into a grin.

They pulled out their twin blades at the same time.

“The Grey Wardens die here!”

Chapter Text

Zevran was pinned between the two Wardens; the man attacking him head on while the woman stabbed at his flanks. He couldn’t get around, couldn’t get away. The woman’s helmet had been knocked off at some point and he saw a long red braid swing free out of the corners of his eyes, distracting him.

She was a ferocious fighter on her own, though not quite as good as him. He needn’t have worried. The other Warden, the tall human with the shield and heavy armor was at least his equal, if not better. And rogues were never meant to face warriors in open fields. Zevran would never be able to take the two of them at once. His heart thumped in his chest. This was it. He was going to die. He was surprised at how nervous he felt. At how much he was second-guessing his actions as he dodged and parried.

Too late now.

The man pummeled Zevran full on with his shield and he flew back, the air forced out of his lungs. As he fell, something connected with the back of his skull and everything went wonderfully, blissfully, terrifyingly black.

The group dusted themselves off and shook the blood and gore from their weapons. That had been quite a fight, Shahar marvelled. She scanned the area, looking for where her helmet might have ended up. She looked over the gore and bodies spread across the field and her stomach churned. Maker , she was never going to get used to this, was she?

She steadied her breathing and picked up her helmet where it had landed next to the body of the mage who’d lured them into the trap. These people had attacked her, not the other way around. They’d left her no choice. She refused to feel guilty over it. This group had known about them. Had been looking specifically for them.

Someone had sent them. No doubt Loghain.

“Hey Shahar!” Alistair called. She turned to face him. “This one’s still alive!”

The four of them gathered around the body of the man her and Alistair had teamed up against. Alistair swallowed awkwardly. “Should we…?”

“Leliana,” Shahar interrupted before he could finish that particular thought. “Could you see if there’s any rope in that wagon? I think we should question him.”

Alistair looked relieved as Leliana hurried over to the wagon. Shahar bent down to inspect the man. He looked pretty badly hurt. Now that she looked more closely, she noticed he was elven.

“Morrigan, do you have enough mana to heal him?” she asked.

“Why yes, let’s heal the man who just tried to kill us,” Morrigan remarked.

Shahar bit back a more exasperated reply. “He’s not going to be very useful to us if he’s too injured to talk.” Shahar took two lengths of rope that had been extended to her. “Just heal him enough for that, if you can.”

Morrigan sighed. She raised her hands and a light blue mist formed. Shahar left her to it, moving down to tie the man’s legs together securely. Then she moved up to the hands.

“He has a concussion,” Morrigan commented blandly. “Remove the helmet, if you please.”

Shahar moved up and gingerly pulled off the man’s helmet. His blond hair was matted with blood where the pommel of her short sword had connected with his head. She held his head in her right hand as she tossed the helmet to the side. She noticed tattoos running down the left side of his face.

Leliana looked over the unconscious elf’s body as Shahar rested his head carefully on the ground. “Oh my,” she said.

“What?” Shahar asked, checking the man’s bindings to make sure they were secure.

“He’s pretty,” Leliana sort of sang when she said it, a smile spreading across her face.

“What?” Alistair asked with a laugh.

Morrigan snorted. “The man tried to kill us, and all you can think is ‘he’s pretty ?’ ”

Shahar cocked her head to the side, raising an eyebrow. “He’s covered in blood Leliana, how can you even tell?” To emphasize, she wiped the blood from his head on his armor. It wasn’t exactly true, Shahar had noticed. But he certainly looked worse for wear after the fight. She stood up and took two steps back.

And he had just tried to kill them. She really had other things on her mind.

“Is he going to wake up soon?” Alistair asked, looking at Morrigan.

“I am not a miracle-worker,” Morrigan sniped. She clasped her hands tight, cutting off her magic. “But he is as well as he needs to be.”

He was an assassin from a guild of assassins out of Antiva. He had been hired by Loghain, as expected.

He was… asking to join them?

Shahar laughed, shaking her head. “You must think I’m royally stupid.”

“I think you’re royally tough to kill. And utterly gorgeous. Not that I think you’ll respond to simple flattery, but there are worse things in life than serving the whims of a deadly sex goddess.”

Shahar blinked.

Wow.

“Oh great,” she rolled her eyes, trying to look less thrown off than she was. “Another sassy one. We have like, four of those already, but thanks.”

“I can do other things,” he continued hurriedly, his furrowed brows betraying his easy grin. “Fighting, stealth, picking locks. I could warn you, should the Crows try something more sophisticated. I can stand around and look pretty if you prefer. Warm your bed. Fend off unwanted suitors, no?” he offered with a sly smile.

Bed-warming might be nice… was the quip that almost came out of her mouth before she managed to stop it.

Wasn’t she supposed to not be a giant flirt anymore? Though if she thought about it she’d be hard-pressed to find a reason why that was still important.

“Are you…” Shahar eyed him critically, a small, small, smirk quirked at the left side of her mouth. “Prostituting yourself right now?”

He laughed. “Why not? You seem amused enough by it. I’m sure I can find many ways to entertain you,” he said cheerfully.

Shahar frowned at the rather chipper, inviting smile he was giving her and held back a sigh. They were practically flirting at this point. Clearly, she was a great leader. Capable of making the hard choices. Shahar Tabris, an inspiration to all.  

She dropped down and sat on her heels, looking him over. Trying fruitlessly to either gage some kind of deception or will herself to kill an unarmed, tied up elven man- after she had just blood-sacrificed a woman in Redcliff. It almost felt like killing him would… cement that aspect of her. The door stood open at this point, but there’d be no going back if she walked through it.

He stared back at her, his eyes steady, waiting for her to come to a decision.

“And what’s to stop you from finishing the job later?” she asked, forcing herself to hold his gaze. Those were some intensely yellow eyes. Practically golden.

“To be completely honest, I was never given much of a choice regarding joining the Crows. They bought me on the slave market when I was a child. I think I’ve paid my worth back to them, plus tenfold. The only way out, however, is to sign up with someone they can’t touch. Even if I did kill you now, they might just kill me on principle for failing the first time. Honestly, I’d rather take my chances with you.”

Shahar sighed, staring off into the forest for a moment. She had no trouble believing his story. People from happy families didn’t sign up to become mediocre assassins. Her chest hurt, which she suspected was the reason he’d told her, but it didn’t stop it from hurting nonetheless.

They could always use more companions. He was skilled, after all. And she had no doubt Loghain would send more people after them. If she squinted hard enough, she could see how it might be useful to have him around.

She thought about her current companions. A bastard prince, an apostate, a Chantry sister that was by no means a Chantry sister, and a confessed, unstable murderer. And well… herself.

She laughed at the thought, her shoulders shaking with the force of it. She couldn’t let him wander off to try again later. So that really only left one option.

She pulled out a knife. The man’s eyes widened slightly. Might as well have some fun with it.

She leaned forward holding the knife out. She grabbed his tied wrists and tugged him forward with a smirk. The man’s eyebrows furrowed more deeply. An expression of fear and inevitability spreading across his face.

She cut the rope.

“Why not? I accept your offer,” she grinned as the man blinked at her, registering the fact that he was indeed still alive as she pulled the rope away from his wrists.

Then he smiled.

Everyone had something to say about that decision.

Shahar chuckled and pulled away to undo the ropes around his legs. In the end, wasn’t this always how she made decisions? Sometimes she felt like her whole life had been a series of whims, just like this. It had worked alright so far- she was alive at least. “Seriously guys, who hasn’t tried to kill us lately?”

“AND you’re untying him!?” Morrigan threw up her hands.

“What do you want, Morrigan? We’re in the middle of Darkspawn territory. He’d be a sitting duck.” Once she was done, she gave him a hand up. The man- Zevran, nodded slightly in thanks, then winced slightly at his head injury. “My things…”

Shahar smiled. “We have them.” They’d already looted the wagon… and the bodies… and Zevran. She made no move to bring supplies to him. She may be spineless, but she wasn’t completely stupid. … she hoped.

Zevran gave her a crooked smile. Then his face became suddenly serious. “I hereby pledge my oath of loyalty to you until such a time as you choose to release me from it. I am your man, without reservation. This, I swear.” He finished the pronouncement with a rather courtly bow.

Shahar had no idea what to do with that. She nodded in acknowledgment, hoping her face looked serious. Leaderly.

They still had an hour or so before they needed to make camp, which left Shahar to ponder her decision as she walked with up front with their new companion. After Morrigan had healed him a bit more and he’d brushed himself off a bit, Shahar could see what Leliana was talking about.

Except he wasn’t pretty. He was gorgeous.

“Zevran, was it?” she asked. She should probably get to know him, after all, and he’d stayed fairly silent after his oath. Possibly he was pondering the situation as much as Shahar was.

That or trying to figure out how to kill everyone and escape.

“Zev to my friends,” he smiled lopsidedly, eyes more than a little wary.

Shahar laughed. “Well, I’m glad we’re on such good terms already, Zev. I’m Shahar. Don’t know if you knew that already.”

“I did not!” He smiled more fully now.  He turned his head to look at Alistair. “Though you are- Alistair, yes?”

Alistair sighed. “Oh good. I’m famous. Assassins all across Antiva know my name. I wonder why,” he finished bitterly.

“You’ve been a Grey Warden longer than me, after all. Obviously that’s the reason.” Shahar shot him a sympathetic look.

Alistair smirked and shook his head almost exasperatedly. They had said a few words back and forth since they picked up Zevran, and Shahar was starting to feel their companionship slowly begin to mend.

“Obviously not,” Morrigan jumped in. “And the reason you concealed the truth is beyond comprehension.”

“Maybe just yours,” Alistair grumbled.

Morrigan opened her mouth to reply, but Zevran jumped in. “I was only given Alistair’s name as the Senior Warden, yes? Is there perhaps a more… entertaining reason why I would know his name?” His smile grew mischievous again as he glanced back at Shahar for an answer.

Shahar raised her eyebrow at Alistair and shrugged. It wasn’t her secret to tell, even if the rest of the group already knew.

Morrigan spoke up again with a hand wave. “He is-”

“I’m King Maric’s bastard and I’ll tell it myself!” he very nearly shouted.

Shahar saw Zevran’s very golden eyes widen just slightly. He hadn’t known.

“Well, despite hiding it from your trusted fellow Warden, you shout it to the rooftops in front of assassins. Truly you have a knack for survival, Alistair.”

“You know what--”

Shahar chuckled slightly, drawing Zevran’s attention back to herself. “Ignore them. I usually do.”

His mouth was still curled in amusement. “Your companions are very excitable, Warden Shahar.”

“Just Shahar,” she replied. And felt an odd warmth in saying it. “And welcome to the club.”

Chapter Text

It had been three days since his botched suicide/assassination attempt. Interestingly enough, Zevran found himself rather free of restrictions in the Wardens’ camp. He was watched, for sure. Particularly by a Chantry Sister that was in no way as innocent as she pretended and by the two Wardens themselves. He had not been allowed to cook, and it seemed it had been tacitly agreed upon not to let him near the communal pot. All wise choices. He could manage one of the Wardens, but it would be difficult indeed to kill both them and get out of camp alive.

… In the event he decided to remain alive.

And that was… well, some mornings were better than others. He’d dried himself out preparing for this contract and things were interesting at the moment. Plus he’d gone through all the trouble of begging for his life- dying in battle and having someone coldly slit your throat are two very different things, as it turned out. He might as well stay sober enough to be useful. Talisen wasn’t here to drag his sorry ass out of bed anymore after all.

Leaving by itself seemed rather simple by comparison. He could do it right now, in fact, while Alistair was trying to give Shahar the run-down of the nobles whose favor they were more likely to curry.

“Members of the Bannorn are likely to show up, but we should probably focus on the Arls.”

“Wait, what’s the difference again? Arls are more important, right?”

“Mmm… yes and no?”

“Alright. Change of plans. We get our allies and then I just march up and smack Loghain in the face. No politics, no complicated titles.”

“Oh, I see. So we’re going with Morrigan’s plan now, are we? I knew you liked her better than me,” Alistair pouted, clearly fishing.

When Zevran first arrived, he’d thought something might be going on between the two Wardens with the way Alistair was desperately trying to be witty at every possible moment around her. Then, he saw him do it with Leliana and even Morrigan on occasion. There was a massive inferiority complex if he ever saw one.   

He thought he might try seducing one of the Wardens. He felt strangely… less threatened than he thought he should, the Wardens’ companions were an oddly hodge-podge group of travellers, but maybe just in case.

And really the simple fun of seduction was never to be discounted.

The bastard prince was straight as a board, and far too suspicious at that. Zevran could also smell virginity a mile off. He was at least 20, possibly older, as far as Zevran could tell. Which meant the former Templar, handsome as he was, was likely “saving himself” for that special someone. Between royalty (he had suspected a noble tie) and the Wardens, Zevran thought Alistair might want to get it done before his virginity was etched onto his memorial, but he tried not to judge.

Their fearless leader, however…

She was suspicious, for sure. As she should be. But between the two Wardens, Shahar Tabris was far more... attracted to what Zevran had to offer. He knew when a woman was attracted to danger. And that he could provide. She was foolish for letting him live. Merciful, but foolish. He could take advantage of that.

It didn’t hurt that she was strikingly attractive. Not in the same lean, effeminate way Leliana and Morrigan were, perhaps. But she had a boyish charm paired with a body that would never let him forget she was female. Long red curls, muscular thighs, and a rear he had never seen the like on one his own kind. Her personality was emphasized by the fact that she was unusually tall for an elven woman-- standing nearly eye-to-eye with him.

Something to consider, in any case.

That evening, Shahar strode over to him with his bowl of stew, as usual. The last two nights, she’d looked at him for moment, asked him how he was or passed on information, and then walked back toward the center of camp with Leliana and Alistair. Zevran had set up his tent a little away from the center so he could both keep and eye on the others and escape easily if he needed to, and so he’d eaten alone these past few nights. The others seemed to feel more comfortable that way and he certainly did not need Alistair running him through in the middle of dinner for saying something the man didn’t like.

But tonight the Warden seemed determined to talk to him. Perhaps she had something to say? “You can eat with the rest of us, if you like,” she said.

He gazed at her face, both lightly tanned and very freckled as it was. She didn’t seem to be issuing a command, but it was hard to tell. He noticed she had her own bowl with her.

“The rest of you being three of you and the dog?” he asked, pointedly noting the absence of Sten and Morrigan from their little circle.

The Warden smirked. “Their choice. Yours too,” she shrugged, then promptly plopped down next to him. Zevran sighed internally. It seemed he would have to play the failed assassin this evening, grateful to be spared.

He smiled, eyeing her carefully. “And what brings you to my humble part of camp, my lady Warden?”

She snorted. “You, know, the first time I was ever called ‘my lady’ was at Ostagar. Still not used to it.” She shrugged and answered his question. “I like to know who's following me around all day. And other than hearing you tease Leliana about her visions and accuse Sten of being ‘disdainful of elves,’ I don’t know much about you.”

Ah, an assurance of loyalty, then. He was a little hurt that she didn’t completely trust his oath, but well, he wouldn’t either. As for the other bit, he wasn’t surprised. Leader of their little group she may be, but her ears were still pointed. And he hadn’t seen a single elf in Fereldan so far that wasn’t wretchedly impoverished-looking, so he guessed things were worse here than in Antiva.

“All right,” he said. “What would you like to discuss?” he asked.

“Well... why did you want to leave the Crows so badly?” she started.

“Well now, I imagine that’s a very fair question,” Zevran stalled. “Being an assassin, after all, is a living, as far as such things go…” He wasn’t quite sure how to answer this without the conversation becoming awkward. Being pitied for being sold as a slave was one thing, a thing that had likely saved his life. But revealing the truths of things like Crow training or… other memories was something else entirely.

“I was simply never given the opportunity to choose another way. So if that choice presents itself, why should I not seize upon it?” Vague, but true enough.

The Warden nodded. “So what would you rather do?” She smirked. She had quite a lovely smirk- as full of mischief as his own. “Besides tagging along with a bunch of traitorous Warden recruits trying to stop an Archdemon?”

He chuckled. “What could be better than that? If we win, which seems unlikely…” She chuckled at that. “I get to be a hero. What a change of pace!” He paused a moment, taking a spoonful of his incredibly bland stew in order to think. “Now that you mention it, I am not entirely certain.” He honestly hadn’t really thought about it. He assumed he’d’ve been dead by now. He was surprised she was even interested in what he wanted.

“I was a boy of seven when I was purchased. For three sovereigns, I’m told. Which is a good price considering I was all ribs and bone and didn’t know the pommel of a dagger from the pointy end. The Crows buy all their assassins that way. Buy them young, raise them to know nothing else but murder. And if you do poorly in your training, you die.”

“That sounds... awful.”

Zevran blinked at her. Her forehead had knotted and she was no longer smirking.

It was reality, plain and simple. He forgot that these things made others uncomfortable sometimes. So he lightened the story a little.

“Oh, I don’t know about that. The Crows who are actually good enough to survive come to enjoy some of the benefits. In Antiva, being a Crow gets you respect. It gets you wealth. It gets you women… and men. Or whatever it is you might fancy,” Ai , he did miss his prostitutes. And his coin for prostitutes… not that he’d ever had much. He hadn’t been high enough in rank to merit a solid payday yet, but still...

“But that does mean doing what is expected of you, always,” he continued. “And it means being expandable. It’s a cage, if a gilded one. Pretty, but confining.”

Shahar looked at him curiously, smirk firmly back in place, her red curls bunching over one shoulder. He’d noticed she would carefully unbraid her hair every night after camp was set up. “And what is it you fancy, exactly?”

He smirked himself and leaned a little closer to her. He thought she might have been asking for clarification on his preferences, but the opening was there, so why not take it?

“I fancy many things. I fancy things that are beautiful and things that are strong. I fancy things that are dangerous and exciting. Would you be offended if I said I fancied you?”

She blinked at him for a moment before responding. “Damn you’re forward.”

Zevran shrugged, trying to keep his mouth in a smirk instead of the hungry grin that threatened to burst out of him. She didn’t look offended, which was a good sign. And hadn’t missed that hint of a smile or the way her eyes crinkled in amusement. “You wished to talk. I am talking.” He pulled back a bit. Best keep things light at first. “As for what I’ll do in the future… presuming there is one... I truly can’t imagine. It might be interesting to go into business for myself for a change,” he said after a moment. He wasn’t sure that was actually what he wanted, but really, what else was he good for? It was better than nothing. And the thought of being his own man had its appeal.

“Far away from Antiva, of course. For now, naturally, I go where you go.”

She smiled a lovely full-lipped smile. “Well, I’m happy to have you along.”

He smiled politely in response. It was nice of her to say, whether or not she actually meant it. He wasn’t used to being wanted anywhere. Not that she wouldn’t change her mind the minute he slipped up, of course. He was no fool. He knew from experience how quickly leaders could turn on their own. But at least she hadn’t tried to use him as cannon fodder just yet. “And here I am, happy to be had. Isn’t it wonderful how things work out that way? But what about you?” he turned the question back to her. “Why did you become a Grey Warden?”

The Warden’s eyes shifted a little. “Oh, well… Right of Conscription and all. This or the noose,” she grinned, but waved away the question with her hand at the same time. Zevran wasn’t surprised. He had observed her first-hand in a fight- dirty and unrefined. The rough edges of a someone self-taught. Which meant she hadn’t been part of any official group and as such was not legally permitted to carry a weapon as an elf.

And wasn’t that a bizarre rule he’d had the misfortune of learning when he’d first entered Fereldan.

“And what could a woman as lovely as yourself possibly have done to merit hanging?”

She smiled a little wider and rolled her eyes. “Sacrificed small human children to the Elvhen gods, of course,” she whispered conspiratorially. “Don’t remind Leliana though. It makes her uncomfortable.”

Zevran chuckled. “And what were you given for these child sacrifices?”

“Eternal youth,” she said smugly. “I’m actually 86. Every child takes a year off,” she rubbed her smooth skin for emphasis.

“I need to try that then. It appears to work miracles for you. Would that be Dirthamen or Falon’Din?” he asked with a smug look of his own.

Shahar’s eyes widened a little in surprise. “Yes,” she nodded with a laugh. “Both. Definitely. One for each,” This Warden of his was wonderfully fun to talk to, it seemed. Much more so than the bastard prince. It was almost as if they had a rhythm- conversation flowed so naturally between them. He silently applauded his choice in his mind.

Which apparently meant he had made one.

“And are you from this part of Fereldan?” he asked, curious as to what setting she might have found herself almost hung in despite her caginess about the actual event.

“No, leaving with the Wardens was my first time outside of Denerim,” she chuckled a bit. “Alistair had to show me how to read a map. What about yo-?”

“Shahar!” Alistair called. “Can we talk about tomorrow? Bodhan’s heard some things from up the road.”

“Speak of the Archdemon,” she said with another charming smirk and pulled herself up. “It was good talking to you. You should eat with us tomorrow so we can harass you with more questions.”

“I shall think on it, my Warden,” Zevran bowed his head slightly. He found himself actually considering it. If Shahar was always this charming, it would certainly be better than eating alone.

And if he were planning to seduce her, he would need to get closer to her anyway. He suspected it wouldn’t difficult. He sensed she was… amenable to such things.

More fun for the both of them then.

Chapter Text

It was almost two weeks from Redcliffe to the Calenhad docks. Zevran had joined their group on the third day out, and Leliana had been relieved. Both that Shahar had shown mercy enough to spare the man and for effectively breaking up the tension that had pervaded the group since leaving Redcliffe.

It was a shame, really. She liked Shahar and Alistair both. She’d noticed Alistair picking a rose just outside of Lothering and look at a preoccupied Shahar as he did it. Leliana thought he was such a sweet boy. And so brave to go after an older woman. Or at least she thought Shahar was older. It was hard to tell with elves.

But the events at Redcliffe had changed all that. Leliana hadn’t been there, she’d been sent to help the villagers with their needs down in the village. She couldn’t say she approved of what Shahar had done, but it didn’t sound like there had been much of a choice. And she’d saved the little boy and the village. That was something, at least.

But whatever pieces of attraction Alistair might have still had for Shahar, it was nothing compared to what was now happening between Shahar and their newfound companion. Leliana hadn’t been sure if Shahar had felt anything in return for Alistair, but her attraction to Zevran was obvious to anyone who bothered to look. She laughed at jokes that made everyone else cringe, she shockingly could go toe to toe with him on double entendres, making Alistair and even herself blush. And she’d caught Shahar staring after him on more than one occasion. Leliana had tried to tease her about it, but Shahar wasn’t bashful.

“What? He’s the one walking around without his shirt all the time. Who wouldn’t look?”

Leliana giggled. She’d guessed Shahar was a little more… experienced than some. And Zevran was handsome. No one was debating that. Maker help them, he knew it too. But Zevran was bringing out a whole new side to Shahar that Leliana hadn’t seen before.

They still had at least two days until they got to the docks. They walked along the road under a large, threatening-looking cloud. Leliana had of course heard all the jokes about Fereldan being covered in mud, but for some reason, she hadn’t associated that with rain when she’d first come here two years ago. She remembered how miserable she’d been the first few months with the biting cold and constant rain. Not at all like her Orlais. It was hard to imagine her mother growing up in such a place.

She was more used to it now, of course. Though after all of Zevran’s teasing, she took some pleasure in watching him occasionally shiver and glare up at the sky as if it had personally offended him.

“Does it ever stop raining in this country?” he complained as they walked, the first drops of rain beginning to fall.

“ Pashera. Enough, elf. Complaining will not make the rain stop.”

“See? There’s that disdainful attitude again. Whatever did elves do to you, eh?”

“Whined incessantly about the weather?” Shahar offered innocently.

Zevran put a hand to his chest. “You would turn against your own people? How could you?”

Shahar turned and walked backward a moment, looking over Zevran, than Sten.

“If it saved me from getting crushed by a massive Qunari, yes,” she replied, turning face front again.

“How very mercenary of you, my dear. I like it.”

“Thanks. I like me too.” She grinned. Leliana liked Shahar’s grin. It was very… wolfish.

Alistair stopped dead in his tracks. Shahar stopped half a beat later.

Zevran grumbled in Antivan and pulled out his blades.

“This far north?” Leliana asked, pulling out her bow and nocking an arrow.

“There aren’t many,” Alistair said. “Maybe five or six.”

“Scouts again?” Shahar asked. “Is the Archdemon having them follow us or something?”

“They have appeared in the north before,” Sten, of all people, replied ominously. Shahar looked at him with dilated eyes. She didn’t say anything, just nodded acknowledgment. She turned and walked next to Alistair, her blades out.

“How far?”

“Close. They’ve already sensed us.”

“Awesome. Leliana, Morrigan.” Shahar turned toward her.

“Yes?” Leliana replied.

Shahar pointed to a small hill. “You two should have clear shots from there. Morrigan, you know the drill.”

Morrigan arched an elegant brow. “Cage the scariest-looking one?”

Shahar smiled. “You got it.”

“How specific,” Morrigan remarked as Leliana felt the odd sensation of Morrigan pulling on her mana.

There were more of them than Darkspawn. Leliana only managed to knick one in the shoulder before Alistair cut it down with his sword. The battle was over practically before it began, but Darkspawn still meant stopping to clean everything off. Something Shahar and Alistair were absolutely adamant about. Leliana of course didn’t have anything to clean, the arrow sticking out of the dead Genlock’s shoulder was a lost cause, so she used the time to check on supplies.

Leliana wondered about Shahar as the woman cleaned off her short sword. She’d never known many elves, besides the servants in Halamshiral, and she’d never really talked to one. Both Shahar and Zevran had a certain roughness to them she wasn’t used to seeing. The ones at the palace had been so well-behaved. From what she’d gathered, Shahar had grown up in one of Fereldan’s alienages. She’d heard… stories about places like that. Maybe that had something to do with it?

It would probably be easier if she just asked. No harm in getting to know one’s companions, right? And Shahar had always been kind.

“So Shahar,” she began. “Did you always live in an alienage? Was it very terrible?”

Shahar stopped cleaning her blades, freezing in place. All conversation stopped.

They must be very hard memories, Leliana thought. Perhaps I shouldn’t have asked.

Shahar smirked and started cleaning her blades again after a moment. “What do you think?”

“Well...um…” She didn’t want to be rude. The alienage had been Shahar’s home, after all. But the things she’d heard... “I’ve never been to the Denerim alienage, but I’ve heard that life is very hard there and there’s so much squalor...”

Zevran snorted. Leliana saw him chuckle into his fist. She noticed even Alistair was pointedly looking away. Morrigan… Morrigan just seemed curious. She turned back to see Shahar looking at him with her lips pressed and her eyebrow raised. Leliana was starting to feel awkward, but she pressed on.

“In Orlais, most elven servants live in the homes of their Masters, often in great wealth and luxury.”

“That so?” Shahar replied bluntly. She looked unhappy, almost angry. How could she explain? Things were better for her people in Orlais.

“I’ve known elven servants with servants of their own,” Leliana started. That was a good example, wasn’t it? She’d never seen an elf with their own servants in Fereldan. “A well-trained elven servant is highly valued in Orlais. They are nimble and dexterous and many people find them pleasing to look at.”

Shahar stared at her and laughed harshly in what sounded like disbelief. Leliana wasn’t sure where this conversation had taken a wrong turn but it wasn’t going well.

“So I should offer myself up to some Orlesian noble? Like a prize-winning animal?” Shahar snapped.

Oh, that is what it sounds like, isn’t it? “No! I did not mean it that way! Ugh, my words were clumsily chosen. I did not mean to offend. I’m sorry.”

“I’m a person, Leliana. Not just an elf. You still treat us differently, even if you’re not cruel about it.”

“I-” Every fiber in her wanted to defend herself. She wasn’t like those tavern-keepers who outright refused to let elves stay. She never called them knife-ears. She’d been nice to Shahar and Zevran.

But… she was treating them differently, wasn’t she? This conversation proved that. She still… expected to see them as she saw all the elven servants back in Halamshiral. Expected to see them in that position relative to hers.

“I did not realize that,” she admitted instead. “It is so strange, how long-held beliefs just seem natural and… right. Like there’s no other way to feel. Thank you. You have given me a lot to think about.”

Shahar’s expression softened. She smiled slightly as she slid her now-clean blades back into their sheaths. She stood and nodded. “At least you listened.”

“You Fereldans and your pride,” Zevran flapped his hand at Shahar as he stood. “It’s why you all still live in mud. If some noble offered me a fine roof over my head, I wouldn’t mind ‘seeing to their needs’ once in a while.” He grinned at Shahar, but she scowled in response.

Oh, but that’s not what it’s like! Leliana wanted to shout. But she kept quiet- listening . It seemed both Shahar and Zevran thought that was the way it was.

Have I really been that blind? Leliana wondered. She’d even said they were “pleasing to look at.”

How could she have been so wrong about something so obvious?

Shahar did not seem to want to talk about this with Leliana or Zevran either way. “As long as there’s a choice. To each their own,” she shrugged and continued walking, clearly intending to catch up with Alistair, who had practically run away from the conversation as soon as his blade was clean. Zevran stared after Shahar a moment, looking for all the world like he was piecing parts of a puzzle together.

Leliana approached him. “I.. would like to apologize to you too,” she ventured hesitantly. He had heard the whole thing, after all. And he was an elf.

He smirked, still staring after Shahar. “No need, my dear. I did not grow up in an alienage.”

She still did, she knew that. But she wasn’t quite sure how to explain what she was apologizing for without shoving her foot further into her mouth, so she let it be.

Leliana was quiet for most of the rest of the day, pondering what Shahar had said. Shahar didn’t seem to bear her any ill-will. She’s probably used to it, Leliana thought a little bitterly.

Well, there was no sense in brooding about it. She’d just have to pay more attention to her own thoughts and how she treated people. Maybe travelling with Shahar could help her learn a little more. She doubted that was the Maker’s intention when he sent her on this quest, but it was a worthy lesson to learn.

Chapter Text

They didn’t arrive at the docks until late that night and Shahar readily agreed with the others they should wait until morning to attempt the crossing to the Circle Tower. After a rather contentious interaction with the friendly-but-racist boat captain, it was determined they should be of sound mind before facing whatever it was they were about to face.

The only inn in town was a little place called “The Spoiled Princess.” Despite Kester, the innkeep was friendly enough and lent two rooms. They got an awkward story about the man’s sister for their trouble, but at least he didn’t bat an eye at the non-humans in the group.

They grabbed seats around the tavern and ordered food and drink- except Morrigan and Sten. Morrigan disappearing up to her room while Sten seated himself in a corner to… watch. Creepily. The Beresaad is the eyes and ears of the Antaam , Shahar had remembered him saying. It was debatable whether or not he was doing a good job of it.

It had been quite a while since any of them had had a proper meal, none of them seemed to know how to cook. Or at least not with the limited resources they could scrounge up on the road. Shahar could cook a decent stew, but they didn’t often come by nettle or rosemary being sold in the traveling carts and she hardly had time to forage for it.

So she was looking forward to the heaping bowl of potato and leek soup and chunk of bread that now sat in front of her. She was also pleased to see her invitation to Zevran had not gone ignored. He hadn’t joined them while they were on the road, but now he took his bowl and plopped down next to her and across from Leliana.

“Nice of you to join us,” she commented. She didn’t miss Leliana’s eye roll.

He flashed a smile. “I couldn’t stay away from such pretty people forever, could I?”

“Certainly not,” she replied, taking a swig from her beer. She pulled back and stared into it. “This is practically water,” she sulked.

“Not fancy enough for your high tastes, is it?” Alistair laughed, taking a sip. He frowned. “Oh. Well, that is disappointing.”

Leliana and Zevran both took sips from their mugs. Leliana winced a bit. “It tastes… like beer.”

Zevran coughed. “Certainly every beer I’ve had in Fereldan.”

Leliana giggled.

“You’ve been with the group for less than two weeks and you’re already criticizing my country?” Alistair asked.

“You do realize I’m from Antiva, yes? The finest wines in all of Thedas, among other things.”

“Mmm… I remember a really good Antivan cherry wine they served with dessert at a noble’s house I performed at once,” Leliana agreed. “Sweet, but not too sweet. A little sour. Just right.”

Alistair shrugged. “I just want beer that tastes like beer.”

“You are a man of simple tastes then?” Zevran asked.

“I like to think so,” he sipped his beer again. Shahar noticed the way he was peering at Zevran over his mug. Simple tastes, but not a simple man, she thought. Then wondered at her own position right next to the assassin.

“And you?” Zevran asked, turning to face Shahar. “What does our fearless leader like to imbibe?”

He had indeed managed to worm his way right past her guard with his jokes and chatty personality. He seemed tailor-made to fit her. Irreverent, kind of an asshole… hot. She smirked. She never claimed to be a good person. She had spent the last couple years trying to be one for her father’s sake. But plans had changed and Zevran was everything she had been trying to leave behind.

“Whiskey or brandy, when I come by it,” she responded. “Which isn’t often.”

“Have you had Antivan brandy? It’s strong, I suspect you’d like it.”

“I don’t think so, no.” She didn’t add that most of her spirits came from a barrel behind Alaric’s shop in the Alienage.

“I didn’t know Antiva made brandy,” Leliana said.

“It’s a smaller market,” Zevran admitted. “But it’s quite good. I could probably procure some, the next time we are somewhere larger than this.”

“Oh! I’d like that,” Leliana exclaimed.

And look at him go, Shahar thought as Leliana gave Zevran a genuine smile. Tried to kill us a week ago and has already managed to charm his way into their little circle.

“You know, I don’t think I know anything else about Antiva besides wine,” Shahar admitted as she flagged down one of the servers. A young human woman came over and bent down to hear Shahar’s request. “Do you have anything a bit-”

“Stronger?” the woman filled in. “Yeah this batch is rubbish. You got coin? We just unloaded a crate of mead.”

“Done,” Shahar agreed. The woman nodded scurried off to fetch their drinks. Shahar turned back to Zevran.

“So, what else is there in Antiva?” she repeated.

“Hmm… well. The only way to truly appreciate it would be to go there. It is a warm place, not cold and harsh like this Fereldan. In Antiva it rains often, but the flowers are always in bloom… or so the saying goes.”

“You are constantly complaining about the rain here!” Leliana cut in.

“It is different than Fereldan rain!” Zevran defended. “In Antiva, it rains or it doesn’t. Not this constant… little rain.”

“Drizzle?” Shahar supplied.

“Yes. That.”

The server came back with their drinks and set them in front of them. Shahar fished out the coppers and paid the woman.

“Oh, much better!” Leliana exclaimed after a sip.

Alistair heartily agreed. “And Antiva has assassins,” he reminded the group, bringing the conversation sort of back on topic.

“Every land has its assassins,” Zevran shrugged in response. “Some are simply more open about their business than others.”

“What city are you from?” Leliana asked.

“I hail from the glorious Antiva City,” he grinned as he said it. Shahar got the sense he was enjoying all this attention. That or he greatly missed home. “Home to the royal palace. It is a glittering gem amidst the sand, my Antiva City. Do you all come from someplace comparable?

“Mmm… I often think how much I miss my Orlais. Alistair, you are from Redcliffe, right?”

“I…” Alistair looked vaguely uncomfortable, as he always did when his childhood came up. “I suppose so. How ‘bout you Shahar?” he asked, steering the conversation away from himself. Any glittering gems in your history?”

Shahar shrugged. “My mother was better than any gem.”

The whole table laughed.

“You have me there indeed!” Zevran said with a chuckle. “I for one can make no such claim as I never laid eyes on the woman.”

Shahar noticed a curious look from Alistair at that. He was an orphan himself after all. Maybe they were finding some common ground. Now that Shahar thought about it, she was the only one at the table with any living parents. Odd that. She should probably try to appreciate it more.

Granted she may never see her family again, but...

Shahar interrupted her own thoughts by finishing her mead.

Leliana was talking again. “You know, I was good friends with an Antivan minstrel…”

Leliana talked about her friend for a while. About the court of Orlais and it’s many intrigues, and how Josephine would make these deliciously spicy foods. Zevran chimed in on occasion. Shahar suspected they two of them were glad to have someone to discuss “civilized” society with.

Alistair and Shahar just looked at each other, sharing the knowledge that they had no idea what these two were talking about. Alistair openly eschewed the finer things because of what they implied about him, Shahar’d just never had the money. Sure, she’d occasionally pulled off something big in her day, but what would she have done if she bought something fine with it? Get herself mugged?

She ordered another round for the table and downed her second drink. The mead was a good deal stronger than the beer had been, and she was already on her way to a pleasantly hazy state.

“Hmm… you know what is most odd?” Zevran said wistfully. “We speak of my homeland and for all it’s wine and dark-haired beauties and the lilo flutes of the minstrels, I miss the leather the most.”

Shahar snorted, now solidy tipsy. “Is that supposed to be some kind of euphemism?”

Zevran laughed. “It may as well be! But not this once, no.”

Shahar frowned in disappointment.

“I mean the smell,” he continued. “For years I lived in a tiny apartment near the leather district~”

Shahar ordered a third drink for herself and fell into a lulled state listening to Zevran’s stories. She had known a few Orlesians in the Denerim marketplace, but no Antivans. His accent was very different than what she was used to. Blended with Leliana and Alistair’s more familiar voices, she almost felt… at peace.

The voices began to fade.

“Shahar? Shahar.” Alistair reached across and nudged her shoulder a bit.

Shahar blinked and sat up straight. “I’m listening,” she smiled.

“Oh?” Leliana gave her a smug grin. “What did I just say?”

“Shahar is the best Warden that ever Wardened, obviously,” Shahar replied with a yawn towards the end.

Leliana giggled. “To bed with you, I think.” She rolled her shoulders. “I should probably get some rest myself. Come on.” She stood and everyone moved to follow her. Shahar dragged herself up. She hadn’t realized how tired she was. Still, she shook herself off and tried to move with a little dignity- made very difficult given she’d just downed three glasses of mead in rather short order.

Still, she managed to excuse herself to the outhouse, wishing everyone good night.

The evening had gone well. Either Zevran was still planning to kill them and moving very slowly, or he was genuinely trying to befriend the others. The less Shahar had to worry about the group getting along the more she could focus on the actually important things. That had bit her in the back enough times running jobs in Denerim and she hoped she wouldn’t have to worry about it here.

And it was good to feel like she had people she could talk to again.

… or maybe this was just all the booze talking.

As she was heading back inside the tavern from the outhouse, she saw a figure appear in the doorway.

Speaking of… she thought as Zevran greeted her. She felt a little thrill run through her at the thought of them being alone together. There were a couple reasons for that, but the booze was of course masking the more prudent one.

“I’m glad you sat with us,” she blurted. Then, recovering slightly, “I never know what Morrigan and Sten are up to, but at least I can keep an eye on you three,” she joked.

“And the dog,” Zevran reminded her.

“And the dog,” she agreed.

He leaned his shoulder against the tavern wall and looked at her for a moment. Shahar raised an eyebrow in response. “Yes?”

He shrugged. “The weather is nice, for a change. I had a good meal and good conversation. And a beautiful woman tells me she enjoys my company. Am I not allowed to be appreciative of my circumstances once in a while?”

Shahar sighed and leaned her back against the wall next to him. “The way you talk about Antiva, I suspect it’s a country full of charming, beautiful men who flirt with everything that moves.”

“Hmm. Yes. And?”

“Well, I could just go to Antiva. I’d be surrounded by charming, beautiful Zevran Arainais,” she shrugged.

Zevran laughed. “You would do quite well in Antiva, of that I am sure. However,” She turned her head to look at him and he leaned closer. “There is only one Zevran Arainai, I assure you.”

She slid closer to him, eyes narrowing at him. “Are you always so formal when you speak?” she asked. Despite all his talk about sex and murder, he never cursed. It was ridiculous, she thought through her mead-infused haze.

“Hmm… maybe only when I’m speaking in a foreign tongue.”

“And how many tongues do you speak?”

He smirked and quirked his eyebrow. “Are we still speaking of language?”

Shahar’s mouth curled into a grin. He smelled… well, not good. No one smelled good after weeks on the road. But… unique. Appealing.

She hadn’t realized how close they’d gotten. How he’d managed to slide closer while still casually leaning against the wall was a mystery she suspected she’d never solve. She stared into those golden eyes of his and felt a familiar tension running through her. He tilted his head curiously against the wall, smile unchanged, and waited.

She could. Easily. She wanted to.

She pushed herself off the wall.

“Good night Zev,” she said as she breezed past him toward her room. She heard him laugh quietly behind her.

“Good night, My Warden.”

Chapter Text

“The Blight is over. Don’t you remember? You killed the Archdemon and they gave you a title and everything! That bump on your head must have been worse than we thought.”

Shianni? Shahar blinked. Where…?

She sat up. Blinked again to clear her visions. The image of Shianni slowly clarified in front of her. She felt softness under her. A bed?

“Shianni? Where… am I?”

Shianni’s brow furrowed in concern. “Maker’s Breath, Shahar. Who’d’ve thought a fall from a horse could rattle you so much. Here.” Shianni snapped her fingers in front of Shahar’s face. Shahar flinched away, but that seemed to make Shianni happy. “I thought Wardens were supposed to be tough.”

She heard a door open and another voice she recognized drifted through the room. “Is she ok?” the man whispered. “They’re waiting for her in the main hall.”

“She’s fine, just needs a minute,” Shianni replied.

“Main hall?” Shahar blinked and looked around the room for the first time. Her eyes widened.

Maker’s Balls.

The room, her room, she suddenly remembered was the size of at least three Alienage flats combined. There were expensive-looking tapestries plastering every wall. There was what looked like a fully stocked bar in one corners and a wardrobe the size of the Valendrian’s meeting hall.

Shianni reached down and closed Shahar’s gaping mouth and turned her jaw to face her. Shianni’s eyebrows furrowed with worry. “We’re going to have to get you to a healer at this point…”

“I wouldn’t worry about it.” The man’s voice again. She looked passed Shianni. Her vision fuzzed a little. She saw a man, elven, blonde, Other details came into focus more slowly. Strong jaw, proud nose, broad shoulders… because he used to be a blacksmith.

“Nelaros?” Shahar gasped.

Nelaros, her husband , a voice whispered in her mind, grinned back at her as he approached her bed. Their bed. “Oh, back to full names, are we? Should I call you “Lady Tabris”?”

Shahar blinked at him for a moment. Then everything fell into place. This was her home. It had been gifted to her after she’d killed the Archdemon. She was the Hahren of Fereldan. They’d made up a whole new title for her because they hadn’t known what to do with an elven hero. And Nelaros was her husband. Had been her husband for almost three years now, finally marrying after the Blight. And he’d been a good one.

She smiled up at him, her mind clearing. “Nel. Sorry. I-.” She tried to remember what had happened. Something about… a tower?

“You fell off a horse last night. Whacked your head pretty good,” Nelaros explained with a tap to his own head. “The stablemaster told you he wasn’t ready to be ridden, but you wouldn’t listen.”

That… absolutely sounds like something I would do...

She chuckled, rubbing the back of her head where she did in fact find a sore spot. “And I absolutely meant to do it. I bet that horse feels so guilty he’ll behave from now on.”

“You are truly a master of manipulation,” Shianni responded wryly. “If you’re done doing stupid things people tell you not to, you have about five thousand appointments today and I can’t keep them occupied forever.”

“Give the woman a minute, for the Maker’s sake.”

“Doing stupid things is what made me a Warden, thank you very much,” Shahar responded smugly. Her and Soris and…

Nelaros with his throat slit.

Her vision blurred again and she shook her head. She felt strange… maybe it really had been a bad blow? She tried to remember exactly what had happened the night before, but all she could see were stone walls, stairs, what looked like a library, everything toppled and covered in blo--

“Give us a little while, Shianni?” Nelaros said, gently kneeling beside her bed. “I’ll make sure she’s alright and send her down later.”

Shianni sighed and left. “Hurry it up, alright? I know how you two are,” she winked at them as she slid out the door.

Nelaros waited until she left, then shot Shahar a wicked grin. “I think you just need to relax a little. Shianni’s got your whole week planned out, but she forgot to include some... “ he mused, trailing his fingertips down her arm. “Private time. For the two of us. Or three of us,” he added quietly.

She blinked in confusion, yet again. The earnest, conservative-looking man she’d met in the Alienage five years ago seemed to entirely disappear as he continued speaking.

“You’re ah- friend from your Warden days. He’s staying with us for a while, remember? I see how you two look at each other.”

“Nel, what are you-”

As if on cue, a quiet knock came from the door. Nel smirked and practically bounded to the door in excitement. He unlocked the door and stepped back just as another blonde elven man quietly slipped inside. This one was bronze-skinned and a bit more lean than her sturdier husband.

“Zevran?” Shahar pushed the covers off her finally as his features came into focus. She swung around on slightly unsteady legs, suddenly aware she was wearing nothing but a large man’s tshirt. Zevran smirked in that confident way of his at the sight of her legs and headed straight for the bar.

There was entirely too much smirking going on right now.

~*~*~  Non-consent warning. ~*~*~ 

Zevran pulled out three tumblers and began pouring.

“It was so nice of you to stock my favorite spirits in your bedroom, #*^&*%”

The last word was unclear. It sounded exotic and sexy. Her mind inserted Antivan .

Had she stocked the bar with such intentions? She felt guilty for a moment, but a thought appeared in her mind just then.

“Wait,” she turned to her husband. “Didn’t you restock the bar last?”

Nel smiled even as he flushed a little. “Guilty as charged.” He looked at her seriously then. “I hope you’re not mad. I wanted to give you a present since you’ve been working so hard lately-”

Zevran snorted as he carried the drinks over and sat next to her on the bed. “Ruling the country and all.” He handed her a glass.

“And I know you two had a history so-”

“He thought,” Zevran walked his fingers up Shahar’s other arm, sending little tingling sensations down her spine. “We could have a little fun.”

She took a sip of her drink, whatever it was. Whatever Antivan specialty her husband had brought, it tasted like her favorite whiskey. It calmed her nerves almost instantly. This did sound fun. And she had been tired. So tired. So busy. There had been delegations, the Dalish and Alienage reforms, steering the king around political fiascos…

The king. Alistair?

But he wasn’t king, was he? He was just a naive former Templar… running around complaining about his heritage. He didn’t want to be king. And he was a good fighter. She’d seen the way he’d taken out those abominations in the Tower-

The Tower. Abominations.

Demons.

“Shahar,” Zevran leaned in close, his breath soothing against her ear. It calmed her- again. His hand slid up her bare thigh, dragging out an irrepressible shiver. He tugged lightly on the hem of her shirt. “We don’t have much time. Let’s not waste it, hmm?”

Nel took her hand and kissed the back of it. Her body heated up like a fire, most of it pooling below her waist.

“You do so much good, all the time,” her husband whispered. “Let us do something good for you.” His hand on her other leg pushed up the tshirt until it met the edge of her smallclothes. He kissed her knee just as Zevran turned her head.

“I promise you’ll like this, #*^&*%”

He leaned in and their lips met. They were soft and wet. She was hot, so hot. Her mind filled suddenly with need.

She sighed into Zevran’s mouth as Nelaros dragged his finger up her center. She could feel Zevran grin against her. He reached over and slid his hands over her breast.

And it felt so good. Better than sex normally felt- and that was saying something. Even if her mind was still a little fuzzy. Even if she couldn’t quite remember how she got here.

It felt good.

And this was her husband and Zevran. Her husband she been married to for three years…

Her husband with his throat slit.

Nelaros pulled her smallclothes aside and licked while Zevran pushed her down onto the bed.

No thinking , her mind said and she moaned, arching her back. Zevran was doing wonderful things to her neck and chest at the moment while Nelaros licked and sucked.

Zevran, whom she’d travelled with during the Blight. Zevran, whom she’d… had a history with?

How did that end?

She tried to remember. Vague memories, fond farewells… Nelaros’s tongue.

“Ah fuck, Nel…” she moaned again as he worked.

The last time she saw Zevran...

“Is this some ridiculous ploy to get me to lay down my guard?”

The Sloth Demon.

“#*^&*%...” Zevran murmured. “You feel so tense.”  He slid in close, pinning her arm to her side just as Nelaros grasped the hand of her other arm and held it against the bed. She gasped as Nelaros slipped a finger into her. Why did this feel so good ? Her mind felt like tar. She couldn’t focus. She felt panic rising in her chest.

“Stop,” she said.

Zevran wrapped his leg around her thigh, pulling it wider for Nelaros, who slipped in a second finger. He made almost a whimpering sound. “We just want to please you, #*^&*%”

And now she heard that word for what it was. A jumble of sound- meaningless.

“ Get off! ” she used her other leg to kick Nelaros, or whatever this thing pretending to be Nelaros was, away from her. He tumbled back, landing on the floor with an “oof.”

She turned to face Zevran.

But it wasn’t Zevran anymore. She froze, staring straight into the face of a human man, maybe 30, with brown hair and brown skin and hazel eyes.

“Liam?”

It held her tight. “Why leave?” it hissed, decidedly not Zevran or even Liam any longer. “We can give you whatever you want. Here you have power. Wealth. Men. ” He ground against her thigh for emphasis. She cringed. Her heart thumped in her chest. He seemed… bigger than he would have been in real life.

Or maybe she had just gotten smaller?

She blinked. She breathed. She remembered.

“ Get off me, demon ,” she spat.

The demon grinned and Zevran’s Antivan lilt strangely returned while still in Liam’s form. “Get off? Happily.”

He pulled a knife from nowhere and stabbed down toward her chest.

~*~*~

She grabbed his arm with her free hand, twisting so he dropped the blade with a shout. Standing, and now remembering where she actually was, she suddenly found herself in full armor, her blades at her back. She pulled them out and hacked into the collarbone of the creature in front of her.

Zevran or Liam or whatever it was- sputtered and died, his hazel eyes wide with shock.

She turned to face her husband, who was rapidly backing away from her.

“I swear I didn’t know,” he said, his voice panicked, hand raised. “I didn’t know he’d been sent to kill you. I never would’ve-”

“Enough!” she shouted. She raised her blades.

Nelaros lowered his arm. “Wasn’t killing me the first time enough? At least you’re doing it with your own hand this time.”

She swung the blade down. Blood shot from his neck, just as it had in the real world.

The room began to fade around her. She wiped tears away and wrapped her arms around herself, trying to steady her breathing. She took deep breaths as vague shapes and valleys formed around her. She stood on what seemed to be a floating island, or at least she could see other islands floating in the distance and assumed she was standing on one of them. Everything was hazy. She saw what looked like a black smudge far, far in the distance. If she focused hard, it took the shape of a castle.

The Black City? Her mind was clearing. She tried to focus on where she’d read about the Black City. She honestly hadn’t known much about the Fade or magic before she became a Grey Warden.

For once she wished she’d paid attention at Chanty lessons.

She felt an invisible hand moving up her thighs and shuddered.

Focus, she told herself, banishing whispers of memories from her mind. What did she know about the Fade? Black City, Darkspawn. She tried to think through all the random parchments and tomes she’d been pouring over since Alistair mentioned going to the Circle. She wanted to be able to talk to the mages on their own terms. It was how she’d always approached working with others. Things seemed to go more smoothly if you could understand a person’s “language,” so to speak. So what did she know about demons in the Fade? They responded to your emotions...

Power. Wealth. Men. She heard the demon’s voice whispering in her ear again. That’s what they’d pried out of her brain? Maker, how sad. Why had she ever thought she was better than that?

And Zevran.

That made her laugh a bit. Yeah, she supposed that one was obvious. Cheap shot, demons.

How did one get out of the Fade?

She wandered, taking care to skirt around signs of demons and tried to map things out in her head, which was rather hard to do, considering everything was a uniform shapeless beige.

Where was everyone else? She tried to think… it had been her, Alistair because of his templar abilities. Leliana had stayed with the Templars to keep heads cool. Sten had seemed a little too eager to kill everything in sight, so she’d left him with their resident apostate back across the lake. Plausibly they were gathering news from the road, but really Shahar was just hoping for an un-burnt down village.

So that left their new companion Wynne, who’d been surprisingly skilled despite her age, and…

Maybe I can find Zevran if I think about him hard enough.

She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate.

Zevran… Zevran….

Zevran nibbling her ear.

She snorted. He was so damn hot… and she’d spent the last two years trying to clear the air so her father could actually find a match for her before rumor of her exploits spread too far to be stopped.

Her mood dipped a little. Nothing at all mattered, did it? If she survived this, there was an Archdemon. If she survived the Archdemon, there was the Taint. And even beyond all of that she was just a-

Thoughts of Liam flashed through her mind and she felt the Fade begin to respond. The air felt heavier somehow. Liam had been her first. She’d been 13 and trying so hard to seem older after her mother had been killed the year before. Liam… well... he’d taken advantage of that.

She cut that train of thought off and refocused on the task at hand. A more cheerful thought wandered across the forefront of her mind and she allowed it.

She was free from her old life. The good parts, yes, but also the bad.

So it doesn’t matter if I shag my own assassin.

She actually giggled at that.

Molested by demons and immediately thinking of getting laid, I am a classy lady.

She wrangled the strange mix of amusement and despair back under control after a moment. She breathed out, concentrating as if picking a lock. Zevran. Find Zevran.

She felt something shift around her. A light breeze blew around her. She opened her eyes and…

Nothing had changed.

She exhaled in frustration and continued walking a while. After a moment, she saw something glowing nearby that hadn’t been there before. She walked toward it. It looked sort of like… a door?

A voice came from behind her. She spun around to face it, hands grasping the handles of her knife and sword.

“Who are you?” a man in mage’s robes asked. “Where did you come from? Are you a demon?”

Chapter Text

Shahar was exhausted. For every lyrium vein there were half a dozen more puzzles to solve. Another form to take, which was the strangest feeling, and more demons than she could count. Physically she was doing surprisingly well, probably because there was nothing actually physical about what she was doing. But her mind was being taxed to the limit. She’d been hit by fireballs and had to convince herself that her body wasn’t really there even though she could feel herself burning. She’d been attacked by what she swore were the same dogs that nobles let loose in the Alienages. She had to believe she was a mouse, lest she be crushed in the tiny spaces only the mouse-form would allow her access to.

So when she found the openings to three more portals, she sagged, actually falling to her knees with exhaustion.

“You’ve gone farther than I ever have,” Niall assured her. “And something’s different now. I can feel it. You’ve killed the demons that ruled these parts of the Fade. You’re so much braver than I am.”

“Then what’re these portals?” she waved toward the fountain… portal... thing and ignored his compliment entirely. Her mind felt like it had been torn to shreds.

“I don’t know,” Niall admitted. “You still haven’t found your companions, right? Perhaps they’re there.”

It took nearly every ounce of strength in her to drag herself to her feet, letting the fountain take most of her weight.

“Find my friends,” she muttered to herself, not even realizing she’d used the word friends. “Kill the fucking sloth demon. Save the mages.” Because she would save the damn mages. She wasn't coming all this way just to commit genocide.

Niall watched her silently as she psyched herself up for whatever came next. She’d never felt brave a day in her life. There were just things she needed to do.  No one else was doing them, after all.

Sometimes, things got in her way.

So she moved them.

She breathed deep and thought of Zevran.

Chapter Text

He didn’t know how long they’d left him there. Long enough that his entire body ached. He was long past feeling hungry, but his mouth was dry and his lips cracked and bleeding. Part of him wished they’d come back, that his test was complete and they’d let him go.

But he couldn’t hope for that. They’d only break him easier if- when they started torturing him again.

He wriggled his toes and fingers, trying to get some circulation going. He wasn’t entirely sure, his cell was pitch black except when the others came with torches, but he thought he’d been there about three days.

Surely it can’t be much longer a quiet voice in him said. Taliesen’s only took two days…

Ah but the Masters don’t like you, whispered one little voice in his head.

One creates a lot of voices when left alone in a black room for days.

Master Eoman likes me, he comforted himself smugly. Master Eoman likes me a lot.

He’d make it. He was going to be a Crow.

He heard footsteps and whispers from outside the door.

Lalo… he thought worriedly.

Lalo was new, being trained under Vierre. New torturers were always more dangerous. More likely to push things too far, to cause irreparable damage.

He had no illusions of what would happen to him if Lalo accidentally snapped a tendon. They’d put him down quicker than they would a dog.

He supposed he could find peace with the fact that Lalo would be punished for it.

The door creaked open and the room flooded with the light of their torches. Zevran squinted, trying to block out the light.

“Ciao amico!” one of them greeted him. “Shall we get started?”

Not getting let go~

Zevran crushed that thought for good. He opened his eyes and tried to speak. His throat was completely dry and his voice cracked like a little boy’s. “What’s on the menu today,” he gasped, failing miserably at sounding upbeat. His eyes were slowly coming into focus and he stared up at the ceiling. He had no desire to see his ruined body still strapped to a rack.

Lalo placed his hand on the wheel. “Hmm… well, I had a delicious bowl of fish chowder for lunch. You know, from that little place right on the docks?”

And without preamble, he turned the wheel. Zevran’s entire body spasmed as the rack stretched him further. Couldn’t Lalo have warmed him up first? Whipped him or something? Gotten the blood flowing a little?

Vierre laughed. “I think I saw him flinch that time.”

Lalo leered down at Zevran, the swirls of his tattoos twisting his features into even more of a grimace. “We’ll make you scream yet, apprentice.”

Zevran tried to smile. “I... wouldn’t want you to hold back,” he gasped. “I’d be disappointed if you... did.” He could only take very shallow breaths at this point, the rack not allowing his stomach or chest to inhale a full breath. Speaking was becoming difficult.

“This one has spirit. It’s a shame we have to break him.”

A woman’s voice cut through the air. “Zev! Are you alright?”

Zevran blinked. Where did he know that voice? He lifted his head as much as he could manage. An elven woman, red hair, armor and blades at the ready.

Who…? A name hazily floated through his mind. Shahar. Grey Warden. He blinked, not quite recalling the circumstances of how they’d met, but he knew something wasn’t right about her being here now. “What… what are you doing... here?” Zevran gasped. “You’re not… supposed to be… here.”

“Snap out of it. This is a dream,” was all she said as she continued to approached the rack.

He noticed Vierre’s eyes narrowing. This was upsetting him. It would be worse now. “I… I can’t.” He tried to steady his breathing, which was growing unsteady from pain and fear. “I need to stay strong. This is my test. I’m going to be a Crow. I need to show them I can tolerate pain.”

Shahar had walked up to the side of the rack, strangely unimpeded by his torturers. “Do you remember the Circle? The demon? This isn’t real.”

The Circle…? Yes, yes he did remember a tower. And… abominations. But… how had he gotten from there to here? And… wasn’t he already a Crow? “What? That cannot be. Is this… is this nothing but a bad dream? A bad memory?”

Memories were flooding back into him. The fog that had pervaded his mind slowly began to lift. The Sloth Demon. The Circle. The Grey Warden contract.

Rinna...

“I think he’s questioning us,” Lalo interrupted. “That’s a very-”

“Oh fuck this,” Shahar whipped out her blade and stabbed Lalo in the throat. Lalo sputtered and died before he could even register what had happened. She spun her blade around to neatly slice through Vierre’s, but Vierre jumped backward and avoided it.

Vierre glared at the Warden and… hissed ? What in the Maker’s name…?

He lashed at her with a whip Zevran could only imagine had been about to be used on himself. He watched dully as Shahar dodge out of the way, too tired and injured to be much to help. Vierre’s swung again and Shahar dodged. The third time, on Vierre’s downswing, she rushed into his guard and then Vierre’s torso, sending them both toppling to the floor.

Oh shit, Zevran thought. Shahar was strong, stronger than most elven women he knew, but Vierre was still a man with several inches and a lot of muscle on Shahar. And he was a full-fledged Crow. There was no way she’d take him in a straight-up grapple.

Zevran pulled himself up with a groan. He registered slightly that his restraints seem to have disappeared, but was rather more occupied with trying to keep Shahar, and by proxy himself, alive.

He slid off the rack as fast as he could, every muscle and tendon screaming. Vierre had managed to roll himself on top of Shahar and had knocked her knife away. Shahar tried to scratch at the torturer’s face and buck him off her while Vierre scrabbled for her throat.

With his muscles refusing to cooperate properly, he decided to repeat Shahar’s earlier course of action. He stumbled into Vierre, knocking him off of Shahar. Unfortunately, he couldn’t seem to do much more than that.

Thankfully, that extra moment had given Shahar the chance to grab her knife. She scrambled toward them on her hands and knees and stabbed Vierre in the arm.

Vierre shrieked so loud Zevran flinched. Not at all like a person yelled. Indeed much more like a demon- high pitched and piercing. Shahar pulled back and stabbed Vierre in the chest this time, blood spraying out. Vierre stopped attacking and sagged.

Shahar stabbed him a third time. Just to be thorough.

*~*~*~*~

Vierre’s- or the demon’s, Zevran supposed- body sunk to the ground. He blinked as the excitement of battle and death rushed out of his body, leaving him listless.

Shahar and Zevran wobbled to their feet and stared at each other for a moment. He felt a rather untimely stab of attraction just then. She was vicious in a fight.

“Well… that was… bracing.” He said cheerfully despite the gravel in his throat. If he was still in the Fade why did everything still hurt so much? “Nothing like a good racking, eh?”

“Are you alright?” Shahar exhaled more than asked.

“Yes, I-” Zevran stared at Shahar. Her image was… dimmed, somehow. Even more so than his own. She looked exhausted, though he can’t imagine he looked any better. He didn’t know how she’d managed to manipulate the Fade to get here, but it must have been immensely difficult. She was no mage.

And despite that, she’d flung herself alone into a fight with two demons. For what? To save a companion? It was his own stupidity that kept him strapped to that rack.

Strange .

He’d never had to work with bleeding hearts before.

“Are you… “ he approached her and reached out slightly. She flinched and he thought better of it, dropping his hand. “Are you alright? You look- Wait.” She faded even more, practically disappearing in front of him. Her image, no wait, the image of everything around him began to fade out of view. “What are you doing? Where are you going?”

“Ah braska! Che cosa, eh?” he growled in frustration as everything disappeared completely.

He sort of floated for a while. It might have been nice if it weren’t also incredibly unnerving. He felt his strength returning to him as his mind wrapped around the idea that he hadn’t actually been tortured. Wounds healed, but he also had no idea how to escape this grey void.

Maybe this was the Void. That wouldn’t be so bad, would it? Wasn’t that what he’d started all this for?

He saw a glimmer of color in the distance. It grew, moving toward him at a sluggish pace, filling in the spaces of the grey nothing that had surrounded him.

No , he sighed. Not done yet .

He supposed he now owed Shahar twice over anyway. She was quite the force of nature. He wasn’t sure he’d ever find a way to repay her at this rate.

When he fully reappeared, ready for whatever came next, he stood in front of the Sloth demon itself.

Traveling with the Wardens was certainly shaping up to be quite the adventure.

Chapter Text

She saved the mages.

Of course she’d saved the mages.

She’d also promptly passed out after forging the alliance with the Circle’s First Enchanter. 

It had been quite astonishing to watch. All “the Wardens would greatly welcome the mages help against the darkspawn” and “of course we’d be happy to have you with us Senior Enchanter Wynne” followed by a silent and grim-faced march to a large rooms the Templars had haphazardly set up for their group to share.

“Well, that’s a relief at least,” Alistair had said, breaking the silence as he sunk onto one of the beds. It dipped heavily under his weight. He’d already peeled off some of his armor and immediately began ripping off his boots.

“I think these are the dorms for the new Templar recruits,” he continued, scanning the room.

Shahar, whose eyes Zevran had noticed were deeply sunken, unclenched her jaw and replied heavily “brings back memories, does it?”

He didn’t know how he reacted so quickly. One minute, Shahar had been standing there, tired but hale. The next thing anyone knew, she was falling and he had darted forward to grab her and keep her from smacking onto the stone floor.

Leliana ran out to find a healer while Alistair took over trying to wake Shahar up. Zevran held her awkwardly in his lap while Alistair pestered him with awkwardly phrased questions about elven humors until a healer finally came. Zevran happily handed the still unconscious Shahar off.

What did he know about healing anyway? 

The healers determined it was simple exhaustion and all she needed was rest. Zevran wasn’t surprised, given how she’d bludgeoned her way through the Fade.

While Leliana and Alistair fretted and spoke with Templars, Zevran took to wandering the halls. He didn’t have much else to do.

I should thank her for saving me. I wonder what she’ll ask of me in return? he thought as he found himself in the library. He’d never been much for reading, but it was impressive to look at, for sure.

Despite the gore.

He pocketed a small piece of bronze jewelry he found on the floor.  He also found a few books on the history of Fereldan that had been knocked off the shelves. He remembered Shahar quizzing Alistair on the noble families… perhaps she would appreciate such an item?

Ah, but it was so impractical to be lugging around books. And who knows how well she could read? Even he’d stumble over these tomes.

And if he didn’t get her the book, she’d still probably have sex with him.

Which, make no mistake, still seemed likely. She hadn’t bothered hiding her interest in him. Certainly not along the road or at the inn when they’d nearly kissed.

Just a little patience. And that was a game he was good at. Things would run their course.

For as many times as she had saved his life so far, he’d certainly felt he owed her at least one night.

That would be thanks enough, yes? And fun for him. And maybe make her less likely to kill him. Everybody wins.

His felt a slight turning in his chest and glanced at the books again. He wasn’t sure what that meant, so he left.

--- 

Shahar woke with a start. Darkspawn dreams again. She took a moment to gather her bearings. Stone walls with a heavy door, rough mattress underneath with no sheets. A small table with a couple potions on it.

She blinked.

Where am I?

Just then, a young elven man walked through the door. He was about her age with a shaved head and dark skin, brand standing out on his forehead. He greeted her with the emotionless smile of a Tranquil and she had the uneasy feeling she had met this elf before.

“Mistress Tabris,” he greeted. “I am glad to see you are awake.”

She kept herself from cringing at the flatness of his voice. The Tranquil were unnerving, but this one in particular…

She tried to shake the feeling. “Where am I? What...?”

“You fell unconscious a few hours ago while speaking to your companions,” he moved toward the potions and selected one. He held it towards her. “The Enchanters said it was only exhaustion. This will help you regain your stamina.” 

As she reached forward to grab the vial, she got a look at the Tranquil’s eyes. They were grey, and not nearly as life-like as they should have been. 

Her mouth fell open.

“Asa?” she gasped.

Asa Surana, formerly of the Denerim Alienage, smiled emptily and nodded. 

“I am pleased you remember me Shahar Tabris.”

“I-”

Just then, Enchanter Wynne walked into the room. “Oh you’re awake. Good, we were quite worried about you.”

Shahar blinked and jerked her head away from the man that had been her childhood friend. “I-uh… hi.” She began to shift. “Did you need something.” 

Wynne smiled and held her hand out to stop her from getting up. “You should take that potion, dear. Rest a little while longer. I’ll let the others know you’re awake. Asa?”

The Tranquil turned to Wynne. 

“Check in later and make sure she rests. ” She smiled wryly in Shahar’s direction. “I know her type.”

“Yes, Enchanter.”

The Enchantress left with Surana following after. Shahar, frowning, popped open the lid of the potion and began to drink.

---

Zevran walked down one of the halls on the 3rd floor. Ostensibly he was checking for more wounded mages, really he was just trying to get away for a minute. Alistair seemed a little lost without Shahar’s confidence and allowed Leliana to drag him away, busying herself patching wounds and sitting with those who needed company, every bit the Chantry sister she claimed to be. 

Zevran was… not good at comfort. So here he was.

He heard a scuffling around the corner and quickly pressed his side to the wall. The Templars had combed through the halls after them, but there was no guarantee.

He heard a familiar sigh. 

Not the sexy kind, alas. The tired kind. 

He grinned and popped around the corner.

“My beautiful Warden!” 

Shahar must have jumped back a foot in surprise. “Maker’s fucking breath, Zevran.”

He laughed as she recomposed herself. “All rested up and walking on her own? We waited for quite a while!”

“I don’t see why we need to make such a fuss about how I go to sleep. I wanted a nap, so I took one.” She gave him a smug look and crossed her arms.

“Your fault if you overreacted,” she shrugged.

Zevran chuckled. “Oh I see. I’ll be sure to let your head crack on the stone floor next time. Will that suffice?”

“Excellent,” she rubbed her hands together. “Then I’ll sleep even better.”

Zevran shook his head and crossed his arms. “Sometimes I think you have a greater death wish than an assassin. Aren’t you supposed to be saving the world or something? From the Darkspawn?”

Shahar hung her head back dramatically. “Look, all I’m trying to do right now is get away from everyone else and their nanny-ing. And-”

She cut herself off and frowned slightly.

He gave her a quizzical look. “Something amiss? Perhaps I can assist?”

She smiled. “Nah, it’s just-” she looked frustrated and sighed. “There’s a Tranquil here. I used to know him back before the Templars came for him. Wynne had him helping me and it’s… well, it’s weird.”

Zevran didn’t really know how to respond to that and he really wasn’t up for a heart to heart at the moment. “Was this man someone you knew or someone you knew ?” He waggled his eyebrows at her.

She laughed quietly. “He was just a friend. Maker, he got taken away when we were what? 9?” she guessed. “It’s not really him anymore though.” Shahar stared off into nothing for a moment, saying nothing more.

Zevran was silent and he wished he hadn’t asked. He felt a spark of irritation. He had no sweet childhood memories to relate back to her, after all. 

Her eyes refocused and she must have seen something on his face, because she smiled ruefully and said “Whatever,” and seemed to wave the issue away with her hands. “What are you up to anyway?”

Zevran shrugged and smiled. “Helping you get away from the others’ “nannying,” obviously.”

She smiled back. “Wonderful. Want to check if the library’s clear of Templars? Between my friend and that one we met outside the main chambers, I decided I don’t like them much. And there’s some pretty useful books in there I could stand to swipe.”

“Books, my Warden?” he said skeptically. “When there is a whole tower we could be raiding?”

She smirked. “Books first. Then Templar gold.”

Who was this woman? She fought Sloth demons and spared assassins and stole... books ? Books he had already scouted out for her in fact. I should have grabbed them, he thought.

He followed her back to the stairwell.

“Where are we going after this?”

“Denerim.” 

Chapter Text

A day before they reached the city, Shahar had taken to covering her head.

“It’s not that cold,” Alistair teased. 

“My ears are sensitive things, thank you,” she replied as she readjusted the hood of her cloak so it somewhat covered her hair.

She paused as the city’s gates came into sight, thinking. “Alistair,” she said.

“Yes?”

“You should go first.”

The man’s eyebrows rose. “What? Why?

“You’re Fereldan and human. We’re strange enough of a group. If you go first, people won’t suspect as much.”

“I-- ok? You’re being really weird about this.”

“It’s the capital, Alistair. Loghain is literally here .”

“So you want me , the guy they’re most likely to recognize, to go in front?”

That… was a very good point, she thought, feeling fairly stupid.

“I will go in front,” Wynne stepped forward. “I have paperwork that shows I have been granted leave to travel from the Circle. We may be “strange,” Warden, but a mage on the loose is even stranger. You will just be an old mage’s odd assortment of travelling companions,” she smiled congenially.

“Great,” Shahar replied, maybe a tad more brusquely than usual. “Works for me.” 

They made it through the gates without much trouble. A short pause while the guards looked over Wynne’s paperwork. They backed away warily as the group moved through. Mages, after all, were not a common sight for most folk. Even Shahar was still growing used to Morrigan and Wynne’s casual use of it. It was quite possible these guards had never knowingly seen a mage before. 

As they headed toward the city square, Morrigan of all people looked around in awe. “I… have never seen such a collection of merchants and people before. Tis always so?”

Shahar heard Zevran’s chuckle come from behind. “Guard your pockets, my dear. With a face as innocent as yours, even I want to pick them.”

“Touch me and you will regret it, elf.”

Shahar tuned out the rest of their banter, as entertaining as it was. They had a general idea of where Genitivi had been staying, but she needed to keep her eyes peeled for anything that might go… awry from her being in Denerim. Not only were the Grey Warden’s themselves wanted, but she suspected The Guard would be none too pleased to see her face in particular.

“The cloak’s doing a poor job of keeping that hair in check, Tabris.”

She stiffened and glanced sideways, her hand immediately moving toward a dagger sheathed at her belt. A likewise-cloaked human man was leaning against a wall with his arms cross, smiling under his hood.

Shahar stopped in her tracks and snorted, recognizing the voice after a moment. She turned toward the man with a smirk. “Yeah well, yellow really isn’t your color, Slim.”

Slim’s smile widened as Shahar walked toward him and they hugged in greeting, dropping the hood of his truly horrendously yellow cloak.

“Maker’s ass, Shahar,” the man exclaimed as he released her. “You’re supposed to be dead! You’ve done well for yourself, I see. Wardens been good to you?” He nodded toward her fine armor and equipment. 

“Well enough, I suppose. How’s it been here? How’s Mari?” she asked, knowing his timid wife wanted nothing to do with his schemes but loved him dearly all the same.

Slim frowned. “You haven’t heard? They locked the gates, Shahar.”

Shahar’s mind blanked and her stomach twisted. She took a breath, pushing the appropriate question from between her lips. It had to be asked.

Even though she already knew the answer.

“How- For how long?”

Slim paused a moment before responding, his face shifting to one of grief. “Since you left.”

She nodded, pressing her lips together. She knew- she knew those bastards wouldn’t let it go. She’d owned up. She’d taken the blame. But it wasn’t enough. It was never enough--

“Shahar,” Slim spoke, but she barely heard him. He reached up cautiously with one hand and squeezed her shoulder. “ Shahar. We both know that wasn’t the first time that bastard did what he did. He had it coming. I don’t blame you.”

“But some do, I’ll bet,” she mumbled, looking away. 

“Not the smart ones. Not me, or my crew, or Mari. And if they do, they won’t say it around us if they know what’s good for em.”

“Is she alright?”

“She’s fine,” Slim replied tensely. “They just… won’t let her through,” he scowled bitterly. Mari was an elf. He was elf-blooded. And that was the way it was. Slim had always struggled with that, alternately making use of and hating his human looks. He’d never moved out of the Alienage, though it would have been easy for him to do so. Shahar had always respected him for that.

“Anyway…” Slim went on, clearly uncomfortable. “How did you survive Ostagar?”

She gave him a quick overview, cutting out the more fantastical bits, and introduced him to the group. 

“He’s gotten me out of more than a few scrapes,” she laughed, when the others asked how they knew each other. In reality, he was the one who had introduced her to the very situations she needed getting out of.

And speaking of…

“Shahar,” he leaned in and spoke low so the others wouldn’t hear. “I know you got out of the game, but things are different now. It’s hard for my regular crew to move around, and I have a burning need to sow some chaos among those high and mighty bastards.You’ve got a crew and equipment, and I can’t see the take going to a better cause than yours. You in?”

She suppressed a grin. She missed it, she wouldn’t lie to herself and say she didn’t. And this… this wasn’t getting back in the game really. 

This was justice.

She agreed and shook his hand, the coin inside hers disappearing into his as he whispered the details of the job.

---

She carried herself with a certain swagger as their group continued through the city toward Genitivi’s. She felt good about the job she had taken as they left Slim to his skulking. Simple, quick, and she trusted the source with her life. 

She could use a good burgling.

“So.”

She startled a little as Zevran snuck up beside her.

“ZEV,” she stated exasperatedly.

He chuckled. “Old habits, I apologize.”

“No you don’t,” she replied with a sidelong glance.

“Such accusations.” He leaned in closer and lowered his voice. As always, he smelled quite good. “So what is the job?”

Shahar quirked an eyebrow.

“Oh please, Warden. Don’t think I did not notice that little exchange.”

“And who invited you to my party?”

Zevran smiled slyly. “I would think a party alone would be terribly sad, my warden. If you truly wish it so, I will leave you to it. But if you wish company in those dark and secluded alleys, I’m your man.”

She grinned broadly and blushed a little. “Later tonight. After this nonsense with Genitivi.”

He bowed in response, his own smile unchanged.

When she looked forward again, they’d arrived at Genitivi’s.