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Shades of Grey	By : myghinmin Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 3767 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age: Origins, and I do not make any money from these writings.

Chapter List
- 9
- 10
- 11
Title: Shades of Grey
Story Rating: M (mature). NSFW (not safe for work) due to sexual content in chapters five, seven, and eight, and for torture in chapters eleven and twelve.
Chapter Rating: T (teen).
Chapter Warnings: None.
Word Count: 2907 words.
PC: Fem!Amell Warden, deceased.
Pairing: Zevran/Alistair.
Spoilers: End-game spoilers. Set post game.
Summary: She made him swear to keep Alistair on his feet until he could stand alone. Maker help him, Zevran will honor that final promise, even if it kills him.
Notes: Ah, and gritty reality begins to sink in. Duty calls, maturity must be reached, roles must be played. Longer than the last chapter, but chapter 8 is still the longest by far. As always, please remember to read and review (constructive criticism welcome).
[[ ... Pre-Chapter ..... ]]
It was one of those things that they never spoke of. She didn't really want to know, and Zevran certainly wasn't about to tell her. Alistair, on the other hand... he had wanted to know. It had been the templar to corner him, to catch him away from the group. His hand had grabbed the elf's arm, squeezed to keep him from slipping away. His hazel eyes had been the ones piercing into him when the question came, and had it been anyone else, Zevran would have been flippant, laughing and shrugging it all off.
But it was Alistair who asked him, so seriously, what would happen if the Crows caught up to him, and he had looked so concerned, that Zevran couldn't take it. He had let the warrior hold on to him, let him feel like he was in control of the situation, and he had told him. He had told him in gruesome detail, wanting to give the other man some idea of the consequences that leaving the Wardens' company would have for the elf.
He had detailed the various manners of death he could expect, anything from being strangled to being laid open in combat. And then he had explained that he was lucky at least: he wasn't worth being kidnapped. Those victims had it the worst. They had some sort of information that the Crows found valuable, and there were any number of tortures that would have been applied to extract that information. Very few survived, and those that did were killed once the information had been obtained.
He spared nothing, not caring that Alistair's grip had slackened. His dark eyes had flashed, and he had advanced on the larger man, turning what should have been an interrogation into an attack. By the time he had finished, the prince was swallowing, staring at him with a newfound respect that Zevran didn't think he deserved. No matter what death awaited him, he had tasted freedom, and he had discovered that he was quite fond of it. He would suffer whatever he had to in order to avoid going back to a life that wasn't a life at all.
[[ ... Chapter 10 ..... ]]
Alistair had been quite put out upon his return to the keep. After twenty eight days on the road (or on the boat, as the case was), he had been greatly looking forward to collapsing in Zevran's room and begging the elf for one of his most infamous massages. He was sick of being diplomatic, of defending his Wardens and his command from the veiled accusations that he was unfit. It had been an eye-opener, when Julien had confronted him on the boat. His 'pet elf' had been running the entire order since the end of the Blight, and Alistair honestly hadn't realized. At first, it had been unreal, a haze of nothing that seemed to cling to his every movement. Then, as the days turned into weeks, it had become something that seemed to work by itself.
He had never thought of Zevran as a commander, although he realized now that he should have, given how the recruits responded to him. Luthanuel, specifically, had been his biggest clue-- one that had passed right over his head at that dinner. He had been the first of the new Wardens to survive the Joining, which gave him a certain status among the others. He had been clearly shocked to see Alistair at the table with the others, which wasn't that surprising, considering the simple fact that the only time any of them had seen him was at a Joining.
He had attended every single one of those (the batch of twenty five men had been broken up into groups of five), watched each of the nineteen who died as they swallowed their fatal dose of blood. Each time, he had seen her, watched her so calmly raise the goblet to her lips, closing her eyes for just a heartbeat before she tilted it up. It had been hell.
Now, he was standing in the courtyard, watching the new servants and the Fereldan Wardens as they went about their business. There was always something to be done, some armor needing polishing, some wall needing repair. Teagan had sent for the servants, which Zevran was surely grateful for. He had been complaining about having to do everything in a keep this size. A smile quirked the corner of Alistair's mouth.
"What is it?" The voice startled him, and he turned to meet it. Clovis. The other Orlesian Warden. As far as they went, Alistair preferred Clovis to Julien. Julien was all flighty laughter and flirts, while Clovis was more serious. He had a no-nonsense air around him, with his salt and peppered hair kept in a simple braid, his beard neatly trimmed. Alistair shrugged a little.
"Just thinking," he said quietly, looking back at the keep. Griffon banners were flying from a few of the windows, twisting and arching in the wind like some sort of dancer. It really was quite beautiful. "Four months ago, I had no idea that this is where I would be."
"Where did you think you would go after the Blight?" Clovis wasn't smiling, but he wasn't walking away, which meant that he was at the very least interested.
"Oh, I have no idea where I thought I would go. I didn't really think on it much. We were a bit preoccupied with everything." He offered the Orlesian a wry smile and was rewarded with a degree of warmth in the other man's gaze. "It was really just focusing on the Darkspawn at hand."
"I see." Clovis reached out then, letting one of his hands lightly touch Alistair's shoulder. Both men were a little surprised by the contact, but the Templar recovered first, reaching up and grasping the other Warden's forearm, turning it into a brotherly handshake of sorts. When they both dropped their hands, the Orlesian reached into his pocket, withdrawing a small piece of paper. "Zevran left this for you."
"He's not here?" Alistair's brows furrowed as he reached for the paper, opening it and reading it quickly. "Denerim? He couldn't wait a few more days?" He sighed and glanced up at the sky. It was still early enough to make good progress if he left right away.
"The Bannorn was quite insistent that he come right away to finish setting up the meeting for you." Clovis shrugged slightly, his displeasure in the situation evident in his frown. He would be displeased, Alistair realized, he liked Zevran enough to let him stay in command for Alistair. It was Clovis who had written the almost glowing recommendation that Julien had been forced to read aloud before the other Wardens in Val Royeaux. It had been that recommendation that allowed him to keep his post, as Clovis was well known for being a particularly harsh judge of character.
Why he thought Alistair should remain commander was well beyond the blonde's comprehension. Maybe he saw whatever she had seen in him. Not that it really mattered now; his command was safe from the Wardens. They simply had to convince Ferelden that it was for the best as well.
"When are you leaving?"
Alistair raised an eyebrow, glancing at Clovis curiously. "Well, he asks that I get there as soon as I can, which would mean, I suppose, that I'm leaving now." And he'd probably get chewed out by Zevran the instant the Antivan realized that he hadn't even made it all the way into the keep before getting back on that horse and heading to Denerim. He'd be scolded for being too serious. He smiled at the thought.
The Orlesian was already nodding, walking him to the stables. "I will accompany you, since Julien is here to watch the keep." His tone was booking no arguments, and Alistair tilted his head a little as he looked at the other Warden. He wanted to ask why-- he really did-- but he kept his tongue until a pack was shoved into his hands.
"You already packed? What's wrong?" But Clovis didn't answer until they were well away from the keep, on the road toward Denerim.
"There is something wrong. I don't know what, precisely. Not yet."
The rest of the ride was more or less silent, only broken long enough for the Orlesian to fill him in on the latest Joining: all four had survived. It was almost unheard of; it was one of the things that Clovis was infamous for. He could look at someone and just know if they would survive the Joining. Alistair wondered if that was a skill that someone could teach, but then again, most likely not. After all, all of the Orlesian Wardens would be able to do it if it were.
By the time they reached Denerim, Alistair was exhausted. He had been on a boat for eight days, followed by a five day ride to the keep, and then a four day ride to the city. Normally, it would have been longer to get all the way to Denerim, but neither he nor Clovis were much on stopping. Not with the thought looming over their heads that something could be seriously wrong.
The Gnawed Noble was the one of only two inns that Alistair was really familiar with, and that was where he went, figuring that Zevran would take pity on him and not go to the Pearl for official Warden business. He was directed to a set of rooms, and when he found Teagan and Jowan inside, he knew immediately that something had happened.
Teagan paled upon seeing him, and he couldn't stop the frown that spread over his face. "Not happy to see me?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at his practically-uncle.
"I wish it were under better circumstances." The Bann stood slowly, sighing. "You have an audience with the Queen and the Bannorn in two days. Zevran said you'd be on you way soon enough to make it."
"That's what we came here for. The sooner it is done, the better." The former prince gave the older man a few minutes to continue, but when they ticked by with just glances between Teagan and Jowan, Alistair lost his patience. "Where's Zevran? I'll need to talk to him about seeing the Bannorn." The Antivan would be more than happy to clarify the situation, to explain whatever it was that had these two in such a mess. Sighing, Teagan drew out another scrap of paper. Alistair was beginning to hate the little squares of parchment, so neatly folded.
"Alistair," the older man began, rubbing the paper between his fingers, "there's been... Something's happened."
Unable to stand it, the templar leaned over and plucked the paper from those rubbing fingers. "What? What's happened?" He unfolded it and felt this strange sinking sensation in his stomach. The words were a bad joke, that's all. This wasn't really happening. "Very funny," he said, glaring up at his uncle. "Did he put you up to this?"
"No. Alistair, Zevran is gone."
It was all there in the Bann's voice: fear, horror, and a bone-deep weariness that only came from days on edge. Alistair had kept that note in his own voice the last two months before the Blight had ended. He knew it. It couldn't be faked. He passed the paper to Clovis, who wore an expression matching the templar's. He ignored how his fingers were trembling.
The Antivan Crows send their regards.
It all came back in a flood; Zevran's voice was detailing the various manners of death he could expect if a Crow ever caught up to him. He had laughed about it with the assassin, encouraged by the elf's casual disregard for his own safety. I am lucky enough, as it goes. I am not worthy of being kidnapped. The smile that had accompanied those words had been easy, but the eyes had cut deep, letting Alistair know that it was a serious matter that the spoke of.
Why not?
Because kidnap targets had information, and the Crows had means of extracting that information no matter how unwilling the victim was to talk. Alistair felt a little shudder race down his spine at the thought of some of the methods that Zevran had detailed for him once. The thought of anyone-- Of Zevran being put through that...
He looked at Teagan, centering himself. "How long ago did they get him?"
"Seven days ago."
"And there's been... nothing?" The cold was beginning to steal throughout him, making his stomach churn violently. Seven days? And they hadn't been able to locate him yet? "Have you contacted Anora?"
There was a hesitation, and Jowan nodded slowly. Teagan clearly didn't want to be the one to deliver this news. The blood mage drew himself up to his full height, preparing for an onslaught that Alistair was sure he'd be willing to give based on their reactions. "She is supportive of our efforts to locate him, but... There are whispers that he-- They're saying that he willingly returned to the Crows."
Rage blinded Alistair for a moment, and his hand was in a fist before he realized it. Had Clovis not caught him, he wasn't sure what would have happened. The image of Jowan on the floor bleeding came to mind, and while he would have gotten some satisfaction from it, he knew that it would have been unjust. Jowan had no quarrel with Zevran, and indeed, the Antivan must have liked the mage at least a little. He had been chosen to come to Denerim.
"That's a lie," Alistair hissed, jerking his arm from the Orlesian's grip. "They'll kill him when they're through with him."
"If they haven't already." The voice that agreed with him was tired, almost broken as Teagan rubbed a hand over his face. "It's been seven days, and ... nothing, Alistair. Nothing. And we've been looking--"
The door behind them opened, and Luthanuel entered the room. His shock upon seeing Alistair was evident, and he stiffly bowed just a little to the former prince. Alistair waved it away. He never had liked that.
"Any news?" Teagan asked, although they all knew the answer from Luthanuel's empty hands. Had he known where Zevran was, he would have either sent a runner back for them or fetched the elf himself. It wasn't like he wasn't a capable fighter. Only the best became Wardens.
Luthanuel shook his head and sighed. "Nothing. No one has seen him; there's been nothing suspicious that might link to him. Not even in the Alienage. More people did join our cause though; if he's in Denerim or the surrounding areas, he will be found." The young Warden reached up to shove a hand through his bangs. "Haven't heard anything yet from the runners we sent out either."
His hands were shaking again, this time with a potent mixture of anger and fear. The idea that someone had taken Zevran in broad daylight, in the middle of a crowd... That they had even managed to sneak up on the elf was impressive. The Antivan was always ridiculously aware of his surroundings in crowds. He saw and heard things that no one else in their group could have hoped to.
"We need a plan," Alistair said, looking back at Clovis. "Someone will have to meet with the Bannorn while the rest of us look for Zevran. He can't be left at the mercy of the Crows."
"Agreed. Alistair, go on and do your searching. I will handle your Bannorn."
But no, that didn't sit right. As angry as Alistair was, he knew that this would only hurt his cause more. He blew out a deep breath, not liking the bitter taste in his throat. "No," he corrected the other Warden regretfully. "I have to be the one there. It's my leadership that they are questioning; I should be the one to defend myself." He lifted his gaze to the small group of men in the room. Jowan, Luthanuel, Teagan, and Clovis. "Teagan will come with me in two days before the Bannorn; Clovis, you will take Jowan and Luthanuel with you that day. Until then, we will all continue the search."
It was the right thing to do. His duty demanded that he take the few hours out of the search to protect the keep, to prevent someone being sent in from Weisshaupt Fortress to secure the Fereldan Wardens. He needed to do this. No matter how much he disliked it, he had to trust that Clovis could maintain the search for a single day.
Clovis studied him for a long moment, then he folded both arms over his chest and bowed just a little, the most common salute given in Ferelden. It was touching, coming from an Orlesian. "Of course, Commander," he said softly, meeting Alistair's gaze. The blonde felt a shiver down his back as he watched both Jowan and Luthanuel follow the Orlesian's example. He couldn't help but wonder if Duncan had felt as he did, that this was too much; he didn't deserve the respect and honor that they were granting him. Then he thought of Zevran, and he swallowed thickly. He couldn't not fill in this role. The elf had worked too hard to keep it from slipping away from him, to keep the keep his, and not some other Warden's.
They would find him. It was only a matter of time.
- 9
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- 11
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Shades of Grey