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Blood Bond	By : Hikari86 Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 4278 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: Bioware owns everything Dragon Age. I claim no ownership and make no money/profit.

Chapter List
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Five Fingers

As they made their way through the forest, everyone was silent. The only one who ever spoke was Morrigan when she needed to direct Arawin in the right direction. Things still seemed a little tense with the incident that had occurred only mere hours ago. Things did settle, however, once they reached their destination.
They came to a clearing within the trees. A tent was set up with a smoldering fire just outside the front. There was also a tree stump with a flat surface and two wooden chairs around it. And standing in the center of the clearing, next to the fire, was a wild looking man staring off into the distance.
“This is it?” Arawin asked.
“I’m afraid so,” said Morrigan.
Arawin carefully walked over to the man and immediately noticed the smell. She knew that they more than likely didn’t smell too good either, but he was just unbearable. It was as if he had rolled around, or maybe even bathed in dung. Arawin wrinkled her nose as she made her way to his front. The clothes he wore were dirty and torn. He had a white, shaggy beard that was unkempt and looked to have twigs and leaves within it. His eyes seemed to be glazed over as he stared off, past Arawin even when she was directly in front of him.
“Hello?” she said trying to get his attention.
The hermit snapped his eyes on her and jumped back. Arawin jumped back when he did, ready to grab her blades if he were to strike.
“Oh dear, oh dear!” he said looking at her with wide eyes. “Not a werewolf and not a spirit, even, what are the woods coming to?”
“Careful, Da’len,” said Lisha. She came behind Arawin, bow in hand. “He is obviously mad.”
“Mad? Ha, you could say that,” said the hermit. “Perhaps I should have a hat. Ha, or maybe I should have tea with a march hare.”
“Definitely mad,” Zevran muttered.
“So you’re a madman hiding in the forest?” questioned Arawin. “Who are you?”
The hermit seemed to get angry from this, and began flinging his arms, but did not make to hurt anyone. “Questions, questions, always questions! They say it was questions that made me mad; will it do the same for you?” He then calmed down and looked at Arawin with delight. “Ask a question and you’ll get a question, but give an answer and you’ll receive the same! Oh, I do so love to trade!”
Arawin looked at him puzzled. “You... want me to answer a question?”
“Wouldn’t I have to answer you a question first?”
“Isn’t that a question?”
“Would you know a question if it was asked?”
Arawin was beginning to get angry. “Are you mocking me?”
“I don’t know. Are you mocking me?” the hermit said, seeming even more delighted than before.
“Stop answering every question with a question!” she screamed at him.
“But those are the rules! A question for a question, an answer for an answer! Were you not listening?”
“That’s it!” Arawin pulled out Fang. “I’m going to kill him now.”
“Don’t!” Morrigan said grabbing her arm. “You must be cautious. This hermit might be mad, but he has very powerful magic. I can feel it. Just do as he says and maybe he can help us.”
“No fair bringing mages to a guessing game!” the hermit cried, crossing his arms. “Will you play by the rules or not?”
Arawin gritted her teeth, but she replaced Fang and stood in front of the hermit with her own arms crossed. She thought for a moment, biting her lip, as she needed to form her words correctly. “Then... would you like to ask me a question?”
“I think it is your turn to ask, is it not?” said the hermit.
She growled, but went on. First thing was first, she wanted to know more about this madman. “Who are you?”
The hermit laughed. “Who am I? Why do you want to know?” He then began to get angry again. “Did they send you? Did they tell you to ask?”
Arawin smirked as she realized something. “Hey, that’s a lot of questions. You better have a lot of answers.”
The hermit looked at her, stunned. “Ahhh!” he screamed. “Damnation! Caught by my own rules! Oh, oh, oh! Did they tell you pretend to be an innocent stranger, with a head full of fluff and nothing? I’m trickier than I look! Ha, ha! I survive still, and the trees they leave me be! Ha, ha! I’ve won! They will never find me! Never!”
“We found you.”
“So you did! But I’m watching you! If they sent you, I’ll know! But that’s all I have to say about that. An answer for an answer, there you go!”
Arawin breathed in and snorted through her nose. “Is it your turn to ask me?”
“Ah yes, so it is,” said the hermit. He placed his hand on his chin and thought. “Let’s see, what shall be the first? I know! What is your name?”
“Arawin,” she said.
“A-ha! So you claim! They sent you, didn’t they? But you’re too tricky, and you’re trying to fool me! Well, I’m onto you! Just so you know. But it is your turn to ask now. Ask! Ask away! I dare you!”
Arawin smiled. She was beginning to have fun with him now. “Who’s ‘they’?”
“What do you care who they are!” the hermit shirked. “They are everywhere. In the trees, in the animals, even in my colon! I see them every time they come out. I then put them back, to make sure they don’t find me. Ha, ha!”
“Oh, sweet Creators,” Lisha moaned, holding her mouth. Zevran stood behind her, trying desperately to keep from bursting out laughing.
“Ew,” Arawin gagged, trying not to picture what he said. “I don’t need any more of an answer, thank you.”
“Good, because now it’s my turn.” The hermit thought again. “Now, what shall be the second? Ah yes! What is your quest?”
Arawin nearly burst out laughing. She was having a lot of fun. “To search for the Holy Grail, of course!”
“What? What is that?”
“Nothing,” she said under her breath.
“Nothing? Nothing!” the hermit flung. “Nothing is not an answer, nor is it a question!”
“Would you know nothing if you saw it?” Arawin asked.
“I don’t know, would I?”
“Do you even know what we’re talking about?”
“Do you?”
“Madman says what?”
“What?”
“Ha, ha! Gotcha!” Arawin laughed.
The hermit growled and clenched his fists. “That is not a question!” he spat. “Play by the rules, or leave.”
“Fine, fine, I’m sorry,” Arawin said after settling down. “Is it my turn?”
“No, we shall start over, because of your foolishness,” said the hermit. “I will begin. Now, let’s see. What shall I ask you next? Ah, yes! What is your favorite color?”
“Clear.”
“Clear is not a color!”
“How do you know?” Arawin said.
The hermit stared at her before speaking again. “Fine. Now, would you like to ask me something?”
“Can we please get this over with and ask him already?” said Sten. Arawin looked back at the Qunari, almost forgetting he was there because of his silence.
“Yes, Da’len, this is getting quite old,” Lisha put in.
“I don’t know, it looks like our dear Grey Warden is actually having some fun,” said Zevran. “And it’s fun to watch, too.”
“No, Sten and Lisha are right, I need to ask him,” Arawin said. She turned her attention back to the hermit. “Do you know how to get past the barrier into the forest?”
“Oh, you mean the one that leads into the wolfman lair?”
“Yes, that would be the one.”
“Hm, yes I do,” he stated. “The only way you can get through is to either be a wolfman or a tree, as it is the trees who guard it.”
“We already knew that,” said Morrigan.
“Is there another way, perhaps?” Arawin asked.
“Short of becoming a wolfman yourself? No, but then again...” The hermit thought some more then his eyes brightened as an idea hit him. “It might be possible. Yes, it will be.” He went over to his tent and reached inside. He then pulled out a large pelt, and when he brought it over to Arawin, she saw that it was a werewolf hide. “Yes, this should work,” he said. “You see, trees are stupid, and can be easily fooled. They have no eyes, so if you were to take this pelt and place it over yourselves then you would be able to slip by the trees without them knowing, ha.”
“Thank you,” said Arawin. “May I have it?”
“No,” the hermit said placing the pelt behind his back. “It needs to be enchanted first, and only I know how to do it.”
“Okay, then may you please enchant it, then hand it over?”
“Hmm, I will, but only if you play another game.”
Arawin moaned. “Another game? Which one now? More questions?”
“No, you are not very good at the question game, and it is not something that can be won. Instead, I wish to play something else for this pelt.” The hermit walked over to the stump and sat down on one of the chairs. He placed the pelt beside him then took out a knife and laid his hand, fingers spread out, on the stump.
“Five Finger Fillet.”
“Oh, you’re serious?” Arawin said as she looked at the knife in his hand and his other one on the stump. “Shoot, that’s easy.” She went and sat on the chair across from him.
“Good,” said the hermit. “Now for my rules, so listen closely, I might not remember them later. I will go first, creating a pattern that you must follow and without stabbing yourself. You can stab your fingers at least three times before losing. Once you lose, then you are out for good and I will not give you the pelt. Your companions, however, can give it a try if they wish. You must have five successful attempts to win. Is that your favorite color?”
“Crystal.” Arawin stared at the hermit, ready and able. Taking off her glove, she laid her hand on the stump and spread out her fingers.
Zevran cleared his throat. “Perhaps it would be best if you allowed me to do it?” he stated. “No offense, but I do have a quicker hand than you, after all.”
Arawin glared at him. “Quit trying to show off,” she said. “I can do this. I used to play this game all the time back at home. If I can beat my cousin while stone drunk, then I can beat this madman.”
“And how many times did you stab yourself, I wonder?” Morrigan asked.
“Well, the rules at home were more you won if you had less wounds than the person you were playing against, but I know I can do it. So back off.”
“Suit yourself,” Zevran said doing just what she told him.
Arawin faced the hermit again. “Are you ready?” he asked.
“Go.”
The hermit took the knife and started just outside of his thumb, then slowly went across it and back. He repeated this several times before stopping and handing the knife to Arawin. Taking the knife, Arawin huffed and began. She did just as the hermit did, but a little faster.
“That was too easy,” she said when done. “Come on, now!”
“Alright,” said the hermit. “How about this one?” This time he went faster with the knife, going across all his fingers and back again, and repeating it before stopping. Arawin rolled her eyes and did the same thing.
“Please give me a challenge!” she begged.
The hermit smirked at her. “You want a challenge, huh? Fine, I’ll give you a challenge, ha.” This time, the hermit started in the same place, right outside his thumb, but went very fast in a complex pattern that Arawin had a hard time focusing on. When he was done, she took the knife from him and breathed in deep.
She began, going as fast as she could, in the pattern that he showed, but then... CRUNCH. The knife struck her middle finger, cutting right at the joint. Arawin cried out in pain and flung her hand up once it happened. She could barely bend her finger, and her hand shook with the pain.
“Hurts, don’t it?” said Zevran.
“Shut up,” she said through clenched teeth. She placed her hand back on the stump and glared at the hermit. “I still have two more chances, keep it coming.”
The hermit smiled at her before taking the knife and going across his hand again, faster and more complicated than the last time. When it was Arawin’s turn, she went slower than the hermit, but still faster than the last times. It wasn’t enough. This time the knife sliced through her pinkie, causing her to bite her lip to keep from screaming. She could taste blood as she did so.
“You know, you can give up,” said the hermit. “You only have one stab left, and you still need to complete three patterns.”
“Then why are you talking?” she asked annoyed. “Get going already!”
The hermit once again went faster and preformed something so complex that Arawin had a hard time following it. When she was handed the knife, she started immediately, but stopped short when the knife hit her in the same place it did the first time. She jumped up from the chair, holding her middle finger to keep it from falling off, as she screamed. She then kicked the stump in her rage, stubbing her toe and causing her to hop on one foot.
“Damn it, damn it, damn it!” she cried.
“One of the good things about being drunk, Da’len, is that you don’t feel pain,” said Lisha. “It was a good attempt, though.”
“But now it’s my turn,” said Zevran as he slipped into the chair Arawin had just recently occupied. He took off his gloves and flexed his fingers before splaying them on the stump. “Give me your best shot, madman,” he said to the hermit, a gleam in his eyes.
The hermit smirked at him, and began the game anew. He started slow, but not as slow as he did with Arawin. When he was done, Zevran matched the hermit’s moves perfectly. It was the same the second and third times. The pattern always becoming faster and more complex. By the time Morrigan had healed Arawin’s fingers, Zevran was already completing the fourth pattern, and doing it in a blur. Arawin watched in amazement at how fast his hand was moving. She could barely keep up with it. When he was done, the hermit glared at him, teeth grinding. Zevran only gave him his traditional little smirk as he handed back the knife.
“So you think you’re going to win, do you? Ha, ha. I’ll show you. Try this one on for size.” The hermit flexed his fingers before he started a pattern so fast, so complex, and so long that it lasted nearly a minute before he stopped and flipped the knife to Zevran.
Zevran only shook his head and clicked his tongue as he stared at the hermit. Arawin wasn’t sure if he could do it, as she was unable to follow the pattern at all. His hand had been nothing but a blur, but as Zevran placed the knife outside of his thumb, he took in a deep breath and began.
Just as the hermit, his hand was blurring across his fingers. It even seemed that he was building speed as he went on. His face was completely concentrated, and he was even leaning forward, and coming out of the chair. When he was done, Zevran flipped the knife into the stump and leaned back, crossing his arms and smiling broadly.
“Child’s play,” he smirked.
The hermit stared at him, mouth open and eyes popping out of their sockets. “You cheated!” he nearly screamed.
“Look at my hand for yourself,” said Zevran turning it in the air before his face. “As you can see, no blood, no cuts. You owe our dear Grey Warden an enchanted pelt.”
The hermit growled, but he knew there was nothing he could do. After examining Zevran’s hand and the stump to make sure there were knife marks in it, he knew that he had won fair and square. Forcefully, the hermit grabbed the pelt and went off into his tent, grumbling something about stupid trees and wolfmen.
“How in the world did you do that?” Arawin asked him.
“Oh, it’s just one of the many games we Crow recruits used to play all the time,” Zevran answered. “Just something to pass the time.”
“But... you were so fast! And... and...”
Zevran chuckled at her. “And impressive? Anything for you, my dear.”
“So how can I get like that?”
“The same as with your archery. Practice, mi querida. Practice.”
***
It took awhile, but soon everyone was ready to leave the tower. Esumi was the first one to come back to the atrium. Seeing that Keiven was still somewhat upset with them leaving him behind, she walked over to him and handed him what looked like a leather bound book.
“Here,” she said. “Take this. It will be my promise to return.”
Keiven looked at the book and was stunned. “I know you’re coming back, I just want to go with you.”
“And you know why you can’t come. I don’t want to start that argument again. Now, while I’m gone I want you to take care of this because you know how precious it is to me.”
Keiven took the book and hugged it close to his chest. “I know, and don’t worry, Esumi. I will guard it with my life.”
“No need to go that extreme,” she chuckled. “To me, and I’m sure to your sister, your life is more important than the book. Just watch over it is all I ask.”
Keiven nodded, then stared over at his sister. Zelda smiled at him. She then noticed him glance over in Leliana’s direction, then back at Esumi. He did it several times before tugging on Esumi’s robes and whispering something in her ear.
“Oh?” she heard Esumi say. The elven mage shifted her eyes over to Leliana and then back to Keiven. “I see.” She smiled and whispered something in Keiven’s ear. He seemed to be taking everything she was saying to him in as his face was concentrated and hard. When Esumi was done, Keiven took a deep breath and marched over to Leliana. When he stood in front of her, Leliana looked down at him and smiled.
“Oh, hello there, Keiven.”
“My lady,” he said bowing to her. “A knight will do anything for his fair maiden, even if it means making a complete fool of himself, so here I go...” He cleared his throat and began speaking slowly. “Hanaakari. Uh... Enshou shan... uh, o-O anata... no me. Phew.”
“That was very... sweet,” said Leliana once he was done. “You would make a very good minstrel.”
“Thank you,” he squeaked.
“And for that, I shall give my knight a kiss.” Leliana bent down and kissed him on the check. Keiven turned bright red and soon turned away and walked briskly back to Esumi’s side. Zelda could hear Cullen chuckling beside her and it made her chuckle too.
“Good work,” Zelda said to her brother. “Keep it up, and you’ll have girls crawling all over you in no time.”
When Irving and Wynne finally came down everyone got ready and situated. Keiven said his reluctant good-byes to his sister and Esumi and soon they all followed Zelda down the stairs to the docks where Carroll was still stationed. He at first was annoyed that he had to take all of them over to the other side again, and said he wouldn’t do it unless they all got in the boat at once. Zelda stared at the ferry and knew that wouldn’t happen. The boat had barely been able to keep afloat when it was just her, Alistair, Leliana, and Rupee. Now they had Wynne, Irving, Esumi, and Cullen with them. Luckily, Cullen was able to convince Carroll to do at least two trips. Even if he was a little forceful with the strange templar.
Zelda and her companions went over first, and as they waited for the others to cross, they were able to obtain another boat. The one they had used to get here was still hitched to the dock. The barkeep at the Spoiled Princess let them have his boat, as he knew it would be returned when the mages came back from Redcliffe.
When everyone was finally on the shore of the lake, they then got back in the boats and started south, toward Redcliffe. It took them less time to get there than it did to get to the tower. Mostly because both Wynne and Esumi used spells to pick up the wind, pushing them along the lake. It allowed none of them to have to row, which let them reserve their strength. It was dark by the time the castle came into view and Zelda and her friends found themselves back on the village docks.
When the whole group entered the village, it caused a commotion, and they could hear shouts that the Grey Wardens had returned and with more numbers. Many of the villagers came up to ask her what was going on, but she wasn’t able to talk. She was in a hurry, and needed to get to the castle as soon as possible.
“Hey Zelda!” Murdock shouted at her. He ran to her side and walked with her up the stairs to the windmill. “What’s going on?” he asked. “You left nearly two days ago, and now you’re back with mages and a templar?”
“I’ll have to explain later,” Zelda said without looking at him. “Right now just keep the villagers away from the castle. Things might be getting ugly real soon.”
“Yes, my lady,” he said stopping in the middle of the stairs and watched as the group made their way past the windmill and through the gate to the bridge.
“Oh, I can feel it,” said Esumi. “Such power.”
“I can feel it too,” Wynne stated after her. “This is not good.”
At that, Zelda picked up her pace and began running across the bridge.
“Zelda, wait!” cried Alistair as he tried to keep up with her, but she couldn’t wait. She had already taken long enough. She needed to get to Connor. Needed to make sure that he was still himself. She did not want to have to kill him like Cullen killed Uldred. Like she had killed so many other abominations, including children.
When she finally reached the castle and went in to the throne room, she was relieved to find it still the same as it was when she had left. Teagan and Isolde were standing and when they saw her enter, they both cried with joy.
“Oh, thank the Maker you're back,” said Teagan as he walked to Zelda. “And so are all the rest of your companions plus more.”
“Yes, but we need to get started,” said Zelda. “Where is Connor and where is Jowan?” She just noticed that the mage wasn’t in the throne room.
“Connor is upstairs,” Isolde told her. “He... doesn’t want to be disturbed.” Zelda noticed Isolde looked about ready to cry. Her own heart began to freeze. Was she too late?
“What’s happened?” she asked. “Please don’t say...”
“He has been fighting so hard since you left,” Isolde cried. “He barely has any strength left. I don’t think he’ll last much longer. Jowan is up there, just outside Connor’s room, watching.”
“He’s all alone with the boy?” Irving asked, seeming suspect. “We should hurry up there and get this over with as soon as possible.” He looked over at Wynne and Esumi. Both of them nodded toward him. Esumi then looked at Cullen and the fear was clear in both of their eyes.
Zelda lead them up the stairs and toward the royal chambers. They found Jowan standing in the middle area between the hallway and rooms. He had his eyes closed and back to them. He seemed to be concentrating on something. When Esumi saw him, she cried out. When he heard her, Jowan opened his eyes and turned to find her running and leaping into his arms.
“Esumi?” he said, trying to keep his balance. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing, you know!” she said. “What have you gotten yourself into this time, huh?”
Jowan slumped his shoulders. “A lot of things have happened since we last saw each other, Esumi. It’s a long story.”
“A lot of things have happened with me as well,” she said giving a quick glance in Cullen’s direction. Jowan noticed and looked at her with curiosity.
“Esumi? Have you been naughty?”
The elven mage blushed. “Only as naughty as you’ve been.”
Jowan snorted. “You’re going to have to tell me everything, you know.”
“Likewise, but like you said, they’re long stories, and we really don’t have time right now.”
“True,” said Zelda as she came to the two of them. “We need to know what is going on. Isolde said that Connor has been fighting the demon. It hasn’t overpowered him yet, has it?”
“No,” Jowan said shaking his head. “But it’s getting closer. Connor is a strong boy, but he won’t last much longer. I’ve been standing here getting a feel on what is happening in his room. Connor refuses to let anyone in because he doesn’t want to put anyone in danger. The demon is attacking him with incredible power.”
“Why is it doing this now?” Isolde asked, on the brink of tears.
“Unfortunately, the demon knows what’s going on, that’s why it’s attacking Connor so forcibly. I’m afraid that if Connor fails, then he will become an abomination and there will be no way we can save him then.”
Cullen sighed. “The slaying of a madman turned abomination is one thing, but the slaying of a child, even if it is an abomination is something completely different. But it still must be done.”
Zelda looked toward him and their eyes met and she knew how he felt. He had volunteered to come here, not just to stay close to Esumi, but also to kill. It was his duty.
“No,” she said. “I will be the one who does it if it comes to that. I made Connor a promise to save him, and if that is the only way... then so be it.”
“But we aren’t there yet,” said Jowan.
“No, so we need to hurry while we still have time,” Irving stated. “Wynne, Esumi, get ready. One of us will be entering the Fade soon to battle this demon, so we must prepare as fast as possible. This room should be good enough.” Esumi and Wynne both nodded then went about getting things ready for the ritual. Zelda and the others went to the side of the room to give them space to prepare. Even though it didn’t take very long, it seemed like forever to Zelda. She kept looking at the doorway to the bedchambers. Alistair watched her intently before going to her side.
“It’ll be all right,” he said. “The mages will be able to enter the Fade and kill the demon, saving Connor.”
“I know,” she said still staring at the doorway. “I just... I just don’t want this family to be torn apart. Not like... not like mine was.”
Alistair gently took her arm and tried pulling her closer to him, but he stopped when she turned to him. He saw what he thought might have been tears forming in her eyes, but then they disappeared.
“Don’t worry about me, Alistair,” she said. “I’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure?” he asked her. He had been noticing her behavior and realized that he had never once witnessed her cry. Perhaps now wasn’t the best time, but he could see she was keeping something inside of her that was eating her away. If he could, maybe he could try and help her, just like she had helped him, but it would have to be later.
Irving then came up to the both of them. “We’re ready,” he said.
***
After his defeat, the hermit reluctantly enchanted the werewolf pelt and handed it over to Arawin. He told her all she had to do was cover it over herself and the others and they could slip pass the trees.
“But this is only one pelt,” she said. “This isn’t going to fit over all of us.”
“Doesn’t matter,” snapped the hermit. “I already told you, trees are stupid. Just put it on, have the others huddle close to you, then the enchantment will do the rest. Stupid trees will think you’re one giant wolfman and let you pass. Trust me.”
Arawin wasn’t sure if she did, but she promised him that if it didn’t work she would come back and stick Fang in his gut. He only laughed at her before spinning around in a circle and vanishing in a puff of smoke.
They left the clearing, only to stop and set up camp before going back to the barrier. They had all agreed it would be a good idea to get a night of rest before heading into the werewolf lair.
Lisha sat on a log next to the fire. Several piles of materiel were laid out in front of her. One was a pile of small stones. Picking up a stone, Lisha began scrapping it with her stone sharpener. She shaped the stone into an arrowhead. Another pile of already straightened, notched, and fletched shafts and a third of equally cut halla hair was also laid before her. Lisha’s quiver was propped up on the log next to her along with her longbow.
The sound of her shaping could be heard along with the many other sounds of the forest at night. Lisha would occasionally stop to blow dust off the stone. She would check her work to make sure the arrowhead was being formed just right.
“I would stop right there if I were you, Zevran,” she said not taking her eyes from her work. “I know you’re there, so just come on out.”
Reluctantly, Zevran stepped out of the shadows and stared at her dumbfounded. “How did you know I was there?” he asked.
Lisha smiled as she concentrated on her work. “I know the sounds of the forest. I am also much older than you and can understand the longings of a young man for a certain young lady.” She stopped her carving and looked at him. “You should let Arawin sleep. She needs her rest, and so do you.”
“I think I'm a better judge at what I need than you are, my dear,” he said. “I don’t need much sleep. It’s something I never really needed a lot of.”
“Well, then,” Lisha said patting the spot next to her on the log. “If you do not wish to rest, then come and sit next to me and we can converse.”
Zevran looked longingly over at Arawin’s tent. It was just located behind Lisha. He then sighed, and went to sit next to her.
Lisha smiled at him before returning to her work. When she was done shaping the stone, she examined it. When it was to her satisfaction, Lisha grabbed a shaft and a hair and tied the arrowhead to the end. She then dipped the arrowhead in a bucket full of a clear liquid. When she pulled it out, the arrowhead emitted a shinny gleam in the firelight. When Lisha was pleased with her work, she then placed the finished arrow in her quiver and grabbed a new stone to begin again.
Zevran had been watching her intently. Unlike other women, there was something about her that made him feel different and it wasn’t just what he had learned about her either. He still found her attractive, but was reluctant to try and bed her. This, however, wasn’t going to stop him if she wasn’t going to let him be with Arawin.
“What are you making?” he asked.
“A special type of arrow,” Lisha said, again keeping her eyes on her work. “The arrowheads are covered in a toxin that causes paralysis. Once it enters the blood steam, it relaxes the muscles, paralyzing the diaphragm so they stop breathing. It is something used more for hunting, but I figured it would be good for this type of thing as well.”
“Poison, huh? I’m quite the poison master myself. Care if I ask the recipe?”
“Sorry, it is an old Dalish recipe, family secret actually. One that cannot be simply given away. Besides,” she said wiping off the dust from the stone. “The main ingredient is actually a plant that is not native to this forest. It grows far off in the tropics.”
“So how do you have some of it, then?”
Lisha smiled. “I have my ways. Course, it’s not easy.”
Again there was silence. The sounds of the flickering fire and Lisha’s scrapping were the only things Zevran could hear.
“You know,” he finally said breaking the silence. “If you are going to keep me from my dance with Arawin, perhaps you would like to dance with me instead?”
This made Lisha chuckle. “Zevran, you don’t even know who I am.”
“Of course I do!” he exclaimed. “You are Lisha, an extravagant Dalish beauty, and a very interesting woman if I do say so myself.”
Lisha stopped her scraping and looked at him. “I mean, you don’t know who I really am. I could be anything or anyone.”
“I thought I did? Besides, it doesn’t really matter to me,” he said shrugging his shoulders. “I have been with plenty.”
“I am also much older, and a married woman.”
“Yes, but that has never stopped me before either.” He chuckled at his own endeavors. “There have been many husbands chasing after me, ready to kill.”
Lisha shook her head. “And what about Arawin? Would you being with me upset her? Are you not faithful to her at least?”
Zevran repositioned himself on the log. He grabbed one of the arrow shafts and began scraping the ground. “I have already told her that I do not claim her, nor does she me.”
“And did she agree?”
“Yes. She knows of my past and the way I am. If she wished to be with someone else, then I would not stop her. She could be with Sten, although I doubt that very much, or... Well, I guess that would be it. Unless she decided to be with Morrigan, in which case I would ask if I could join.”
“You should be careful with such relationships, Ion,” Lisha said as she tied the finished arrowhead to a new shaft. “They can be fine at first, but eventually they lead to heartbreak. Emotions can get in the way and tempers rise. Jealousy is a cruel mistress, and not one to play with.”
“Trust me, I have dealt with such things and know of what you speak.” Zevran sighed and put the shaft back in it’s pile. “So? What do you say? My tent or yours?”
Lisha placed the finished arrow in her quiver and began another stone. She stayed silent for a moment. “What do you know of the Dalish?” she finally said.
Zevran threw his head back and crossed his arms. He knew he wasn’t going to get anywhere with her. “Well,” he began. “I know little enough of the Dalish. In fact, the only thing I truly know is that my mother was one. Or so I was told.”
“You’re mother was Dalish?” Lisha sounded interested but kept to her work.
“Yes,” Zevran said staring intently into the fire. “According to the story told to me as a boy, she had fallen in love with an elven woodcutter and accompanied him back to the city, leaving her clan behind for good. And there, of course, the woodcutter died of some filthy disease and my mother was forced into prostitution to pay off his debts. Oldest tale in the book.” He sighed out the last part.
“What happened to her?” Lisha asked. “Why did she not teach you the Dalish ways? What must've happened to have you end up in the life you lead?”
“I didn’t know her at all. She died giving birth to me. My first victim, as it were. I, along with other boys were all raised communally by the whores. It was a happy enough existence, ignoring the occasional beating, until eventually I was sold to the Crows. I brought a good price, so I hear.”
Lisha stopped her work and looked at him. He couldn’t quite tell her eyes in the light of the fire, but he could see that she looked sad. “I am sorry, Zevran,” she frowned.
“Don’t be,” he said. “I have come to terms with it. There is nothing I can do about it anyway.”
“No, and you are oddly cheerful about it. To be separated from your mother without ever knowing her and then given to the Crows like you were nothing. It is a sad story. One that has been told, perhaps, too many times.”
Zevran shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t necessarily see it that way. It could have been much worse. Shall I tell you about what happened to the other whorehouse boys who did not fetch a decent price with the Crows? Theirs is a true sad story.”
“Hmm.” Lisha lowered her head and examined the unfinished stone in her hand. “I am still sorry, Ion. But, do you not want to know anything about your Dalish heritage? I see you occasionally listening to me when I tell the stories to Arawin, yet other times, you seem distant. Looking off into the forest.”
Zevran chuckled. “I am listening. My mother’s Dalish nature was always fascinating to me. I just didn’t have anyone to tell me about them. The only thing I had was my mother’s Dalish gloves. They were beautiful; thin leather with embroidery, delicate and smooth. I would sometimes stay up all night looking at them, wondering what it would be like to run away and join one of the famous Dalish clans that sometimes came to the border of the city.” Zevran stopped and looked away from her. “I suppose it was only wishful thinking. Eventually, the gloves were discovered and taken from me. I never saw them again.”
Lisha smiled. “It is good to hear that you are at least interested. Tell me,” she said putting down the stone and the sharpener. She gave him her full attention. “What else do you know about your mother? Do you know what she looked like?”
Zevran huffed. “How could I? I never laid eyes on her. But... I was told. One of the whores that raised me was her best friend. She was the one who gave me the gloves and also told me of my mother’s story of how she came to be there. My mother was apparently beautiful: long golden hair, deep hazel eyes that gleamed like jewels. She was different looking from the other elven ladies, mysterious. No doubt because of her Dalish nature. This was why she was asked for the most.” Zevran had to stop. He seemed distraught at the thought of what he had just said. He sighed heavily and continued. “I do wish I could have seen her at least once. Known her more, really. It would've been nice.”
“But you have seen her, Ion,” Lisha said. “All you need to do is look in a mirror.”
The laugh that admitted from Zevran was low and humorless. “Is that suppose to be some type of analogy saying that my mother is within me? Ha!”
“But it’s true. I see her in you. I saw her the moment I stared into your eyes. There was no doubt in my mind that you were her son. I only needed you to confirm it.”
Zevran pressed his brows together as he looked at her. “What do you mean?”
“You mother’s name was Azrielya, correct? She liked to go by Azya.”
Zevran looked at Lisha stunned. His eyes wide in the firelight. “How... How did you know that? I never said her name.”
“There are many things I know, Ion,” Lisha said as she straightened her back. She gazed into the fire. “I already knew the story you were going to tell. I just had to hear it from you first. You see, Azrielya was the sister I went looking for in Antiva City. She was my older sister.”
***
Arawin laid still in her tent. She could not believe what she had just heard. She had been waiting up for Zevran to come to her as it was still his turn. She had heard when Lisha had stopped him and was listening to their conversation. At first, Arawin was uninterested in what they were saying. Zevran had told her about his upbringing when they had walked through the forest, trying to find the Dalish. She was ready to fall asleep when she heard Lisha’s last statement.
Was she really Zevran’s aunt? Could that truly happen? It would certainly make things more interesting. The fact that he had finally found someone who could reveal things to him about his heritage made Arawin excited, but from the lack of sound outside of her tent, she figured Zevran didn’t feel the same way. She could only imagine what he was thinking, what his face looked like. She wished either of them would say more so she could understand what was going through their minds.
Lisha had began her scrapping again right after telling him, and it continued on with the crackling fire. Arawin strained to hear anything else before she heard what sounded like Zevran shifting on the log and standing. His footsteps went slowly away from her tent, perhaps to his own. She couldn’t really tell for sure.
“I will give you time to let it sink in, Ion,” said Lisha. Zevran’s footsteps stopped. “I can see you will need it.” She said nothing more after that, and soon his steps began again and Arawin heard as he went into his tent.
Arawin knew that she would have to find out more, but now was not the time. Tomorrow, if she could, then she would have to ask Lisha about what she had told him tonight. And maybe try and talk to Zevran to see what his reaction was.

Paraphrasing from Dragon Age: Origins
Sindarin belongs to JRR Tolkien
Sindarin Translation:
Ion - Son (Because Sindarin is an incomplete language, there is currently no word for 'nephew', so I went with the next best thing.)
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Blood Bond