#goodbits

The Warden was sitting by a small campfire, cleaning the dried darkspawn blood out of her chainmail shirt. She was whistling a song, one Zevran didn’t recognize, while she worked. She looked smaller, more fragile without her armor on, even still wearing that bulky cloak. Her shoulders seemed more slight and the cloak now looked a size or two too large. The cloak covered most of her body, her face still shielded by the hood, but he could see her calves and her hands as they worked. He sighed. Very few would guess it, but Zevran preferred attractive hands in a woman, over almost any other physical characteristic. Hers were small, deft and dexterous, and he knew simply from the way she could handle her swords that they were very strong and probably calloused. He knew precisely what hands like those were capable of, and he found himself regretting that he couldn’t use his usual tactics on her. Oh, the way hands like hers could make him feel... Sadly, though, he suspected she would be too paranoid to allow just any man she met on the road into her bed, and they were too far out of Denerim for him to wait until they reached the city, where his attempts at seduction might draw less suspicion. He clicked his tongue and signalled to his men. “Such a waste,” he muttered, shaking his head slightly as one of his hired mercenaries drew back the bowstring and let his arrow fly. He decided to pay a visit to Isabella when he returned to Denerim. Now there was a woman with fine hands.

When the arrow flew over the Warden’s head, Zevran knew something was wrong. He had not hired green - this archer was a veteran, the best money could buy in all Ferelden, yet he had just missed a shot at a stationary target sitting less than twenty-five feet away. The Warden’s head snapped up as the arrow sailed over and she sprang suddenly into motion. She rolled forward off the log she was sitting on, crouching low and putting the campfire between herself and her assailant, her head bobbing this way and that to keep herself from forming a stationary target again. She’d be near impossible to get a clear shot on now, not with the way the fire’s heat bent the light around her. Cursing, Zevran drew his daggers and whistled, signalling ten men surrounding the camp to come crashing out of the treeline and attack. If subtlety wouldn’t work, he would overpower her with numbers and arms. He stepped out into the clearing while the archer, growling to himself, loosed another arrow. This one, too, whistled past the Warden as she straightened, snatching her swords up off the ground to face her would-be assassins.

There was a distinct difference between the way she had moved against the darkspawn and the way she moved now. There had been six of the creatures and only one of her, but their tactics were sloppy and too aggressive. Though the Warden had held her own against them, no small feat in itself, it hadn’t looked easy. Surely, then, a group of ten well trained mercenaries and one of the famed Antivan Crows could handle her in face-to-face combat? But no, it was becoming very clear to Zevran that he had made a very grave error: she had not been struggling with the darkspawn, she had been toying with them. Her movements in this battle were finer, more careful. She could clearly see how much more dangerous these mercenaries could be in a concerted attack. She picked Zevran out as the leader of the pack easily, her eyes noticeably following him while his men endured wholesale slaughter at her hands.

He tried to take advantage of her turned back as her swords sliced through the chest of the mercenary lieutenant, but the fire spat sparks at him, making him jump away, distracting him into missing the golden opportunity to slide his dagger between her ribs. She turned to face him then and he faltered for only a moment as he finally caught a proper glimpse of her face, usually hidden underneath the hood of her cloak. He did not falter out of guilt, regret or compassion for his target. Such emotions had long been stripped out of him. He felt only simple surprise as he took in her large, bright blue eyes and small flat nose, her angular cheekbones and small, pouting lips. Her face was elven, and he realized quite suddenly precisely how grave a mistake he had made. The woman spat out was sounded like a curse, though Zevran didn’t recognize the words, and a split second later, a cold shock of pain bloomed against the side of his head, and the whole world went black.

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When Zevran finally came to, his head was throbbing painfully, but the actual site of the injury felt curiously numb. His ears were ringing, his eyes were watering, his bare back was chafing against a rough surface and his hands were bound to his sides. Most curious of all, though, was that he was alive. He wasn’t completely sure that this was a good thing. In all likelihood, he’d be tortured first, then killed anyways. No, he certainly preferred a quick and clean death. Torture was... unpleasant.

“You’re awake.” His captor’s voice was sweet, like a child’s. Innocent. She would make a good assassin. He opened his eyes and realized he was tied to a tree, completely naked, with the elven woman sitting on a tree stump in front of him, meticulously scouring the blood off of her sword.

“So it would seem,” Zevran answered, impressed with his evenness of tone. He sounded like he didn’t have a care in the world. Not an easy feat for a man who was left entirely at the mercy of the armed woman he’d just tried to kill. “I rather expected to wake up dead. Or, not wake up at all, as the case may be.”

“Shall I squish its head?” asked a gravelly voice. It took Zevran several moments to realize that the statue standing near the edge of the clearing was not as statue at all. “I expect it will explode like a grape. How very entertaining.” The golem lumbered toward the tree to which he was tied until the woman held up a hand, signalling for the monster to stop. Her gaze never left his face.

She smiled up at him, but it was a cold smile, one that didn’t reach her eyes. “Of course not,” she answered, speaking more to Zevran than to the golem. “It would be rather foolish of me to kill you before I find out why you want me dead.”

The golem grumbled in what was apparent disappointment. It turned slowly around and began to lumber back into the woods.

Zevran tried not to stare at the retreating back of the stone monster. He focused instead of the lovely blue eyes of the woman who had tied him to the tree. “Oh, this assassination attempt wasn’t personal. I don’t particularly care if you’re dead. I expect the man who hired me cares a great deal, however.”

The woman got to her feet as he spoke and crossed the space between them slowly. She stood nearly toe to toe with him when she lifted her newly clean weapon and pressed the flat of it against his bare inner thigh. “Then I have a few questions for you, Crow.”

Zevran drew in a breath, his entire body going rigid as she drew the blade across the sensitive skin. “Torture, is it? Why don’t you let me save you a little time, then, and you can take your sword away, hm?” His breath was coming in short, sharp bursts and he kept himself pressed firm against the tree, trying to get the cold steel away from his exposed body.

The woman took a step back, cocking her head to one side. A slow smile spread across her lips. She looked almost impressed. “Alright, then, who hired you?” she asked, putting her sword back into its sheath.

Zevran considered his answer for a moment. He had dealt primarily with that nobleman, Howe, but he had known from the beginning that Howe was simply an agent for another. He’d only met the man in control once, though, and he was having a difficult time recalling the man’s name. It’s not often that a Crow is called upon to repeat the name of his employer. “A rather taciturn fellow in the capital. Loghain, I think his name was.”

The woman pulled her bottom lip into her mouth as she turned that answer over in her mind. “And why should I believe you?”

“Well, I value my good looks, and you seem intent on marring my beautiful face if I do not tell you the truth, so...”

The woman laughed. “And as much as I’d like to keep your pretty face intact, I very much doubt Loghain even knows who I am, much less wants me dead.”

“Yes well, this part of the story is rather interesting, and also a bit embarrassing for me. You see, I was hired to kill all remaining Grey Wardens in Ferelden, and my understanding was that only two of them, both humans, had survived the attack on Ostagar. One, a strapping young man with a preference for a templar’s sword-and-shield tactics, and the other a beautiful sword-maiden capable of standing alone against dozens of darkspawn and surviving. I saw your fight with that darkspawn band earlier today, and I thought to myself, surely only one of the last Grey Wardens could be so radiantly beautiful and yet so powerful in battle.”

The woman rolled her eyes, but Zevran still caught the smile on the corners of her lips as she spoke. “Are you trying to flatter me into leaving you alive?”

“That depends. Is it working?”

She smirked and continued her questions. “So Loghain wants the Wardens dead. Interesting. Not surprising I suppose... So will the Crows try again once they find out you’ve failed?”

“In all probability, yes. They have a reputation to protect after all. The longer it takes them to discover my failure, the longer it will take them to send someone else.”

“Why are you so willing to tell me all this?”

Zevran shrugged, or did as best he could given his current situation. “I wasn’t paid for my silence. Though I didn’t offer it for sale, precisely.”

The woman nodded and got to her feet. “Well, I don’t have any more questions, and since you were so very cooperative, I’ll offer you mercy. You understand I can’t just leave you alive, but I’ll let you choose your preferred method of execution.” She lifted her sword, resting it over her shoulder and looked at him with a stony expression.

Panic shot through Zevran’s body. It surprised him. He thought he’d made his peace with death. “Now, now, that’s not much of a mercy, is it? I have a better idea. One that involves keeping me alive.”

“You’re not convincing me very quickly, Crow,” she answered, her tone nonchalant as she took a practice swing with her weapon. It seemed suddenly very, very sharp.

Zevran cleared his throat, trying to calm his jangling nerves. “According to the Crows, my life is forfeit. You kill me now or I somehow managed to find the Wardens, at which point either they will kill me or I will kill them and go back to the Crows who will kill me on principle for failing to kill you. Regardless, I end up dead and I rather like living. Since you seem like the type to give the Crows pause, I propose offering my services to you instead.”

She moved a few steps closer to him. “After the show of great loyalty you just displayed, you expect me to trust you not to be betray me in exactly the same manner?”

“I happen to be a very loyal person,” Zevran answered, his tone surprisingly adamant, “up until the point where someone expects me to die for failing. That’s not a fault really, is it? Unless you’re the sort to do the same thing. Then I suppose I don’t come very highly recommended.”

The woman raised a sardonic eyebrow. “You must think me royally stupid.”

Zevran shook his head quickly. “I think you’re royally tough to kill. And utterly gorgeous.” He couldn’t help the sultry smirk that made its way onto his face. “Though you’ve already shown simple flattery won’t sway you. Still, there are worse things in life than serving the whims of a deadly sex goddess.”

She chuckled, still clearly not convinced, but at least it seemed she was at least entertained enough to allow the conversation to continue. “And what’s to stop you from attacking me again the minute I untie you?”

“I’m completely unarmed, for one,” he answered, smirking. “And completely unclothed as well, for that matter. Really, if you wanted a better view, all to needed to do was ask.”

“I had to strip you to make sure I found all of you hidden weapons. You had a remarkable number of them.” Her eyes flickered towards the pile of daggers, knives and straps sitting on the ground some distance away. When she turned her gaze back to him, her smile turned wicked. “The view is just an extra bonus.”

Zevran grinned. “Now, as for why I won’t try to kill you again once I have my knives back, well... The Crows bought me when I was quite young. I fetched a good price, I understand.”

“And what does that have to do with my leaving you alive now?”

Zevran clicked his tongue. “Patience, beautiful woman. I only mean to explain that I didn’t get much of a choice in joining them. I think I paid my price back tenfold but the only way out is to join up with someone they can’t touch. Even if I did kill you now, they’ll probably just kill me when I return. Honestly, I’d rather take my chances with you.”

She crossed her arms, her eyebrows furrowed in thought. Zevran’s heart jumped. She was actually considering it! “Will the Crows not come after you?”

“Well, yes, but I know how they work. I can protect myself and you when they come next. And they will, even if you kill me now. They’ll be back for the Wardens and you’ll be on their list too, as a matter of pride for defeating one of their own.” He paused, and then added, “Though, you don’t seem to need much help, exactly.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “And what do you want in return for your services?”

Suspicious still, but clearly warming up to the idea. He was trying to quash the hope that she would agree in the end - she was still just as likely to finish the conversation by severing his head from the rest of him, but he couldn’t help feeling like he might actually be able to convince her that his idea was a good one. “Well... being allowed to live would be nice, and would make me marginally more useful to you. Then, somewhere down the line, should you decide you no longer have need of me, I go on my way. Until then, I am yours. Is that fair?”

She sucked her lower lip into her mouth again, thinking. Had Zevran been any less trained in the ways of stealth, he would have thought she might actually be able to hear the noise his heart was making while she decided his fate. Experience, however, told him that one’s heart sounds much louder in one’s own ears than it does to anyone else’s.

“Very well. I accept your offer,” she answered, startling Zevran quite badly by taking a mighty swing at the tree with her sword as she spoke. He’d expected to end this conversation with his death, but it turned out she was simply severing the ropes binding him to the tree.

He stumbled a little when the bonds came loose, his legs having gone a little numb from lack of blood. He managed to straighten himself out rather gracefully, however, and offered her a deep bow. “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.”

She was smiling when he straightened, seemingly amused by the formality of his oath. “What do I call you, Crow?”

“My name is Zevran. Zev to my friends,” he answered, wiggling his eyebrows at her. “And what am I to call you? Mistress? My gorgeous and deadly sex goddess?” He crouched next to the pile of knives and started putting on his hidden sheaths.

She laughed, pushing a hand through her hair. “While they are both very attractive options, I think you should just call me Belladonna.”

Zevran stopped what he was doing to look up at her, intrigued. “As in the flower or the poison?”

Belladonna’s smile turned wicked again. “Both.”