Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.” – Seneca

Voices of those that were Ferox woke him, one growling ‘Desire’, another rumbling ‘Love’, the faint memory of a third’s firm voice, ‘Zevran’. He lay on the ground, his mind fogged, ears ringing, eyes unfocused, he saw sets of familiar brown eyes, one mild and peaceful, another warm reflecting his love back to him doubled, the third was hard, yet no less resolved. Blinking again the voices, faces, and eyes became earth, sweet and pungent with the scent of composting plant matter. As the elf lifted his head and he looked at Highever castle, his eyes focused on a shovel stuck in the well turned soil and the geas which had been laid upon him activated, flooding him with adrenaline.

Quickly getting to his feet, Zevran grabbed the shovel and furiously began to dig into the soft mound of dirt knowing that his boy, every single one of them, was right now in a box under his feet. Painful minutes went by as dirt flew. He knew his heart would break if his boy was damaged, if it all happened all over again. When the spade hit the top of the box he wept and scrabbled with his fingers seeking the latch, clearing the heavy moisture laden soil from the lid.

Flipping the top from the crate anxious to soothe the one inside, Zevran reached in and pulled the bound child from the box. “You are safe mushu. There is no need to fear, your Zevran has come to rescue you. You are alright, I am here.”

The frightened child in his lap nodded, and loose mahogany curls tickled his face as he found the end of the linen bandages and unwrapped them revealing tough leggings and a tunic the colour of a blue summer’s day. The scent of Ferox in all of his guises washed over his senses - salt, sea grasses along the shore, so many little details each that he remembered, yet something was different, sweeter and he knew that a spell had recently been cast in the dark of the underground box. Familiar damp brown eyes looked up at him and Zevran smiled. Pretending that he did not know who it was he had saved, he introduced himself again and was genuinely surprised at what he heard.

“Thank you for saving me, Zevran. I am Freya A Cousland.” At the word Cousland, the geas ended. She looked at him with serious, still fearful brown eyes that held unshed tears and nodded decisively, the most formal of manners presenting themselves, “Zevran, you will be re-re-warded for saving my life. You will come home ta have dinner with me an’ you will be my bodyguard. I will tell Father so.” As she clambered from his lap, a young, strapping mabari came bounding across the fields barking his head off. Infectious laughter and squeals bubbled from the girl as the hound sniffed her to make certain she was well. “Horsie, this is Zevran. He’s my Hero, ‘cause he saved me! Zevran, this is Horse. Horsie is a mabari an’ he’s a good dog.”

Tugging his hand, she led the way to Castle Highever chattering the entire way telling him of Nan, her big brother Fergus, and her parents Bryce and Eleanor, and a horse she was learning to ride, and the new bow she had just received for her birthday, and how her favourite cookies had raisins AND cranberries, and about an upcoming trip to Orlais...and...and...and...

....

Zevran finished tucking Freya into bed after she had fallen asleep wrapped up in his cloak, smoothing the blankets down and gave Horsie a boost up. Not that he needed it, but he remembered how the faithful hound’s hips had gone. Too much hopping when a little help could ease it. The mabari lolled his big tongue at him before licking his cheek.

Patting the head just so, “Hello my old friend, it is good to see you again. Now I must go speak with our girl’s father... You keep her safe and sleep well.”

Seeing Castle Highever in all its drafty un-glory set his teeth on edge. However, he could tell where old grandfather Cousland had recently gone off the roof with his fireworks. Zevran sighed, knowing the hallways as though he had lived his whole life there, Twadd and Cyni’s memories guiding his feet. The place needed renovation, desperately. He kept himself busy with those thoughts, rushing as he had ever since digging Freya out of the ditch in the ground, trying not to feel the sadness gnawing at him. There was time for that later when he was alone.

Knocking on Bryce’s office door even as he casually entered with a bow, “Your Grace, I have come as you requested.”

Bryce Cousland looked nothing like Bryce Algere thankfully - Zevran didn’t think his heart could take it if he had. A gesture waved him to take one of the plush chairs, “Yes, Zevran was it? Have a seat.” Teyrn Cousland stared at him long and hard. “My daughter has demanded I make you her bodyguard, a request I’m inclined to honour. However I wish to know who you are and how a foreigner like yourself arrived here.”

“I was travelling from Antiva,” Zevran told the truth as he made himself comfortable. “And due to various unforeseen circumstances, was nearby when I heard and smelt a child in distress. I am unsure of how much you know of Antivan culture, Your Grace, but culturally, we value children. To most of us, it is nothing more than instinct, no looked for rewards - we are a cramped together country, not spread out like your wild Ferelden. To get along we have certain...taboos and habits that rule our day to day lives. It takes a village to raise a child just as surely as it takes a village to put a barn together. So, basically, I heard Freya’s fear and sought it out.” Spreading his hands, “Before that is unimportant - just a man travelling looking for a place to fit.”

“Hmmn,” Bryce’s expression was deep and pensive, fingers woven together and chin tucked onto the platform they created, elbows on the desktop. “The reason I ask is that your weapons and armour are quite fine, above the means of most elves from around here, even the Dalish...”

“You wish to know if I am a Crow?” Zevran crossed his legs at ankle and knee, leaning back. “I assure you I have not been sent here on a contract - being a rogue and fighter might be what I am, but it is not who I am. Even so, I am aware of the dangers Ferelden can pose, and the proof of a fighter’s skill is not just in his continued breathing, but his physical wealth is entirely tied up in his weapons and armour.”

“Very well then,” even if Zevran could tell that the teyrn was not completely satisfied - not that there was anything Zevran could say that would not make him sound completely touched in the head that would satisfy Bryce at all. “A room in the servants’ wing, board, and a small stipend for personal needs is what I can offer you for your services. What other skills do you have besides poaching?”

Trying not to snort at the ‘poaching’, “I can read and write every language spoken in Thedas, Your Grace. I am conversant in archery, dual wielding, one handed, and two handed weaponry - including staves and broadswords. Poisons, poultices, minor surgery, equine care and riding. Enough about horsebreeding that I could have made that my sole trade and been wealthy for it, tradescraft, statecraft, animal husbandry and how to run a plantation - which is a very large farm, Your Grace. Vinters’ arts, leatherworking, and enough metalworking to get myself into serious trouble. Science and alchemy of the metallurgical type...” He couldn’t help a smile, “Honestly? There is not much that I have not been schooled in, Your Grace. It is not said to be arrogant, but anything short of magecraft, I have a knack for it or at the very least enough knowledge to teach the basics.” By way of explanation, along with a shrug, “I get bored easily and sleep little.”

During his monologue he watched the noble’s stern facade crack. There came an unsurprisingly Twadd like gesture - a heel rubbed vigorously into an eye socket. In disbelief and awe quite clearly.

“Try me, Your Grace and you will see that my words are no simple boasting of a rogue seeking anything of you,” wryly. “Set me a task to complete within those parameters and you will find that I am not merely talking out both sides of my mouth to gain favour. Keep the stipend and put it towards buying me supplies for a few inventions. You will quickly discover that you can make a great deal of coin for your household off of these ideas.” A full blown grin broke out, “And the keep requires some renovations, as I saw half a wing’s roof burnt. Something about fireworks, I was told? Nasty things when not used properly... So further wealth to line the coffers for the safety and comfort of mi preciosa would not be out of place.”

Aplomb was struggled for, “And what do you request for these services?”

“I am but Freya’s humble servant, Your Grace,” shrugging. “A place to fit is all I need. We have a saying in my homeland - once you save someone’s life, you are always responsible for it. I will eternally be responsible for her, any leave taking of her would be in violation of it. Now, I am honourbound to serve her unto my death. Her goals, are my goals. Her needs, are my needs. I have found what I was searching for - it is no more complex and no less complex, than that.”

Bryce rubbed his chin thoughtfully, “Very well then. A task you ask for, a task I’ll give you. Planning the renovations and how to fund them - that is your task.”

“And what do I have to work with?” relaxing - this was something he knew how to do.

....

Freya was beside him at the alchemist’s table, helping him assemble the little frost- and firerock prototypes. Once they were ready, he would show them to Bryce and they would be tested. Knowing they would be considered a ‘marvel’, the ability to keep a room, tent, or bed warm or cold at will would be considered quite valuable. There was also the memorized runestone schematics he had written down to keep water pure. Ferelden had a very large natural set of deposits for fire-, frost- and lightningrocks that would be the basis of local wealth quite quickly and he would hold back on the water purifying rune until later. No need to flood the markets with wonders.

Two weeks in, and he had taken over Freya’s education in full, mostly they discussed in meandering paths while he drew out what was needed, made lists, and spoke with the local craftspeople. A heretofore ‘unknown’ mine was found that produced silver and silverite, and business would begin to boom. Zevran cautioned Bryce - not that it was needed - to first build before allowing production to be begun. It merely took talking with Lord Cousland in such a way that his ideas were thought to be Bryce’s own. It was not that Lord Cousland was unintelligent by any means, he just was not working with the amount of knowledge that Zevran was. For that, Cyni’s memories were plumbed, ones gained secondhand from Gaeaf. Loans were taken out, but taxes left unchanged, the Antivan moneylender convinced quickly that he should give a good rate to the Couslands - perhaps because of a fear of a certain Crow’s presence. But Zevran could not say...

Three months in, the prototypes were in production, enclosed fountains made to be heating and cooling apparati. First to nobles, then the first sales to Kirkwall and a few Orlesian nobles. A certain mystique was built around them - on purpose. Zevran made sure to sell ‘schematics’ for them, ones that would not work at best, and at worst, exploded. That ensured the local production would have to come from Highever and their ‘ingenious’ smiths.

A patois formed between he and Freya, a mix of Common, Orlesian, Antivan, and some elvish words. Few could understand a full conversation between them and that was the way he wanted it. And at night he would hold her in his lap by her little fountain in the room, installed on the wall, telling her stories, as she cuddled in his greatcloak made from snowcat pelt and drakeskin.

He could smell the magic growing in her though, and he worried. And so, even though his knowledge was fairly limited, he taught her how to focus her mind. How to keep it quiet. They would be going to Orlais soon enough, Orlais with its Templars. Orlais with its Chantry stranglehold. Orlais - the place where enemies would be on all sides. The trip was delayed time and again. First for Freya to recover, afraid too often of small spaces, to risk a trip by boat. Then it was a wait for harvests to be brought in, renovations to be firmly underway, and profit built.

Sometimes at night Zevran would go into the Cousland treasury and count it all, fanatically keeping track of the physical wealth rather than what was written in the books. Freya’s security required a strong starting point. The next time Bryce offered him a stipend, it was more than ten silvers a week, but a sovereign. Zevran took it that time, putting it away, knowing that soon, hiding Freya’s mage talent would be impossible. It would take one slip, that was all, and then Templars would come to take her away.

Or they would try at least - and they would fail.

....

In the quiet of the night, it struck. Up until then, Zevran had held it off. But now it was quiet. Completely so, or as much as a castle with people ever could be. Laying in his scratchy bed, he cried. He could not feel Twadd. Could not hear him. His soul was alone in his body. There was no Cyni, Singing constantly. No ‘Love’ or ‘Desire’ whispered or growled or moaned at him. Their souls were gone from him, from this plane. They had been reassembled, subsumed, devoured by whatever magic had sent him here. Zevran wanted to howl, to scream, to cry. Freya was a comfort, he could see them in her, but she was a different individual entirely.

Never again would he feel a hairy chest under his cheek, huge hands cradling his hip and shoulder in the night. They were gone. Was the cost too high? He didn’t know. He would do anything for them, had always wished desperately that he could have saved them from the box. Had worked to do so, to heal them, and be given purpose and healing in turn. Here he had that, but he didn’t have them.

They were gone.

Curling into a tight ball, alone and cold in the bed, he broke, shattering. Centuries he had been with them. Now all he had was memories and a girl who embodied parts of each, or that they were nothing more than a part of. Even when he had been searching and waiting for the hope that Cyni would bring, he had had Twadd’s presence and constant loving warmth, not just the memories, but the fact.

Three pairs of feet, two with clicking toenails stopped outside his door. The knock came as the door opened, leaning around the door frame, her eyes wide. “Zevran? Are you ‘wake? Horsie says he’s lonely and there’s scrabbly sounds that are scary,” Freya whispered holding Horse’s collar a small spell wisp floating around her head.

Jerking he quickly wiped his face clear, “A moment, preciosa, I am not decent.” Leaning over he snagged leggings, tugging them on under the blankets before sitting up and patting his bed, “Come here my little ones, I will keep you both safe.”

He opened his arms as soon as Freya clambered atop the bed, having once more stolen his cloak that night, its huge size far too much for her little girl’s frame, swallowing her up. Soft fur met his hands as he held her close. Mahogany curls tickled his nose and under his chin as she tucked her face into his throat, snuffling at him. The familiarity of the action soothed and broke his heart simultaneously. Horse draped himself over his legs, little stub tail wagging at him, the small eyes with their funny brows looking up at him worriedly, asking him if he was alright - the one who likely made said ‘scrabbly noises’ so that Zevran would not be alone. Reaching down to rub the spot between those eyes with his thumb lightly, he knew he would manage, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t miss his loves - he couldn’t help it, couldn’t help but hurt for their absence. Freya had been given into his care and he loved her already, but she was not a replacement - no one could replace them. Each was loved and impossibly important to him.

Kissing Freya’s brow, “Now, did anyone see you with your little wisp, preciosa? Hmn? Remember what I said about such things...”

“No, but it was dark... I needed light...”

“That is why you have the little lightning ball, remember? Right on the bedstand,” reminding her gently and firmly. “You have to be careful, it is our secret, others cannot know.”

A gulp, “I’m sorry, Zevran.” She sought to distract him from any lectures, “How do you smell like sunshine all the time, even in the dark?

Leaning back against the headboard, “I use oils to make it so, chiquita. But I have used them for so long that now I always smell like it, even when I do not have them.” Twirling a fat, fluffy barrel curl around a finger, “In the spring perhaps I can convince your parents to send for supplies to make some for you, hmn? What I wear would be too strong on you.”

“Can I smell like you?”

“We will make something that smells how you like it, princessa,” the soft peachy skinned cheek tucked against his tattooed collarbone. “Hmn..perhaps a little rose and tea...? Little girls should not smell like grown men, yes?”

“But, I like cloves,” the stubborn streak in all of them showed through.

“Well, we could certainly add some clove, cinnamon too,” smiling in the dimness. Reaching into his bedstand he tugged out his own lightning ball to put on the small table, the glass globe that held chips of lightningrock in a saline mix, carefully stoppered by parchment, then cork, then waxed to finish the seal off. Glass making in Ferelden was not so fine as in Antiva, but he worked with what he had. “But never fear, we will craft something just for you, my sweet one.”

“Cinn-a-men-no-men is nice too. I like it on toast and bessert,” a sigh.

“And what of that rabbit I made when we went out in the forest?” feeling as her head began to droop, gangly limbs wrapped around him. Letting his voice go soft and soothing, “You liked the rabbit I made, did you not? And those potatoes, hmn?”

Sorrowfully, “Poor ribbet, now he is mittens.” Freya yawned.

“Hmn, yes, but it was a tasty one,” chuckling. “I rubbed it with cinnamon and salt before putting the mud on it so we could bake it in those coals... You remember?”

“I ‘member. He was good with the ‘tatos...all crackly and juicy. An’ the berries...razzleberries.”

Resting his cheek on her fluffy crown, Zevran tugged the cloak around her tighter, “Hmmhmm, with the honey oat cakes.”

Kissing the hollow of his throat sweetly, she sighed, “Love you, Zevran.”

“And I, you, my precious Freya, always,” as he pet her hair aside, tucking it out of her face so it wouldn’t get gummy with sleep drool. “I promise.”

....

Eleanor sighed, obviously vexed, “Zevran, truly, why does she not stay in her room?”

He shrugged as he frowned at the teyrna who had insisted on taking his measurements so she could knit him some woolen leggings. “It has been my experience that children do not always stay where they are put, m’lady. They crave closeness, yes? Think on it - not so very long ago they were carried in the safety and security of the womb, then held close to be fed milk, and then suddenly they are expected to sleep alone? Adult logic has little meaning to them. Usually when they hit puberty they finally get to a point where it is ‘No, I am big, and wish to be alone and have my own space.’ How my people handle it, is to provide whichever it is they require so that they have a strong base to grow from.”

Lady Cousland jotted down her notes, “She is a big enough girl as it is, Zevran. You are too indulgent with her.”

“M’lady, whatever she requires of me, then that is what she receives. I have said this before and shall continue to say it. There is nothing untoward going on, nor is how she is, abnormal in the slightest. Surely you are aware that most families have but one bed? The common populace do it for warmth and comfort as well as economy of space,” he shrugged as he tried not to make a face at the boring yarn on offer. The leggings were merely to keep him warm - not look good. “People require connection, m’lady. And according to Fergus, she was in that box long enough that she could have died. While she may not understand that fully yet, her psyche searches to make sure that it has not happened. If it had been yourself, Fergus or your husband who found her, she would be glued to someone other than myself. It is nothing complex.”

“While I understand your logic, young man, it still is slightly scandalous you know,” she tutted at him.

“If it comforts you at all, it is a fairly well documented fact that I have responded positively to young Harold’s advances,” saying offhanded as he poured the teyrna tea from the wild mints he and Freya gathered.

The elegant woman paused her rummaging in her yarn basket, “Pardon?”

“I have found that my taste for Ferelden men is a long standing tradition,” as he picked up a tunic for mending. “Ones with broad shoulders and large hands and a surfeit of chest hair, whilst being cleanshaven. Harold is an attractive fellow and the body does have needs...”

It was obvious his easy statement of being attracted to men had taken Eleanor aback. In his experience, Ferelden was not comprised of those beings who were narrow-minded, but they tended to not be very blatant about such preferences. But it was the truth - Ferox and he had been together for...centuries. Quashing the thoughts before they could drag him down - while in company no less - he edited.

“My husband died not so long ago, it is part of what put me on the path here, dear lady,” the needle flashed silver in his hands as he went to work. “I am not interested in the women here by any measure anyway, so set your fears aside. While some will voice concerns over my perversions, children and shemlen women are not particular to my tastes. That is not to say that if the right woman came to me or I came across her that my mind would not be changed, but that is not going to be anytime soon, hmn?”

A quick knock on the door before it opened and Horse stuck his nose through the gap, obviously being ‘held back’ by a hand on his collar. The hound seemed to enjoy interrupting him - the tricky beast. Freya was next peeping around the heavy door. “Umm, Moma. Can I borrow Zevran? Nathaniel’s here, an’ there’s an archery contest and my hair got caught in the string, an’ everybody laughed and Nathaniel an’ Thomas said I could pick anybody for my team, ‘cause Thomas says nobody can beat Nate...”

Eleanor laughed, “My girl, they made a mistake in granting you that...”

Zevran snickered, setting his mending aside, “Well then, let us grab my mother’s bow, and we will give them a reckoning they shall not soon forget, hmn?” Leaning down as he opened the door the rest of the way, he picked her up, “Or shall we be magnanimous and give them a shadow of a fighting chance and I use your bow?”

The solemn brown eyes were worried, “Nathaniel’s really good, Zevran, but his bow’s not as nice as yours.”

“Ah but has he ever relied solely upon his skills to keep himself and his family fed rather than as mere sport?” he asked even as he sidetracked to grab the Sorrows of Arlathan. “Not only that, but a true archer can use two twigs to hunt their meal, the bow only facilitates it.”

As the young Howe was now, Zevran knew he could likely beat Nathaniel even with Freya’s bow which was much too small for him. It would take many years and hard living for Nathaniel to gain his peak performance. As that was some years away, he would be easy pickings as it were. He would give the boy the choice. Or ‘win’ using Sorrows and then to prove his point - and ‘avenge’ his girl’s honour - her own bow. Nathaniel he didn’t mind, the boy was stern and quiet, it was Thomas that grated on him so foully. That boy was a slug and a dirty worm. At least not as bad as Vaughn Uriel was at the moment, whom he had had to haul off by the scruff of his neck several times for a sound tongue-lashing for having been caught trying to take advantage of the serving girls.

Young Howe was as stiff as he remembered him. Or as Cyni and Twadd did. Shoulders constantly squared as though someone had pounded a steel rod into his back in place of a spine, hands held tight on the bow, but fingers loose, stance wide, gaze turned inwards. Thomas was bragging while Fergus sought to keep things equitable, his voice level. He was the oldest, other than Zevran, on the field of ‘battle’. It was odd to see Fergus, knowing that on one hand he was still childish enough to have thoughtlessly locked away a precious sibling and child, but also man and lord enough to mediate. In the months since Zevran’s arrival he had taken a more serious bent beneath the warm and friendly exterior. Zevran took the blame for that - a quiet discussion had driven home just how dangerous his foolishness had been. He had gone over every detail of what it was like to die in a box, strangling and choking, and the consequences of what could have happened - brain damage, a scarred sister, unable to realize that this was reality. From then on Fergus had taken an extreme zeal in being a ‘good’ lord and was fiercely protective of Freya in all things.

Freya slid from his arms and stepped forward pulling on her ‘proper role’ for the game complete with curtsy. “Fergus, um, I mean, Lord Cousland, I have chosen Zevran ta be my Champion for this contest of skill.”

“A dirty knife ear?” Thomas brayed with a nasal laugh. “Couldn’t you have found a challenge?”

Fergus gave Thomas a mild look, a copy of Twadd when dealing with the particularly dumb. “My sister has chosen her Champion - and you did say she could pick anyone. If she had chosen Nate himself, by your very words, you allowed it.”

Nathaniel’s muted grey eyes took in Zevran, “There’s no shame in pitting myself against a Dalish, brother. They live and die by the bow.”

Bowing to Fergus and then Nathaniel, “My mother’s people live and die by Vir Tanadhal - not the bow. I am no great archer, but my skills are not particularly poor either, my Lords, my Lady.”

Hearing the rules of engagement, Zevran nodded his agreement and swiftly spun an arrow in his fingers before nocking it. It flew true, slamming home with a fine vibration as it wobbled through the air, the sound tickling his ears. Nathaniel had talent, more than he did, but his skill was not where it would be someday. Continually Zevran won, until Thomas threw a fuss after demanding to see Sorrows. He watched as the boy wanted to do damage to the precious and ancient weapon, but wouldn’t dare, not with the eyes on him. Not only that, but as soon as his hands began to make a wrong move, Zevran would be hauling him and throwing him away from his mother’s bow so fast the youth wouldn’t know what hit him. Thankfully no such faux pas was necessary. To satisfy Thomas’ ire, Zevran accepted the various bows the younger Howe pointed to. Even the horrid practice one was easy to use in his hands. Soundly, every round, Nathaniel was beat once more. In the background Thomas’ rage increased, until he was ready to howl with it.

Nathaniel on the other-hand was much more gracious, bowing deeply, “I concede I am beaten and fairly, ser. I hope that one day my skill is sufficient to beat you.”

“When you have only your bow and skill to rely upon, m’lord, then you will best me,” as he passed Nathaniel the Sorrows to inspect. “So, you are an admirable archer - what of your skill with blade?”

Zevran knew the answer to that, but he had noticed something odd in Nathaniel’s stance finally. An odd hitch, a side favoured. Of course it could be nothing, but with the extreme difference between Thomas and Nathaniel, he had to wonder. While Nate would not thank him for what he was about to do, Zevran had plans for the youth. The title of Warden Commander would have to go to someone in the future, as there was not a snowball’s chance in the magma pits of Orzammar that he would let Freya become the Warden Commander. At least, not of Ferelden. Perhaps Antiva if it came to that.

Encouraging, Freya piped up, “Nathaniel likes daggers and he dances really well. It doesn’t have to be a contest, does it, Fergus?” She may have asked her brother, but she looked at Zevran as if trying to figure out what game was to be played next and what the rules were. Probably thinking that if she did, she would have an advantage over the boys when the game expanded to include everyone - a way the small or weak could beat out those bigger and stronger.

Fergus shrugged, “Zevran - you’re the weaponsmaster. Howe could use some training, so, just a friendly match then.”

“Not a contest at all, but I am truly curious, m’lord Howe - your archery skills are quite superb, has your strength of blades had to suffer for it?” plucking live edged daggers from his sides. “A true artist is able to use their weapons without cutting, even when they are edged. However, you need not pull back on my account.”

Winking at Freya, he silently promised he would tell her his secrets for this game soon.

Nathaniel had been hesitant, but quickly fell into a rhythm. Across the yard they danced, Freya clapping and cheering, while Thomas yelled ‘tips’ to Nathaniel. All the while Fergus watched intently. Zevran did not pull out the stops, in fact he was very careful, but he watched and watched. The young Howe was obviously walking wounded, muscles pulling and moving poorly. Providing and taunting with openings, he waited and then let Nathaniel take one, a novice mistake, one that was exceedingly sloppy in its execution on Nate’s part, so that it was the most natural thing when Zevran ‘slipped’ and cut a slash through the young shemlen’s leathers, opening a gash over ribs.

Cursing convincingly, after all it was a complete ‘accident’, Zevran set his weapons aside quickly and caught Nathaniel who swayed after straightening as he stared down at the blood beginning to flow. Barking out orders in the tone of voice that all would follow, “Freya - get my office ready, Thomas, go get hot water from the kitchens, Fergus, kindly inform your parents that Nathaniel is being tended!”

If the young Howe had intended upon protesting, Zevran had moved far too quickly for it to happen. Thomas of course had run to tattle about the ‘filthy knife-ear’ who had ‘tried to kill’ his brother. It was rather expected, which was why he had sent Fergus to the adults immediately. Freya was with him as he pulled off Nathaniel’s upper garments and gasped. Black and mottled bruises were all over the youth’s back and chest along with the clean slice. Zevran said not a word, merely holding out his hands for the various tools he would need after pointing to each. As Nathaniel stared dumbly at his flying fingers, cleaning, packing and then stitching the wound closed, his already pale sallow skin was paler with horror and shock overlaid heavily by embarrassment.

When Nathaniel had begun to protest as Zevran slathered stronger poultices over the heavy bruising, he finally spoke, “If one is wounded at all, it is tended, no matter the source and cause, young man. Letting yourself remain damaged is a sure way of getting yourself dead. I do not care how or where you took this thrashing or who delivered it. Fighting in this state outside of pure necessity is folly and stupidity. Whomever your instructor is should be hung for allowing it.”

Nathaniel drew himself up, shoulders squaring, “I am a Howe and take my punishments.”

“You are mortal and being stupid if you sit there and let this be done,” he grabbed Nate’s chin, tipping his head to stare him straight in the eyes. “Only a coward beats someone like this. Freya - go see about that hot water if you please?” When his girl hesitated, he jerked his chin, expression stern and she scampered off to do as he said. “No father has the right to do this to his son, not unless the boy is a rapist, murderer, or monster. And one does not torture monsters, rapists or murderers - they are simply put down like rabid animals.”

“How -”

“Do not ask questions you do not want to know the answers to, Nathaniel,” brows furrowed. “Besides, it was only a guess and your reaction told me. Now, the question is - what do you intend to do about this? But it is one you have time to mull over. The answer is not for me, but yourself. What is your breaking point? When will it go on for too long, push you too far? Now, we have no more time as your father and Bryce are coming down the hall right now. Put your shirt on else your father will blame your instructor for his abuses to Bryce.”

....

That evening, Zevran set up storytelling in the vegetable garden between the newest wings of Castle Highever. Horsie was a fortuitous backrest, and Freya was tucked up between Zevran’s legs, her ear to his chest listening to his voice. Fergus, Thomas and Nathaniel were there, as well as young Delilah who wanted stories of girls being saved. In light of what he had observed and knew already, he spun out stories of the Free Blades rescuing merchants’ daughters. Thomas wanted stories of uprisings squashed, which Zevran accommodated - and then went into gory detail of how the Crows had tortured the upstart merchant prince for having brutally slaughtered his slaves for refusing to work without rations.

“Savagery can be met by two things - further savagery or with style. Personally, I have always favoured the iron hand with the velvet glove,” as he summed up, waxing poetic. “To rule properly - from a workshop to a kingdom - one must be fair as well as strong. Happy workers work harder. Of course the short-term profit margins are not so vast, but renewable resources are always a premium commodity.”

Of course that was lost on Thomas, but Zevran would never be accused for not trying to limit the amount of monsters in the world. He comforted himself with visions of the smug little prick being devoured by darkspawn, or going mad while changing into a ghoul. Fergus nodded as he ladled mulled cider out, as Zevran’s words echoed things Bryce had said before, if couched in terms of honour, right and wrong.

“These...Free Blades, what are they?” Nathaniel asked finally.

“Mercenaries actually,” as Freya stole his mug to get a sip of the hot cider. He didn’t let her take too much, just a little bit, and to keep her hands warm around the mug. “Antiva has no standing army, nor need of one. When we require fighters and guards, they are hired out to fulfill such needs via contract. It is a good living, everyone wins, and they are better supplied than most armies. Healers are always on hand to deal with wounds, food is plentiful, gear is made specifically to each Free Blade’s needs and skills. Anyone freeborn can become a Free Blade, whether they are from Antiva or not. Following the rules and their individual contract to their unit is all that is required beyond being freeborn. Nothing more. Well, other than the ability to fight. However, they do take raw recruits, but their pay is much less until they are skilled.”

Fergus finally spoke, “You’re rather familiar with them...”

“My father is a Free Blade,” which was the truth. “Being a warrior is a family tradition for me, just as being a fighter is in yours. Why, even your mother has a bow that is well cared for.”

“Moma has a good bow, I would’ve picked her next...” Freya murmured so Thomas couldn’t hear, her cheeks rosy from her little sips.

Taking the mug from her for a sip of his own, the lip of it covering his mouth as he agreed, “It would have been a very good choice, chiquita.”

Once Freya was safely in bed, passed out from stories and a little bit more than half a mug of hard cider in her tummy, Zevran headed off to his own bed. A note was on his pillow in Bryce’s hand. He tried not to smile when he read it and put on a solemn air as he went to the teyrn’s office.

A quick rap and he entered, one of the few who never had to await an order to come in. He was no one’s vassal, his tenure there nothing more than a brief stop in time, and he refused to stand on excess ceremony. Besides, they were business partners, equals in many regards, and Zevran was accorded that respect, even if his room was nothing great and his pay modest.

“You wished to speak with me, m’Lord?” flopping in his customary chair. “Your note sounded rather formal, is there some problem?”

Bryce steepled his fingers before his mouth, “About the incident earlier today - with Nathaniel.”

“Ah, that was an accident, I should have been faster,” shaking his head woefully.

“No, as I understand it, all who saw what happened, there was nothing you could have done - frankly, it is amazing you did not kill him,” Bryce set his hands flat on the desk, expression grim. “Freya said that as you were tending him, that there was...a great deal of ‘ouchies’ all over him. When I told her to describe them... I must admit I am shocked by what she told me. Bruises upon bruises, not a patch of skin that wasn’t brown, purple, or at the very least, yellow. The image she depicted is...unacceptable. Tell me - did my child make it all up, were there just a few marks?”

Leaning back in the chair, Zevran tipped his head, eyes closing, “I wish she was, Bryce. Truly, I do.”

Grimly, “How bad is it?”

“...It is as though he is wearing a tunic without sleeves. I imagine if his leggings had been pulled down, there would be similar there as well. Someone has systematically beat him,” keeping his tone level, lips pursed, his anger and distaste on display. “Repeatedly. Likely for years, otherwise he would not have such an easy time moving around as he does.”

“Did he say who did it?” the weary demand, the desire to know who would damage another human being like that was present and at the forefront. “Some instructor? Someone with power over him?”

Picking his words carefully, “It would be highly unlikely to be an instructor, Bryce. He would not say who had done it, but the embarrassment that someone had seen it is...familiar to me. I have witnessed such wrongs perpetrated by others. A family member is invariably the culprit of such...repeated and ongoing abuses when paired with such shame. Unless it is a lover, but I doubt young Howe has progressed to that state of interest in sex enough to submit to a single person doing so much harm to his person.”

“It won’t stop then,” fingers were drummed loudly on the walnut desk. “Unless he is removed and I take it he is unwilling to say who did this?”

Zevran nodded, “Usually they protect who do them harm, yes.”

“Unless he is willing to level accusations, there is little I can do...” Bryce leaned back heavily rubbing an eye socket madly, obviously a headache forming.

“Fergus has very limited opponents,” Zevran pointed out. “It is not uncommon for families to foster out their children to friends and relatives. It would remove him from the situation. As for Delilah and Thomas, they are far too favoured to be considered targets. They do not do anything considered distasteful, following every direction they are given.”

Bryce hmm’d, “While Nathaniel is...considered headstrong for his devotion to where his talents lay. Yes, that would work. And you can train him better than most, being a proper rogue as you are.” His beard made a scratchy sound as it was rubbed, “Well. That is one weight off my mind. The other is...”

“Yes? What can I do for you, my friend?” waiting patiently even as he prompted. Bryce had been holding back, sometimes looking as though he wished to confide, but had always stopped short. “What good are these ears of mine, if I do not listen?”

A bark of a laugh, “Ah. Yes. You are far too crafty and insightful. Hmn... In the time you have spent with Freya have you noticed anything...odd about her?”

“Beyond the seriousness, stubborn streak, penchant for stealing my favourite cloak, and picking locks, I take it?”

“Mage - is she a mage?” the question asked with a gust of a sigh. “Before you arrived there were...a few...instances. Has she worked a spell around you?”

He was surprised. Taken aback. While he knew Freya was definitely mage talented, he hadn’t thought anyone else knew, let alone suspected.

Thinking rapidly, “This will sound odd, Bryce, so forgive me. It is not abnormal for children to work some small charms in Antiva. It passes quickly. Usually it is something like a rapid healing of a broken bone, or in one case I saw firsthand, there was an instance where the child was able to set a table to trembling when hearing that a parent had died. Something brought about by duress or great stress or trauma. Seeing something or hearing a spirit or...similar. Such things usually pass as soon as they feel secure again. It need not be mage talent at all. Mage talent is explosive and obvious, not little things, else half of Antiva would be mages.”

Bryce put his head in his hands, shoulders sagging, “Kirkwall is filled with insanity, unstable mages and Templars. Kinloch - I know many of those guards there, and I, personally, would not trust them to guard a sheep without brutality. Rivain is by far too strange. Tevinter -” Bryce’s laugh wasn’t a laugh at all, more a frantic grasp at laughter, “is what it is. Nevarra does not even have a Circle, all their mages are priestly caretakers of their mummies. Or they are burned as soon as they are found, or made into Inquisitors. Orlais...Orlais’ Circle is... Did you know they are allowed to have families amongst their numbers? It breeds true and when it doesn’t, the children often become Sisters or Brothers or Templars.”

None of this was news to Zevran, “You did not mention the Antivan Circle. So I will do it for you - in its own way it is good. In many others, it is bad. The abuses there are not of mind or body, but of the fact that the only mages who reside there, are those who are...too dangerous to become healers.” He waved a hand, “But, this is not important, now is it? A handful of odd occurrences in early childhood mean little, yes?”

Hands were scrubbed over the handsome features, echoes of Ferox there, “I’ve been praying for a miracle, Zevran. If she was a mage, she would have to go to Orlais to be safe and have some chance at happiness. It is all I would be able to do for her.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, there are no thrown fireballs, electric bolts, or targeted snowstorms coming from her hands, at least - not that I have observed,” attempting levity.

And of course Freya had done none of those things. He kept far too close an eye on her for that. Not only that, but he kept a small needle dipped with a tiny amount of magebane on him at all times. One tiny prick would stop any accidental casting before it did more than start, thus hiding such a slip. He was more worried about the spellwisps, but at least the lightning balls helped with that - ‘oh the girl just had one in her hand to light her way’ was the excuse given once. It helped that Fergus had been seen with one and a guard reported worries of magecraft that were quickly allayed.

“Well...that’s good.” Bryce’s relief was palpable. “But you will tell me if anything...similar to that happens? I can trust you on that? There have been mages in the family before, on my side, you know, so we have to be vigilant.”

A small splinter of guilt stabbed him, but Zevran smiled, giving the reassurance, “If she was ever to be a danger, of course I would tell you, my friend.”

“In any event, we go to Orlais in the spring, she should be examined, just to be sure. And I would like to tour the Circle there, not only that, but there are some trade contracts to see to...”

....

Eleanor had finally had enough. At least, that’s what Zevran surmised from her pacing and scolding. Freya was half hiding behind him, face buried in his backside.

“...And if you continue to persist in this, well there is nothing to do then! He will just have to sleep in your room, we cannot have you constantly parading around in your nightdress and sneaking off!” Eleanor turned, hands on her hips. “Is that what you want? To rob him of any personal life by having to sleep in a little girl’s room?”

Tipping her head to see his face as she leaned around him to look up, Freya inquired, “Do you have ah person-all life, Zevran? Wha’do you do with one?”

“Not one of any particular worth,” he shrugged. “But usually it entails seeing friends alone time to time.”

Chin up, the girl prepared to face down her mother, “There’err scary scratchy things in’tha dark, Moma. Scrabbly things that make Horsie cry. Scrabbly like in’tha’ box...” Freya was trying to ‘protect’ her ‘brother’ even as she played her trump card.

Eleanor immediately straightened, face going soft, “Oh, my dearest.”

Stroking her hair, Zevran tried not to glow with pride at her sneaky little statement, even as he worried too, knowing she still had nightmares. “Chiquita, do not worry, I will keep you both safe, I have sworn it, hmn?” Mildly to Eleanor, “If that is what she requires of me, then it is not much to suffer at all - Harold is becoming rather boring. Besides, her bed is larger than mine, and it will be harder for her to hog it all from me.”

“An’ it’s not scratchy, an’ cold, an’ dwafty either. An’ I don’t hog the covers, Horsie does when he makes a nest at the end an’ lays on yer feet. There’d be room for everybody in my bed, an’ nobody would get squashed when Horse runs in his sleep.” She imitated Horsie’s ‘booufing’ and other noises he made chasing animals in his dreams while paddling her arms and bouncing on her toes.

The teyrna laughed throatily, “There is that then, hmn? Very well. Zevran, my dear, it appears you are truly stuck.”

Shrugging, “She will let us know when she wishes less crowding. As I have said - children know what they need, if only we listened.”

Arms around his thigh, Freya waited until her mother had gotten out of earshot, “I need you, Zev.”

“And I need you, preciosa,” falling to a squat, smoothing her wild hair down, a sad smile cocking his lips. “You are all I have beyond memories.”

Eyes large, expression and tone solemn, “They are good for stories, but not snuggly in the dark.”

Embracing her tightly, “Very true, my sweet. Very true.” Plunking kisses on each cheek as he picked her up and set her on his hip, “And you are extremely snuggly with those knees and elbows as my ribcage and spine can attest to. Now - shall we go find some tea and hot milk before bed?”

“An’ a cookie? Horse likes cookies, but he spits out the raisins.”

“An’ a cookie, yes,” grinning at her as he copied her. “But then you will have to brush your teeth, hmn? No stinky breath for you.”

“You can still have’a room too...to keep your person-all life in.” An offer ‘generously’ extended, “‘Sides if you sleep wif me there’s more room an’ nothin’ scary can come in the door...like bears.”

“At least not without sprouting a dagger hilt in its eye,” saying happily even as he thought of the attack that would eventually come. “And then I will make sure that it cannot do a single thing and will be your shield and your sword, hmn? Defending you against all the scary things, chiquita.”

....

It was harder to hide some of Freya’s more queer actions while on a ship. She had a penchant for trying to talk and call dolphins, and if she had been truly a rogue, he would say it was just a ranger’s talent. But no, that was not what it was. And there was a storm, that was the last straw. Because of the danger, he couldn’t stop her from casting, couldn’t stop her frightened cry and she clung to him, as a glowing shield was thrown up and spread outwards from their little cabin, to swallow the entire ship. Lightning was turned aside again and again as the wind blew, blunted by the shield, and he kept up a steady stream of encouragement as they continued on their way to safety. Whenever he saw her energy flagging, he would cut his fingers, and it was too dark for the rest of the family to notice the wounds, the blood magic that flowed from him to her as he willingly offered up his strength to her spell. It was him who downed the lyrium and elfroot potions, masking things as best he could - the sailors could be convinced that it was the witchy and strange Dalish elf that had been the mage.

Bryce’s fear was realized and when the storm finally broke, Zevran set Freya to bed, guarded by Fergus and Horsie as he had to go with Bryce to ‘discuss’ what had happened.

“You hid that from me,” it was almost an accusation.

Pouring himself a strong brew of elfroot and other healing herbs and covering the whole mix with liquor, he took a long sip before flicking a glance up at Lord Cousland. “I told you that there had been nothing obvious before. No fire, no ice, no lightning. Everything else I have seen is no different than the strangeness of any traumatized child. Many children remain that way for some time, calling upon the world around them to protect them from the dark things that have hurt them, until the fear is outgrown.”

“Like what - tell me precisely what you have seen her do,” Bryce’s stance was stiff, reminding him of an angry mabari, lacking only four legs and a raised neckruff.

“When we have gone out on our trips to hunt and track,” he made himself sit comfortably and continued sipping his drink, “she has called out for little animals, made a few excellent insights, sensed deer when there were no visible droppings or tracks. Nothing extraordinary. If she were an elf, I would say it was nothing more than her ears and nose telling her things. Once she said someone died in such a place, that she could feel their anger, and so we did not sleep there.” Finishing the drink, eyes closed, his head tapped the bulkhead as he stretched his legs out. “I had a cut and it healed before I grabbed the poultice to bandage and seal it. Yes, she has some small talent, that much I knew, something that, at most, would be simple hedgewitch abilities if she continued to develop. Nothing that would open her to Templar issues, let alone blood magic. Sensing weather, a cantrip to heal, perhaps enough to make a weapon’s blow slightly less... That was all I saw her do.”

He didn’t mention the spellwisp as he had never seen her cast it.

“Maker, she’ll have to go to the Circle now,” the shemlen sat heavily, defeated. “This can’t be explained away. This was no simple hedgecraft.”

A growl escaped, “You think I will let her waste away in a Circle, do you?” His lips firmed into a hard line, letting the mask of being friendly and ‘nice’ slip away, the dangerousness of Guildmaster coming into full, poisonous effect as he straightened, though his tone was not angry. “Is that what you believe? Hmn?”

In that moment, Bryce had no idea just how close he was to death.

But he had some inkling as he stiffened once more, “What is she to you that you would do that? She is my daughter - as her father I would do anything to keep her from such a fate. But I can’t risk her being accused of being a maleficar!”

“She is everything,” finally revealing something. “She is mine. Your flesh and blood means nothing to me, Bryce. That claim is without more than a small amount of merit. She belongs to me, and always has. It is what pulled me here. That day in the ditch was her last day as belonging to you and then she became mine. ”

“Who - what are you?”

“I have been called many things, Bryce. ‘Love’, ‘husband’, ‘Demon’ and ‘Desire’ by the ones who held my heart.” He set the cup down carefully on the table. “Guildmaster, Crow, Hero and slave by others. Commander, General, I could have been a king, but chose not to. To me - you are nothing but a tool for what I want. A friend, yes, but still - a tool. You do as I will. And you are a tool that is threatening the one thing that is of worth. You are lucky she values you enough, and that you remain useful to me - as I have few qualms about killing you if you get in my way or threaten to ever get in my way again, Bryce. It will be tolerated this once.” Slowly he rose, his frame might not be tall or impressive, but he had centuries to draw upon, filling the room with the power of his personality and experience, “I have suffered loss beyond what your simple human experience can understand. I have held in my arms the only men I loved as they died. Outlived my offspring, seen Ferelden smashed by Qun’ari, seen the Fifth and Sixth Blight begun and ended. I am not from here, your realm is not my own. My Ferox, your son in another time, sent me here when he died, sacrificing his very soul so that Freya could be kept safe, and so that I could do the one thing I had always wanted - to save him from the box that was nearly his coffin. To heal him. Your desires and claims are nothing in the face of that and my anguish.”

Bryce believed him to be deranged, this much was clear. And yet Zevran always knew things, things that shouldn’t be known. Things that were impossible. The locations to mines, to people and lost items, finding them unerringly as though he had been there before. He knew what people would ask for in trade before they made their requirements known. What things were needed to trade with the dwarves, who to see, who to speak with, and they obviously didn’t recognize him at all. And when he asked after such and so, or would smile enigmatically and tell them to prepare for this or that new arrival - Bryce stared at him in dawning horror. The evidence was there to see if looked at.

Baring his teeth in a smile, “Yes, I am quite mad, I see that. But know that Howe is a viper, and upon the night you are to leave for Ostagar in twelve years, as King Cailan calls upon you and your men to fight the darkspawn there, Howe will betray you. He will stab you in the side, you will drag yourself to the pantry where the hidden room is, Eleanor and Freya will have fought their way through the halls, and you and Eleanor will die there. Yes, I know about the pantry escape route. Freya does not know of it, no one but you and Eleanor do at this point. When we reach Orlais, there will be a young woman named Oriana, daughter of a tea and spice merchant, and Fergus, when lost in the streets, will meet her. They will fall in love, and in three years your first grandchild, Oren, will be born. But on the night Howe betrays you - Oriana will wind up raped and murdered before her own son. Oren will also be killed. Fergus will go missing after Ostagar, healed by Chasind for nearly two years. There is a young Templar in training named Alistair, he is the bastard son of Maric. Send a letter to Arl Eamon, ask how Alistair is doing, and if he has had any proper training for a prince. His response will be most shocked, I assure you, but it is better to know where that pawn is, hmn?” Smile widening, showing the sharpest look he could, and that was a very sharp and cutting look indeed, Zevran didn’t stop there, “Do not believe me for now if you must, shem, but when Fergus disappears when we are about and he comes in boasting of a pretty Antivan girl - you will know. And to ensure you do not think it my doing, I will remain with you and Freya and give no notes or indications to your son.”

Bryce shuddered, unable to hold his ground, backing up until the bulkhead brought him to a halt, “Just who are you?”

“Zevran Arainai, once and future Guildmaster to the House of Crows, in another time and place. Theoretically your son-in-law twice or thrice over depending on one’s point of view, but such thoughts break and bend even my mind. Now, summon Fergus, and I will return to my proper place and post.” Dusting his hands off in satisfaction. “And I will take Freya to Antiva, she will be trained and safe there. And we will return in time for the Blight. Perhaps if you are lucky, we will be able to save you, your wife and your grandson and all the inhabitants of Highever. In the interim, there will be problems with Mercud - he will be having a stroke or heart-attack right around...hmn...now I would say. Instead, you will be dealing with his daughter, Liora, do not let her youth fool you into thinking the bargaining will be easy. Also - buy the bloody spyglass when you find it, as that was always a sore spot with Ferox.”

The ever convenient bark was heard in the hall, a summons of a sort, from someone who listened much too closely and knew more than he would ever tell.

As Zevran began to heed that call, Bryce stopped him in the hall, hand wavering for a moment before it pressed to Zevran’s chest, “What did I do to anger you so badly, my friend? I am unsure of your sanity, but angering you, whom I count as a friend, was not my intent.”

“You threatened to have her locked away in a box,” the answer that came readily was an intuitive leap. “And that would kill her just as surely and foolishly as Fergus’ stupid actions nearly did.”

....

Bryce was pacing in their lovely hotel suite’s sitting room. Fergus was missing and had been gone quite some time. Zevran was calmly playing visual games with Freya, training her in control of her ability, learning to mute it so that no nearby Templars ‘heard’ her. At the same time he rifled freely in memories, seeking to find the ‘time’ Fergus would return.

Finding it he smoothed Bryce’s worry, “Oriana and her guard will guide him here in about two hours, my friend.”

“First Mercud and Liora...” Bryce sat heavily, shaking his head. “You knew the exact terms she would argue for...”

Mildly he sipped from his teacup, “Did you buy the spyglass?”

“I’m debating it,” a familiar growl issued, nearly making his hackles rise.

Freya approached her father, unafraid of the growling distemper, “Papa, you can see so far with it. You can see the bears comin’ a’fore they got inside. An’ then they couldn’t do anything scary and hurt anyone...” Moving a hand, an arm, she made room to crawl in Bryce’s lap looking up at him hopefully.

“Ah, Pup, this is true,” giving her a hug and receiving a kiss as the girl snuggled in, knowing she had already won.

Those brown eyes were deadly and could make anyone melt when turned on with full force. Or at least they melted Zevran, loosening the stranglehold of pain around his heart. Horse was nearly as bad though - perhaps his girl had learned it from the hound? Likely, as the entire posture and expression were identical.

“Or Fergus can see the mountain goats coming over on the sea. Everybody could get inside, an’ be safe before their long black pots go off. BOOM!” throwing her hands in the air with the sound.

“Goats?” Bryce frowned in curiosity.

“Kossith,” Zevran supplied as he wrote down a list of instructions and locations for things Bryce would need. “The Beresaad, and other aad units. And cannons.” Grimacing, Zevran debated giving the knowledge to make the cannons. “Qun’ari weapons can demolish a wall rather efficiently. But I am unsure if imparting certain knowledge is wise... No, some of the pieces, yes, and then I will send you instruction on how to assemble the items. Also, you have mages, but this will be beyond your time, so it is nothing you personally need worry over...”

Bryce’s voice was low, “My friend, have you any idea just how you sound when you -”

“Quite,” even as he finished sketching. “But you will see the truth of it. Fergus will have a hicky on the back of his neck if that helps prove it without a doubt.”

He and Bryce had argued off and on several times, until Zevran told him flat out that he had two choices: Either Zevran would take Freya away completely and not return until after Bryce and his family was either dead or missing, or he would work with Zevran on the needed preparations and he would still take Freya with him, but they would return in time. Either way, Zevran got what he wanted, he made that very clear. Beyond that, there was obviously little to argue about, as the answer was inevitable. Bryce was still Freya’s father, still loved her, and would do much to keep her safe and happy. And remain a part of her life. So, when Fergus showed up, utterly besotted, Bryce went to his son, and checked the back of his neck looking for love bites, in spite of the young man’s surprise and squawking.

After that, there had been no choice at all, and Bryce had been resigned as he accepted Zevran’s packet.

“I will send word once we have reached our destination. When word gets around about the incident on the boat, blame it on me, say that I am a Keeper, Dalish and sovereign, beyond Chantry rules so long as I did not work magic in general. Freya is being fostered out to the Antivan royal family, for finishing, possibly to find a nice prince to wed, and garner you fat trade agreements,” he shrugged. “So long as no one knows that it was her, then we will be able to return. Oh, and tell Duncan that Rory Gilmore is too soft to be a Warden, and not to worry about a recruit. Freya will return as one. Also, lay in stores for the Drydens, but not let anyone go to the Peak. When Levi asks how you know of the Peak, say that a little birdie told you and that for now, he should leave it be. When we return, depending on time constraints, that will be the first place we go to solve an old problem there. Also, Nate will likely disappear soon for the Free Marches, or hopefully Antiva. If you see him before that happens, make sure to remind him that the Free Blades are always ‘hiring’ the freeborn.”

“That’s it then...you’re taking her now?” Bryce stared at the bedroom door, worry and pain on his face.

Empathy won out, “She will write you regularly, as will I. But the people I intend us to hide with are nomads, and so we will not always have access to a ship to send word.” Clasping Bryce’s shoulders with both hands, “My friend, you have been good to me, but that has never been my goal here. Freya is, and always has been, will always be, why I am here. I can, and will do anything to see her safe, no matter what. Crazed and lunatic you may think me at worst, a harbinger of doom at best, but no matter what - I will keep her safe. This I swear. There is no other succor I can give you beyond that, and the tools to prepare for the times that are upon the horizon. What you do with them is entirely up to you.”

....

He had picked the ship because it was Antivan - swift, strong, nimble, and the sailors were also fighters as any proper Antivan crew would be. The captain and crew were grilled, questioned lightly here and there so that he could find the ‘lay’ of his land. Though it wasn’t truly his Antiva. That was of little matter, it would serve his ends. Because Twadd had loved Ferelden and had loved Antiva - Zevran would do what he could for both. Freya was at the prow, rolling and bouncing on her feet, the gesture so familiar, that his heart was in his throat. Time to time she would spin in a circle or roll her head to look for him, flash a grin then go back to her play. It would be years yet before he could be anything to her beyond the place he filled. And even after that, she was not a replacement. He knew, he understood his husbands’ thinking, intimately. Knew that he had been dying, that a stupid miscalculation had led to his ‘demise’ and thus Cyni and Twadd’s actual deaths, the complete change of soul, a death beyond that of body.

He had to honour their sacrifice, when he would have been perfectly content to die without their souls being devoured. An afterlife would be possible, but now he doubted it. They had been destroyed, cobbled together into something else perhaps. But still, the individuals he had known were never to be seen again outside of his heart and mind and the occasional flash from a little girl.

Small hands snuck under his tunic in bed, “Zev?”

“Hrmn?”

“When I grow up, you’ll still be mine, right?”

“Always, chiquita,” reaching back to pat her hip.

“Will you still be sad then, too?”

Zevran rolled over, cuddling her close, “It is hard to be sad when I have you, hmn?” Stroking her gently braided hair, “I am glad I am here with you, princessa, but I have lived a long time, and sometimes I cannot help but be sad. You miss your parents, brother and Nan. Well, I have people I miss, but I will never be able to see them again. So, this makes me very sad sometimes. But we will see your family again, I promise.”

“I was very bad - ” which was quickly amended to, “ - not careful on’tha boat.”

“That was not bad, preciosa. You did a very brave and good thing, you kept people safe,” he reassured. “People would have been hurt, probably even died, if you had not done that. Sometimes we have to do things that are not always safe, careful or ‘good’ when it comes to protecting others. Like when I cut Nate - now, that is not good, yes? It was dangerous. But I saw that there was something wrong, I suspected that he had been hurt like we saw when we were fixing the gash I put on him. And because I cut him, we were able to find out that yes someone was hurting him. What happened then, preciosa?”

She thought about it, mouth pursing, “We’err able ta have him come stay with us?”

“Yes, and that kept him safe,” he nodded. “So, he got hurt and it was dangerous and not careful, but it let us help him.”

“A little hurt to help.” That day reminded her of the story told afterwards and a question she wanted to ask then, but there were other questions, “Commod-id-dees are things we trade. Why would we trade people?”

Resting his lips on her brow, “Because skill and strength are things that can be traded. Slavery is useful in Antiva. There are so many people that they become like...a herd. They are individual, but they are also so many, that this is what we do. It works for us.”

“Sheep or chickens?” a giggle. “Ooo, or goats!”

“Well, Thomas is a chicken, my father would have put him in a soup pot long ago,” snickering at the truth of it. Nune never did tolerate assholes well. “Vaughn would have been put on a spit like a goat to be roasted.”

She giggled, “Ewwww... You don’t eat people! An’ Vaughn doesn’t wash.”

Rolling his eyes, “Tell that to my father. He likes liver. One will eat anything if one gets hungry enough, princessa. And at the least he would get his first bath ever that way.”

“‘nora washes, your papa can eat her. She’s cranky, ‘specially when I don’t play ‘tea party’ right.”

“Yes, but she would be all sour,” making a gagging noise. “There are not enough onions in all of Thedas to make her edible. And that brat has no idea what ‘tea’ is supposed to be like.”

“Well, I did make the last pot with mud and sticks...but then I got’ta go play with tha boys after gettin’ ‘tea’ sprayed on me.“ Freya was snickering as she rubbed her face in his neck.

Laughing joyously at her, “Ah, my sweet, I love you ever so much, do not ever doubt that.”

Giving him a fierce hug, the solemn brown eyes had returned to dancing. Trying to stop laughing and barely keeping a straight face, “Tha boys all wanted to come ta tea after that, hopin’ she’d drink more. Came up with new recipes too - really icky ones - boys are good at that.” Sighing with theatrical sadness, “But I ‘been banned from all tea parties’ ever since. Moma said she wasn’t happy ‘cause I didn’t play nice, but I heard her tell Papa, an’ they were laughing too.”

Squishing her to him until she nearly squeaked before loosening his hold, “Ah, that is my girl.”

“It’s too bad, ‘cause I wanted to make her the dog poo mint tea and Horse even said he’d help!” She collapsed into complete giggles.

Right then he wished more than anything that he could press his love to her mind, envelope her in that safety and feeling. Instead he settled for laughing with her and discussing different ‘teas’ that would have gone over in varying ways. And Anora’s reaction to them.

“‘nora says she’s gonna marry Cailan and be Queen. I don’t think she’ll serve any of those teas though.”

Settling in for the night completely, Freya draped and tucked how she liked, his arm around her back, “Hrmn... Well, I shall let you in on a secret. She will be queen, but not for a very long time. A queen serves the people, just as a teyrn or bann does. So, whether she serves some tea or not, even if it is unfortunately not from our lists of good recipes, does not matter. Any tea she serves will be as bitter and sour and not nice as she is. Thankfully, she will not remain Queen of Ferelden for very long, so any yucky tea she serves will not be inflicted upon others for all that long.”

Covering a yawn, “Zevran, when did you meet ‘nora?”

“A very long time ago,” as he tucked up the covers.

“Was I there too?” She squirmed settling herself into the mattress.

Closing his eyes, “Yes and no, my sweet one. Shh, now it is time for us to sleep.”

“Love you, Zev, very much.”

“I love you also, Freya, I always have and always will,” placing a last kiss atop her crown.

....

Freya was perched atop his shoulders as they approached Antiva City, one hand wrapped around his forehead, the other waving wildly as she bounced and waved a pointing finger at all the sights. Cyni had thought it was the Golden City, even when they walked it or ran over rooftops. Twadd had found it to be ‘home’ and ‘peace’. Freya was pure excitement and glee. Now would be difficult though, because those other times, he had something to start from, and his loves were adults and could be trusted to take care of themselves. He only had two plans to work with from here. Find Zamitie and convince her to take Freya on and find Nune. They would have to avoid his counterpart, until Zamitie explained the situation, but even then, he was unsure if any of that would work.

What information he had managed to glean overall was that yes, there was a Nune in charge of the Dust Wolves. That was what he had to start with, and it would have to do. At worst he would turn to a life of pickpocketing to keep them fed and housed at first. He did have all the money he had saved from his stipends, there was also the pouch of money that had appeared with him and his pack in this Thedas. Truly how he had wound up there in the first place was mindboggling. And why, if it had been possible, why hadn’t he shown up in nothing but his skin? That would be the most logical outcome. But he suspected it was Twadd’s doing. Every detail had been paid attention to, even the scuffs on his armour, and his body was only changed in that he was ‘young’ again as far as he could tell. He had all that he needed physically to take care of himself and ‘prove’ that he was a traveller. Zevran hadn’t brought himself in the year that he was in this Thedas to dig too much into the pack’s contents beyond finding that all his best gear was
there. The gifts, the belt, several strange pairs of perfect camel hair and silk socks that he had always meant to buy if he were to go back to Ferelden... The pack was huge, just this side of comfortable carrying weight, loaded down with even heavy silk tent materials and fine lengths of rope. But he couldn’t make himself dig beyond that fast, cursory inspection. The pain was still too great. So he had two packs as well as Freya’s to deal with. Horse at least happily shouldered Freya’s and his smaller pack brought from Highever.

Unloaded from the ship, he told her to hold his hand and not let go for anything until he said it was safe. Even though her neck craned this way and that, she kept close amongst the jostling crowds until he found a rickshaw to carry them to Zamitie’s crimson door. Upon spying it, fear rose up in him, but it was forcefully quashed. If she turned him away, or was not there, they would take refuge at an inn and then he would make plans to go to the Dust Wolves hall.

Knocking, knowing it was not a time she was open for business, he waited, masking his worry. Eventually the door opened and he caught sight of his Zama. She was beautiful. Slate green eyes were startled, looked from him to Freya to Horsie, then ushered them inside quickly.

Bowing to her deeply, he intoned formally, “This seeker searches for an oasis, has it been found, ga’ni shedu’ni Zamitie?”

“Yes, you have found water and safety,” her words were shaky. “Be at peace.”

Unslinging his pack, then freeing Horsie of his, he helped Freya from her low boots and pointed to where they went, even as he set his aside. When they sat at the table once taking a sip of tea and Freya had done the same, “I am Zevran Arainai Eu’rai’ddvinnen, raised by Zamitie and the Crows.”

“I...did not raise you, young one,” her long hands lay on the table.

“But you know me?” he raised a brow, worriedly. “You recognize me?”

“I knew a man like you...yes...”

Zevran coasted his fingers over the tattoo on his cheek, “Did Arainai not touch me this way...?”

She shuddered once, “Yes, holding her dead son in her arms before life fled her as well.”

Rocking back, Zevran stared. “You were unable to save the me that was born here?”

“No...I was...too late or not strong enough, these things are not known.”

Freya was frowning, trying to follow the conversation, and he wrapped his arm around her comfortingly. “What do you know of Kirkwall?”

“That it is strange and people say that anyone can meet other versions of themselves there that do not exist where they are from originally,” she paused. “You are such a one?”

“I am no demon,” he shook his head. “I come from a different Antiva at...great cost. But I did not come by Kirkwall’s route.”

Zamitie stared at him intently, “Why are you here?”

“Twadd and Cyni sent me here upon our deathbed... To be there in time to save someone,” Zamitie flicked a glance towards Freya and he nodded. “Their souls are gone,” the depth of his sorrow flashing to the forefront before he could stop it, tears springing forth and falling down his cheeks. He took a deep breath, slowly releasing it. “She is a mage and needs training. Cyni was ga’ni shedu’ni, your heir. First your mantle was passed onto Anicada, my daughter with Fewrlin, then upon Cyni’s arrival, eventually it passed to him. He was able to...Sing it into being unlike anything I had ever witnessed ga’ni shedu’ni do and he was not zam’lin. She is likely to be strong in ga’lin as well as zam’lin. You are the only person I knew of who might be able to train her safely.” He stopped, shook his head, “It sounds impossible. It is...far too much to swallow. I am sorry for that - but I had nowhere else to turn to in this.” Pulling up his shirtsleeve, “You can taste your blood in this Work.”

She swallowed, fingers curling over his forearm, lids sliding closed. Zamitie let out a soft gasp, hand tightening on him. “I had thought I failed you, mushu. What can be done, will be.”

Freya held back most of her questions, but the biggest one broke through, “Are you Zevran’s mama?”

Zamitie looked uncertain for a moment, but then nodded firmly, “As much as anyone can be his mother.”

His lips twitched, “I called her Zama, as she did not wish me to forget Arainai’s contribution to my life.”

That made Zamitie laugh, “That does sound like something I would do. It is well then, if it is your wish, then that is as it will be.”

....

Zevran was in Sa’id’s library and Zamitie poked her head in, then leaned against the door frame. “You know where everything is, do you not?”

“The house is much smaller than the one I grew up in,” he waved the book in his hand vaguely. “But his library, the bathrooms, the common area, the Work room, your weaving room and the garden are all the same. No salle, but then again, there was no need.” Sighing as he stared at the writing on the page, “Bah, I have read this fifty times if I have read it once. Ah, being so old has its bloody drawbacks!”

“And just how old are you, mushu?” she approached, taking the book from him to look at it before handing it back.

Zevran put it back on the shelf, searching for Sa’id’s book on Templars, mumbling, “I know the book on shamanism and Templars is somewhere - ah. There it is. Hmn...” He grunted, “Centuries. I stopped counting around five hundred. It just got too depressing after surviving two Blights, Qun’ari invasions between the two, the Tevinter trying to make a comeback, Rivain deciding they had delusions of grandeur - mostly desperation due to the entire place being poisoned from the Sixth Blight. And now I get to do it all over again.” Pausing he leaned against the shelf, “Without Twadd’s soul comforting me constantly, without Cyni’s dark warmth and... And they are gone. I cannot feel them.” Struggling, “I see them in her, but they are gone. Forever.”

Zamitie touched him, pulling him into a hug, and he broke down and sobbed. “Do you know what they did?”

“No, no just that they burnt their souls to send me here, using everything, so that I would be in time to save her from the box,” choking on his tears and pain. “She is safe, I am grateful, but they are gone forever with no hope of ever...”

She guided them to the floor as he cried like a child, clinging to her skirts. Her hands were familiar, coasting over the back of his head and his shoulders as he released some of what had been pent up. They had never consulted him on this course of action - they had even somehow managed to keep it a secret through many, many years. While Zevran was glad to have made it in time for one soul, it did not change the fact of the cost. The cost was too steep. But if it hadn’t been paid, how much would Freya have suffered? The Zevran of her Thedas had never drawn breath. Not that he could pin everything on himself, but he was not going to deny the fact of what he had been able to do and devote himself to. But his Twadd, his Cyni. Gone. Gone... Gone without ever any hope no matter how feeble...

Wafting in the window, the barking of a playful game of tag in the garden and teasing sing-song, “Nanner, nanner, can’t catch me!” was quickly followed by the squealing laughter of being caught. “No fairs, I can’t jump over that! Four feet on the ground? No, I’m not gonna put four feet on the ground. ‘cause I only have two foots, that’s why, silly! No, you can’t use teeth, an’ I won’t use them either.”

Zevran made himself straighten up at the sounds of Freya’s play, but Zamitie kissed his brow, pushing him to remain. “I will see to your hope, mushu. She will be sad if she sees you like this.”

Pulling himself together slowly, he eventually made his way outside, catching and throwing his running girl in the air as Zamitie playfully sent little blood pixies bobbing about for her and Horse to chase. “Gobeithia, what is this, hmn?”

“Gob-y-te-ya? That’s not my name silly!” Freya squirmed in his grasp.

“It means ‘hope’, and that is what you are, hrmn?” kissing her temple before letting her back down.

“That means you’re Pandora,” arms flung around him looking up grinning.

Pinching her cheeks gently, “Well, I am an uncommon rogue and open many boxes, no?”

“So what’d else was in the box, Pandora?”

“Everything of worth, preciosa,” leaning down to hug her to his waist.

“Noooo.” Rubbing her nose against his, a Chasind kiss, “All of the bad things were in the box and they flew out first. Hope was last. I me-mimber.”

Snorting, “They do not matter - the only thing of true worth was Hope. For hope is precious and the thing worth protecting from anything.” Kissing her head, “And hope is all I have and all I need anymore.”

....

As Sa’id had never had to provide a second bed, there wasn’t one. However, Zevran’s pack was finally raided, Freya sitting beside him and cataloguing it all. Each thing she handed him, he lay out gently, fighting the shaking. For once she wasn’t in his cloak, he was wearing it and he hugged it about himself, though he wasn’t cold. When he saw the silver and pewter white braid he nearly lost it. And then there were two thick journals at the bottom of the pack, wrapped in heavy silk clothes that would have been too big for him. For him, that was the last straw, and he released a wail, unable to stop himself, falling upon them and clutching them from Freya’s hands. She made a startled noise, but he couldn’t help it, he really couldn’t, and hugged the items to him. Zevran knew she was scared but couldn’t fight his way out.

Brokenly he sobbed “Twadd...Cyni...” over and over again.

Scooting over quick, Freya hugged him and petted his hair. “Don’t cry, Zevran. You are safe. You don’t hafta be afraid. You’re all-right, M’m here,” much like he had done for her when the box was opened and he pulled her out.

If he had been a different man, he would have been angry, but couldn’t be. For her and for him, they had given up everything. Zevran had thought he wanted to die that first night when he reached for Twadd and then remembered he was alone in his mind. But now with this, the books that faintly smelled of them, the thick braid of Twadd’s pewter hair, he could only wish his soul was destroyed - it would hurt less. When Elissa, then Eleanor, then Ani, then and then and then and then...had died...each blow had been a nightmare. But he had had Twadd there, had had Cyni there. Now he had Freya, but Twadd and Cyni’s very souls had been consumed to buy him this place. It was a nightmare, not a paradise, no matter how much he loved Freya.

In that moment, if he could die or destroy every shred of his being and be assured that Freya was taken care of - he would have done it. How they had expected him to go on like this... Zevran was broken once the tears finally stopped falling, mixing with blood from the force of it, his arm curled around Freya too tight to be remotely comfortable. Mutely he stared, nearly blind, crushed to the point of numbness. What should have been a selfless gesture, what was a selfless gesture, left him in agony so great he couldn’t breathe, even as his body did it anyway. Zamitie was there, Horse was there, Freya was there, he felt them.

But they weren’t Twadd and Cyni, and even if they were, the men he knew and loved and gave everything he had for - no longer existed.

Haf’cath was the lucky one, no doubt still connected to Gaeaf, purpose given and accepted freely. There had been choice for them, continued to be choice for them. Cyni had taken choice, something so important to that one, away, and convinced Twadd, somehow, to force this ‘gift’ on him. Zevran had only cared about ‘choice’ in terms of making sure that those things his loves had professed to value so wildly were always available to them, as he had promised. Again Cyni broke a promise not to leave, as Twadd had predicted he would, and this time it was permanent, with no recourse or hope of reunion. How could there be?

The old magic in his Work did its job, his eyes healing and tingling through their burning, before Zamitie added fresh power to it. Poor Freya’s lap was covered with his tears and blood. Numbly he wiped at it, trying to clean her up, until Zamitie’s hands stilled his. Both females looked at him sadly, neither saying anything, not really moving, letting him find his way.

Croaking, “I need to be alone for a bit.” Giving what comfort he could, “I will return, I promise. I just...need some time. I swear, I will be back by dawn at the latest.”

“But you aren’t done. It’s not all on the list, Zevran.”

“I am sorry, chiquita...I cannot. Not right now.” Not ever, but he would have to.

“But there’s letters...” she nearly matched his wail.

He had thought his tears were through with him, but they fell anew, “What fresh hell is this? Why did they do this to me who loved them above all? Fate is an evil whore who mocks me.” Resigned to his torture, “Very well, let me see these things.”

“But, you’re wearin’ them...they’re in the pockets with the diamond. I think it’s a diamond...”

Panting in pain Zevran pulled the thick sheaf out, hidden by all the padding of the cloak. He hadn’t thought to search the pockets, hadn’t wanted to know if there was anything tucked away in there. The pack’s contents, even as far as he had gone when he first glanced and felt around in it, had been nearly enough to destroy him. Finding them and then the stone, he looked at that first. It was beautiful, nor was it a diamond. It was what all the precious stones of the earth hoped to be. Something plucked from the Golden City, the soft glint of what Cyni had imagined his sliver of soul to be, fitting in his palm. Keening at that, he warred with the desire to fling it away from himself, the soul finally given up, but at the same time, it would be rejecting a part of Cyni, and that he couldn’t do. Not for anything, no matter how painful it was.

A familiar shaped piece of paper, folded into a flat lotus, much like the one that had been an apology to Twadd when he had planned on allowing Cyni to kill them, but it was not that letter. The writing was far too precise to be his own. Warily he unfolded it, staring at the words, unable to make himself read them. What could be said that would justify the absolute destruction of self that they had put themselves through?

Desire - go stand in the Circle. Take my soul and his flesh with you.

Staggering to his feet, stone and braid in hand, Zevran went, almost falling down the stairs, Zamitie and Freya following, Horsie ready to intervene. But his body was young and nimble again. Or younger and nimble once more. Blowing past Zamitie’s wards, the magic resonating with that in his skin before she even had to say a word, he shoved aside her workbench and collapsed.

The runes blazed bright, lighting the stone in his hand, glinting and flaring. The voice of a lone singer filled his mind with instructions to touch the stone and the braid together and get back quick. He didn’t know what he was expecting, at the moment he was expecting nothing beyond perhaps a last message of love. Instead there was a cross-legged body. Cyni was there, older than he remembered him, but not by much. A hale man in his fifties physically, the ga’ni shedu’ni wellspring had kept him alive along with his own massive ga’lin powers, the efforts of the whole family having been poured into Cyni’s body during their life together. When one family member was ready to die, each added their Song to him, granting strength, before their souls slipped onto the next plane of existence.

Gasping, panting, Zevran crawled back through the circle, sobbing afresh, in relief, in joy. “Cyni...Cyni...”

’I’m here too, Love,’ a contented rumble.

“See, I told you - it’s all a dream. Just the fucking Fade.” Cyni growled, snarled really, “Desire, why the fuck are you all bloody? And why the fuck is Twadd still in my head and not yours?”

Eyes wide through his tears, Zevran grabbed Cyni after a brief moment’s hesitation. “Cyni, Twadd...my hearts...oh... I love you both...I do not care who is where. You are not destroyed, Maker, oh fucking Maker, thank you.”

“I’ve been tellin’ you for years there’s no fuckin’ Maker, Andraste’s not gettin’ any. Unless you’re the Maker, an’ if you are, well, I ain’t gonna let you fuck Andraste. She’s a fuckin’ bitch.”

Laughing, Zevran clung to his husbands, “I am not He, and Andraste is not my type.”

Cyni wrapped his arms around him, gruff, “This can’t last, you know. I passed on the mantle, I only have my own power now.”

“It does not matter, you are here now, querido,” breathing in the familiar scent, deeply.

“How long have you been here, Desire?”

Thinking, “A year, just over, why?”

It was a rare moment, usually heralding something very bad, when both Cyni and Twadd swore at the same time.

’I thought you said you could fix this?’

“Well I can’t fix it now, can I? We talked about this. It was a possibility.”

’He was unconscious when we finally decided. I bet he didn’t even read that tripwired note...skirting around it like a trap in the middle of a path. Damn rogues, always sneakin’ past shit,’ Twadd cursed again.

“Desire! I put the written note in that favourite cloak of yours. Although why’d you wear that in Antiva is beyond me, but Twadd said...’Put it in the cloak he’ll wear it in Ferelden’ - ” Cyni ranted until he was interrupted.

’Hey! He looks ridiculously awesome in that cloak - and mighty tasty too. And it’s cold there, of course he’d wear it!’

“‘Course he’d wear it, it’s damn cold there even in the fucking summer!”

Mumbling, “Freya stole it all the time... It helped keep the box away.”

On cue, there was hiding going on behind Zamite.

“Who’s Freya?” ’Freya?’ simultaneously.

“Girl in the box - Hope,” he answered. Leaning back enough, he held out his arm, “Chiquita, please, come here. It is safe, I am not angry or sad, please, my sweet...”

Freya scrambled up to him, tucking close to his side, staring up at his husbands with big brown eyes, “I’m sorry I stole the cloak... It was warm an’ smelled like ‘im. An’ I thought he knew all ‘bout the pretty stone an’ tha letters. An’ I didn’t read nuthin, ‘cause it’s Zev’s, an’ private. I did touch tha stone, an’ it hummed real pretty.”

Kissing her temple, “Shh, it is done. Do not worry, your Zevran loves you no matter what.”

Twadd swore again, but Cyni did not, as he usually tried not to when children were present, little demons or not. But he did growl and heave a deep sigh. Zevran couldn’t help but turn his face up, kissing the growling mouth.

“Your growling sounds like Papa’s. And you look kinda like Fergus an’ Papa.”

Zevran explained as best he could, even as he kept his face tucked into his spouses’ throat, “Do you remember this morning when Zama said in Kirkwall people could be met that were the same and different of yourself? Cyni and Twadd are...one but not the same. And you are one with them, but not the same.” With one arm he cuddled her, “They sent me to you, because they love me. So that I could be there for you when you needed me. And so that you could be my hope.”

’Well, at least you figured out that much...Maker.’ Twadd groused, ’I told you we should have told him sooner about your harebrained plan, back when you hatched the thing!’

Cyni growled again, “We didn’t find the last piece until the end, don’t you lecture me, just ‘cause you couldn’t keep his eyes open and read when he’s sleepin’. ‘Sides that, we didn’t want to give him false hope.”

“He cried lots... He’s been real sad,” Freya said solemnly. “I tried to keep him happy... Horsie too.”

Squeezing all three of them close, soothing as he begged, “Shh. It is done, that is enough. Please...just...just let me have this.”

Cyni began again, taking Twadd aside, still within hearing, ’’Sides that it’s in my notes in the...’

Again simultaneously ’Backpack!’

’Three places. One in his skull... Damn it, Twadd, I told you to mark it ‘Drink this or eat me.’’

Zevran heaved a sigh of his own, “I wanted to -” he paused and instead used the amulet. ’I could not bear to search through the pack beyond taking a single look. It was...I thought your souls were obliterated. Destroyed. Utterly. It...I could not...I could not touch what to me was worse than ‘blood money’ as it was paid for by the coin of your very souls! Even looking in the mirror, I wished to be destroyed as well, and if I had thought Freya would be kept safe and happy, I would have done anything to see myself to the nothingness...’

’Love, that’s what we thought it would cost at first, but Cyni found the last piece - after you fell and we couldn’t keep you awake long enough to tell you...you hit your head. I didn’t think we were going to send you in time.’

“Even then, that cost is too high, even for...even for that,” whimpering.

Cyni rumbled, “We debated it, and knew what you would say, which is why we didn’t bring it forward. We weren’t going to do it until the last bit fell into my lap and the Song was corrected...the only problem after that was staying in there too long...which apparently we did.”

Swallowing, “Can we leave the Circle? Or do you have to stay here, anchored?”

“Get up. Move around. Go where you want. I’m hungry.” Getting to his feet, Cyni saw a familiar face, “Zama! Twadd says some greetings I don’t understand, something about water and a desert and can he ...err we come in, Zama-mama - though it’s a bit late, we’re already here...” He held out his arms, palms up so she could taste his ink, if she wanted.

Zamitie shook her head wonderingly, laying her hands over his wrists, taking in the flavours of the Work on his flesh, “None of this should be possible, however, the day of spirits has come, and I bid you welcome. Now, let us see what might be found to feed you.”

....

Horsie had taken one sniff of Cyni and Twadd then one of Freya, head twisting almost two hundred degrees to the left, rotating on his stubby neck. Then he had woofed and spun in a prancing dance, hopping this way and that happily. He didn’t care - his person was there, even if there was more than one of them.

Cyni reached down to scritch above Horse’s rump, “I don’t know you, but Twadd says you look great. I think you look like Gwir...um, one of your pups, grand pups I think. If she’d been a he. Go on, follow the girls and guard them tonight. We’ll be fine here.”

Zevran had piled up the bedroll, a spare borrowed from Zamitie, and Freya was getting her bedtime story in Zamitie’s bed, for that was where she would spend this night. Not that the mother of his heart would mind. And she wasn’t above keeping Freya comfortably asleep so that he could have time with his Cyni and Twadd. Once she finally passed out, he kissed her cheek one last time before tucking her in. His husbands had waited patiently, so patiently, when neither was known for the trait. As soon as they were in the other room, he clung to them afresh.

He pressed his love, his anguish, his despair, his relief, his joys, all of it, to them, filling them up so they knew how much he needed them, no matter what.

“You thought I left you and drug Twadd kicking and screaming after me!” Cyni laughed.

Zevran shook his head emphatically, “No, not...kicking and screaming. No, I thought you convinced him of the wisdom of this, I can see the logic, I can see how he would think it would be wise, even at such cost...” Staring up at them, “I thought you broke a promise again...”

“I admit I thought about it. Twadd did too, thankfully we never did on the same day at the same time and already we knew your vote was ‘no, it wasn’t worth it’.”

’You shoulda...nevermind. I love you and you are absolutely beautiful. Frell, anything is beautiful after putting up with Cyni, he’s such an old man.’

Lips twitching, “You beat me to proclaiming beauty. And was it not you who said that you would have never been so young as him? Hrmn?” Teasing Zevran pulled them down to the pallet with a sigh, twisting close, “And I am still the oldest person in this place. How does this keep happening? Also - Ferelden men that are not named ‘Ferox’ are very boring, far too hairy, and do not smell as good, just so you both know. And if Rory ever stares at Freya’s bottom when she is grown, I will rip his eyes out. Just felt that you should know that.”

’Love, I believe we’re both agreed that Rory doesn’t hold a candle to you and if you were there, well, Rory, as much as I loved him would have to find some other tree to climb.’ Twadd hugged him with mental arms and made Cyni help with the real ones.

Not that it took much prodding.

Squirming free of his clothes, Zevran reveled in the feel of their arms around him. “I missed you so badly, mis amores. Every time Bryce growled or Fergus laughed...like a knife in the gut. However, I have done what I can thus far to ensure that night does not end with Highever aflame.”

’Love, we need to talk, full disclosure,’ Twadd’s voice held warning.

Nodding as he wrapped his arms around them tightly, flesh to flesh, “I am sure, I just...need to feel your skin against mine...” Whispering, “I doubt I will have much chance beyond now.”

“Desire, I think we have a few days, a week at most, depending on how much Twadd’s been holding out on me...and I don’t think he has. You need to take everything you can get from us.” Cyni never did believe in hiding facts when he was ready to lay them out.

He hadn’t expected more than a voice wafting across time and space, a week sounded like an impossible dream. “I will take whatever I can have of you both. I could...I could always pull you both in? That has always been an option and one I am more than willing to do.”

“I don’t mind, I’ve put up with this...oh let’s be Twadd for a moment, ‘son of a motherless goat’ - happy old man? - for a year. I think we’ve progressed to being two old men sitting on the porch and arguing about who killed the most darkspawn - I finally trumped him with an argument. We agree that you killed the second most of either of us, so that means you win,” Cyni grumbled while rambling.

Shivering at the sound of it, Zevran laughed brightly. “Have I told you both how much I love you? Yes? Well, hear and feel it again.” With that he opened the link, summoning the joy he felt at this single moment and all the ones long in the past and before, “I love you Ferox - in any guise.”

’Maker, how does he do that?’

’No clue.’

’At least you can blast him outta the water by Singing - me, I got nuthin’ and have to sit here and listen to you both.’

“Not true, not true,” Zevran sent and sing-songed, kissing them all over their face. “You make me laugh with joy, amora. You are my Maker, Twadd, and I am but your not always humble servant. It is you who gave me purpose and love, so much love... It is your warmth, your support, your arms that gave me love and acceptance and friendship and purpose and everything...”

Twadd snorted, ’You sent me to my room for arguing with you over Cyni.’

’At least he didn’t make you walk there. I got to walk to my room. You just got muted and locked in with good memories. I got a screaming Wrath in my skull,’ Cyni snorted back.

’Shut up and kiss him, Maker - do I have to tell you both when it’s kissing time? I’m tired of being in the Fade with just you and I can’t operate the mouth, because I’m not rude enough to take over.’

The mouth on his tasted and felt right. Sighing through his nose, Zevran took the kiss, giving himself up to them completely. They were his everything. He supposed now he could read the items and go over them without soul crushing agony rocking his being. Sadness would be there, bittersweet, but he would have them. They wouldn’t leave him ever again. Not truly. He would hold their souls safe within him. A thousand million years was not enough of an eternity to spend with them. He was greedy and selfish and didn’t care, refusing to apologize for it. Cyni wouldn’t be taken in against his will, but there would be no destruction of the soul at least, so there would be hope if he refused. Twadd would come easily and happily, he knew that much. But Cyni’s permission was a gift, just as their presence was beyond infinitely precious.

There were pleased rumbles filling his senses at the touch,

....

Freya was curious and solemn about Cyni and Twadd, as was Zamitie. His girl was a completely different sort of curious to Zamitie though, which was to be expected. She wanted to know why they were similar, but she grasped it with a child’s easy trust. Zamitie was only slightly more cautious. But it was the taste of blood in the Work that convinced her. No Work of her own was upon Cyni’s skin, but she tasted Zevran, Ani, and others, diluted versions of her own and his in the mix. She had shook her head in amazement at the raw power that implied, the effort and sacrifice of others pouring into the Work.

“You have been in my mind before, Zama, but this time I’d rather you didn’t go there. It was your touch that sent me away and it would do it again.” Cyni was firm, “I promised I wouldn’t leave Desire ever again. I may’ve been willin’ to break it for his benefit, but since it is unnecessary, I won’t be doing that. So please, stay outta of my head.”

Zamitie shook her head, “The worry is not necessary. Your mind is your own. I will not touch it...” She paused, taking in how he was aging since the night before. It wasn’t heavy or noticeable unless one were looking. “But I might be able to slow this...slightly.”

“The problem is the thread holding us to both places, if it’s touched it might snap back or snap and break...never done this before. Don’t plan on doin’ it again. We’re dying back there, bleeding out in the Circle...I feel it, but neither of us wanted to go on without him...Twadd made the dream and I brought it all together... What you can do might buy a little more time or lose us completely. A few days here or there that could cause us to disappear...can’t do it,” he twitched a shrug, the motion hindered by Zevran remaining plastered to his side.

“Then it is not worth the risk,” she nodded. “What may I do for you otherwise?”

Zevran mumbled from the vicinity of Cyni’s armpit, “I am going to need gainful employment so that we are not a drain. But if it can wait, that would be best. However, someone drummed up five thousand sovereigns...”

“Enough to get me to Kirkwall and then some, as you said,” Cyni rumbled. “Unfortunately, I couldn’t carry metal, only organics as we were working alone this time. And Twadd ate the brownies on the way over.”

Twadd send amusement, chuckling, ’I blame Varane’s cooking - it’s hard to resist...’

Cyni had a unexpected wrench in his gut. Through the amulet it felt like the ground shifted in a sharp lurching earthquake and then dropped him suddenly several feet. Cyni put his head in his hands, elbows on the table, “Fuck. I wasn’t supposed to miss that...her, Varane...all of them.” His voice was shaking, “I know you said it was a bad idea in the very beginning for me and her to have children, to have them grow up, and one or more to have to take over the Work. You said that we’d make our own mistakes, but dammit, Desire, I wouldn’t change a minute of that.” Cyni’s shoulders shook as his voice broke, “You were right, it was a bad idea, but only ‘cause it hurts right now. Didn’t when I was Singing in the Maker’s fuckin’ Fade...”

Zevran sucked in a breath, gathering Cyni up closer, rocking him, “I am here, shhh...it will be alright. You are mine, I keep what is mine, I take care of what is mine. I take care of what is precious.”

His boy who had never cried, was weeping. “Just a dead man in a box, in the Fade. It’s not real. Zevran, it can’t be fuckin’ real. Please, I can’t do it if it’s real...I’m just a deadman.”

Freya flinched, with horror she stared at Cyni, “Boxes are bad. They’re really bad. Don’t go in the box.” But his damaged boy, who had become a man, didn’t hear her, was so overcome with his grief and couldn’t hear her. “I thought we was jus’ playin’.” Freya bolted out the door, “I don’t wanna be dead no more!”

Attempting to reach out to her, Twadd was stopped at the girl’s lack of amulet and called out in his helplessness, ’Maker, someone find and comfort that child.’ Turning his attention back to Cyni, whose body he inhabited, the spirit man began to ‘threaten’, threats that were really words of comfort, ’It’s not real, Cyni. Never has been. Only a dream. Just stuck in a box. We’re all just demons trying to trick you, and I’m the worst of all, cause I’m the demon in your head trying to take over. Don’t give in now, ‘cause if you give up, we’ll just eat your soul right in front of ya and you know how tasty that would be. And Desire over there, he just loves little boys’ souls. Wrath always said he’d get you in the end.’

Zamitie was already up almost as fast as Freya could move, likely allowing her the ‘run’ necessary and Zevran had his hands full. “You are with me, you gave your soul to me, I gave my existence to you. You stay with me, you cannot go until I say you can.” He paused, “You promised.”

It was Cyni’s turn to cry wrenchingly, his tears falling over Zevran’s neck. “This is the Fade - you built me a Golden City. Demon - you showed it to me before. Then you made me come with you.”

Freeing the long braid of its confines with one hand, he stroked along the seams, crooning, “Your soul is mine because you gave it to me. I am yours, your own personal guide, who wants you to himself, who keeps you. I built you everything, so that you would stay with me. Brick by brick. Even I know how to love. Just for you.”

Twadd added, his voice softer, ’Keep fightin’ us, ya’ ol’ goat, just a few more days. You could live with your hand in a vise for a couple of days. Come on, you’re stronger than all of us, Cyni.’

Scrubbing his face, “It’s never been real.” Cyni hugged Zevran and Twadd both, “Yer right, I can’t let you win. Sorry.”

It didn’t stop the tears, but Cyni was gathering the pieces.

“Good,” Zevran kissed the chin he knew so well, the corners of eyes, the side of a nose that had been broken one time too many. “Your Desire loves you and has waited a very long time. I can lay in wait a little while longer.”

“You’re finally gonna take it, aren’t you?” Cyni whispered in his ear, almost relieved.

“And you are finally going to take my life,” cradling him. “I gave it to you, soon it will be time for you to take it. But you are strong enough to resist me a little while longer, hmn?”

“I’m real tired, Desire, but there’s some more somewhere in here to fight you.”

“Good, I hate to win so easily,” voice tender, pouring his love and his sunshine into them both, giving them his strength, however he could. “Well, what can I do to taunt you a little while longer? Hmn? Shall we go for a walk in this City I have made for you?”

A quick laugh contained in an inhaled breath, “That’s tempting, might even give in to a bite of fig, but that’s all you’re gettin’.”

Smoothing his hands over Sa’id’s clothes, “Well, let us work up a sweat on you then. Figs and dates and the plums are in season.”

....

Cyni’s body was flagging before his very eyes. Zevran did not let himself sleep. Only doze. He had to capture every single second possible. Freya was frightened, as the first night Zevran had been so distraught, a sight a child should never have to see, guilt having eaten at her for not asking him about the soul and the lotus shaped note, let alone the veritable book of letters that had hidden in the padding of the cloak. His loves had thought of everything and then some, in some ways, it was that very thoughtfulness that had ensured the agony it took for him to look at the contents of pack and cloak. That so much care and love had been held for him that there was not a single thing that was not hefty with tenderness and detail - and the ‘knowledge’ that he would never see, hear, feel, smell, or know them ever again...

No, Zevran was just a man, an old, beaten down man. He hadn’t had the strength. Not for that, not ever.

Now, because of that, his loves were paying. All three of them. Freya thought she had been bad, Cyni and Twadd had to share, when Cyni had never wanted to house another voice beyond his own ever again... And the worst: they might have been able to stay in body for a year, perhaps more...had they returned sooner to Antiva. Truly, Zevran only cared that their souls had not been burnt to cinders, the ash sprinkled over Freya’s to give her the ‘right’ flavour. Though the guilt assailed him for his sentimental weakness.

’Love, are you taking this stuff down? Cyni’s got holes everywhere from the Taint.’

Zevran tapped his temple, “Yes, but you know I have always taken it down...” Soothing, he had noticed that even Twadd was having issues recalling the basic facts, that Zevran never stopped cataloguing. “But what is it that I am missing?”

’I’m holding a packet for the girl. He made me box up the Songs. But, Maker, I’m gettin’ worried about it.’

Holding his mind open, “Here, give it to me, it will be safe. I promise.”

Twadd pushed it over, it was everything Cyni had heard and annotated as to what everything was. Music detailed not only with handwritten notes and comments, but with colour and in sound itself. ’Granbaby got the real deal, but this seems to be as close a copy to the real thing...I couldn’t see the difference then, probably only something he would’ve seen.’

For all that Flemeth had meant Cyni to be nothing more than a toy, her actions had made him incredibly powerful. As much as Zevran hated the old bitch, her curse was what had given Zevran and Cyni and their family centuries together. That and the daily efforts of the healers in the family and the wellspring. But none of it would have worked if it hadn’t been for Flemeth’s misdeed.

’True...’ Cyni was napping, they had just eaten, and he had been tired, Cyni’s head tucked into its customary spot on his shoulder. Zevran didn’t fight anything, other than to make sure he was there for every single second that Cyni and Twadd walked. He ached to see them in pain, the joints of Cyni’s hands hurt him badly, but Zevran’s massages helped some. ’It will have to be soon, yes? Before he slips away too... You will come with me, Twadd? At least?’

’I am yours, Love. And Cyni told you he’d come. Was already decided when we pushed you out to find the box.’

Stroking the loved body beside him, “Yes, but I have unfair advantages. Not the least being the fact that when he agreed, you both were tired and I was covered in snot and tears and bloody tears... And might I remind you that I have little idea what you both had decided?” The last was said lightly as he kissed them.

’Zevran, my love, just step in the damn trap. It’s still there.’

Grumbling, “I do not see a trap...where is this ‘trap’...? Honestly, I am too ridiculously awesome by far if I can continuously avoid a trap that I am not noticing at all... Must be all the damnable centuries of practice. Also your father, Bryce? Well, our father I suppose if we are going to be all legal and technical - almost swallowed his tongue and did not believe me when I said I could do this or that and yet could not deny it, and then I went and made him stinkingly wealthy. I thought he would have the proverbial litter of kittens. Was rather amusing. Also, he thinks me a complete lunatic.”

Twadd laughed. ’I love my father, he really tries, but you are a creature unlike all others. Frell, I didn’t know what to do with you either, and you hadn’t turned all snowcat on me.’

Rumbling, “He threatened to put her in a box.”

’And after you explained that, I bet he saw it. They’re not stupid, they just don’t think like that. They would have done anything to keep me safe, and I can’t believe that any pair of them for any of us are any different. For Maker’s sake - Cyni became Flemeth’s living science experiment and he was still loved and cared for as best they could. Thought he was brain damaged, but they woulda done anything to fix it, of that they had no doubt they already had.’

’True,’ conceding. ’My personal experience with having parents is very limited. And no matter how much my own parental figures loved me, they either died, did not get there in time, or gave me up for my own good.’ Freya had come out into the garden, her big eyes sad, missing him, and Zevran smiled, “My sweet, come, be with us awhile.” Holding his arm out to her, “I miss you, will you come here?”

Freya chewed her lip uncertainly, “I won’t make you sad?”

“Only if you do not come and let me hold you,” waving her close and as she made a few small steps he snagged her and tugged her in. “Ah-ha - I got you,” kissing her face all over even as he made sure not to jostle Cyni awake, “and I am not going to be letting you go, preciosa. Thick, thin, change in the Fade, whatever, I will always love you.”

A sigh, a sound not unlike taking off a heavy pack at the end of a long day, reassured, “Love you, Zev, very, very much.” She looked over at Cyni, “Whatcha doin’ watchin’ him sleep?”

Stretching his legs out on the baked tile of the garden, his bare feet browning in the sun’s light, “Well, you see, he and I have a special way of talking. It is only possible because he is a Warden. But being a Warden has some costs that are not very fun, you see? Now, you will hear stories of Wardens who only live thirty years being a Warden. But in special cases, they can live a very, very long time. Very long. Right now, I am the oldest person in this city. I am the oldest person you will know for a very long time. So, right now, because he and I are so old, we have this thing we do. My mind, it is like a library, books and books and books of memories and knowledge are in my head.”

’I miss books...a whole year of paintings and music. I’d kill for a story,’ Twadd griped.

Chuckling at Twadd, ’You will have books upon books in a day or two. I need some straightening up.’ “So, you see, the Warden thing, when you get very old in it, makes it hard to remember. So, I am writing down their memories in my library. And when it is time for Cyni and Twadd to give up this body, they will come into mine. So we will never be apart ever again. Also, you like watching me sleep, lil’miss, thinking I do not notice. Sometimes, you just want to be near the people you love, even if they are sleeping and not doing anything fun.”

Eyes met his for a minute trying to figure out how he knew about her watching him sleep, she had been very quiet. Looking back at Cyni, “He’s dyin’ inn’t he?”

“Yes, he is,” he nodded solemnly. “That is also why I am watching him. So he can feel me be close and will not be scared and so I can be close to him.”

“Grandpa died after he fell offa the roof. An’ all’a the fireworks went off, an’ they were real pretty an’ we were all watchin’um, an’ then there was a fire. The fireworks were pretty, but the fire was scary.”

His lips twitched, “I know that story very well. We would call that ‘going down with your boots on’ - doing what you love and having fun.” Cocking his head, “Back where Cyni, Twadd and I come from, I slipped and fell. I was dying too, and then they sent me to you. So I could save you from the box. It was a mistake, me slipping, a minor miscalculation, an accident. But, I slipped while doing something I liked doing, so, that is a good way to go.”

“Axe-a-dents happen. Fergus didn’t mean it neithers...’least not the forgettin’ part. But how did they know I was in the...in there?”

“Because they were stuck in a box too,” he explained gently. “They are like you and you are like them. All my years with them, do you know what I always wished for? That I had gotten to the box in time to save them, so they would not be scared.”

“But I was in it...was it an axe-a-dent that you weren’t there before? If you came before maybe the Hero wouldn’ta won.” Freya sighed, “But the Hero’s supposed ta always win.”

He felt Twadd napping with Cyni, or at least dozing, he could hear the faint mental snore. “There are many kinds of winning, chiquita. And not every hero is a good man, nor is every villain a bad one. There is very little that is black and white in this world, or any world. Do you think I am a bad man, princessa?” She shook her head, expression serious and yet adoring and accepting all in one. “Well, would you say that killing people because you were paid to, is bad? Or hurting people because it got what you wanted done, is bad? Many people would say these are bad things to do. But I have done them. Do you still think I am not a bad person?”

Confusion was all over her face, “But the Hero is always good and saves people.”

“Sometimes. I know it is hard to understand right now, but in time it will make sense. Good and bad are ideas we use to make sure that people have rules to live by. Otherwise there would be pain and suffering for everyone.” Next to each other on the chaise, he rolled his neck so that his jaw rested atop Cyni’s crown. “A hero makes the hard decisions, the ones that no one wants to make, as some of those decisions cause pain for other people. They do this not to be a hero or be thought of as good, but because someone has to do it. Like stablehands. Mucking out the stinky manure from the stalls. No one likes doing it very much, but it has to be done. It is messy, it is thankless, and it is necessary. If no one did it, well, then the horses would get sick and then that would be very bad. Stablehands are little heroes, but they are still heroes.”

In his sleep, Cyni made a grunting snort, almost awakening before quickly settling back down after Zevran slid a hand beneath the long vest, stroking the sagging flesh on his back, soothing him down. But Twadd was groggy and awakening, burrowing his mind closer to Zevran’s, the arms of his mind reaching out to pull him in tight, rumbling with happiness that he was there. The sentiment was shared, along with an ebbing and waxing tide, that was the lapping of his love for them.

“Heroes do not always get to wear armour and have statues made about them, my sweet girl,” he gave her a tight squish. “But that does not make them any less heroic for what they do. But, they do not think of themselves as heroes, meldicion they likely piss and moan about the duty they have to do. ‘Oh, braska, this stall smells like too much peeeis! Why, oh why do I have to do this?’ Or ‘I hate the way darkspawn smell, ugh, it gets all over my armour, why can they not stay in the holes underground, why must they bother me?’ Or ‘Ugh, this man is famous and has done good public works, but he is standing in the way of progress, so he has to be removed. Aiee, sucks to be him then...’ And they just do the job. Because it has to be done. Reluctant or happy to do it - good or bad. So long as the job is done... Does this make sense, bebe?”

Giggling at his examples and voices, “Did you haffta take care of the horses when you were a Hero?”

Making a disgusted sound, “We had to do it without horses. Tromping across Ferelden. Ohhh...I was so cold. I swear though, I could have simply used Twadd. Man was big enough to give most horses second thoughts about walking on all fours. But that was before we went to Antiva and he realized that wearing massive plate and weighing two-hundred and seventy pounds of muscle made him too slow to deal with we fast Antivans.”

There was deep laughter in the link. ’And if you’re thinkin’ about doing it for a statue or two, they never get the face right - could be anybody - not worth a two year walk.’

’Well if you just sat still for the sculptors... But no, you wanted to go play in mud. And you were too cute by half, I could not tell you ‘no’,’ quipping as he kissed him.

’I didn’t sit for any of them’ Twadd snorted. ’...Play in the mud, the bare root trees needed to get in the ground. Harrumph.’

’Hrmn, yes, that must be why they got the face wrong... But the body was right - why they kept insisting on putting armour on all those sketches I sent them... Ah, too bad.’ amused. ’What do you think of mi chiquita?’

Twadd rolled his eyes, those sketches weren’t dressed at all, a fold or two of cloth or some ‘virile’ jewelry notwithstanding. Zevran did hope that those drawings had been included the packet at least, he hadn’t searched thoroughly enough yet to find out. Other than a rumble, Twadd let it go, if there was a surprise, he wasn’t one to ruin the fun.

’I think your girl’s gonna pick up your flagging steps, old man. Give her a few years...I hope you don’t mean to take her back to the Blight...but then we know what happens if we don’t go - things get all frelled up and that takes longer to clean up...Cyni, damn it...’ Twadd shifted in the mind. ’I swear those widening gaps are lookin’ for me. Anyway, we’ve already done it wrong once, take a page from Haf’cath and Gaeaf and do it right the first time. You’ve got enough information from everyone to do it without being terribly surprised...still it wrecks havoc and the end game’s not pleasant. I don’t know, Love. There’s not enough over here to see much...I take that back...it’s like being dipped in your tanning vats full of stink and colour and bubbling sound, but nothing really useful for me.’

Holding all three close, ’I am already changing how things go. If Bryce will continue to listen to my instructions and follow the directions I put in place, then Highever will not fall. Once Freya and you and Cyni are settled in, I will seek Nune. He is the commander of the Dust Wolves and has access to that legion... Even a brigade or two in the right places might turn the tide. Also, bringing in the Arlathanlen into the fold soon enough...’

Mumbling, ’You gotta stop the contract. She shouldn’t have to live under those obligations.’

’They will not be able to send anyone any good. Besides, I am going to petition for Free Blades, Ga’hals and Crow Wardens to join us...’ Freya yawned as she burrowed into his side. ’If she is an Antivan Warden, that will give us clout and there is no way the Crow Wardens would allow Howe to succeed.’

’A new contract then, to keep her safe, they wouldn’t take a conflicting one, would they?’

Grunting, ’They would, however, they would make sure it is set up for failure. Or they would put it on offer, but no Crow would be stupid enough to take it... I did not survive here, amora. Zama could not save me. And any Crow suicidal enough to take such a contract will die very quickly.’

’Just going with the really bad feeling I have, but you’re gonna see Taliesin and Rinna. They’ve got something to prove, and without you, I’m betting it’s difficult for them. I don’t know how, could be Cyni leaking over, but it’s in my gut.’

Pursing his lips, ’I will kill them if I must. If I was willing to kill Bryce to keep her safe, trust me in this, I will kill anyone... Even Zama.’

’Subvert first. You’re best at making people buy in, if you’re not running on fear, no sleep, and Cyni’s headache, that is.’ Arms held him securely, within and without, ’You know what’s coming, just spin it and make it work for you. Once we get over there, I’ll have what I need. That reminds me, do me a big favour, make a big room that Cyni can paint all over. Man’s got no respect for books.’

Smiling, ’Of course.’

’Miss you, Love.’ Another tight hug. ’You know you shouldn’t spoil her, right? Might wanna let Zama-mama be the mother. Might take off that curse of you being the only available ‘parental figure’.’

’Hrmn... Well, I do plan on speaking with Nune... And seeing if I can haul him by his butchered ears over to Zama. Also definitely need to keep an eye out for Mio. Before she gets taken to Vaughn’s dungeon. Toss her at Armand, so on, so forth. I want my little sister to show up eventually...I miss that little brat...’ sighing.

’If you catch her before, she might not need to take it out on Armand or your face. If Ignacio knew, he’d pull her out early. Park some Crows in the Alienage and get the interruption out early...or frell take out Vaughn...although the other son isn’t nice either.’

Grunting, ’Hmmn...such information might get us some favours... Oh, I do like that.’ Laughing, ’You know, with what I know, I could make us all filthy, stinking rich?’ Rubbing his chin, ’Actually if we show up soon enough, we could solve the problem before it starts...’

’You should check the bank. Gaeaf said so.’

Making a face, ’I hate Kirkwall.’

’No...a bank’s here. Gaeaf helped at the end and gave some information. Something about seed accounts for Zevran and somebody’s got a soft spot for her Zevrans. You’ve got the memories, if you took them when we got here...’

....

Cyni was in pain and Zevran wasn’t going to ask him to keep the body going on any longer. In truth, his love had long pressed on past the mark Zevran thought it wise. But Cyni, saying he had had worse, stubbornly wanted to make sure everything that could be done, was. That morning had been filled with lovemaking that overflowed with long touches, tenderness, and tears that were not sad, but bathed the pain and filth of life away. In the Circle, Freya and Zamitie were at Zevran’s back, their arms wrapped around him, knowledge and experience from his mother, raw and untrained power from Freya, and Cyni facing him, their foreheads resting against each other as Cyni’s Song began. Everyone’s hair was loose, tangling in a woven net, and Zevran opened himself up, gently but firmly weaving around the strands of Cyni and Twadd’s souls, providing location and anchor. Zamitie guided while Freya gave strength, Twadd’s knowledge of going through this before pressed himself and Cyni forward.

Crooning, “Come my loves, for my life has always been yours.”

A last kiss, all the breath Cyni could take in, pushed into Zevran’s lungs, the last exhaled note of the Song filled him. Zevran held it, refusing to breathe out or in again until Cyni’s body sagged, the beat of his heart going silent. He hung on even as his head rang with the need for oxygen, refusing to let go until he was certain the last shreds were held and caught. Around him he heard and felt Zamitie seeking all the loose ends, sealing them up tightly. His body began crying out with its natural demands, but still he fought it down, even as his vision darkened, spots swimming in the dimming. His knees gave out, the impact almost driving that last breath from him, and still he hung on. He had to, for their sakes - he didn’t know what the distance might do.

’Breathe, Love.’

There was a crash of ocean against a rocky shore that did not fade even as it was followed by a growling, ’Desire, I hate bein’ in a box. Breathe dammit.’

Explosively Zevran let it out, the pounding between his ears a rhythmic beat and he gasped, sucking in lungfuls of deep, clean air. Pressing his face into the stilled chest, relief buffeted him. It had worked.

A hand flailed out for Freya’s cheek, “Thank you my sweet. You were very good, very helpful. I love you.”

She rubbed her face in his hand, “I love you too, Zevran...”

Rolling onto his side, tangled with Ferox’s corpse, “I need a moment, please. It will take a little while for them to settle in.”

“Come, let us have some cookies, I will show you how to make those ones with oats and fruit, with the chocolate bits, mushu,” Zamitie guided Freya after she took the time to kneel and kiss his temple.

Twadd settled back in much quicker, after all, he hadn’t just left his body, wasn’t arguing if this was real or not and whether or not he was dead, and he already knew where his space was. ’I was hopin’ that when Cyni got here, it would be quieter. The ocean’s not too bad, it’s the other sounds that are...well you’ll have to see for yourself. I think the sound of the water makes him Sing better. However, it does explain why he couldn’t hear you for so long.’

Zevran took one of Ferox’s physical arms, wrapping it around himself with a sigh, ’It is fine, querido. We are all sons of the sea.’

Twadd found his favourite spot to stretch out and looked over at the trap and snickered.

’What?’ cuddling down in the center room and in the Circle. He didn’t care if others thought him morbid - what did they know? ’I keep telling you that I have not noticed any traps...’

’So Anora’s portrait has always hung on that wall?’

Glancing at it, he made a moue of disgust, ’Bleck...’

’It wasn’t like you were going to look at a book or any writing in here unless you wanted something, so I tried to put something so obviously out of place, that you would absolutely hate and try to get rid of. It’s all worked out one way of tha’ other though, so, eh.’

Cyni groused as he looked around, arms crossed, ’Told ya, ‘Eat me’ or ‘Drink me’ or a pink striped cat. I also said ‘how about a rabbit with a hat?’ But, nooooooo... Anora and a bloody note in a cloak!’

Bouncing up he rushed over to Cyni, taking him in his arms quickly. Joyful, happy, relief, all of that and love flooded his body and mind, exploding brightly within his soul, ’You are here...I knew...but...you are here...’

Disjointed and more than a little disorientated, a growling Cyni hugged back, ’’Course I’m here. Not every day a Desire demon invites me in for tea. Varane and I had to be careful releasing the Zama’s threads from her loom...so nothin’ snapped.’

’I love you so much, so much, so very much...thank you,’ he knew he was babbling, he couldn’t help it. He really hated blubbering, but it wasn’t everyday that he lost and regained everything in the span of a week. ’So much, you are both so precious to me, mis amoras. Without you both I have been so utterly lost...so lost without you both.’

’Was never our intent, Love.’ The three of them, arms wrapped around each other, kept Cyni still while he settled in, ‘We would’ve gone out with you with no complaints other than Cyni fighting with himself. But he found another box...’

’It glowed like a shard of a soul and there was music in it. Someone had to open it before Flemeth got it. Twadd read up on the mirrors and I looked at the loom and started to play with the threads. The scents are like colours on the threads and everybody’s got a thread...the girl’ll figure it out. I can’t see it all right now. But our threads are touchin’ yours.’

Basking, he let their words flow over him, ’We will find it. You will have to pardon me for not being a better host, but right now, I just need to hold you both.’

Twadd, practical as usual, ’We’re gonna need a bed you know...’

’Faugh, it can wait. I slept on the ground for years, a week or three on tiles is nothing,’ scoffing. ’Besides, we will likely have to go to the horseclans at some point anyway.’

’But those pallets are comfy,’ Twadd protested. Information flying to his fingertips, he found the message from Gaeaf, ’‘Bank account and safe box likely in Zevran’s name.’ Numbers and everything signed with a fancy looking ‘D’.’ Twadd hated losing information and it bugged him until he found whatever it was that had gone missing. Tucking it in a shirt pocket, he was able to let the problem go.

A naughty thought occurred in spite of all the seriousness on his love’s part, ’You realize that now I always get to be the meat in the sandwich?’

Cyni let out a rare laugh, ’Out pleasing Desire? Impossible - but existence with you is good.’

....

Freya and Horsie settled in and Zamitie went about the quiet bustle he remembered her always enjoying. During a moment alone with her, discussing what he had observed of Freya’s skills, including Cyni’s reference to the box glowing like a piece of soul, much like the gem Zevran took to carrying with him always, Flemeth’s altering of Cyni’s mind, the effect that had obviously had, so on, so forth. What surprised Zevran most was the fact that Zamitie had remained in the city even after Sa’id’s somewhat recent death, along with the fact that she had little contact at all with her clan. She purposefully stayed away in all matters, knowing that she had to remain within the city, but since she had ‘failed’ in saving her Zevran’s life, she had found little to replace what was lost. No foster children, nothing. Just work and Work, charity on the street, nothing more.

She was lonely, that much was obvious. His heart broke for her - he had never wanted his mother in all but body to ever feel so sad. He did think overall though, having to constantly bring himself up short on the thought, that it was not his doing that life went one way or another. Yes, in his Thedas he was effective. Yes, there he had accumulated power, doing every single task he could turn himself to. But just because he was there and had done it, did not make him personally responsible for it or important. Someone would pick up the reins if he, or some version of himself, hadn’t been there. He was just a grain of sand in a desert.

Zamitie was beside him, rubbing and oiling equine hooves, “Even a single grain of sand has importance.”

Grunting as he shaved off a bit of excess from Jathals’ hoof, “Yes, but there are...countless grains of them, Zama. Another would take my place.”

’Dog woulda saved her,’ Cyni muttered.

Twadd argued, ’Still, she would have been Gaeaf without a Zevran to save her from freezing. Or worse, because there would never be a thaw.’

’Manipulator would have used the Alistair demon,’ finished Cyni.

Scowling, ’She has better taste than that...’

’Love, without you, we don’t make many good choices like that. True, Rory, Leliana, and Alistair aren’t bad choices, but without your sunshine, who would know? Even the little healer made a similar mistake, and you were there...well her Zevran was. Speaking of which, we should send a message that you made it.’ Twadd was back to flipping through their combined memories like he had never left.

He couldn’t help but smile, ’I live but to serve you my loves. My life, it is, and always has been, always will be, yours.’

Zamitie cocked her head, “It is very strange to see this happening, this thing that is done between you. Your gaze, it goes flat, internal, like a trance or meditation. Something deeper than thought or memory.”

Blinking back fully, “I have three souls and minds within me. It is like...my mind is a house. Or that is how I have always envisioned it. Even when I was young and in training to be a Crow. Some things...you have to shut down. You find a safe place to hide your essence while your body and mind continue to do whatever task is assigned.”

Cyni mused thoughtfully, bearing pensive and intrigued, ’After being on the outside and now on the inside of you, and no this isn’t my typical ‘it’s the Fade’ crap’, but it’s using your connection for dreaming to the Fade. We’re in the Fade, but the thread to you, that connects you to it, is wide open, it’s...a hallway instead of just the slim twisted thread. We can come and go, similar to the way a demon could possess someone.’

“Oh well that is reassuring,” mumbling.

He passed on the information to Zamitie who mulled it over. “This is a thing I wish Sa’id were here to study. My understanding of it is instinctive, his would be...scientific?”

’It’s not wide open for anybody, you are attuned to us. Twadd can’t see everything, which is why he can’t do this all the time -’ Cyni caused Zevran’s little finger to move and curl into his palm, ’ - unless Twadd’s angry or frightened. Even then, I’ll bet that he doesn’t have any fine motor control. He may have stopped you from skinning yourself at one point, but he couldn’t operate a needle and tap hammer.’ Releasing the finger with a reassuring squeeze to his hand, ‘But then your memory books don’t speak to me, so I ‘spose we’re even. ‘tween the two of us, we might be able to fool somebody who knows you for a few minutes...if you take to growling.’

Zevran rumbled, ’It is not that I do not do it, it is just that yours sounds far more enticing.’

As they moved on to the other horse, Fymataf, “She will have to try very hard to keep your attention?”

“Pardon?”

“Your Hope, will you blank her out as you do the rest of the world?” there was no judgement or recrimination in her eyes or tone, that was simply how Zamitie was.

“For now? Yes, that is unfortunately some of how it will be,” he shrugged. “It is not intended as such, but Cyni must be acclimated... And so must I. A year versus centuries...it is a shock to have relief, but I must become reacquainted with it. However, it will not take too long, or, at least it did not last time.” Reassuring her, “I will not abandon or shut her out, she will gain everything she requires of me. It was a thing I promised her and I always keep my promises.”

Zamitie’s hand on his cheek was soothing and he couldn’t help but lean into the mother’s touch. “If you step poorly, she will be confused when her feelings grow further. You must come and you must go, so she has the separation necessary. She is not like us, or where we spring from - relationships are not fluid to them, they do not change to suit situation and need. I will become her parent - you must be only the protector and friend ‘ere your heart be broken or her mind confused until she finally stumbles upon the truth of it.” His chin was held and she leaned down, kissing his brow, “Do you know who your father is?”

“Nune, he is...Arlathanlen, a mountain elf, a cannibal, and commander of the Dust Wolves,” his lips pursed faintly, worried. “Does he know that the child Arainai -”

“No, I did not tell him that the babe was his, I lied, in fact, and said that Arainai died and the child taken before I could name him. You will seek him then?” Fingers smoothed over the tattoos on his cheek. “I can feel Sa’id’s touch in this. Mmmn. Very well, I have waited a long time to continue my Work, the bones said it would be important...”

....

Freya liked baths. She liked showers. She liked water in general. Which was good, as Zevran preferred people around him to be clean. Nor did he mind sharing a bath or shower with another. But his loves and his mother were correct - Freya would all too easily put him firmly in ‘family’ position if things were too ‘family’.

That, and he had found her snuggled up with one of his shirts during a nap time, busily exploring herself as was natural. So, there was absolutely no need to allow her to put him in such a confusing status in her life - baths could be family but not other things yet. And she was trying to clamber into his bath at that very moment.

“Freya, come now, you can have a bath later,” using a firm tone.

She was trying to sway him with that pout and the sad Horsie look, “But your bath smells good. Dun-not wanna waste tha water neee-thur...”

“No,” as he rolled up onto his knees, Zevran snagged her tunic dress and tugged it back over her head. “There is plenty of water, plenty of it will be hot. And you can use some of my bath oils for yours. Now - off you go.”

“Zev...” nearly a whine. “I promise not to splash...too much.”

’Stand firm, old man.’

Releasing a sigh, thankful for Twadd’s presence at his back, “Freya - no. I am a grown man and you are a young lady and young ladies do not take baths with their bodyguard.”

“B-b-but...I used to sometimes...” she was making that face at him.

“And you also were still a very little girl and if we were in the public baths, that would be a different story, but this bath is private. Which is as it should be,” he straightened her dress, fussing over it. “Now - go on, hmn?” She looked like she was going to cry, so he tugged her in close to kiss the tip of her nose, “It does not mean I do not love you, chiquita. It only means that sometimes a person has private time. A private bath is for private time. A private nap is for private time.”

“Like private papers,” she sighed a heavy sigh.

The concept was common in the Feroxes having grown up in the Cousland household. Probably drilled into their heads by Bryce, as they seemed to have spent much time in their father’s office. According to the memories, Cyni had broken the rule of private papers often, to ensure that the demons weren’t planning something behind his back, but if the documents didn’t pertain to him, it was not important and was promptly discarded. With Twadd and Gaeaf, one could put something in their very own space, tell them that it was private or not to be read, and there the thing would stay until it was removed. Freya didn’t read the papers hidden in his cloak even though she knew they were there, so it was plain she had at least the foundation of this privacy rule, however whether or not it was taken to the extreme of being able to invade their space with it remained to be seen.

He smiled, nodding, “Si, pequena, just so.”

“Being a‘dolt is stupid,” she looked on the verge of pouting.

“Ah-ah-ah-ahhh... None of that,” tweaking her nose. “Being adult and grownup has its merits. Smile for me, my sweet and you get another kiss, hmn? Besitoes make the frowns turn upside down.”

Freya couldn’t help a giggle at that and got her kiss on the cheek before she went off, closing the door behind her.

Flopping back in the tub, Zevran groaned, ’I am going to have to install a locking bar on that bloody door it seems... And now I do not know whether to wish time sped up so that she would stop with that look that says she feels as though I am abandoning her, or shove time back enough when there was no worry! Why can she not just stay a little girl...this in between thing is very aggravating.’

’Love, you always want to skip ahead to the good parts.’ Twadd’s hands on his shoulders began to work at the frustration that had built there tightening the muscles.

’Patience is not a virtue I have much of,’ ruefully. ’One would think at my age... Ah. But mostly I wish I could just simply sit her down and tell her that when she is in her twenties that I am there and available and until then I am her friend and protector and not to be all...strange with me.’

Cyni snorted, ’Twenties? Right. I give it six years, seven, tops. You were what? Fifteen?’

Expression going dark, ’Four.’

Even Cyni was horrified, the question blurted out, ’...Please tell me you mean fourteen?’

Rubbing his temples and sagging against Twadd’s warm touch, ’I was born in a brothel. There are always those who have...strange tastes. Zama protected me from the worst of it, but there was only so much she could do. She did blunt my mind for it and would put me into a trance so that...I would not notice what was happening. It was mostly all bad dreams, hmn?’

Twadd rumbled, pulling Cyni back to look at actual memories rather than written ones and explained, ’Not all boxes have sides and a latched lid, nor are all locks physical.’ With Cyni occupied with catching up, something which would help in the settling process, Twadd continued his massage. ’He’ll fall into step soon enough. I didn’t waste the entire year in his head just looking at his pictures and listening to music.’

Smiling faintly, ’Hrmn, have I told you lately that I adore you?’ Proceeding to wash up, ’It will be preferable if she figures out what she wants from life, rather than simply throw herself at me when in her teens. And I will count on both of you - heavily no doubt - to remind me that just because at fifteen or sixteen that while she may look adult and be rather adult...she is still too young to know what ‘playing for keeps’ truly means...’

’Just be the one she comes back to everyday, Love. She’s a bright girl. I wouldn’t be surprised if she practices her flirting on others just to see how you’ll react.’

A growl was quashed almost as soon as it started, reminding himself, ’Little girls explore.’ Snorting, ’The first time I saw Cyni kissing Varane - I was unsure who I wished to beat stupid. Varane for messing with my man or Cyni for touching my granddaughter...’

’Difference is, neither of them were playing, but you’ll notice who Cyni chose to be with in the end. Doesn’t mean he’s not still mourning his separation from Varane and the time given up so he could be with you. Truly, it was her presence that kept him from throwing his soul into the pit to light your way to the box, though I don’t think Cyni’ll ever tell you that.’

Sighing, ’I miss Moira occasionally, this is true. Though, sometimes, I wonder. Why would he come to me at all if he had her?’

Twadd ran a hand over a familiar book fondly, one that contained memories of Moira, absently, ’I think this time you should save Edric.’ Returning to Cyni’s loss, the book of their dark haired lass was left in its place, ’In Cyni’s mind, or if he believes dead men have hearts, you’re first, and most important to him. And of course, there was little problem of us actually sending you, without him coming. That thread thing he keeps going on about. He thinks Zama-mama’s loom is something more than I do. Not like he makes much sense when he talks about it.’ Shaking off the odd thoughts, ’Anyway, Cyni loves both of you, but he never promised Varane that he wouldn’t leave.’

’I will miss the girls, but they should have Edric, at least in one plane,’ he agreed. ’Also, Moira never did go for women, no matter how I tried...auck, well. One cannot have everything...’ Saddened, ’There is no me here. That means no Ani. No Varane, Fymie, Uailil will be with someone else... Everything is the same and everything is so different. At least, in Cyni’s there are bits of Ani.’

’You’ve already had everything, this everything is just different. Ferox is Freya, this Zevran isn’t here, frell, Maric might be king during the Blight for all we know and Cailan might be the one who catches your girl’s eye. You’re making your own set of changes to this reality, too, Love.’

Shaking his head, ’No, I mean that Ani - she has a right to life. But due to...things, she will not be born. I do not say it out of selfishness, but it is that I, that, that my daughter deserved a chance, even here. Ani has none. Nor do Fymie or Varane, or any of them...they will not be born.’

’Okay, think back. Why did you go see Fewrlin in the first place?’ As the question was asked, Twadd began looking for the references.

’So that I would know my mother’s people,’ he shrugged.

’You can still do that, unless there’s a major change we don’t know about. You slept with her because?’

He shrugged once again, ’Attempting to get her with child was the price of safety and guidance to the Dalish. Traversing the Drylands alone is...unwise.’

’So, what will you need this time? You’ve thought about bringing an army of sorts to fight the Blight, so Ferelden doesn’t get hit so hard and the recovery time is shorter.’

’There is not enough seed in my loins to earn that sort of thing,’ laughter bubbling up. ’No, I was thinking of speaking to my father and seeing what could be done on that count. As to Fewrlin, well... Freya will need to learn to fight in ways that I do not fight in.’

’Riddle me this, Cyni became a Warden and then ‘The Zama’ as he says, yet still reproduced afterwards...frequently. I’m bettin’ there’s a reason.’

Making a face, ’That did always confuse the blazes out of me. Unless it is...hmm... I summoned milk from Zama. Perhaps it answered ‘my’ need? Varane in...many ways was the one of our family most like myself... Perhaps the wellspring was already attuned to ‘me’ due to saving my life at birth and recognized her as ‘me’?’

Twadd gave a shrug, ’Makes better sense than anything I’ve thought of while looking at his artwork. He’s so convoluted, only way to know would be by asking, and even that might not answer the question. If you need a child, and make that need clear, despite his words to the contrary, Cyni doesn’t deny you.’

’It is not that I ‘need’ a child, querido,’ slowly rising from the tub and pulling the plug. Sniffing his various oils and unguents he picked the one that made Twadd perk up slightly and began massaging it into their body. ’I have been a father how many times over? Functionally as well as biologically? I lost count. Each time is no less joyous, but I do not need a child. It is just sad that this world will not know their laughter and their triumphs, their contributions, large or small... That is what hurts.’

’This Thedas will never be the same no matter what we do, but this choice is yours to make, Love. I miss them too, but they do exist, or have already existed elsewhere, just as you and I have and have not. Do not make the choice based simply on missing them, we have them with us here, if that is the only need.’ Twadd ‘helped’ spread the cream and rub it into his skin, more playful and teasing rather than actually doing anything useful, as phantom hands could never really touch him.

Stretching and twitching under the caresses, ’Oh, you are seeking to use logic on me! Evil man - stealing from my arsenal, who is the rogue now, hmm?’

Twadd’s laughter and love filled him. Touched by it, Cyni returned, drawn out of the world he was building. Unlike Twadd’s constant presence, Cyni appeared to come and go, taking his mental noises with him. Perhaps, as his boy had tried to explain, there was a path to the Fade and this was where he was going? What frequently drove Cyni to the Work room was the needed silence in his mind, it was the only place he sought solitude - the rest of the time was spent in the presence of Zevran, Varane, or Ani. It was possible that this silence could be achieved where he traveled. Even if Zevran would have been perfectly happy for Cyni to not run off, as he had been looking forward to that constant presence and joining, Cyni had always been his own person, which he would never change, not for anything. Even if it was a bit of a sore spot - but it was nothing personal or a ‘fault’ with him.

Not displeased, just unused to being on this side of the body, Cyni growled, ’You two are pleased with yourselves.’ A roaring waterfall nearly covered the ‘sound’ of his voice.

Zevran purred, twisting towards him as he leaned languidly against Twadd, ’And should we not be? There is always room for you and your presence is never anything less than supremely welcome...’ Teasing, Zevran eyed the tub, debating, ’You know...oh just come here, amora!’

With that he hopped into the shower, arms open to both of them, sharing the full range of his senses. The weight of his hair tugged by the water, streaming down his back and hips, the way it struck his face, the traces of minerals that flavoured it, the smell, the texture of it on his lashes, tickling his ears, swirling over his nipples and down his chest, over his belly. How it pooled in the thatch of hair at his groin, pouring along his thighs. Zevran shuddered happily, revelling.

Happy to be returned to his place, Twadd’s rumbled approval and multiplied phantom touches were expected. As Cyni said, Twadd was the dreamer who had imagined the backpack of items, Zevran’s body, as well as what he wore the day he appeared. Cyni, however, never was really comfortable using the Warden’s amulets and did so only when it was necessary, or when he was very distracted and was not aware of doing so. That said, it was Cyni who gave form to Twadd’s dream. Almost as if Cyni’s body was superimposed upon his own, the slide of hands and the press of lips over his skin were more realistic, weight intentionally behind them, and even went as far to employ Zevran’s hand to give actual touch to ears, face and abdomen. Groaning, Zevran hadn’t expected the intensity given, and echoed it back, kissing both even as his physical body stirred to wakefulness along with his mind. Pressing his desire and the sensations they gave him to them until it was all twisted up and shared, Zevran had to brace a hand on the tiled wall, as Cyni and Twadd crafted their pleasure with him.

Cyni, in his frenetically coloured and sound filled existence, was Twadd’s opposite. His husband was calm, and easily left behind that which wasn’t important, gentle, but was no less protective for it. Twadd was more playful and relaxed in how he shared and gave his love. Actual contact, which Twadd used to gain attention or give reassurance, was more real to Cyni. Perhaps it was because this was new, or it was a way to confirm a reality he professed not to believe. At this moment, the sounds of what must be the Waking Sea were calm as Cyni slipped on Zevran’s hand like a glove. Twadd was everywhere, could be everywhere all at once, applying memory and phantom touches, filling him, while Cyni was almost physically present, realistic except for the crashes of waves on a rocky shore. Whining as he gave himself up to them, Cyni was slow and methodical, testing his way, Twadd merely stroking and heightening as he basked. Bottom lip bitten and sucked between his teeth as semen flowed over his hand, the one being controlled by Cyni, the grip nothing like his own, even if it was his own hand. Zevran’s thigh and back muscles trembled as they worked. Twadd gave him strength striking a hard cluster of nerves, as Cyni, who was surprised by the shared pleasure and its force, rumbled next to his ear and Zevran released another long moan of relief and ecstasy.

Laughing over the fact that he would have to reapply the protective salve, Zevran readied himself to go down for a good long nap. One that would no doubt be interrupted by someone tackling his pallet, gaining ‘revenge’ for the missed out cuddling earlier. And he would have Horsie probably laying with his huge head on his shoulder, pouring dog breath into his face, probably to ‘hold him down’ for said ‘revenge’. Shaking his head as he finished toweling off and fastening another around his hips, he had to hope the large mabari could be convinced that just because Zevran slept on the ‘floor’ did not mean that he needed an extra ‘blanket’. He didn’t think his nose could take it.

Pausing at the door to his room he saw the hound and Freya already curled up in the center of the pile of blankets and pillows, his own tightly held. Zevran rolled his eyes, narrowly stopping himself from muttering about the predictability of short people. With a flick of wrist his towel was draped out the window to dry and he pulled on a pair of loose silk pants and began shuffling Freya and Horsie around as his girl ‘slept’. He didn’t call her on it, but big brown eyes were far too alert as they blinked up at him when he plucked his pillow from her grasp - after all, why take a pillow when a heartbeat was nearby?

Wrapping an arm around her, “You said you wished for a bath, chiquita.”

“M’sleepy now...an’ you’re here. I wanna be with you.” Freya squirmed to get ‘comfy’.

“Hmmhmm, very well,” as he curled his other arm under his pillow. “No - Horsie, you do not get to drool on my pillow today, I am old and need no pinning. My legs will have to suffice.”

Reasonably, she pointed out, “You aren’t old, Zev. You’re jus’ older than me.”

“Well, when I am tired, I feel old,” yawning theatrically. “Alright, my girl - if you are sleepy and I am sleepy, then it is time for us to be sleepy and well...sleep.” Zevran stroked Freya’s head where it was nestled, something Twadd had said earlier coming back to him. “Princessa - Anora says she is going to marry Cailan and be queen. What do you think of Cailan?”

She began to list his attributes, “He’s a boy. He likes to be clean and not have mud on him. Umm, he spars with a buckle-i-er and sword.”

Thinking about the sort of two-timer the king had been and knowing what sort of ass his father had been as well, Zevran struggled to not growl. Though he was sure some of his distaste for the prince came through, “You like mud though and playing. And you do not like it when the boys tell you you cannot do things because you are a girl.”

“Well, Thomas isn’t nice when he says that, Horse wants to bite him.” Rising to the Prince’s defense, “But Cailan tries to ‘splain it and isn’t mean about it. An’ Fergus lets me play anyway.” Freya sighed having remembered what she had forgot about because they had been keeping her busy, “I miss Fergus.”

“Ah, my sweet, you will see him again soon enough, we just cannot be where there are many Templars right now,” he rolled over, facing her as he gave her a fierce hug. “They would try to take you away to the Circle.”

“The Circle makes it sound like they’re holding hands and ‘Going ‘round the Mulberry Bush’ or playing ‘Duck-Duck-Goose’. But I saw the Tower in tha’ lake when we went to see Arl Eamon once. It was really tall and everybody said that mages don’t play outside.”

He nodded, “Yes, they get locked away at the Circle. That is why we are here - so you will not be locked away. I promised I would keep you safe, Freya. And that is why we cannot be where Fergus is right now. I have to keep you safe, because I promised and because I love you, yes?”

“Then I don’t wanna be a mage, can I be som’thin’ else? I could promise to braid my hair better so it doesn’t get tangled, then I could shoot the bow better.”

“Shhh, it is not that,” soothing her as he tucked a wayward curl aside. “There is no shame in being a mage. But we are here to get you good and trained so that you can be safe and then we can go back and see your family and we will have things to do, but I will keep you safe, by any means necessary. There is nothing wrong with you at all or with being a mage, it is just a skill you have, it is not good or bad, only the way it is applied. And you will apply it well.”

“But if mages get locked up, then I can’t help Papa, so I haffta be something else.” Freya rummaged looking for somebody else she would like to be like. “Oh, a bard came and sang songs and told stories one time. I could do that an’ wear pretty dresses like the ladies do here, an’ ride horses, an’ do the dances with the shimmy belly, an’ wear charms to be shiny in the light, an’ have long pretty hair like Zama-mama, an’ Horsie can have lots of puppies an’....”

Freya was quiet for a long time, her eyelids fluttering closed and her breath slowed. Just about when she should have been asleep, she muttered, “I wanna be like you, Zev, an’ save people, an’ make everybody happy.”