The Last Warden

Chapter Four

Pulling the blade free, he hung his head. The genlock fell heavy, slipping to the bloodied grass. Behind him Sten grunted, cleaving the head from a staggering Hurlock. The ambush had been sloppy, but there had certainly been enough of them. Alistair's laugh was bitter.

"It seems killing children has lent strength to your arm."

He whirled with a growl, leaping the distance to the Qunari as his shield came round. The big man barely had time to duck, bringing his elbow up to take Alistair in the gut. He staggered, giving Sten the opportunity to unsheathe his blade, bringing it round to meet his own.

Still the larger man chuckled. "You see? You have improved."

He wasn't pulling back, he realized, wasn't sparring. But his strokes were wild, the blade rebounding hard off of the Sten's plate. This was... this was... pointless. Alistair staggered back, chest heaving. "Don't."

"None of us relishes what was done." The gaze was piercing, weighing, as he sheathed his blade. "But you must use it. Learn from it."

"You-you were baiting me."

"Yes."

He narrowed his eyes, meeting that stare. After a time, he nodded. "But that can... never. Never again."

Leliana had slipped behind him, but he shrugged away from her hand. "I'm a templar, remember? It's what I was meant to do." He snorted. "But you, any of you... I'm in charge. I need to realize that, need to embrace it. I'll ask for your opinions when - if - I want them. We will find the Urn, heal Arl Eamon, explain... somehow. But that will not happen again."

Sten's eyes narrowed, but there was something almost... impressed there.

"About time, I think. Particularly if it means you will stop acting like an insufferable child."

He whirled on Morrigan with a sneer. "And why don't you stop being such a callous bitch?"

She quirked a brow. "Oh? This from the—"

"—Thank the Maker!"

He spun to see a woman coming up the path ahead, stumbling fast as her legs could carry her. Her dress was frayed and dust-covered, her eyes wide with fear. A refugee perhaps, a traveler or trader...

She skidded to a stop, panting, gaze roaming wild between them. "Please help! The creatures... they took the wagon... my family!"

Alistair held out a hesitant hand. "What-what happened?"

"Please! Please come! Hurry!" She whirled away, darting back up the path without a backward glance.

The road curved ahead, cutting close between a pair of looming hills. Already the sun was dipping low, bathing the cleft in shadow. "Riiight..."

Leliana blinked up at him. "So... trap?"

"Trap."

"And we're going in?"

He shrugged. "We can't exactly go back. And we've dealt with bandits before. And I think... I think I feel the need to kill something."

She smirked. "This new Alistair is... different."

"Yeah." Drawing his sword, he made his way up the path.

It sloped downward as it made its way between the rocks, opening into a narrow clearing. There was a wagon there, broken and raided but months, years, old. Ahead of them the woman waited, turning with a crooked smirk. They moved on the hills above, archers slipping into the open, ringing them round. Too late he realized. The armor and weapons were fine enough, too fine for bandits, the trap well-planned... and ineptly tripped. He could hear Sten growl behind him.

As the woman sneered, a man appeared behind her, running lingering hands over her shoulders. There he leaned, trailing kisses along her neck, but the eyes lit on Alistair, his grin wicked. An elf, well dressed, heavily armed and gloating at his catch.

The blast behind them toppled a tree, cutting off any hope of escape. Alistair barely had time to stumble out of the way as the elf threw back his head to laugh.

"The Grey Warden dies here!"

It came quick, the volley of arrows from above thudding against his upraised shield. Morrigan slipped aside with a grunt, one hand twisting as she thrust her staff into the air. Whatever moisture there had been froze with a snap, sending one of the archers toppling off of the ridge. Sten was making for the other side, climbing the hill in long strides as Leliana let loose with arrows of her own. The elf, it seemed, was for him.

Lightning fast, he moved with a grace that belied skill, experience. No, definitely not bandits. And maybe he was getting too accustomed to fighting darkspawn; his side was left exposed as the other man darted behind him. Alistair grunted in pain, hearing laughter still, seeing only the flash of blades and smiling teeth.

His shield came up with a groan, the blade aimed for his middle. But it was a feint, a distraction. Alistair brought his arm round, catching the elf beneath the chin as he slipped sideways. Skilled or no, he crumpled just the same.

It was only then that he noticed the quiet, the strangled cry as Sten plunged his blade a final time. Already Leliana had slung the bow across her back and was watching him with a quizzical expression.

"Some trap."

"Yeah." Again he looked to the hills, moving to inspect the wagon. Funny, but he didn't even wonder at looting the dead anymore. Supplies were supplies.

"This one still lives." Sten stood glaring down, one boot flicking the limp arm of the unconscious elf. The Qunari reached for his sword.

"Hey! Wait— hold on a moment. We could... erm, question him or something. For information."

"Oh, a brilliant plan." Morrigan rolled her eyes.

"Someone does seem to have gone to an awful lot of trouble—"

"—And considering the events of Ostagar, the answer is obvious, is it not?" She glowered at Leliana, but the other woman held her stare.

Sten had moved away, ripping free a length of rope from the broken wagon. He tossed it to Alistair with a snort. "Get your answers. But quickly."

Alistair crouched, hesitantly twisting the rope between his hands as he blinked down at the sleeping elf. Right. Torture now. Easy enough. Behind him, he could hear Morrigan snort.

"I can do that for you." Leliana knelt beside him, taking the rope from his hands. She slipped it easily beneath the elf's limbs, binding ankles to wrists in a series of intricate but movable knots. Tugging at one, she nodded in satisfaction. "These should hold even if he struggles and cause only a little discomfort."

Alistair straightened. "Why would comfort be an issue when you're tying someone up?"

Leliana and Morrigan both raised a brow.

"Right. Remind me never to ask."

But the elf was already stirring, the slack allowing him to get an elbow beneath him as he shook his head. "Mmm... what?"

Alistair crouched, glancing over his shoulder at Sten's scowl, Morrigan's glower. Only Leliana nodded in encouragement. "Do you know who I am?"

The elf laughed, the sound bubbling thick in his throat. "A strong arm with that shield, or so it would seem." Coughing, he spat blood. "You are one of the Grey Wardens, yes?"

"The Grey Warden, actually. The only one."

"Truly? I was told there would be more. My information is rarely wrong."

Rocking back on his heels Alistair shook his head. "They all died. At Ostagar."

"How lucky for me."

Behind him, Sten growled. "You will get nothing from this one. Finish it quickly."

"Quite the contrary, my friend. If I am to be interrogated, allow me to save us both some time, yes? My name is Zevran... Zev, to my friends. I am a member of the Antivan Crows, brought here for the sole purpose of slaying any surviving Grey Wardens."

Folding his arms, Alistair scowled. "'Antivan Crows?'"

"They are an order of assassins..." Leliana pushed forward to stand at his side. "Very powerful and renowned for always getting the job done."

Alistair snorted. "Apparently not."

She ignored him. "Expensive, too, as I understand. Someone went to great expense to hire this man."

"Who?"

The elf made as if to shrug, despite his bonds. "A rather taciturn fellow in the capital. Loghain, I believe."

Behind him, Alistair could hear Morrigan sigh.

The assassin, though, was looking to Leliana, grin spreading despite the awkward twist of his neck. "So you are a potential... traveling companion, then?"

Her brow rose, but Alistair found himself sliding forward, his boot stirring enough dirt to set the elf to coughing.

"What do you want, exactly?"

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Whether you kill me or the Crows kill me, my life is now forfeit. But perhaps there are other... services that I might offer?'

"Such as?"

"Your alluring comrade was quite correct; dispatching me will not stop another from taking the contract. The Crows will try again. But I happen to know their wily ways. And from what I have heard of the Grey Wardens..." He tsked. "...let us just say that you seem to need all the help you can get."

"Bested you easy enough, didn't I?"

"A lucky shot, I assure you."

"Right."

Turning round he saw Morrigan approaching, scowling still. "Will we be questioning the darkspawn as well now? Bantering with the archdemon?"

"There is nothing wrong with a bit of banter, no?"

"Shut up."

Glaring down at the elf, Morrigan rolled her eyes toward Alistair. "I have heard that men sometimes experience... difficulty in drawing their swords. Do you need assistance?"

"He wants me to let him go."

"Oh yes, of course. Let us listen to what the assassin wants." Turning on her heel, she stalked away. "Kill him and be done with it."

Sten was already making his way up the path. Only Leliana remained at his side, lips pursing wordlessly as she shook her head. Slowly, she too moved away.

Right. Up to him then. Darkspawn, bandits, children... What was one more? As he slipped free the sword, Alistair felt his jaw clench. "You tried to kill me." It was almost an apology.

"A task which I have failed at, sadly." But the assassin shifted, rolling onto his back as best he could, settling his bound arms beneath him. His head tilted as he gazed up at Alistair, something of a smile twisting cross his lips.

The blade was heavy as he brought it round to hang in the air between them, leveled at the elf's chest. Again, he was curled beneath him; again, waiting for him to deliver the final blow. As it should be. There was no fear behind the assassin's eyes, only an expectant calm, a sort of... relief. With a last nod for Alistair he breathed deep, letting his eyes fall closed.

"No."

On the hill above, Morrigan hissed. "What?"

"No." His voice was stronger now, the sword lowering to his side. "I said no. Not again."

"That is not a child."

"Obviously."

"But you are still a fool."

Turning back to the elf, he found one eye open, watching him from beneath a crooked brow. Alistair bent quick, rolling him roughly onto his side as he cut the bonds.

Zevran stretched as he rose, the unsettling grin returning as he rubbed at his bruised jaw. After a moment he chuckled, dropping into a flourishing bow. "A wise choice, if I do say so myself. But I am your man, this I swear. You have my oath, until such time as you choose to re—"

"—I don't want your oath." Alistair turned, making his way up the path. "Just... just try to be useful or something. I don't know."

The assassin watched him a moment before following behind, smile faltering as his eyes narrowed.