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Skyhold. He was back in- but the sky…
Sometimes Sera had the absolute right of it. Fucking magic shite.
( Read more... )
Sometimes Sera had the absolute right of it. Fucking magic shite.
( Read more... )
Cold. She was…
Pain bloomed across her body, but Meredith refused to fall back into the sweet, quiet darkness. Pain was real. She was…
( ... )
Pain bloomed across her body, but Meredith refused to fall back into the sweet, quiet darkness. Pain was real. She was…
( ... )
Alistair came awake briefly during the night (day? how was time even told around here, with no sun to mark the hours?) as something in the castle rumbled, his sense of the ambient magic in the fortress vibrating like a plucked harp string. But the bed was warm and his arms were full of a comfortable, sleeping mage. After a moment, Alistair made up his mind - he maneuvered himself and Daylen under the bed's blankets and drifted back off to sleep.
There were plenty of people out and about in Skyhold who could handle whatever problem that was. Right now, he needed to be here more than he needed to be a hero.
There were plenty of people out and about in Skyhold who could handle whatever problem that was. Right now, he needed to be here more than he needed to be a hero.
It was a maze, down in the bowels of the castle. Narrow corridors lined with innumerable doors, and Meredith could not let any pass by without checking. As bold as her enemies were with their threats, an ambush wasn't outside of the realm of possibilities.
Small rooms for the most part; storage, odds and ends, empty spaces that had likely been abandoned for years. No traces of spells cast or ambient magic. Still, Meredith searched them all. She found her way again to the large hall that led into the kitchens, close to where the traitor Sister lay.
She had found nothing, though there was still more of the twisting hallways to search. Still.
Unwillingly, she looked over to where she'd first entered the hall.
No traces of magic, nor of any recent traffic of people. She was no tracker, but Meredith knew the clues to look for when errant mages attempted to sneak about. Perhaps...
Still more to search. Yet to find this vault, if it even exists.
Meredith's gaze steeled, and she turned away. If the Sister had been in earnest, reparations would be made. For now she kept Certainty before her, letting the licks of red light lead her way.
Small rooms for the most part; storage, odds and ends, empty spaces that had likely been abandoned for years. No traces of spells cast or ambient magic. Still, Meredith searched them all. She found her way again to the large hall that led into the kitchens, close to where the traitor Sister lay.
She had found nothing, though there was still more of the twisting hallways to search. Still.
Unwillingly, she looked over to where she'd first entered the hall.
No traces of magic, nor of any recent traffic of people. She was no tracker, but Meredith knew the clues to look for when errant mages attempted to sneak about. Perhaps...
Still more to search. Yet to find this vault, if it even exists.
Meredith's gaze steeled, and she turned away. If the Sister had been in earnest, reparations would be made. For now she kept Certainty before her, letting the licks of red light lead her way.
The day had dragged on, colder and bleaker and emptier, and every instinct Daylen had told him to find Alistair again. Stubbornness kept him from doing so.
It wasn't until after he'd awoken from a nap with a strangled shout in an armchair in the library window that he'd returned to the room they'd spent the night.
He opened the door too hard, sweat wet on his forehead, panting from having run halfway there. He stepped in, noticed the tub was emptied, things were tidied, the bed was made, all of those things but the man himself? Not.
Idiot. Daylen knuckled his forehead, closing his eyes and listening to the pull, the tug inside him. He was nearby at least and he could follow it if he could settle himself down enough. Which was hard with the images of the demons toying with Alistair flashing behind his eyelids.
It wasn't until after he'd awoken from a nap with a strangled shout in an armchair in the library window that he'd returned to the room they'd spent the night.
He opened the door too hard, sweat wet on his forehead, panting from having run halfway there. He stepped in, noticed the tub was emptied, things were tidied, the bed was made, all of those things but the man himself? Not.
Idiot. Daylen knuckled his forehead, closing his eyes and listening to the pull, the tug inside him. He was nearby at least and he could follow it if he could settle himself down enough. Which was hard with the images of the demons toying with Alistair flashing behind his eyelids.
Neria considered herself a well-versed person regarding magic and other things that interested her in personal level, so she was very impressed with the rare books she found in the underground library, place where everything had started for her. She had used some quick, simple spells to clean a bit of the dust covering the entire place and brought along a teapot with fresh made tea to help her through her studies. Things were calm again in Skyhold and meeting Alistair after a long time separated had refreshed her energy and mind, providing the perfect occasion to deepen some parts of her research about the Cure.
She was sitting with her back turned to the door, several books and parchments in front of her, quill on her right hand making notes while the index finger of the left hand travelled from line to line, word to word, aiding her eyes to highlight important things. The woman was barefeet, boots dropped on the floor, feet caressing Jäger's belly, the powerful and mighty mabari lying under the table, snoring like there was no tomorrow.
She was sitting with her back turned to the door, several books and parchments in front of her, quill on her right hand making notes while the index finger of the left hand travelled from line to line, word to word, aiding her eyes to highlight important things. The woman was barefeet, boots dropped on the floor, feet caressing Jäger's belly, the powerful and mighty mabari lying under the table, snoring like there was no tomorrow.
Daylen hadn't slept well in years. Demons had tried to play their games, and when they weren't toying with him, nightmares of all the ways he'd failed Alistair all those years ago plagued him.
Figures it would take a botched grab for his own death, spurred by what he'd now been told was a false Calling, and a bizarre side-trip into the Fade to bring him a little peace.
Peace that had everything to do with the warm bulk of this impossible man beside him. Behind him? He wasn't sure as he came awake by bits and pieces. He was sprawled on his stomach, rolled there from his side in the... night? Did it count as night? He thought it might actually be darker now than it had been when they'd climbed into the bed.
And now that he was awake he could think about all the things he'd done yesterday since falling out of the Deep Roads and to this strange place that he shouldn't have.
Probably including climbing into bed with this Alistair, this strange mirror of his own Voice who he'd been aching to follow into death for years and now... He sighed raggedly, burying his face in the pillow under his head and tried to grapple with the sudden twist of loathing he felt for himself.
Figures it would take a botched grab for his own death, spurred by what he'd now been told was a false Calling, and a bizarre side-trip into the Fade to bring him a little peace.
Peace that had everything to do with the warm bulk of this impossible man beside him. Behind him? He wasn't sure as he came awake by bits and pieces. He was sprawled on his stomach, rolled there from his side in the... night? Did it count as night? He thought it might actually be darker now than it had been when they'd climbed into the bed.
And now that he was awake he could think about all the things he'd done yesterday since falling out of the Deep Roads and to this strange place that he shouldn't have.
Probably including climbing into bed with this Alistair, this strange mirror of his own Voice who he'd been aching to follow into death for years and now... He sighed raggedly, burying his face in the pillow under his head and tried to grapple with the sudden twist of loathing he felt for himself.
Inside the mage tower and with the Envy Demon gone, Dagna could finally dedicate herself and her efforts into something else: Getting out of the Fade and (With Inquisitor Lavellan around, activating the Eluvian will be far more simple. Shouldn't be glad about it, but good thing she's here!), if possible, aiding with the Cure (Miss Neria is so, so happy with ser Alistair around - her husband it is, not the king or the ex-Warden - I can't possibly not help her with curing the taint. I know she doesn't think that way, but I owe her.)
(truth to be told, even when the envy demon was lingering in Skyhold she was already thinking and planning how to leave the Fade and how to aid with the Cure.)
A new wave of people had arrived at Skyhold and, more than finding a way out, she was wondering again what was transporting them in the first place. Was it possible that, even after their departure through the Eluvian, more people arrived in that Skyhold? The whole situation was indeed mysterious, but the little Arcanist was determined to, at least, leave hints and clues on how to escape (once it was figured).
She was conducting experiments on her new work table, Jäger sleeping soundly few steps to her side. The Veil Fire granade had been a huge sucess and the more means to fight demons, the merrier.
(truth to be told, even when the envy demon was lingering in Skyhold she was already thinking and planning how to leave the Fade and how to aid with the Cure.)
A new wave of people had arrived at Skyhold and, more than finding a way out, she was wondering again what was transporting them in the first place. Was it possible that, even after their departure through the Eluvian, more people arrived in that Skyhold? The whole situation was indeed mysterious, but the little Arcanist was determined to, at least, leave hints and clues on how to escape (once it was figured).
She was conducting experiments on her new work table, Jäger sleeping soundly few steps to her side. The Veil Fire granade had been a huge sucess and the more means to fight demons, the merrier.
Evelea had stared at the journal for a long time trying to decide what that meant. Wherever she was comfortable? There wasn't much comforting about this place. Finally she'd written back the garden? because she'd been working there each day and it was as familiar as anywhere else.
She sat cross-legged next to the royal elfroot bed, frowning down at it in forced consternation. Was it real? Real enough to smell when she gently rubbed the pad of her thumb across a leaf, real enough to ease the sting of a scratch she placed there. It's medicinal properties held up. But did it grow? If they harvested part of it would new buds form? How were any of these plants faring without sunlight?
The sound of footsteps, when they finally came, startled her. She had been half-convinced that he wouldn't appear, at least not today. She didn't look up right away, hair in her face and hands clasped in her lap, trying to figure out how to even meet his eyes.
She sat cross-legged next to the royal elfroot bed, frowning down at it in forced consternation. Was it real? Real enough to smell when she gently rubbed the pad of her thumb across a leaf, real enough to ease the sting of a scratch she placed there. It's medicinal properties held up. But did it grow? If they harvested part of it would new buds form? How were any of these plants faring without sunlight?
The sound of footsteps, when they finally came, startled her. She had been half-convinced that he wouldn't appear, at least not today. She didn't look up right away, hair in her face and hands clasped in her lap, trying to figure out how to even meet his eyes.
Aria carried herself around Skyhold with a feeling similar to the first time she entered the sturdy fortress; curiosity, awe and a little bit of fear. But unlike her first time in Skyhold, when that little fear was about the unknown, Aria's fear had a solid identity: the Envy Demon. Her hands gripped thigh to her mage staff, her knuckles white. The sky was clouded and save for the lights coming from the tavern, everything was emerged in darkness.
Thank the Creators elfs could see in the dark.
Careful to not be noticed, she inspected the fortress, making mental notes about their visitors; Varric shared the same reality with her (which was a goddamn thing to celebrate) and apparently Sera too, though she hadn't met the archer yet. A Hero of Ferelden was present too, two Dorians (none of them from her own reality), an Anders (the Anders!), another Herald of Andraste (that was really confusing, to state the most obvious), two Cullens (guess someone in the elven pantheon is felling quite amused with this joke) and a pretty weird bunch with a pretty weird metal ship and pretty weird manners and clothing (too weird to think about them now, better skip it). Dagna had contacted Aria through her journal (and now the Eluvian is fixed! I didn't even now it was broken, to begin with!) and it was always good to have the Arcanist around.
She was in the lower courtyard, near the stabled, when a sound caught up her attention: something falling, something like a body falling. Aria rushed, running to find the location, mouth agape with what her eyes saw: Marian Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall, last seem in the Fade running to certain death. The Inquisitor scrambled her potions after a healing one, dropping her staff imediately and turning Hawke to lay on her back. Careful, she supported her head in one hand and with the other she gave her the potion; the woman was still breathing, good start, now to the injuries. Aria planted her hands over her shoulders, barely touching, and concentrated to cast a healing spell.
C'mon... c'mon, c'mon, c'mon... don't die under my watch again Hawke, not now...
Thank the Creators elfs could see in the dark.
Careful to not be noticed, she inspected the fortress, making mental notes about their visitors; Varric shared the same reality with her (which was a goddamn thing to celebrate) and apparently Sera too, though she hadn't met the archer yet. A Hero of Ferelden was present too, two Dorians (none of them from her own reality), an Anders (the Anders!), another Herald of Andraste (that was really confusing, to state the most obvious), two Cullens (guess someone in the elven pantheon is felling quite amused with this joke) and a pretty weird bunch with a pretty weird metal ship and pretty weird manners and clothing (too weird to think about them now, better skip it). Dagna had contacted Aria through her journal (and now the Eluvian is fixed! I didn't even now it was broken, to begin with!) and it was always good to have the Arcanist around.
She was in the lower courtyard, near the stabled, when a sound caught up her attention: something falling, something like a body falling. Aria rushed, running to find the location, mouth agape with what her eyes saw: Marian Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall, last seem in the Fade running to certain death. The Inquisitor scrambled her potions after a healing one, dropping her staff imediately and turning Hawke to lay on her back. Careful, she supported her head in one hand and with the other she gave her the potion; the woman was still breathing, good start, now to the injuries. Aria planted her hands over her shoulders, barely touching, and concentrated to cast a healing spell.
C'mon... c'mon, c'mon, c'mon... don't die under my watch again Hawke, not now...
There was a pallet, a bucket, an ewer of water, and Cullen's cloak. Evelea stared at it for an hour after he left. Sitting in silence, Silenced, she felt unsteady, hollow, her hands shaking and her stomach rebelling if she moved her head too fast.
Stars sparkled in the corner of her vision and she finally settled onto the pallet, pulling his coat around her, hunching down until her ears were covered with the fur. Sleep wouldn't come, or if it did it happened in snippets of blankness, head too muddy to tell the difference.
She must have slept at some point because the flavor of the Templar's silence changed. It was less encompassing, frayed and leaking around the edges, inexpert. The drips of mana that it allowed her were less that it would take to manifest a spark, but it made it easier to think.
To worry, really. About Cullen, about his trial, about the twisty nature of this place, and what had happened to her. It would be easier if Envy would speak to her directly as it had done before.
She pulled the journal out from where she'd tucked it in her belt pouch. "If I write in you is it learning? Or have I already lost and this is what is left?" She whispered the words at the book, then with a sudden hiss of frustration, threw it across the cell. The tears were back, vision swimming. She squeezed her eyes shut and started to pray.
Stars sparkled in the corner of her vision and she finally settled onto the pallet, pulling his coat around her, hunching down until her ears were covered with the fur. Sleep wouldn't come, or if it did it happened in snippets of blankness, head too muddy to tell the difference.
She must have slept at some point because the flavor of the Templar's silence changed. It was less encompassing, frayed and leaking around the edges, inexpert. The drips of mana that it allowed her were less that it would take to manifest a spark, but it made it easier to think.
To worry, really. About Cullen, about his trial, about the twisty nature of this place, and what had happened to her. It would be easier if Envy would speak to her directly as it had done before.
She pulled the journal out from where she'd tucked it in her belt pouch. "If I write in you is it learning? Or have I already lost and this is what is left?" She whispered the words at the book, then with a sudden hiss of frustration, threw it across the cell. The tears were back, vision swimming. She squeezed her eyes shut and started to pray.
"No, sweetness, I want someone real." Isabela didn't move as Sera reached across her. She smelled like whiskey and honey and something...oh, something real underneath that, as real as the smell of sea and salt and sun-drenched sand was to Isabela.
It was certainly the realest thing she'd felt since landing in the Fade, or wherever the fuck they were.
And she wanted. She wanted suddenly and fiercely, and this little slip of an elf who didn't act at all like an elf was tugging on her. Making her want. Making her need.
Isabela's hand shot out, long, calloused fingers wrapping around Sera's wrist. The touch gentle but guiding, bringing the mouth of the bottle to Isabela's lips. The last drops hit her tongue, hot and spicy and perfect.
And the bottle crashed to the floor.
Well, first things first, then. The place looked mostly empty, but Sigrun might as well poke around and see what she could find. She headed up the stairs and inside the slightly open great doors.
At the sight of the sheer size of the castle's great hall, she had to stop and whistle.
"If this is another one of those wacky Warden dreams," she said to herself, "it sure seems real." She rapped experimentally on the closest stone wall, and made a face as she nearly bruised her knuckles. "And that looks like the Inquisition heraldry, I thiink," she inspected the banners. "Sure close to what was on that letter the Commander got." Her voice bounced back at her from the wide empty hall, and she grimaced. "And now I'm talking to myself in a ghost castle that may or may not be a certain mountain stronghold thousands of miles away that I've never seen. Greeeaat. Maybe Nate's not the crazy one."
Moving further into the hall, she chose a door at random, the first one on her right, and made her way into a large rotunda. She stopped to admire the frescoes there and glance over the books on the table in the middle of the room.
"Fade shit, Fade shit, elves..." she muttered in a much quieter tone than before as she skimmed the titles. "Well that's not ominous at all."
Taking another path at random, she climbed the stairs upwards and found herself in what appeared to be a library.
At the sight of the sheer size of the castle's great hall, she had to stop and whistle.
"If this is another one of those wacky Warden dreams," she said to herself, "it sure seems real." She rapped experimentally on the closest stone wall, and made a face as she nearly bruised her knuckles. "And that looks like the Inquisition heraldry, I thiink," she inspected the banners. "Sure close to what was on that letter the Commander got." Her voice bounced back at her from the wide empty hall, and she grimaced. "And now I'm talking to myself in a ghost castle that may or may not be a certain mountain stronghold thousands of miles away that I've never seen. Greeeaat. Maybe Nate's not the crazy one."
Moving further into the hall, she chose a door at random, the first one on her right, and made her way into a large rotunda. She stopped to admire the frescoes there and glance over the books on the table in the middle of the room.
"Fade shit, Fade shit, elves..." she muttered in a much quieter tone than before as she skimmed the titles. "Well that's not ominous at all."
Taking another path at random, she climbed the stairs upwards and found herself in what appeared to be a library.
Evelea had stared at that book for hours, pouring over the entries, the banter, the quips and doodles and jibes looking for clues. Her head ached and her eyes crossed and finally she'd admitted defeat. She wasn't going to be able to discern the verisimilitude of handwriting that she'd never seen.
The ones she recognized were worse.
She didn't know when she'd started to pray. She had rarely felt the need, never wanted to turn the Maker's gaze on her. She was a mage, and well, everyone knew the Maker had more than enough opinions about that. But somewhere as she crept along empty halls and peeked into abandoned rooms she'd started to whisper tiny, ardent pleas for help.
From anyone.
When she pushed open the door off the cloister garden her eyes focused up, fixing on Andraste's face. The short huff somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. "A statue certainly isn't going to fix this, but thank you for trying."
The ones she recognized were worse.
She didn't know when she'd started to pray. She had rarely felt the need, never wanted to turn the Maker's gaze on her. She was a mage, and well, everyone knew the Maker had more than enough opinions about that. But somewhere as she crept along empty halls and peeked into abandoned rooms she'd started to whisper tiny, ardent pleas for help.
From anyone.
When she pushed open the door off the cloister garden her eyes focused up, fixing on Andraste's face. The short huff somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. "A statue certainly isn't going to fix this, but thank you for trying."
The Herald's Rest was mostly dark and silent, except for the fire lit in the great hearth casting flickering shadows about the walls, and the blue glow emanating from a certain apostate sitting before the fire next to Marian Hawke.
Anders took a deep breath and the fade cracks receded from his skin. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers, and cradled a mostly-empty mug of some piss-quality ale in his free hand.
"Sorry," he said, yet again. "We've all but given up Justice's return to the Fade being a possibility. Really, I think he expected to die when I did. Seeing as I didn't, that leaves us both in a bit of a lurch." He looked into the flames with a frown.
Anders took a deep breath and the fade cracks receded from his skin. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers, and cradled a mostly-empty mug of some piss-quality ale in his free hand.
"Sorry," he said, yet again. "We've all but given up Justice's return to the Fade being a possibility. Really, I think he expected to die when I did. Seeing as I didn't, that leaves us both in a bit of a lurch." He looked into the flames with a frown.
Neria strode to the courtyard, mesmerized by what her eyes could see; a black and white vessel, elegant on its form and bright as dream she had never dreamt before. Jäger, the old mabari hound, barked and took the lead, sniffing around before glancing at Neria again, excited.
"Yea boy, sure it is a pretty ship."
She stood there, not sure on how to proceed or how to make contact to announce her arrival.
"Yea boy, sure it is a pretty ship."
She stood there, not sure on how to proceed or how to make contact to announce her arrival.
Bloody Dorian. Bloody poncy mustache faced Dorian. Sera had the least amount of problem she'd ever had with a mage with Dorian, but there was more than one of them, and how was she supposed to know if this Dorian wasn't some slave-beater. Another rich pissbag she had to hate.
She didn't want to hate him. She liked Dorian, not that she'd say that to his stupid face. But she needed to know that the people here were people-people, even if they were rich tits in fancy shoes.
Could be he was a demon. Then she'd have to put an arrow in his pretty stupid face.
The roof of the tavern offered a perch she could use to see most of the upper courtyard. If he was coming from the great hall or the wallwalk down through the Herald's Rest she'd see him. See if he was a person.
She held an arrow nocked but not drawn, eyes scanning for movement, leaning back into the shadows so she'd be bloody hard to see from the ground. Or the sky for that matter.
Tits all, she hoped he didn't take too long. Sera wasn't patient and she with all her nerves she found she really needed a piss.
She didn't want to hate him. She liked Dorian, not that she'd say that to his stupid face. But she needed to know that the people here were people-people, even if they were rich tits in fancy shoes.
Could be he was a demon. Then she'd have to put an arrow in his pretty stupid face.
The roof of the tavern offered a perch she could use to see most of the upper courtyard. If he was coming from the great hall or the wallwalk down through the Herald's Rest she'd see him. See if he was a person.
She held an arrow nocked but not drawn, eyes scanning for movement, leaning back into the shadows so she'd be bloody hard to see from the ground. Or the sky for that matter.
Tits all, she hoped he didn't take too long. Sera wasn't patient and she with all her nerves she found she really needed a piss.
Tali was sure that some day, kicking the bosh'd electronics was not going to work, and she would look silly, standing there thumping on a busted device.
But today was not that day.
The outer doors to the airlock finally popped open, and Tali dropped to the grassy ground just past the exit. She stared at the roiling sky, at the high stone (stone! like in the fairy stories of children!) walls of the castle, at the disturbing lack of solid ground that encompassed the whole of the building.
Then she scribbled off an invitation to the human she had been comparing notes with, and settled down on the end of the Normandy's closest wing to wait.
Baby steps, she told herself. You don't learn how to rebuild a combat drone during your first firefight.
But today was not that day.
The outer doors to the airlock finally popped open, and Tali dropped to the grassy ground just past the exit. She stared at the roiling sky, at the high stone (stone! like in the fairy stories of children!) walls of the castle, at the disturbing lack of solid ground that encompassed the whole of the building.
Then she scribbled off an invitation to the human she had been comparing notes with, and settled down on the end of the Normandy's closest wing to wait.
Baby steps, she told herself. You don't learn how to rebuild a combat drone during your first firefight.
Marian left Fenris attending to his business and went up the stairs, back to the battlements. She wanted to take a good look in the courtyard and see if there were anyone else around, maybe someone who could actually try to figure the situation.
She had barely climbed the stairs when she found a familiar face, where there was nothing before.
First, Fenris. Now, Anders. If this is not some kind of demon's work, someone here surely has a weird sense of humor.
Marian considered approaching the man, but she wasn't quite sure of how to proceed.
She had barely climbed the stairs when she found a familiar face, where there was nothing before.
First, Fenris. Now, Anders. If this is not some kind of demon's work, someone here surely has a weird sense of humor.
Marian considered approaching the man, but she wasn't quite sure of how to proceed.
Zevran literally walked out the door of the palace and into Skyhold.
He froze, immediately on high alert, then quickly melted into the shadows--after snagging the book that had tumbled to his feet. Finding a high, quiet place where he could watch the hall without being seen, Zevran had spent hours listening in to conversations and flipping through the strange journal.
Not-the-Fade, eluvians, people from different worlds and versions of reality, no escape. All trapped together like bears in a circus. All right, he could deal with that.
Eventually he began scouting the castle, hiding in alcoves and eavesdropping as a matter of course. Entertaining himself as well as gathering the information he'd need to finally announce his presence. It was the sound of a familiar voice that had him hesitating as he crept along a beam high in the rafters, however. He waited, utterly still, and watched as a vaguely familiar man, an unfamiliar woman, and...ah yes...Alistair passed. Beginning to grin to himself, Zevran followed a safe distance behind and waited patiently for Alistair to move off on his own. The bar was there beneath him, practically calling the man's name. It was only a matter of time.
Once Alistair finally appeared, Zevran waited just long enough to be certain the man and woman weren't on his heels. Then he swung down on whisper-light feet, dropping onto the bar just far enough away to avoid getting beer splashed on his nice new boots. "And I thought to myself," Zevran said, starting the conversation mid-thought the way he sometimes did, "where would my friend go to try to sort out his own head? And so, here you are and here am I."
He froze, immediately on high alert, then quickly melted into the shadows--after snagging the book that had tumbled to his feet. Finding a high, quiet place where he could watch the hall without being seen, Zevran had spent hours listening in to conversations and flipping through the strange journal.
Not-the-Fade, eluvians, people from different worlds and versions of reality, no escape. All trapped together like bears in a circus. All right, he could deal with that.
Eventually he began scouting the castle, hiding in alcoves and eavesdropping as a matter of course. Entertaining himself as well as gathering the information he'd need to finally announce his presence. It was the sound of a familiar voice that had him hesitating as he crept along a beam high in the rafters, however. He waited, utterly still, and watched as a vaguely familiar man, an unfamiliar woman, and...ah yes...Alistair passed. Beginning to grin to himself, Zevran followed a safe distance behind and waited patiently for Alistair to move off on his own. The bar was there beneath him, practically calling the man's name. It was only a matter of time.
Once Alistair finally appeared, Zevran waited just long enough to be certain the man and woman weren't on his heels. Then he swung down on whisper-light feet, dropping onto the bar just far enough away to avoid getting beer splashed on his nice new boots. "And I thought to myself," Zevran said, starting the conversation mid-thought the way he sometimes did, "where would my friend go to try to sort out his own head? And so, here you are and here am I."
