Mystery Spice

~Mystery Spice~

"Well you're going to have to start talking sometime," the man sneered so close to the woman's face that she could smell the alcohol on his breath. Silently she stared up at him with quiet rage seething from her black eyes. "And when you start talking…we'll get your name," he finished.

"You will get nothing from me," she spat at him in a thick Antivan accent.

A surprised look crossed his face – he never expected her to actually speak. "Ah," he replied, his Ferelden accent almost stark in contrast. "So what…are you an assassin or something?"

The woman's eyes were filled with amusement as a dangerous looking grin crossed her face. Deliberately, she answered, "You come to a country of merchants and yet ask if I am an assassin? It is not wise to know so little of places you visit. It is how…misunderstandings happen."

The large man blinked at her cryptic reply. Her arms were tightly bound behind her and she was forced to sit on the dusty ground at their camp. Yet she looked far from harmless. After running his large hand over his hair he finally turned to the blonde elf sitting away from the pair. Zevran was casually leaning back on one elbow with his crossed legs stretched out in front of him. Biting into an apple, he quietly watched the clumsy attempt at an interrogation. The large Ferelden man seemed instantly annoyed at the elf's relaxed posture and finally shrugged, "Aren't all Antivans assassins or something?"

Zervan responded to his ignorance with a slight frown, which was enough to irritate the Ferelden. It had been obvious throughout the duration of their journey that the Ferelden cared very little for the cocky Antivan - it was even hard for him to hide his resentment at being there in the first place. Narrowing his eyes, the man's jaw flexed as he gritted his teeth. Drawing his attention back to her, the woman clicked her tongue in disgust, "You are as simple as you look."

He spun back to face her with his hands clenched into angry fists but before he could snarl a reply, she continued, mockingly, "Oh yes, all Antivan's are assassins. All Orlesians are spies." She paused long enough to look deeply into the man's eyes as she finished in a serious tone, "And all Fereldens are dogs."

Zevran jolted to his feet when he heard the resounding smack of the man's fist connecting with the woman's jaw. He could hear her gasp and as he stood he saw the Ferelden had laid her out flat on the ground. Breathing heavily, the woman simply turned her head and nonchalantly spit out the blood pooling her in her mouth. Looking up at the towering man, her lips curled in a sneer as she hissed, "Big tough dog – bringing fists into a conversation with a woman that is bound."

The Ferelden's nostrils flared as he took an angry move towards her. Smoothly stepping between the two, Zevran shoved the man back, "That is enough Aiden!"

Glaring past Zevran, Aiden kept his eyes on the woman as she continued to lie on the ground. He pointed his finger at her and spoke in a booming voice, "I am a guard to the King of Ferelden! I will not be spoken down to like that!"

"Don't remind me," Zevran bitterly thought to himself. It almost seemed like a cruel joke that King Alistair forced Zevran to take some of the royal guards on his mission. Although each man was an extremely talented swordsman, there seemed to be little else to respect. During his time in Ferelden, he began to expect a certain level of density or bitterness but this group seemed extremes of both. Zevran often found himself falling into long lapses of silence rather than suffering through pointless conversations. Part of it could have been his own frame of mind, but it felt like the King hand picked these particular men as final jab at the elf as he left for his home country.

Not joining in the shouting, Zevran kept his voice even as he replied, "Yes, but you are not in Ferelden...you are no longer even in the Free Marches. Antiva is different than anything you have known. Here you must exercise far more discretion or you will destroy this mission before it begins."

Over near the crackling fire of the camp, a man in dark armour calmly observed the unfolding commotion. His emerald eyes glittered like jewels in the dancing firelight as he watched the former Crow thrust himself between the guard and fallen women. "Aiden. That's enough," he called out, echoing Zevran's words from moments before.

Reluctantly, Aiden dropped his fists and obediently backed away from the situation. Heading towards the fire, he shot the man an apologetic glance. As he passed, walking towards his tent, he quickly grunted, "Sorry Cale."

Cale nodded as Aiden walked by, apparently accepting his apology. Zevran briefly locked eyes with Cale before forcing a quick nod of thanks. The guardsmen were sent to help Zevran but Cale, who was bitter but far from dense, was the unofficial captain of the group. It suited Zevran fine – he was not interested in trying to be a leader.

Turning back to the woman, Zevran carefully helped her sit up and gently examined her face to see what damage the brute had done. "I am sorry for my counterpart," he murmured to her, "He does not hold his ale well…but I did not expect him to…"

Jerking her head back from his grasp, she seemed unfazed by the abuse as she asked, "And exactly what is a fellow countryman doing with the dog lords?"

Settling onto a spot on the ground, Zevran looked over the mystery woman. Even without hearing her accent, it was obvious to him that she was Antivan. Her long dark hair fell over her bronze shoulders in wild, loose waves as her dark eyes demanded answers. Her leather pants and ruffled bodice gave nothing away – no symbol to hint to her identity. A small, ornate cross of Andraste hung on long silver chain around her neck. There was a small amber gem in the centre and it was more decorative than he had seen before, but religious jewellery was common in Antiva. Ignoring her question, he slowly replied, "As lovely as you are, you are no delicate flower. You have learned to take quite a hit and even tied up you stay as calm as if you were in complete control. You are a Crow?"

Snorting derisively she shot back, "Hardly. Besides, would you not have recognized one of your own?"

Zevran smirked as the woman neatly turned the question back on him. It was refreshing. Chuckling, he shook his head as he replied, "Perhaps if I were still a Crow, I could more easily recognize that you were not."

Narrowing her eyes, she gently cocked her head as she repeated, "Were still a Crow? Impossible, they do not simply let people go."

"Not without a fight," Zevran agreed, "Which is exactly what I am returning from Ferelden to give them."

The woman fell silent for a moment as she pursed her lips together in thought. Even as Zevran watched her, he could see the spark of recognition in her intense, charcoal eyes. "In that case, it would appear you are not my enemy after all…Zevran Arainai. Your blunt honesty, however, is a tactic I am not familiar with."

Although he was surprised that she was able to name him, he remained relaxed. Bowing his head slightly in greeting, he replied. "It is a tactic that served me well during my days in Ferelden. But my dear, I am afraid you now have me at a marked disadvantage. You know my name and yet I do not know yours…"

"Annalique," she supplied. She had not put any particular emphasis on her name, but yet it took on a sensual quality as her lips formed the word. "Not that I expect this should mean anything to you. I am simply a tutor to a merchant prince's son."

As she suggested, her name did not trigger any familiarity but it was not meaningless to him. Somehow, putting such a name to the unknown woman in front of him added another level of mystique to her. Zevran could not deny she had captured his attention, but then again he was always able to appreciate beautiful women. "Annalique," he repeated, enjoying the life her name seemed to take as it rolled off his tongue. "And just what type of tutoring do you do?"

Seemingly disinterested in his line of questioning, Annalique's eyes trailed over to the men sitting by the campfire. Focusing on the guards, she answered Zevran, "I had taught him how to dance with the sword – I was his duelling instructor." Not adding anything more, she turned back to Zevran. "Tell me, do you truly plan to take on the Crows…with them? You must know the disaster you bring upon yourself…"

Inwardly, Zevran grimaced. While the men had been helpful through skirmishes they encountered on the road, Zevran was well aware it was the wrong sort to help with the Crows. It had been preying on his every waking thought. Skipping past her question, he pressed, "Women are not permitted to take up arms in Antiva. How can it be that you know the sword well enough to teach others?"

Not willing to answer his question, she levelled her gaze at him and asked, "When do you intend to let me go?"

Throwing his head back, Zevran finally laughed, "Ha! What makes you think I intend to let you go?"

"You could at least untie me," she frowned at him, implying the rope in itself was rude. Not seeing any sympathy in his face, she continued to reason, "What is it you think I could do if I were not tied? I was blindfolded and disarmed on the way here. Do you really think I would try to face a camp full of soldiers while I have no weapons? And to what? Run away into the night when I don't even know where I am? I am smart enough to know when I am on the losing side."

Remaining unconvinced, Zevran interrupted, "You have reached the conclusion we are not enemies but have given me no reason to believe the same. I captured you because you were tailing us from the second we set foot in Salle. Why?"

Returning his laugh with a knowing smirk of her own, she corrected, "I let you capture me because I wanted to know about you." Zevran's golden eyes remained trained on her, but he gave no reaction. It was obvious he was losing patience with her games. With an annoyed sigh, she finished, "Because I noticed who you spoke with and thought you were a Crow. I thought you might be a lead, but I see I was wrong. I have wasted my time."

Although she had technically answered his question, she was too vague to be useful. Not wanting to appear riled, Zevran took another bite into the apple he still held. Slowly he chewed and looked at her thoughtfully. Finally he spoke, "Darling Annalique, perhaps I have been with the Fereldens for too long, but I grow tired of this back and forth. If you want to be untied, I suggest you try the tactic of blunt honesty. Otherwise I see no reason to keep this conversation going."

Letting out a long hiss of air, Annalique's shoulders drooped slightly as her eyes dropped down to the ground. For a moment, her inflated confidence melted away as she answered in a softer voice than Zevran expected, "Fine. I am looking for information – I need to know who hired the Crows for a particular contract." Forcing her gaze back up to meet Zevran's, she finished, "They killed my student and he was not even yet a man. It disgusts me and…I need to know who."

Lowering his apple, he paused for a moment. Immediately believing Annalique was sincere, he had to wonder if his time with Drea, the Warden Commander, had softened him considerably. Gently he replied, "They will never part with that information…"

With her guard down, he could see more emotion crossing her face…anger, regret, despair…all tightly wrapped throughout a great sadness. Looking away from him, she turned her face towards the darkness of the wilderness that surrounded their camp. Sounding as though her words were coming from miles away she responded, "It was my training that let him down. I…I simply cannot let this go."

With a sigh, Zevran tossed his apple away and pulled a dagger from his boot. There was far more to the story he was sure. What ties must she have to the family to care so much? He was curious to know more, but she had said enough to convince him she was no threat. Not pressing for more information, he knelt behind her and started working the blade through the rope. As she leaned forward to give him more space, she added, "You did not need to come back…the Crows believe you are dead."

"And how would you know such things?" he asked as he carefully slid the blade back and forth.

"Overheard it," she said simply, not offering more explanation.

"Yes well, they believe I am dead now. But once the Ferelden tales make their way far enough north, they will not be able to ignore the truth. I figure, why wait? They will not be expecting an attack from a dead man." As he finished, his blade finally cut the last of the rope and it harmlessly fell from her wrists.

In a blink of an eye, the dagger disappeared from Zevran's hand as Annalique snatched it and spun around to face him. Holding the knife towards him, she crouched defensively, ready to react to his next move. Even being threatened, Zevran couldn't help but notice the cross had spilled out from her shirt and was glinting warmly from the light of the fire. Regaining her former pompous tone, she hissed, "I expect then that you will speak nothing of me? After all…dead men spill no secrets…"

Her double meaning was not lost on him. Spreading his hands apart, he tried to show her he was not a threat. "Annalique, there is no need to…"

Seeing the sudden turn of events, the men by the fire sprung into action. In a smooth motion, an archer stood with his bow at the ready and reached for an arrow. Annalique shot the dagger through the air, nailing him in the face and dropping him instantly. As the others reached for their weapons she quickly sprinted from the camp, disappearing into the blackness beyond their firelight. Zevran made no move to stop her.

Disgusted, he stomped up to the guards, "What were you thinking?!"

"That bitch is dead," the fallen man growled as he clamped his hand over his nose and sat up.

Reaching down, Zevran picked up his dagger and glanced at the man. Noticing there was no blood he scoffed, "She threw it butt-end first. The woman means us no harm. And we mean her the same." As if to make his point, Zevran gave a significant look to Cale.

With a disbelieving shake of his head, Cale agreed, "Fine. We'll leave her alone."