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Chapter Eighteen: Uneasy Truce

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Ives was looking at that man again. Artana's back stiffened, her grasp subtly tightening in the coarse hair of her horse's mane. She had decided previously that, so long as Ives always looked back at her in the end, she could endure the annoyance, but the more she realized the looks weren't so much out of curiosity and scrutiny, the more she was starting to think better of that decision.

Her need to keep a watchful eye on that man was eroding away, as well - Hunter Fell was a over a week in the past now and no one had heard a howl or suffered itchy patches of fur. While that didn't discount the likelihood he had become a werewolf, she believed in the power of the Forest - if he was not spreading his corruption and not harming anyone, then she need not scrutinize. The most damning and suspicious thing in that regard was Martin's nightly disappearances, currently more an irritation than anything. What could one do with a charge who would not respect his own position and allow himself to be watched?

Forcing herself to calm, Artana took a breath and repeated part of the Vir Tanadahl, the Way of the Hunter, to herself: Fly straight and do not waver. At least she still had the benefit of his ignorance; he seemed oblivious to her knowledge, or at least made no effort to act around it.

"What a welcome change of scenery!" Ives exclaimed as they entered the outskirts of Marnus Pell. Artana wasn't so certain she agreed: they had left the comfort of the wilderness and entered a city whose buildings were mostly wooden, underscoring how little money came through. The town hall was impressive, at least, made of stone in a style she had learned well after traversing so many Imperium ruins. "I thought if I saw another foot of road, I might collapse entirely and weep. Ahh, and look at the sea!" Ives continued. His passion did require some credit.

"The Nocen Sea," Jean nodded. His knowledge of geography was ever-impressive. The discipline it must have taken to memorize so much terrain by paper alone constantly piqued her interest. "I know why we have come here... we are taking a ferry into Minrathous, oui?"

Artana nodded in response when he directed his gaze towards her, slipping off of her horse in a fluid, easy motion. "We save two days this way, and the horses can be stabled here to rest. We will be gone only around a week." Her eyes shifted this way and that, taking in their surroundings. There were only a few people in the streets at all, and the one she did manage to land her eyes on quickly ducked inside the nearest building. "The population in this city does not match the number of buildings."

Ives shared her concern as the man retreated. "If anything, I would have thought they'd be making remarks I would be most unhappy to hear, amour. While I am glad that I won't need to punch anybody with my delicate knuckles, we should perhaps seek enlightenment. The stable keeper? A weighty bag of gold should end this confusion."

Martin turned to look at Artana. "Can you not smell the fear? This city is awash with it." His horse snorted, which for some reason made Martin grin momentarily before scanning the city around them again. "It is odd, though. I have not sm- seen any agents of Tevinter since two nights ago." Abruptly he slid off Crow, patting his mount's flank three times. As her eyes narrowed in scrutiny, Crow neighed, then cantered off, heading to a nearby alley. "I shall investigate."

Then that man moved to an entirely different dark alleyway than his horse, and disappeared.

Even as Artana shook her head, Livilla rolled her eye. "I don't suppose that will ever change. Still, he's right. They're not afraid of us, they're afraid in general. I wonder if the ferries are even running if the city is this paralyzed."

"Oui, so, let us be on our way," Ives said, flourishing one hand while the other led his horse. Artana shook her head, but followed along at his side nonetheless. "There is no better way to get information - or the information of how to get the information - than to simply ask. Think, five horses for a week? Anyone who would pay your expenses for the month in one sweep is a fine guest to have indeed."

Ives might have been convinced, but Artana wasn't surprised at all when the stable hand stopped them. To his credit, she had expected him to say something far more colorful than, "No room," when he saw her at the head of the pack

Her eyes shifted to Ives. He had turned abruptly, walking heel behind heel alongside Carrot so that he could face those walking behind him. In particular he sought her and Livilla's attention as he silently mouthed, "Forgive me," a look of desperate apology in his eyes. After that he cleared his throat and righted himself, a soft chuckle in his voice. "I only want to stable the horses, not the servant, friend. I am sure you can see that I travel as guard to a rather important Warden, too, non? We have come a long way. Surely you have enough room. We're quite prepared to pay in advance."

Now that she understood the need to beg forgiveness, Artana did her best to hold her tongue. She had to admit that Ives' nature did yield impressive results. The methods could use consideration, she figured, but it would be very surprising to her if they walked out without their horses well-taken care of and the information they desired. Not that her glare helped, but to her eyes the stable hand did not seem convinced of her station.

"I ... guess it depends how long you need 'em kept," he said.

"A week," Ives replied, gesturing with his hands. Artana wondered if that was supposed to make him seem friendlier, or to just lessen the burden of the week by making a downward motion. A merchant's life had never been for her, much less that of a bard. Either seemed like a colossal waste of energy to get to a point that should have been easy to reach, yet ceremonially became mired in conversation and haggling. Apparently, he was even still talking. "... and if we go over, of course, we'll pay you when we return. It certainly shouldn't be two. I admit, the reception about town is so ... cold, I am left wondering what is wrong, exactly. Perhaps we should ride on..."

"The horses'll be safe." The hand held out his hand for the coins, a tactic that struck Artana as greedy. Not that I should be surprised. "And I'll tell you what's wrong. It's damned vigilantes, that's what it is. Fade-blighted fools don't have any idea how life works around here. You ain't spending the two weeks here, are you?"

"Ah, no, friend," Ives quickly returned, again gesturing with his hands - this time he waved them to indicate 'no.' "We have business north, at the Keep. So ... these vigilantes, you say... have they at least left you alone, hmm?"

"Hah, I wish. They've holed themselves up in the damn inn, waitin' for the ferry to arrive. They strong-armed themselves - threatened the poor innkeeper. Good riddance to bad rubbish when they're gone. Try this nonsense in Minrathous, the guards'll have their heads."

Well, Artana had to admit: Ives had stabled their horses, avoided being pressed for a higher rate, found out who was causing the fear, and where they were hiding. Clearly they were an enemy of the Imperium, too, which almost certainly made them a friend in arms.

"Sweet justice, non?" Ives chuckled, placing the last of the coins in the man's hands. "That should cover it. We'll get our things and be on our way. Servant, that bag." Another gesture, this one dismissive and directed towards Carrot's saddlebags. Artana glanced to Livilla, curious how she would handle the ruse.

Admirably enough, Livilla - and everyone else, for that matter - kept tight lips until their belongings were free of the horses, save for the saddles, and on their backs instead. Once down and away down the road, Artana's eyes darted to Ives again when he repeated the earlier feat of walking backwards. He had a pitiful, pleading pout on his face and directed to the entirety of the group, though most particularly the two women. "A thousand, thousand apologies, my brothers and sisters. I would never, I am sure you realize, but when in the Imperium, I thought it best to do as the Tevene do."

Artana smirked, her opinion on the absurdity of such games undoubtedly already known. "Mn." In some ways, she wondered if Ives knew more about slavery than she ever would - his lower region did seem to hold him by a chain some days.

Livilla stole her attention with a derisive snort. "Do not apologize for the sins of others, lout. It's unbecoming." Considering the delay near Trevis, Artana had to commend Livilla for at least seeming calm - the most nervous of her actions was to tug her cloak close around her. "I presume we're going to find these 'vigilantes?' It would be entertaining, if nothing else, to at least discover why they are so loathed and feared. And a laugh would do us all some good, I suspect."

"Indeed," Isabeau answered. With her arm healed, Artana noticed that her morale was restored. "Although I was probably predisposed to dislike the Tevene, I can't say my first impression of them has made me want to reconsider that opinion."

When Isabeau gasped, Artana followed her eyes in a swift dart, just catching the retreat of a tanned elf with shock-white hair and lightly glowing marks all down his arms and face. They may have gone farther, but he was wearing a black and silver armor of custom design, a sword on his back that looked entirely too large for him. It was a fleeting glance, but she could not have missed his piercing green eyes or the fact that, despite his plated armor, he wore no shoes.

Ives hadn't been so lucky to catch even that glance. "Something wrong, chèrie?" He asked Isabeau.

"I think that I found our targets, unless there's some other fascinating looking elf in this city that can dismiss a group such as ours with a single glance. He went into that inn over there," Isabeau pointed, her head slightly cocked.

Livilla chuckled. "The one Martin is sitting on top of?"

The group collectively looked to the roofline, only a suggestion of movement appearing to even Artana's discerning eye. The elf's ear twitched slightly as Isabeau sighed and called her by name, but it didn't draw her eyes away. "Well, Commander? It would make the most sense if Martin is there."

Artana nodded, taking the lead. As she moved she pulled her quiver a little higher on her shoulder, intending to look more intimidating. Never before coming to a land of Slavers, where almost all elves made themselves as small as they possibly could, had she ever let the notion that she wasn't intimidating cross her mind.

The inn was warm and brightly lit by a fire, candles, and two large windows opened out to the sea. Windows were expensive, so they stood out in contrast to what Artana had seen of the rest of the town. The inn was immaculate, the cleanliness no doubt thanks to an unpaid elf, and it was also entirely empty save for one little band. They were immensely unique individuals: the elf from earlier; a woman with short cropped hair that was nevertheless chaotic and a streak of war paint across her nose; and a dwarf with a suave face and sleek, blonde hair. The woman wore dark, complicated armor and carried what seemed to be the offspring of a mage's staff and a pole-arm. The dwarf carried a crossbow and wore a thick leather jacket that was left open to a sea of chest hair. In just a few seconds, Artana had seen enough to equate the dwarf to Ives, and note that the elf and the mage were a couple. The elf's hands, laid possessively as they were on the human's shoulder as he looked at Artana's group, indicated his feelings clearly enough, but the sound slap on the elf's ass as the human grinned up at him rather clinched the impression.

Her eyes darted again, this time to the innkeeper. "No vacancy!" he squawked.

Ives laughed. "We hear more and more of that these days. We just want to meet the rumored vigilantes." He gestured broadly when he gained their attention with that line, certain their collective looked just as bizarre as the one they were facing. "Hello, friends! I hear we're of a like mind and heading to a like place. Shall we be introduced, to break the ice? I am the fantastic Ives Durante, and this is my surly brother, Jean." His brother, of course, softly hmphed, and Artana smirked. Jean was not what she would describe as surly. Quiet, maybe, when not laughing, but not surly. "Here we have the stunning Warden-Commander Mahariel-"

"Artana." She corrected, glancing at Ives to scold him lightly. He knew she preferred to downplay the formalities.

Nodding and doing his best to gracefully continue, Ives added, "-and the lovely Isabeau and..."

"Livilla." A deep, unfamiliar voice said the name, causing everyone to pause and look at the tall elf with the white hair.

Artana heard the elf's mate wonder quietly, "Friend of yours from back when, love?"

There was a rustle of fabric as Livilla threw back the hood of her cloak. "Fenris. You always could sense me." Artana glanced at Livilla, finding her expression serious as she scrutinized Fenris. "I see that he added more… decorations after I took my leave from Danarius. Damn that guard! If he hadn't seen you when you were helping me..." Livilla took a few steps forward. "Yet here you are, despite the fact that I was sure you were going to be quite well punished for the attempted escape."

"I do not remember helping you," Fenris said, his tone fairly dry of emotion, much like his face. "I imagine I may have, but I am only very slowly regaining my memories from that time. Danarius often took whatever hope he could from me... but I have since made my peace with that."

"Fenris ripped out the bastard's heart," the woman beamed proudly on his behalf, raising a hand to pat the elf's clawed gauntlet. "Well, it sounds like you all really are friends of ours if you're travelling with someone who used to be under that son of a bitch. Heading to Minrathous, then?"

"Well, of course we are." Artana's eyes jumped yet again, this time to the kitchen door. That man sauntered into the room, vigorously running a cloth over a dagger. "Isn't that where everyone seems to be heading? Ah, so so, pardon me - I had to look for a cleaning cloth. I hate sheathing my blades until I've gotten all the blood off."

"Look, Fenris," Hawke said in a loud mock-whisper, a clank of a plate shoulder against her plate breastplate. "Everybody's got a murder knife!"

Martin laughed merrily and collapsed into a nearby chair, then looked at the innkeeper. "I suppose some wine is out of the question? Your selection of alcohol was distressingly poor when I looked into it, you know."

"And... this is Martin." Ives was finally able to finish his introductions, but not without rolling his eyes.

The yet unnamed woman chuckled. "Right, the ... weird, creepy, dark one. Gotcha."

"I object to that very much. As you will notice, only my hair is dark. I even wore lighter-colored clothes today." Artana noticed that Martin never missed an opportunity to add a flourish. He flipped his dagger before sheathing it, then continued, "If you're going to apply cliches to my person, perhaps we could at least be accurate, non? 'Weird, creepy, and sadistic,' that is more the norm."

"Hey, look, Hawke! It took us forever, but we finally found one that makes the jokes for you." The dwarf gestured widely, the only one whose name was now uncertain in Artana's mind.

"Stuff it, Varric." Problem solved, Artana thought, the woman named Hawke reaching out to hit Varric's arm. She seemed to have violent tendencies. "Well, all our names are out in the air. I've already forgotten most of yours, but if you two," she gestured between Jean and Ives, "want to ... properly acquaint me... at the same time, maybe? Ow! Stop squeezing my shoulder like that, Fenris. I'd want you in the mix, too."

Artana cleared her throat slightly, but it was Ives who leaped in to interject before she could, or for that matter, before Jean could make any kind of commotion. "Ah, lala, but we are spoken for, mademoiselle."

"They are," Artana agreed with smooth finality, enough to lay claim without being too sour about it.

"Oh, well... that's a damn shame," Hawke pouted grandly, but reached above her head to drag a finger along Fenris' jawline. "So," she continued in disconnect to the motion, "Ser Stabs A Lot-"

"Moi?" Martin wondered with such feigned innocence that Artana nearly grunted. She was certain her expression had darkened at the least. "Ah, so so, I believe I would prefer, 'Ser Killer', or perhaps 'Ser Death'. Besides, when I see a man beating an elf for no good reason, I decide that a little corrective action is a most excellent lesson to give. Do you not agree?"

"Ah, well, Ser Gripes A Lot, that answers my next question. So long as they deserved it," Hawke made another gesture with her gauntleted hand and rolled her shoulders.

To his credit, Artana had to admit that Martin was quick to wit. "Hmph. At least call me Ser Grips A Lot. That is my third favorite activity, you know."

"'And so begins the penis jokes,' the disgruntled dwarf mutters aside woefully to his empty tankard," Varic rolled his eyes. Artana felt her brows knit slightly, finding the way he spoke strange and narrative; it was as if he read from a book - and she read very few books, since reading was still something she was working to perfect.

"Well, a lively band I see here. Incidentally," Martin said, and Artana could feel him turn to look at Ives, so she turned as well. "I have decided you should have this back." A pouch of coins was tossed in Ives' direction, but Artana snatched it from the air. It was reflex, honestly, but she couldn't complain that it might have insinuated her stepping between Ives and that man. "I did not like the attitude towards the dear dark beauty or your elven princess at all. Hopefully, they won't open the pouch I left in its place for a while, as it would be a pity if they were to be too indisposed to feed the horses." He paused for just a moment to purse his lips thoughtfully. "Although, I'm sure Crow will follow my instructions most assiduously, in that case."

"Ah ... I, would rather hope they get fed as well," Ives hesitantly said. Artana surmised he was as confused by the gibberish that man had just spoken as she was. To her surprise, Ives' arm snaked around her waist not a breath's length after that thought, diverting her eyes, and this time her thoughts along with it. A clever motion, she supposed, for what it was worth. "Something I am most certain you and I shall be discussing before we depart. But! I find the more pressing question at this precise moment to be for Ser Hawke. The uppity stable master called you... vigilantes?" He awaited a response with one brow quirked high.

"We have ... relieved a number of Tevene slavers of their cargo. ... And their lives." Fenris answered for him, a note of dark humor in his voice that surprised Artana after his earlier dry tone. Knowing Livilla and their shared master, she wondered if maybe she shouldn't have been.

"Hawke..." Jean murmured, raising a hand to rub his chin. Artana felt the name was familiar, too, so she hoped for his success in jogging the memory. "Hawke..."

"Say it three times, and I'll appear in your bedroom naked at midnight."

"Hawke, Hawke, Hawke," Martin crooned. "Oh, I am sorry, I thought you were talking to me." Artana rolled her eyes, even less certain how that man even had Ives' remote attention.

The rather red Chevalier cleared his throat. "I just … it was familiar, is all. A friend of mine, a Templar-"

"Whoa, easy. Very few Templars are any friend of mine since the Circles started rebelling." Hawke held up a hand, the joking suddenly over. While there wasn't a threat yet in the air, Artana regarded the tension very seriously, her bow never beyond a few seconds' readiness. There was a seriousness in Hawke's eyes so contrary to the joking that Artana was certain she would be a formidable opponent... if it came to that. "You aren't heading to Minrathous on a manhunt, are you? Because we're going to get Anders, and that's that. Any competition is just going to have to be treated like it, particularly ones that are hoping to stamp a sun on his forehead for good measure before they let the rest roll off his shoulders."

Before Jean could stammer an apology, Martin leaned forward. That did not help Artana's tension - she shifted her eyes between both sources of her unease. "Anders, you say?" There was an odd light in his eyes, and a smirk that spoke of secrets on his face. "That name seems to be on so many delectable lips these days. The Bastard had no bounty on his head per se, but he became most fascinated by the man due to his connection to the so-called Hero of Ferelden." The way Martin folded his arms behind his head as he leaned back again into his chair dripped of arrogance to her, whether or not it was the intent. Then again, she just disliked him. "Still, if Anders had wanted to avoid notice, perhaps he should have also avoided demolishing the local architecture of Kirkwall, despite the excessive ugliness of its residents. Once a friend, always a friend, even for a Champion, non?"

"Kirkwall." Jean snapped his fingers, the distraction of identifying Hawke welcome after his moment of extreme crimson. "The Templars were sent after the Chantry was blown up. You... You're Ser Marian Hawke. You're the Champion... you fought the Arishok in single combat-"

"And kicked his sodding ass." Hawke agreed. "I didn't realize all of that was public information, though." She wasn't looking at Jean as she replied - she was looking at Martin. "If it weren't for my sneaky little cousin's blond hunk of an elf, I never would have gotten the lead for where Anders ran off to."

That man grinned, returning Hawke's look boldly. If it weren't so infuriatingly cocky, she might have merely regarded it as a successful social tactic. "Ah, the enchanting Zevran. Yes, yes, I remember him well. Pity, really, he also did not want to 'share'."

"You'll notice Fenris isn't commenting. You should ask him about Isabela and wine," Varric said with a snicker.

"Oh, believe me, I fully intend to. My interest had not yet been piqued towards men." Artana's head turned more quickly than he could unsheath his odd dagger to brandish it once more. No amount of practiced stoicism could keep the glare from her face at that not so subtle remark. Even Ives had squeezed her waist more tightly by the time Martin said, "Although I am glad I was able to help the little former black bird. A pity I could not enjoy the sights of Kirkwall with you, limited as they are. The Blooming Rose seemed to be quite the lively place to get acquainted, non?" Carefully inserting the tip of his dagger under his nails to pick them clean, he added casually, "Ah, so so, you seek this Anders, then. And you suspect we do as well? Would you be astonished to learn we are not searching for him, unlike almost every other organization of note in Thedas?"

"What I think my … adjusting friend is asking, is if there is something we might be able to assist with..?" Ives smoothed out the ample bumps in what Martin had placed on the table, hoping it would cover a little more warmly and leave out some of that excessive cold.

"No," Hawke said immediately, leaning back a bit.

"Because we are not looking for Anders," Ives re-emphasized. "We are looking for three terribly tainted amulets, or a tome outlining the location of said elusive objects. Should we see Anders, you would be the first to know."

"Yeah, right. We all know you're Wardens, and you all know he was a Warden... Disciplinary actions, anyone? Thanks, but I think we're going to stick solo on ours. But if we tear up the Circle Library before you get there, I'll let you know if anything screams Darkspawn." Artana wasn't certain what to think of the way Hawke's demeanor could change so quickly. Not three minutes ago, she had been laughing.

"You know, it just might be possible that he is not without allies besides yourself," that man said quietly. His face was entirely too serious compared to his usual demeanor, and his knife had mysteriously disappeared.

"If there are allies, it is true they are not Wardens, but we are disinvolved with this war." Artana finally couldn't stand (what she considered to be) any more bickering, particularly considering how much of the talking came from him.

"That's right, huh. Ever since Kirkwall, it's gotten worse and worse... Templars and Mages, the whole damn world's up in arms and taking sides. So you're a Warden-Commander, and you're telling me you're not on the side of appreciating mages and their freedom?" Varric asked, shifting to lounge back in his chair.

"Willing warriors are taken from any background. I would agree that mages are useful. In some measure, I may be one myself in shemlen standards, but it is to them - the shemlen of religion - that this battle belongs. Wardens are obligated to stay politically neutral." Ives tugged at her waist, earning her attention, and she looked at him to see what he wanted. He had pulled a chair over, and motioned with his eyes to invite her into it. After a moment she acquiesced, sharing the chair with him by sitting on his lap. He hooked his arms around her waist. "If there is a Darkspawn resurgence, they will not care if they attack mage or Templar."

Neither Varric nor Hawke had retorted yet, so she supposed they must have been satisfied with that answer. Hawke was being odd again, a small, thoughtful frown on her face. "So ... you don't know of a Carver Hawke, do you? The Wardens sent him east to deal with some kind of 'rising problem,' but no one could or would tell me what was going on out there."

"I am from Orlais. I know what is going on in the northeast but I am not at liberty to discuss it. I assume your relative will face no greater danger than he would on usual assignments, considering how many are assigned to the … problem." Artana turned her head, vaguely aware of her long ponytail hitting Ives' face in the process.

"I've really got to learn how to do that," Varric said, "It's gotta be a damn useful talent to say so much and yet say absolutely nothing at all."

Martin laughed. "And here you go, letting us know of your complete lack of self-awareness, my voluble friend. Why, I could-" He stopped, sniffing the air. The change of expression in his face was disturbingly sudden as he shot to his feet. "Pardon me, my friends, there is... something I need attend to."

When Artana felt Ives shift beneath her as if to follow, she frowned and stood herself, pressing Ives firmly into his chair with a warning glare. The bard's brows furrowed as he glanced at that man's retreating back, but after another look at Artana's expression he settled back into his chair without further objection.

In a small yard behind the inn she found him, scanning the skyline of the surrounding buildings with a wary tension in his shoulders. Quickly but silently she readied her bow, nocked an arrow and, when she saw a hint of movement in the shadow behind and to the right of Martin, fired.

Martin spun around as the body materialized fully and slumped to the ground behind him. Before she could speak, Martin tackled the man, pinning him with his knees, and sank his short blade into one of the man's eyes. Artana's eyes widened as a cold wind suddenly rushed down the alley into the man's body, which twisted in on itself as if it were a corpse. When Martin tipped it over, she saw a face that looked as if it had been dead for twenty years, the knife wound she'd seen Martin inflict barely visible amidst the wrinkles and shrunken tissue.

With a grunt, Martin stood, his dagger disappearing once more, though this time, Artana saw him at least put it into his sleeve. By the time he looked at her intensely she was staring back with narrowed eyes, the silence stretching for a few moments. Just before she snapped at him, he said quietly, "That was Tanacht, one of the Bastard's favorites for... particularly nasty jobs. I am impressed." There was no flourish, no exaggerated hand movements; in fact, even his Orlesian accent seemed to have disappeared. "And not even a hint of fear. You are a most formidable woman."

Rather than lower her bow or be shocked or stunned, the creaking sound of a tightening grip against polished wood resonated in the quiet alleyway. Artana didn't directly point her bow at him, but the implication was clear enough that he, too, could have an arrow in him before he could blink. "I will give you only one opportunity to explain this."

Ignoring the body, he stepped closer to her, stopping just shy of touching her bow. His demeanor remained sober, the volume of his voice so low she could barely hear it despite his proximity. "The man who once held my leash is proving to be a most jealous master. At first he wished me dead, but now it seems he wants me returned to lick at his feet again. I do not wish to return." He glanced up at a nearby roof, then back down at Artana. "He is most persistent. I sought to protect those less skilled than you from harm by fighting them on my own."

Artana's eyes darted to follow his, but didn't leave him for more than a fraction of a second, her trust for the man still abysmal. "And you were like this man?" She pointed with her bow without breaking eye contact, the tension still in her line. Artana had shot at such a tight range before, the potency of the taint that threatened her life offering a small consolation by granting her superhuman strength.

"I was far worse," Martin said quietly. For a moment he closed his eyes and bowed his head, though her shorter height let her see his brows knit and his mouth twist for a brief second before he looked up and smiled at her. "I suppose some would argue I still am, while others... others would argue otherwise." He lifted an eyebrow as he looked her up and down, a bit of the lilt returning to his voice. "You do not trust me, and yet you have no fear of me. That is... rare, in my experience."

Artana's eyes narrowed slightly. She wasn't sure what emotion ran through his mind when that look was on his face, but she knew precisely who he meant to give him that credit for improvement. Artana still couldn't understand why Ives was so drawn in, and her hand tightened around the bow's handle with another groaning squeak. Do not waver. Her jealousy, though well-founded, would not make it to her face or leave her lips. It would be weakness to submit, no matter how much she wished to strike him for that. Another reason may yet present itself, she hoped, at which point perhaps she could justify indulging.

"You smell that of me," she guessed, her voice still firm. For all she had seen tonight and in the past days of travel, to know how he sensed fear, to see him be so nimble when he by no means should be... she had verified her suspicions more than well enough. "I have no fear of werewolves." Artana's eyes bore directly into his, and it was true: she had no fear.

He moved forward a bare amount, his eyes not leaving hers. A hint of amber overlaid the forest green of his eyes as she watched, a match for her own gaze, as an almost predatory grin came to his lips. "Again, I am most impressed. Are you sure two are enough for such a magnificent specimen as yourself?"

In the space of two very loud heartbeats, Artana worked through what he had said and what he had meant, and once she decided she didn't like it - or at least, was unsure what to think about it - she reacted. And if it took only one heartbeat to realize that he had dared to proposition her in any measure, the physical response took less than one.

She twisted, using the nimbleness of a body built for it to knee him in the gut all in the same motion as hooking her bow around his neck. Exploiting his slight doubling to finish the job, her foot swept his legs from under him while she flanked him in one smooth motion. With the added pressure of her weight and a leg against the ground she rode him to the dirt, trapping his neck with the handle of her bow, her hands holding the curves to exert pressure. With her full weight she sat on him and dug her knee against his shoulder blades so that he had to choose between struggling against her and avoiding sharp pain.

An odd shudder ran through his body as he struggled slightly before relaxing underneath her. His breaths came in heaving gasps, enough to lift her slightly with each intake of air. "Ah, so so, you have me at your advantage." A hand suddenly slipped over her ankle, but did no more than wrap loosely around it. "I wonder what you will do with it?"

Artana shifted instinctively against the touch, her weight leaning to the one side so she could pin her elbow against the offending arm's shoulder. Since he hadn't grasped threateningly yet she did manage to stop herself before digging down too painfully, but the Commander had to admit there were parts of her that hadn't wanted to stop. "It is harder and harder to justify your presence on this journey, shemlen. This sacred ink on my face, this vallaslin, dedicates me to the Huntress, Andruil. You can assure yourself, then, that if this mission we are on is derailed by any of your antics, I will leave this world stalking her path. I will hunt you, shemlen, until the taint takes me." Her voice was low, her overall tone calm and even, but there was no mistaking the presence of more raw emotion than the woman usually exhibited. Apparently, he had gotten to her, but she herself wondered why or what about him had done so.

Martin stilled beneath her, even his breathing seeming to come to a halt. Finally he turned his head slowly, as much as he could manage, his eyes meeting hers with extreme difficulty. "I am dedicated, as well, to the purpose of a god, though he may be one you distrust. It is his purpose which drives me north, in search of that which is sacred to all gods so that they might be healed." He shifted slowly beneath her, never in any manner threatening, so he could see her more clearly. "Tell me what I need pledge to you, in honor and deed, and it shall be done. I am all too keenly aware that you have no cause to trust me, but I lack the knowledge of something so basic as knowing how to earn such a thing. I kill the Shadows and the Tevene which follow us out of a need to protect both the body and the mind, the one from harm and the other from terror. What shall I do to make these actions... acceptable to you? I do not wish to risk danger to my dear dark beauty, or to my angel. That is my fear."

Artana held firm in her position as he spoke, her ears burning with what she presumed was rage just from hearing his very voice. It was not something simple to explain, even to her own mind. The tension in the air grew as she remained silent, her creaking bow the only sound for several long moments while Artana decided how she should - no, must act. In the end, she released him. Her only selfish (and thereby weak) moment was to be rather rough with pulling her bow out from under his chin.

"I am a Commander, not a slave master. My men choose to follow me, or they choose not to do so." By now she had stood, and she even offered him the end of her bow to help himself up with. "If you leave the group, you chose to not. If you sabotage the group, you choose my vengeance. So too my mates may choose for themselves," she added. Her tone was just slightly off from neutral and she could tell it herself, her immediate thought following to wonder if he could smell her jealousy.

He took the bow she offered, though the way he moved as he stood suggested he hadn't particularly needed it. "Ah, so that is a part of this," he said softly. "I will not insult you with denial, as the mere topic itself could be seen as an insult. Let us say, the discussion ended with Ives and his love for you. In fact, it began with that love as well. I will not take your mate from you, and neither will he take himself from you." The look of regret on his face was clear, but he met her gaze the entire time he spoke. "Though you need no aid to enact your own satisfaction should I stray from this assurance, I would offer it to you without resistance if I took such a precious beauty from you. I simply wish you could trust such words, but that is entirely my failing and none of yours."

Artana glared. Her mind was silent... frustratingly so. She still did not know what to think or how to alleviate this ... impulse to simply hate him for what seemed to be no other reason but just to hate him. He promised to back away from Ives, but that didn't ignore the possibility that Ives would not back away from him. He insisted he was going to continue protecting the group, but he was more than half the reason they were under attack in the first place. Artana struggled with a silent mind, but never went too long without enforcing decisiveness. She stepped forward, a breath away from him. It was true that the highest top of her bundled hair didn't reach his shoulder, but she still managed to face him with the presence of someone his height.

"In the presence of proof, trust is unnecessary. The ferry is arriving. ... Clean up, and do not be tardy, Fen'era."

A smile tugged at his mouth. "Fen, I believe, is wolf, but I admit I do not know the meaning of era. Dare I hope it is not too insulting? Or have I lost any reason to beg for such mercy from you?"

Artana snorted, but even she was unsure whether it was due to annoyance or amusement. "In this language, era means many things. It is 'story,' it is 'dream'... it can also be used to say 'nightmare.' If this task you describe was offered by Fen'Harel, it may be either. But I have already said my piece on proof and trust. I do not need to say the same of that god when it is clearly the same. Ives asks me more of him every time we rest together... if he has converted Ives and drawn him away from the shemlen god, the Wolf has earned my wary tolerance."

The man looked down at her for a long moment, his smirk blending into a soft smile. "I am glad the Wolf has not caused trouble between you and your mate. You are beautiful together, and your love for each other smells truly divine." He glanced towards the rooftop, and his posture changed, from relaxed to tense. "There will be a few minutes yet before the ferry leaves, non? I know it is not to your taste to see me hunt alone, but it might be better to deal with the problem outside the confines of a boat." His green eyes turned to look at her, and again that hint of amber rose in their depths. "I will leave the decision to you, as you prefer."

Artana looked to the roof lines, but she didn't see more than an occasional hint of movement. Why they wouldn't attack while Martin was pinned or discussing something, she wouldn't know - it wasn't an advantage she would have ignored.

"If you can make the boat before it leaves, then do what you need. I will return to the others, if you have learned to watch behind you."

"Ah, a fair hit, in very deed. Believe me when I say I would rather follow you to the ferry, but their uncertainty is fading." Suddenly he bowed and took her hand, lightly brushing his lips over her knuckles, and just as suddenly stepped back and away, leaping onto a nearby barrel to vault to the closest roof. Somehow he almost seemed to be a shadow himself once above, though Artana was certain it had to be but a trick of the eye. Eyes that were once again in a glare, the back of her hand rubbed feverishly against her armor, as if his kiss had left behind something vile.

That man was tedious. Artana turned and left the alley, the arrow she had dropped to restrain Martin once again nocked in the interest of safety. Now, she just had to survive the boat ride. She had never been on a boat before.

.~^~.

The two unique groups parted ways at the docks of Minrathous a day and a half later. Almost everyone had gotten well-acquainted with the card game Wicked Grace by the end of that trip, and learned that Fenris was actually both an avid gambler and drinker. Artana noticed that Isabeau refrained from playing at all, preferring to stay above deck when the games were going on, and that Fenris and Livilla had a few intense, long conversations, then never spoke again. That man and Marian had some more-than-friendly drinks together, but the glare from the white-haired elf interrupted them before Hawke's cabin below was sought out for even more intimate activity. All of that thankfully got left behind on the ship where it best belonged, out of sight and mind until someone needed blackmail ammunition.

The city itself was one of marble and stone, with exotic designs cut into every building. Ornate buttresses and colourful windows, usually reserved for the most prominent of Chantries in the rest of Thedas, could be spotted on almost every pointed-arch door or splayed rose window. There were domes and gabled roofs, paved streets, and, occasionally, elevated walkways from tower to tower. Every large building seemed to have a second, smaller building out back... and it took no genius to realize that was where the 'servants' lived. The Warden's Keep wasn't actually attached to the city proper, but was instead just outside the city walls on the inland side.

At the center of the town loomed three massive buildings, each boasting thinness of walls and as many windows as they possibly fit could between their spiraled porphyry and verd columns. The oldest and most thick-walled of them all was rather unapologetic for its relatively primitive structure. That last building was the library itself and it had been built in almost the time of Ostagar, when the Imperium reached every corner of Thedas. The Archon's palace, the northernmost of the trio, had been rebuilt after a rebellion, and the Magister's Senate was often remodeled simply to boast the wealth and power that daily occupied it.

"We should find a place to stay near the library." Artana had to tilt her head completely back to look up at some of the buildings, an uncomfortable affair in her full parade armor. She had to suppose that if she weren't in her full parade armor, she would have different discomforts to deal with. It might have been fun to challenge the public perception if she'd had time, though, and wasn't concerned about the possibility of being overwhelmed. The docks and its district had been a little rough, so it might have been easy to start a tussle, but directly above began the lines of guards. The nicer end of the crafts district served as the 'filter' between the bad districts towards the inland and the fine, wealthy estates towards the center of the city and overlooking the cliffs on the north end. Unfortunately for their purses, the library was nearer the latter. "It will be expensive, but the least amount of time will be spent each day in commute. I will need to wear my armor at all times here."

Livilla looked around apprehensively. Artana could feel her tension through a common thread. With slavery so rampant here, any elf had reason to be nervous, even if their once-masters were dead. "That is likely a good idea. It would be best if I avoided going out as much as possible, unless you find some scrolls in Arlathan era Elvhen that need deciphering."

Looking at the library, Isabeau's voice was full of enough wonder for Artana to look her direction as she said, "And it's all books?" Smiling widely, she clapped her hands. "That's wonderful!" As the Commander let one brow slightly quirk, Isabeau quickly cleared her throat and said, "So how do we find a place to stay? I'm sure they must have some quarters for visiting scholars to use while studying the contents of the library."

"Then we will begin our search at the library itself. There is still daylight, and it would be best not to waste it." Artana began up the hill that stood between them and the great Tevinter library, no doubt the most extensive in all of Thedas.

A hand lightly brushed down Artana's arm. "A quick word, if you please, Commander."

She suppressed a most uncharacteristic sigh as she heard that man's voice, though she could fault only the familiar touch and not the polite tone of voice. Nodding to Jean, she said curtly, "Continue to the library. We will be along shortly."

Jean looked at Martin, then back to Artana, but finally nodded. "As you wish, amour." Taking the place at the lead, he kept the group moving, though Artana noticed that both Isabeau and Ives glanced back more than once before they moved out of sight.

Turning to Martin, she regarded him coolly. "What is it?"

"I have a bit of a confession to make." Gesturing at the city around them, he said, "All these buildings... I find myself feeling quite enclosed, if you take my meaning. The thought of entering a building such as that, feeling all the stone and marble and brick around me..." He shuddered. "I... I cannot do it. However, recalling our discussion from before, I wanted to let you know why I need to leave rather than simply disappearing. I... owe you that much at the least, non?"

She had to admit to a grudging sort of respect, both in admitting this odd weakness and in taking the time to tell her when previously she knew he would have simply disappeared. "Thank you for telling me. I intend to see if there are sufficient beds in the hostel attached to the library itself. Would you like us to reserve a bed for you in whatever lodgings we acquire?"

Martin placed his hand over his heart and bowed to her. "If you would be so kind, I would appreciate it. Perhaps sleep will grant me peace despite the walls around me."

"Very well." She turned to head after the group, then paused and looked at him, eyes narrowing slightly. "We wish to remain as inconspicuous as possible. Do not draw attention to yourself."

His head tilted slightly as he arched an eyebrow. "When I so desire, I can be as inconsequential as a shadow. And since it is your desire, I shall strive to be ignored by all I encounter. Until later, then, ma Commandant."

After a final bow, Martin moved away. Artana watched him with a frown until he disappeared, heading down an alleyway that she had hardly noticed until he used it. 'Ma Commandant?' What made that man so delusional to think any ownership or intimation whatsoever existed between them? Deciding to leave it before any anger could reach the surface, Artana shook her head and headed toward the library.