Chapter Text
Danyelle sat twirling her knife on its point in to the wooden surface of her table at the Lone Bard tavern. Her face was sharpened in a scowl that affected the other patrons at the bar in to giving her a wide berth as they shuffled back to their own tables with their drinks. Her focus was entirely on the glint of the steel as she tried to blot out the voices pushing through her memory.
“I appreciate your help with this errand, little raven.”
She stopped the blade, one finger on the top of the hilt, and let the male voice penetrate her thoughts. It was nearly six months ago now, but Donato’s arrogance reached Danyelle’s ears like he was sitting across from her now, gloating over her dilemma. She sighed, and closed her eyes, letting the scene come back in full color.
“I appreciate your help with this errand, little raven.” Donato curved around his desk, reading a report, and made his way in front of the bay window that spilled golden light in to the room. Even with his muscular frame blocking half of the scene, Dany could still see the bulk of the bustling Antivan marketplace below. The blinding light and sound bleeding in from below formed a sharp contrast with the tension and tick of the clock in the Master’s office. Dany wished she could disappear in to the crowd outside.
At this early hour, plump housewives were bickering with stall keepers over the price of trout, which in truth had risen steadily over the past few weeks as a result of new Ferelden trade restrictions. Always another war, always new austerities that had to be enforced, restrictions to keep the homeland above ground. Danyelle could not think of a point in her life time where the country had not been threatened by one outside force or another, although she supposed the same could be true regardless of the country in question.
Brushing past the skirts of these beleaguered wives and mothers, perhaps swiping a coinpurse on the way, were the orphans. These children streamed by in hordes, laughing, and pushing each other in to apple carts, much to the dismay of the denizens of the marketplace who actually had coin to spend. It had recently become popular in the City to publicly muse on the idea of raising taxes to eliminate the gangs of whoresons that rampaged through an otherwise civilized society. Plans ranged from public execution, to accessible education, to mandatory conscription in to the army. It did not truly matter – like most political musings in Antiva, they would never be seriously considered, or even brought before any official. It was the act of appearing concerned: that proved that you wanted the best for the capital.
Besides, everyone knew why prostitution and orphanages were the highest growing businesses in the city. Both bubbled over in contempt and desperation, and those were the lifeblood of the Crow’s recruitment tactics. Prostitutes could be paid handsomely for information, and the Crows were always accepting fealty from children looking to dedicate their life to the craft (or in more likelihood, the life of three meals a day and a dry place to sleep). The seedier elements of the city thrived because the Crows wanted it that way, and assassins get what they want, particularly when one of their Talons is King of the Realm.
Despite it’s beauty, Dany’s cynical analysis of the inner workings of the city took the shine off, and she always felt herself ready to leave as soon as she stepped off of the ship. She knew better than to trust the Crows, and she knew that they owned her the second she inked the first contract. However, she reminded herself grimly as she tightened her grip on the pouch that held her allowance, it was the only training she had, and it was why she had been on retainer with the organization for four years. More importantly, it was why she was accepting the contract now.
“Well,” Dany replied, forcing a wry smile on to her face and breaking her gaze from the street below to the face of her Master, “I do love to help out a friend in need.”
Donato laughed. “Let us hope that you treat your friends in the Crows better than your ones outside the family,” he said, nodding towards the report, and dropping it on the table. It was purposefully close enough for Dany to read. She did not.
Her eyes narrowed. “Zevran Arainai is not my friend.” She hoped the seriousness of her words reached the man in front of her. She could not afford for her loyalty to be questioned. Indeed, she had feared this test since the day she set out to join the Crows.
Donato raised his eyebrow, more in confusion than in disbelief, “Indeed? He was quite a dear friend of your mother’s, or so I understand.”
Danyelle did not appreciate the reference. Of course the Crows knew that Danyelle’s mother, Ilayna Therin, was the Hero of Ferelden, famed for ending the Fifth Blight and saving an entire generation from the ravages of war with the darkspawn. The Crows knew what Dany ate for breakfast, what her childhood dog had been named – her connection to one of the most powerful women in Thedas could hardly be concealed. However, it was only brought up in times such as these, as a warning for Dany to tread carefully. Dany was not a true Crow, as she had not been trained since childhood. She was only an associate of theirs, a woman they called on when their own agents abroad were spread too thin. As a result, her contracts were normally of less importance; seemingly inconsequential information passed to another agent, a hit on a man no one would miss, or threats that should not be traced back to the Crows. Dany was a valuable ally, and her talents were comparable to any top assassin, but she was allowed to move more freely and follow her own interests.
“Yes, my lord,” she began. Donato was not a bright man, and could easily be swayed with titles he had not earned and sweet talk he deserved less. “But that was many years ago. No one in my family has had contact with the target in decades.”
That was a lie. Dany did not risk outright lies with the Crows often, but in this case, she knew they did not have the information they needed. Zevran had been a Crow and, at the beginning of her mother’s quest, had been hired by a traitorous king to slit her throat. Inevitably, he had failed, and in lieu of being turned over to his fellow comrades, he had joined on to the Warden’s cause, and in time became one of her closest friends. However, he had maintained his Crow training, and had expertly covered his tracks over the following thirty-five years, silencing the rare agent that stumbled across his path.
The organization had long since given up on actually finding him in earnest. Those that felt personally wronged by him were mostly all dead, and the rest had found new enemies to focus their attention on. And so Zevran had passed in to legend among the younger recruits: the elven son of an Antivan whore who at the age of 18 escaped the grasp of the Crows to make his own fortune (if you can call it that). The more rebellious children told these tales in secret, mostly inventing new tales of Zevran’s salacious exploits. Some of these, mainly told by the sillier female recruits, centered around the romantic notion that Zevran and the now ex-Warden Commander had had an explicit affair. This idea struck Dany as stupid, because unlike the twelve-year-old gossips that followed her through the complex, Dany knew her mother, and she knew that Orelsian nobles would call for a Qunari queen before Ilayna Therin would have deigned to let a silly, oversexed, rogue in to her tent. The giggles and shocked whispers that emanated from the dormitories were therefore more annoying than scandalous in her opinion.
“Ah,” Donato said, “What a shame.” He looked out the window where a grocer was screaming at a small boy and wrenching a loaf of bread out his hands. “Then you have no idea where he is?”
“No.” Danyelle said, crossing her arms “Is that why you called me here?”
Donato sighed, “We had hoped….ah, but no matter.” He looked away from the scene outside and took the file off the table, and walked it over to a cabinet. He slid it inside, but paused before closing the drawer. He turned to Dany and smiled.
“Keep the money, little one. You never know. Those who are so deeply entrenched in our lives…it can be hard for them to stay away. You may see this man one day. And you may then kill him for me.”
Dany pocketed the money, suspicious of the man’s motives. Donato had had his position for less than a year, and it was not unusual for a new Master to pull out an old and difficult contract to flex his authority. But this seemed like an awfully big stretch…perhaps that was why Dany had been asked and not a Crow cell. Perhaps Donato only planned to announce the order in case of success. Perhaps Donato was overconfident in his abilities as a commander. More likely, she was being set up. Unfortunately it was too late to say no.
“As you say, sir. Now if you excuse me,” Dany gave a quick bow, and turned to exit.
“Of course, my raven. Oh one last thing.” Donato called after her, causing her to pause in the doorway, not daring to turn around and meet his gaze. “I may not be able to track this man today, nor do I know what he is planning, but I do know you. I know your capabilities. And I know how you received them.” Dany’s breath caught in her throat. She tried to maintain her cool as Donato slowly approached her from behind.
“You say you have not met this man. You say your family has not heard from him since the end of the Blight. You say you have no allegiances to him.” He placed his hand on her right shoulder, and pulled him self to her ear and whispered, “I suggest you do not continue to lie to me.” He released his hand, and pushed her slightly through the door. He returned to his desk, through with her in every sense.
“If you should see the traitor, you will kill him. I should hate to have to find another agent as skilled as you.”
Dany left, shaking.
Danyelle opened her eyes, and exhaled slowly. Donato may not have the wits of other Crow officials, but he was merciless and cruel with a broadsword, and never let failure go unanswered. He had earned his position, and Dany had been a fool to think he didn’t know. Crows had a distinct style, and a trained eye could pick out the elements of Dany’s fighting that could only have been taught to her by one of their own. It did not then take a genius to deduce who Dany’s teacher may have been. That asshole.
Dany slid her dagger in to the sheath at her hip and got up from the table in disgust. She retreated to her room as the questions that had plagued her for the past few days continued to assault her. Zevran had disappeared from the Therin family’s life five years ago, and had remained hidden the entirety of that time. What then was he doing in Tantervale? Why was he trying to ruin the life that Dany had finally made for herself? Why was he going to force her to kill him?