I Am Yours

Chapter 9

Naia realized, suddenly, that one of the mages was speaking.

"Here is my offer," the man said, sounding for all the world as if he were haggling over pies in the Denerim market. "I have a letter with the seal of the Teyrn of Gwaren upon it, giving us permission to run our operation. For one hundred sovereigns, I will—"

"Shut up," Naia snapped.

The man seemed genuinely offended. "I had hoped we could be civilized about this, Grey Warden."

"You have my family and friends locked in cages," Naia spat. "Fuck your civilized. "

"I see," the mage sighed. "Loghain did mention something about your, ah, unfortunate background. But surely you must be a pragmatist, Grey Warden. The fate of all Thedas rests on your shoulders. Would you risk that over a handful of—"

"I have a counteroffer," Naia interrupted, as if he had not spoken. "Leave the documents, leave the elves, take your people, and get out. In return, I'll stop the Blight from reaching your shores, and you get to leave Denerim with all of your limbs in their current places."

She stared hard at the mage, wondering if the sheer force of her hatred might burn him. "Believe me when I say that's the only offer you're going to get."

She could not conceal a pleased smile when the slaver reached for his staff.

*

Zevran had been impressed by the Warden's skill in battle before, but in this fight, she was one of Leliana's stories incarnate. Every swing of her enemies' swords missed; every blow she struck hit true. She flowed like water through the fight, beautiful and invincible and utterly without mercy. Soon, the enemy's forces were decimated to just Caladrius. The slaver was gasping for breath and saying something about surrender. Zevran strongly suspected the Warden would not be interested.

As Naia put an end to Caladrius, Zevran pulled his lockpicks out of his belt and set to work on the cages. The dazed-looking elves spilled out, barely glancing at the carnage around them before running for the door. Zevran wondered if they even realized who had saved them.

At least one man did.

An elf in his mid-fifties, iron-haired and tanned, was taking tentative steps towards the Warden. He reached out a hand but then paused. He looked as if he was afraid to touch her, as if he feared she might vanish if he did.

"Naia?" he asked softly. "Naia, can it really be ...?"

Naia turned away from Caladrius's body. Her daggers dropped from her hands as tears filled her eyes. Without another word, she flung herself forward, seizing her father in a bone-crushing hug. Blood from her armor smeared his tunic as she buried her face in his shoulder.

Cyrion didn't seem to mind. Tears ran freely down his face as he rested his head against hers. "My little girl. My warrior. You came home."

*******

Even with the devastation in the alienage, Cyrion Tabris was a remarkably good host. He pulled his curtains to hide the broken windows and the sad view of the dusty streets; when he lit his candles and a fire in the hearth, suddenly his home felt cozy and almost cabin-like. Bottles of wine appeared from underneath floorboards; a meal was scraped together from the stock in Alarith's store. Zevran realized, with some shock, that Cyrion was well-off by alienage standards.

"You really needn't cook for us!" Wynne protested gently when Soris and Shianni returned from Alarith's.

"It is the least, the very least, we could do." When Wynne opened her mouth, Cyrion held up a hand to forestall further protests. "I insist. I have been trapped in a cage for the better part of two days. All I want now is to share a good meal with the people who got me out of it."