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It had been hours, hadn’t it? Morrigan had been somewhere in the fade for hours, right? Well, part of her, anyway. Regan still didn’t understand quite how that worked. She could see the woman’s body; she looked like she was sleeping, surrounded by circle mages, because wasn’t that a comforting thought. But according to Irving, who had done his best to explain the technical aspects of it, her mind … her spirit … her mage-iness was in the fade, trying to track down Connor and dispose of the demon that currently had its claws in him. And all she could do was sit there and wait with Jasper’s head in her lap.
A glance around the nearly bare room found Sten sitting on the floor, eyes closed. Wynne and Leliana were busy keeping Isolde out of the mages’ - and Regan’s - way. She knew Teagan was checking in on Eamon; there hadn’t been any change for the better, but at least he hadn’t gotten much worse. Zevran was … wait; where was Zevran? And Alistair? Was Alistair watching Zevran? Was anyone? Maker, how much longer would this last? Could she just throttle Isolde? Just a little? It might make her feel better. It would definitely make her feel better.
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Why was he doing this again? Sure, he could say that he was guarding Zevran, but the amount of freedom she’d already allowed the man who’d tried to kill them pretty much rendered that excuse invalid. But he’d seen how easily she’d spoken with the elf, how she laughed and … she’d been flirting, right? That had been flirting? Maybe, just maybe, he could ferret out something that might help him, without looking like he was really asking for help. Alistair glanced over his shoulder, guiding the elf in the direction he remembered the privy being. They were alone, for the moment; not even a servant was running about.
“Do you … mind if I ask you a personal question?” He tried not to sound as uncomfortable as he felt. Asking anyone this kind of question would be hard enough, but asking someone he barely knew – someone whom she seemed to flirt with at least as much as she did him. She was flirting with him, right? He wasn’t imagining things, was he? Permission came in the form of an amused nod. Alistair cleared his throat, fighting the urge to just … walk back to the others and forget he’d ever said anything. Maker’s breath, why had he opened his mouth in the first place? “Have you … have you had very … many women in your time? I mean, you seem like the sort of man who would ….” His voice trailed off, not really sure how he could possibly phrase that thought without sounding like a complete buffoon.
Zevran chuckled softly, reading the younger man far more clearly than Alistair would probably have liked. “I have indulged, from time to time,” he replied offhandedly. A quick glance over his shoulder toward the room they’d recently left had him wondering just what was going on. The female warden – Regan – hadn’t seemed too happy about having to use on one of the mages instead of dealing with the demon herself. “When my interest was not … elsewhere, that is.”
Surely he didn’t mean …? He couldn’t mean her, right? He was talking about Morrigan; that would make sense. Or Leliana; or Wynne! He certainly made enough comments on the trek to Redcliff to make it seem like he would at least consider -. Alistair felt the beginnings of those knots that were becoming far too familiar whenever he thought about her and had to take a few breaths before he could go on. “Well, how … how do you … um, woo them? Is there … a technique? Or –?“ He snapped his mouth shut as soon as he noticed his companion trying to hide his laughter.
Zevran couldn’t help but smile in surprise. Of all the things he had expected the tall, admittedly attractive man to ask, that hadn’t been it. Surely a man built like that would have some experience with women, and he knew the blushing, bumbling act – it had to be an act, right? He knew that act would have women flocking to the man’s side. But, no; he was assured that his companion was entirely serious. The mere idea astounded him, considering how popular similar men had been in the brothels back in Antiva.
Assuming the long pause coming from the elf was a build up to some sort of mocking reply, Alistair cut him off, his courage finally leaving him. “You know what? This was a bad idea; never mind.” He turned abruptly and directed Zevran back toward the room where Regan was. His conversation with the elf had done nothing to ease his mind where she was concerned and somehow he now had more questions than answers. “We should … get back to the others.”
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“There you are, Alistair! I need you.”
He hadn’t even made it fully through the doorway before she was on him, wrapping her fingers around his wrist and gently leading him toward another door. He could hear Zevran’s not-so-muffled laughter behind him even as his cheeks started growing warm. Maker; the places his mind wanted to wander. He could still remember that dream. “I … um … well, I … guess I can ….”
“Morrigan’s back. Awake? Done?” Regan brought the fingers of her free hand up to rub her temples, trying to figure out exactly what she was trying to say. She managed to miss the rosy color filling Alistair’s cheeks, and the near choking expression on Zevran’s face; her attention currently focused on Morrigan trying to wave off Wynne and Irving’s attempts to ensure she was unharmed … and unpossessed. “She says Connor should be back to normal, but I don’t want to scare him with a swarm of templars when I go to check on him. And, I know he knows me, but ….” She dropped his hand and turned to face him, noticing the blush a half-second before her gaze landed on his lips. She’d intended on simply meeting his gaze, but his tongue had slipped out – just the tip – to nervously moisten those lips and her eyes just … stayed there “I thought … maybe … since you’re … kind of family and he might know you … and you have templar training …?”
Alistair nodded slowly, surprised to find his hand reaching out for hers once it had registered that she let go. “I … alright.” He took a breath to try and calm his racing pulse – it didn’t quite work – and motioned for her to lead the way. The smile she gave him brought those damned butterflies, though the next words out of her mouth brought the worries back as well.
“Zevran, will you come with us?” Regan looked over at the elf, who had managed to reign in the snickers just before her gaze found him. “I just … I want someone to stay out of sight and … well; just in case things take a turn.” She didn’t notice the quick frown that flashed across Alistair’s face. She just beamed when it seemed everyone was on board. “Leliana, why don’t you take … Isolde … to check on Eamon?” She didn’t want the arlessa getting in the way if whatever Morrigan had done hadn’t worked, and sending her to her husband, and brother-in-law, would hopefully keep her busy in an entirely different wing of the castle.
“Excellent control of your words,” Zevran teased as the small group, accompanied by Jasper, made their way up to Connor’s room. He didn’t know the reason, but he could tell that she didn’t particularly care for the arlessa. There was venom lacing every syllable of the older woman’s name. “I take it there is someone here we do not particularly care for?”
“A couple someones.” Alistair didn’t realize his muttered complaint had been loud enough for the others to hear until three pairs of eyes turned to look at him curiously. “I mean … Isolde is obviously nobody’s favorite, and … well, you know how I feel about Morrigan,” he hurridly explained, hoping they’d leave it at that. He really didn’t want to have to admit that he was jealous of the ease in which Zevran had insinuated himself into their little group and how close he already seemed to be with Regan.
“Fair point.” Regan glanced over at the door to Connor’s room. She really hoped whatever Morrigan had done worked. Connor was just a little older than Oren had been and she didn’t particularly relish the idea of seeing another dead child. Especially not if this one was dead by her hand. “I guess … just be ready for anything?” Such profound directions; why was she leading them, again?
“What … what are we doing, again?” Alistair had his hand on the door, ready to push it open when he looked back at her. He knew why he was there, and why she and Jasper were. They both had at least tenuous connection to the boy and would likely not be looked at as strangers, should he actually be himself. But Zevran? Why was he here? Surely there was nothing the two wardens and a mabari couldn’t handle, right? And he’s just recently tried to kill them. Why was she trusting him at her back?
“We’re going to open this door and hope Connor is back to himself.” Regan placed her hand next to his on the door, fingers spread out enough brush her pinky against his skin. “If he’s not ….” She heard her voice crack, concern for Connor growing. She started again. “If he’s not, we’ll … we’ll have to take care of it the … other way.” Maker, she really didn’t want to think about the possibility that the demon still had a hold on Connor. That was why she asked Zevran to come. She knew he didn’t have any emotional connection to the boy. She was counting on him to do what she wasn’t sure Alistair could; she knew she wouldn’t be able to.
Alistair nodded, taking a few slow breaths before indicating he was ready. Whatever Morrigan had done had to work. It just had to. “He’ll be fine. He … he has to be.”
Together, they opened the door, pushing slowly so as not to surprise whomever was in the room. Zevran and Jasper stayed off to the side, crouched and ready to dart past them should the two humans pause, or there was any indication that Connor was still not Connor. Tension was thick in the room, causing hair to stand up on the back of everyone’s necks.
“Connor? Are you …?”