Chantry agents had made no progress in finding the Qunari basecamp.
And they had looked, devouring every inch of the Antivan coastline. The Dragon’s Breath Conspiracy had left them all paranoid, jumping at their own shadows as if the Arishok himself would appear from it.
If those agents knew the true inner workings of the Arishok, they would know that he could cover his tracks. He knew how to move silently through the dark and instruct his army to do the same, eyes trained to drink in the moonlight. They would know that he was never defenseless, not truly, for even in the moments when Asala was not in his hand there was a dagger in his belt, chipped and simple. Never used, never discarded.
Maybe their Divine told them, and they simply failed. Or maybe she did not even understand herself.
If she did, she would know that the Arishok was hidden in their shadow. Right off the coast, nestled between the blanket of night, the glassy ocean, and a jagged outcropping of rocks, a Qunari war fleet sat. The ocean was calm, gently cradling the ships as they floated around the ocean’s maw. No sailor in their right mind would chance the current around the rocks, and the distance from the coast morphed the sight of the ship's harsh angles into that of stone.
An underhanded plot. The kind that the Arishok found himself more and more comfortable with.
The ship groaned beneath his feet as it rocked, but he paid it no mind. It was the only noise from the otherwise silent night, the majority of the crew asleep and the stragglers on watch. It made it easy to focus on the unfurled map before him, the candlelight making the edges flicker like waves crashing into the coast. There. Tomorrow night, they would slip further south to that small island, and in two days’ time, they would be upon the border of the Free Marches…
Yes, this would work. Asala’s pommel was cool under his touch as his hand drifted to his side. The whole night seemed to share his certainty, offering only the smallest breeze to break the stillness. The candles rippled as it blew through the open window, though they seemed to burn even brighter afterward.
The Arishok straightened his back, the tense muscles protesting at the action. Within a week he would hear from his spies hidden around the delta, and then new plans would have to be made. Now was the time to rest.
The large pauldrons around his shoulders were the first to go, then his bracers. He set them to the side of the cabin carefully, the way he always did and always would, just underneath a dramatic painting of the Ferelden countryside. Then his gloves, belt, scabbard…
His hand closed around open air.
“After all the trouble I went through, you better not let this thing out of your sight again.”
The Arishok calmly pulled the small dagger from his belt and turned. A figure perched on his dresser, Asala almost dwarfing them as they held it lightly with both hands. A hood obscured their features, but nothing could hide that gravely rasp. “Kadan.”
Azariah’s head tilted to the side, allowing a bit of light to kiss the sides of her mouth. Scars and wrinkles and dark blue veins webbed from her lips to her neck. After a moment she adjusted, sitting fully down on the furniture and allowing the sword to rest across her lap. “You kept the dagger.”
Her cloak was dry, and so was the glimpse of padded armor that he could see underneath. Either a boat was tied to the side of his warship, in which case his night watch would need to be disciplined, or she had swum and simply waited to dry off. Vashedan, she could have been on the ship since their last port a week ago, tucked comfortably away under the crow’s nest like a spider.
The Arishok pushed such conspiracies from his mind. She was a shadow, liquid and primordial in ways that no person should be. He had long since come to terms with the fact that he would never understand the skills she possessed. “How long?” It was better just to ask.
He knew she would smile before her lips even moved. “Sten-”
“Arishok.”
Azariah pushed the hood back. Almost a decade since he had seen her, though he could hardly believe it. Her auburn hair, now close to her scalp, was quickly turning slate gray. More veins overtook her, almost turning her whole visage to a monochrome blue. They wormed up her face, coming to rest under her now nearly-white eye. A chuckle erupted from her chest, and for a moment the Arishok saw her different, with fresh tattoos and eyes the color of clovers, but when he blinked the vision was gone. She blinked, the candlelight dancing in her pupils. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Kadan-”
“Warden-Commander.”
The Arishok placed the dagger on the desk with a huff. Azariah made no move to stop him when he lifted Asala from her lap and placed it against the wall, and he made no attempt to hide the curiosity in his gaze. “The Divine sent you.”
“I volunteered.” Azariah shrugged. “Leli says ‘hi,’ by the way.”
When the Arishok was Sten, he had the privilege of seeing the feared Hero of Fereldan’s first journey on a ship. Foolishly, she had insisted on going with him to Par Vollen. “I saved the fucking world,” she said, already slipping away from her own celebration. “I think I get to take up traveling.” And, foolishly, Sten had eagerly agreed, even allowing the other Warden and the other painted elf to tag along, though he considered tossing them overboard nearly every day.
He hadn’t been able to take his eyes off of his kadan when the journey started. How would sunshine, untainted by Ferelden’s wet muck of a climate, feel against her skin? What about the salt spray against her cheeks? What would she think of sailing to the place where the sky and ocean met?
She had grinned, eyes twinkling, and then he watched as the Grey Warden, champion of the blight, the very woman, woman, who had a knife to his throat before he could draw his sword in Haven, bowed over the side of the ship and emptied the contents of her stomach.
The memory almost made his cheeks move. She looked much more comfortable with the churning beneath them now, though the Arishok wondered what would happen when the waves started to pick up. “Grey Wardens are supposed to be neutral.”
Azariah didn’t deign to respond, just rolled her eyes. You of all people should know better. “You look well.”
“You do not.” He felt himself frown. “The Calling?”
“Louder by the hour,” Azariah admitted after a moment. “I have maybe a year?” She fidgeted with the silver ring on her left hand. “I’m sure your spies know we’re looking for a cure.”
“Yes. But you will not take it, will you?”
She looked almost angry for a moment, hearing sounds on the wind that he would never be able to. “Of course not. Not while I have a-”
The Arishok finished the thought. “Duty. The whole before the individual.”
“And Ali wonders why we get along.” She shook her head, an easy smile appearing. If the Arishok were another person, he might think that the damage to her nerves stopped it from reaching her eyes. “I want your opinion.”
His hands now rested idly on her knees. “Yes?”
“Should I go to the Deep Roads, or should I wait for you?” Azariah laughed as the Arishok’s brows raised. “Please, I love you, but there’s no blighted way I’m just letting you invade the continent I hauled ass to save.”
“Then kill me now.”
Azariah drew her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on one. The leather boots under the Arishok’s fingertips were the same she wore when they met, embroidered with flowers and coins and swirling designs. “I can’t. I’m too sentimental, I’m afraid.
“Battling hordes of darkspawn is my duty, but maybe I’m a little selfish. Maybe I want to go out with someone I respect. The archdemon failed, so you’ll have to do.”
The Arishok scoffed. “With?”
“Please. Let’s be realists.” She tapped his bicep, twice, and the Arishok stepped back to let her to the floor. Her boots made no sound against the planks. “I’m giving Leli your location.”
“And my maps as well, I assume?”
“Ah, how I have missed you.” No longer attempting to hide them in her sleeve, she crumpled the parchment into a pouch at her side. She raised her hand and the Arishok immediately stooped, closing the distance enough to let her tiny fingers trace the cut of his cheekbone. He set his own hand on top, her skin too cold. “Take care of yourself, my friend. I can’t bear the thought of anything happening to you.”
“You as well, kadan.” The boat rocked. Azariah pulled away, the very shadows of the cabin almost rushing to embrace her as she walked to the window. “I never gave you my answer.”
Her back was to him now, but he could feel the way she rolled her eyes. “Yes, you did.” Azariah lifted herself to the windowsill and spared one last look over her shoulder. “See you soon.”
And then she stepped forward and the darkness swallowed her.
The Arishok did not rush to the window, simply strode. The water below him was empty, as were the sides of the ship. She was gone, a ghost, ethereal.
He did smile now, truly.
It was a quiet night, a confident night, save for the lapping of water and, the Arishok almost thought, the gentle sound of wings.
