Prologue: Sunset

Denerim, The Royal Palace

Predictably, they made him wait. A lowly assassin, a foreigner, an elf to boot - of course they had to put him in his place. It was only to be expected. The sun, or what passed for it in this grey and inhospitable country, was about to set by the time he was finally admitted to the Regent's chambers.

When Arl Howe introduced him, he stepped forward, wondering for a moment whether he should bend his knee, but then deciding against it. He was not Fereldan, and Loghain MacTir wasn't king. Not yet.

"The Antivan Crows send their regards." He settled for a polite little bow. "Zevran Arainai, at your service."

"An assassin!" There was a world of contempt in MacTir's tone.

Zevran didn't mind. He was used to that kind of reaction from these barbaric Southerners. No need to waste his energy on changing the man's mind. He left it to Howe to do the persuading. The man might be disagreeable, but at least he understood the realities of politics and had no unnecessary scruples.

Listening with half an ear to their discussion, he quickly scanned his contract to check the details. Two Grey Wardens to be killed, swiftly and efficiently, and a princely sum paid in return, as soon as he delivered proof of their death. All expenses taken care of, of course, and a royal pardon for the killing of any unfortunates that should happen to get in the way. Everything seemed to be in order, but then the Crows always made sure of that.

MacTir was still grumbling and muttering under his breath by the time he left the room, but that was hardly Zevran's problem. All he needed now was a plan and some supplies.

"Arainai! Wait!" Rendon Howe called him back as he was about to leave the Royal Wing. "Whatever you do, don't underestimate them." Howe's eyes were narrowed and his mouth pulled up in a sneer, which was not an attractive look on him. "From what my sources tell me, it's not just the two of them anymore. They've managed to whip up some support, and have several people travelling with them now, mercenaries no doubt. Two or three mages, I'm told, and there are even rumours of a Qunari warrior."

A Qunari? That was unexpected, but Zevran hid his surprise with the ease of long practice and just nodded calmly. Howe withdrew with an arrogant snort.

So it was going to be difficult. Good. This contract was just what he needed, the more dangerous the better. If they really turned out to be so tough to kill, if they should actually manage to defend against him, he would welcome death. There was little enough to live for, anyway. This way, he would go out in a blaze of glory, taken down by worthy opponents. Wasn't that all a Crow could ask for in the end?

And thus endeth the short but illustrious career of Zevran Arainai, master assassin. It was all very fitting.