A:N. Hi. This is my first chapter story, I hope you like it. I've written one-shots before and decided to have a go at something a little more substantial. This first chapter is kind of short and is more of an introduction that anything else. Any feedback is much appreciated, positive or negative, I'm pretty thick skinned so have at it! I haven't played Dragon Age Inquisition yet so bear that in mind. Thank you for reading!

All characters and places belong to Bioware.

Alistair had been sat in the same spot for hours. The camp he was watching was as quiet and deserted as it had been when he'd first found it with the last embers of a dying camp fire just going out. The occupant was coming back he'd decided, they'd left a tent, bedroll and cooking supplies lying on the ground, they had to be coming back. He'd settled in to wait, half hidden by the brush and with a tree to his back. Please, he silently asked The Maker, please be coming back.

As the hours ticked by he'd started to doubt himself. It had taking him weeks of quiet questioning and tracking to get this far, if his quarry had indeed decided to abandon the camp then he was wasting precious hours that could have been better spent picking up the trail while it was still warm. Instead he'd sat here, getting stiff and sore while the sun moved across the sky, twilight was falling fast. It wouldn't be long before he wouldn't be able to see the camp at all in the darkness.

One more hour, he promised himself, I'll just wait one more hour.

In the tree, just a few feet above Alistair's head, Zevran sat, legs dangling over a wide branch. He had to admit, discovering the person following him so diligently was his old friend Alistair was a bit of a surprise. Ever watchful for more of The Crows assassins Zevran was careful about covering his tracks, he rarely stayed in the same place for more than a few days and avoided the large market places and cities as much as possible. He'd finally heard his peruser just seconds before they appeared in the clearing and just managed to grab his sword and dagger before diving for the tree line. Quietly circling behind the mysterious stranger curiosity got the better of him and rather than quickly putting an end to them he'd climbed a tree to get a better look. After all, The Crows trained their assassins well, and this man had made enough noise to alert him. Either The Crows were getting sloppy or this person wasn't who he thought they were.

Realising it was Alistair had given him pause, although lots of people wanted this man dead, he wasn't one of them. There was a time, a few months ago, when he could quite cheerfully have cut Alistair's throat, especially if the order had come from a certain friend of his, and he certainly couldn't have blamed her if she'd given that order. Luckily for Alistair his initial anger had passed. That's not to say he wouldn't kill him, but he was willing to hear him out, for now at least.

As Zevran watched Alistair's head started to droop, Zevran smiled to himself as he saw Alistair fight to keep himself awake. Ah Alistair my old friend, you always could sleep anywhere, he thought to himself. When Alistair's chin finally dropped to his chest and didn't lift again Zevran silently and gracefully let himself drop from the tree. Holding his exceptionally sharp dagger in front of him he approached the sleeping man.

It wasn't until Alistair felt the cold steel tip of a dagger under his chin that he awoke. Barely daring to move he slowly raised his eyes to look into Zevran's face. It wasn't bandits at least, getting caught sleeping by bandits would have just been embarrassing. If she'd been here he'd never have heard the end of it.

"Well, that's a nice welcome," he said, raising an eyebrow, "you haven't killed me yet so I'll take that as a good sign. I've been looking for you."

Zevran took in the slightly sallow look, the narrower cheeks, the longer hair and days of stubble growing on the young man's face and frowned. Even in the midst of a blight Alistair had somehow always managed to look after his hair and beard. Although trying to win the heart of a certain female Grey Warden may have helped motivate him, Zevran thought ruefully. Slowly retracting the blade a little he said,

" My good friend Alistair! Why in the world would you be looking for little old me? Finally decided to get that tattoo after all hmm?"

Alistairs face took on a seriousness not often seen,

"You know why Zevran. I have to see her."