Zevran strolled along the row of racks, occasionally picking up a dusty bottle to peer at the label in the dim light from the stub of candle he was carrying. Sometimes he made a pleased sound as he came across a particularly rare vintage, but he always returned the bottles to the rack; it was not wine he wished to drink tonight. Having been here before, he could have walked directly to where the bottles he was truly interested in were racked, but part of the pleasure, he felt, was in the anticipation, in purposefully denying himself the thing he wished. For a little while, at least.

He was almost to the proper rack when he abruptly stopped, raising his head in a listening attitude. Footsteps, distant still, but approaching. There was only one entrance to the extensive wine cellars buried deep in the rock under Redcliffe Castle, and someone was descending the stairs. He bit back a curse, glanced around, then hurried silently to a gap between two racks along the wall. He pinched out his candle, then edged into the narrow gap, crouching down as far as the limited space allowed. He turned his face to the wall, and tucked his hands out of sight as well, in the hopes that no flash of eyes or glimpse of skin would give him away, and wished he'd worn a hooded cloak; his hair was pale enough that it might catch the light. But as late at night as it was, he hadn't expected to be disturbed.

He heard the door to the cellar open, and became aware of a glow of candle light in his peripheral vision. Hopefully whomever it was wanted one of the wines close to the door, or was perhaps here to draw ale from one of the sizable kegs that lined the far end of the room.

Naturally they proved to have an interest in something at this end of the cellar; he heard the steady tap of approaching feet, could see the faint glow approaching closer, the light sliding along the wall, casting moving shadows of racks and bottles against the wall.

The footsteps abruptly stopped, then he heard the scrape of a weapon being drawn.

"Who is there?" a voice asked sharply. "Come out, now, or I'll call the guards."

"Braska," he muttered, and slid back out to the aisle, then turned and gave a startled Bann Teagan a deep bow, complete with extra flourishes. "I beg your pardon, ser. I promise you, there is no need for a weapon... I surrender."

The older man gave him a startled laugh, then put away his sword. "You're Zevran, aren't you? One of Alistair's companions?"

Zevran nodded, and gave the short cross-armed bow that was the usual greeting between people here in Ferelden. "Zevran Arianai, at your service," he said, then smiled charmingly. "At least as far as such service does not conflict with my existing vows to Arren."

Teagan's smile widened, then changed into a thoughtful frown. "I was not aware that my brother had given any of Arren's companions access to his wine cellar," he said, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

Zevran smiled, shrugged. "I do not believe he has, either. A grievous oversight. I hesitated to point this out to him, of course, so I decided it was more politic to just let myself in."

Teagan snorted. "With the aid of some pick locks, I would assume?"

"Just so," Zevran admitted, his smile broadening even further. He did like intelligent men.

"You're Antivan, are you not? That accent..."

"Yes," Zevran agreed. "Though I suppose I shall have to adopt Ferelden as my country now, as Arren seems unlikely to go elsewhere, and I am sworn into his service."

Teagan snorted softly. "Then I can guess what brought you down here," he said, and turned away, stepping over to the rack Zevran had been about to plunder, and lifted a large dusty flat-sided bottle, of opaque black glass, the neck sealed with dark blue wax. "It matches my own errand, in fact. My brother has an astonishingly good stock of vintage Antivan brandies – I believe he inherited it from the Orlesian family who occupied Redcliffe Castle for some years."

Zevran grinned. "Just so, Bann Teagan. One of my favourite drinks, and distressingly hard to find here in Ferelden."

The Bann smiled at him, then picked up a second bottle, and passed it over to the elf. Zevran raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"My brother does not care for the drink himself, and it will be years yet before my occasional inroads on his stock depletes his collection. He will hardly miss it if I gift you with a bottle of it for the road."

Zevran smiled warmly at the man. "My thanks then. The gift is much appreciated."

Teagan smiled back at him, briefly, then looked at the bottle still held in his own hand. "I dislike drinking alone. Would you care to join me in sampling this bottle tonight?"

Zevran hid his surprise, and nodded. "Happily so. Drinking in company is always more pleasant than solitary tippling. At least as long as the company is pleasant, and I shall endeavour to make myself as pleasant as possible, in thanks for this excellent gift."

Bann Teagan nodded, then turned and led the way out of the wine cellar and up to his rooms.

Zevran looked around with interest as Bann Teagan led him into the man's chambers. They were a floor higher and in a different wing of the castle than the considerably smaller guest chambers where Arl Eamon had housed Arren and his merry band of misfits. Of course that made sense, seeing as Teagan was the Arl's younger brother – this entire suite of rooms was likely permanently set aside for his use when visiting the castle.

It was a very pleasant sitting room, large – easily twice the size of the small bedroom that Zevran was currently occupying – with a sizable fireplace midway along one long wall, two pleasantly overstuffed leather wing-back chairs, a small dining table with a pair of comfortable rush-seated chairs to either side of it, and a thickly woven carpet covering much of the floor. A desk and several bookcases were placed along the long wall opposite the fireplace, positioned under a window where the desk would have good lighting by day and what Zevran guessed, based on direction, was likely a very pleasant view out over Lake Calenhad. There was an open door in the short wall leading to what appeared to be a bedroom, and a closed door in one corner that Zevran guessed led to a private bathing chamber. A branch of candlesticks on the table and a fire in the fireplace both lit and warmed the room.

Bann Teagan carried the dusty bottle of brandy over to his desk, picked up a small penknife, and began carefully prying the wax seal off. Zevran wandered slowly around the room, hands behind his back, looking things over; the books on the shelves, a few random odd and ends of things left out on the mantlepiece and on top of a small table positioned between the two chairs by the fire. He noticed a tray of glasses on a sideboard, and picked up two and carried them over to the desk.

"Thank you," Teagan said as Zevran put them down, then scowled. "This cork does not seem to want to part company with the bottle," he said.

"Allow me," said Zevran, holding out his hand. Teagan nodded and passed over the bottle, and offered the pen-knife he'd been been trying to pry the cork out with. Zevran shook his head, and dug into one of his belt pouches, pulling out a long, slim, sharply-pointed lockpick. He pressed it into the cork at a slight angle, then pried it to one side while pulling up. There was a moment of resistance, then the cork slid free with a slight popping sound. He grinned at Teagan, and handed the bottle back with a slight flourish.

"That's a nice little trick," Teagan said approvingly as he poured a little of the light brown brandy into each glass. "I'll have to remember that one. And see if I can get my smith back at Rainesfere to make me a pick like that. May I see it?"

"Of course," Zevran said, and passed the pick over. "keep it, if you wish, I have others."

Bann Teagan looked it over for a moment, then nodded and pocketed it. "My thanks," he said, then picked up one of the glasses of brandy and handed it.

"And mine to you, ser," Zevran said, giving him a charming smile.

Teagan snorted as he picked up his own glass and the bottle. "Please, call me Teagan. If we're going to be drinking together in the middle of the night, 'ser' or 'bann' are hardly necessary. Please have a seat," he added, gesturing at one of the chairs, as he stepped over to the other. He put the bottle down on the small table between the two chairs, then sat down himself.

"As you wish," Zevran said, taking the other chair. He crossed his legs, and held the glass up for a moment, swirling the brandy lightly, then sniffed appreciatively at the bouquet before taking a sip. He smacked his lips. "A taste of home," he said, and looked curiously at Teagan. "Have you ever been to Antiva?"

"I'm afraid not," Teagan said, before sipping at his own glass. "I spent a large part of my youth in the Free Marches – that was during and for a while shortly after the rebellion – and I've been to Orlais, but mainly I'd stayed close to home. Have you travelled much?"

Zevran shrugged. "A little. Mainly within Antiva – on assignments, not for pleasure."

"Assignments?"

"Did I not say? Where are my manners. I am an Antivan Crow."

"A crow...? Oh, yes. The assassins. I've heard of them," Teagan said, looking faintly surprised. "I never expected to meet one. Certainly not in Ferelden. Are you here on, err... business?" he asked, then made a face. "Forget I asked that, I suppose that's not a polite query."

Zevran laughed. "No, not polite, but certainly a sensible one. I was on assignment, actually. I was hired to kill Arren and Alistair. As you might have guessed from their continued existence, I have rather sadly and shockingly failed to carry out my mission."

Teagan looked shocked. "Kill the wardens! Who on earth would have hired you to... nevermind. I can guess. Teryn Loghain and Arl Howe," he said bitterly, looking angry for a moment.

"Just so," Zevran confirmed with a nod.

Teagan sighed and shook his head. "I really can't understand it. Loghain was an honourable man, once. Howe I can believe it of. He is a man that betrayed his own father, after all."

"Oh? I have not heard this story," Zevran said, giving Teagan a curious look.

"Mmmm. Not much to tell, really," he said, and picked up the bottle, topping up his own glass then looking enquiringly at Zevran. Zevran leaned over and held out his glass, nodding his thanks.

Teagan set the bottle back down and gazed into the fire for a moment. "It was during the early years of the rebellion," he said. "The Howes had sided with the Orlesians. The Cousland family – long time rivals of theirs, Highever was originally an Amaranthine property – were on the side of the rebellion. Rendon's father, Tarleton, was governing a key town called Harper's Ford, for the Orlesians. The Couslands staged a surprise nighttime raid. Tarleton was hanged. The rumour is that Rendon betrayed his father, and let in the Cousland forces. It is known he was close friends with Bryce Cousland afterwards, and served beside him until the battle of White River. White River was a disaster for the rebellion; only fifty men survived it, including both Bryce and Rendon. Rendon's actions during the battle and retreat saw his family honour restored. King Maric even decorated him for his service, and restored the Arling of Amaranthine to him, as a vassal to the Couslands. And he and Bryce Cousland were fast friends ever after, right up until he betrayed and slaughtered the Cousland family just prior to the disaster at Ostagar, anyway."

"Ah. So he would seem to have a history of treason then. I cannot say I am entirely surprised; he seemed an unpleasant sort. I was thankful not to have many dealings with him; he made me uneasy. And everything I have heard of him since has only served to reinforce that impression."

Teagan nodded. "Let's talk of something more pleasant. Perhaps you can tell me a little of Antiva?"

"Gladly," Zevran said, and spent the next hour regaling the Bann with tales of life in Antiva City while the two men passed the bottle of brandy back and forth.

"You sound as if you miss the place," Teagan said.

"Very much. Parts of it, anyway," Zevran said, a melancholy expression crossing his face. "Tell me, my friend, have you ever been in love?"

"Hmmm. Yes. Once."

"Only once? How sad. Though I am hardly one to talk; I have slept with many, but... only once have I been in love. Once was enough. If the Maker is kind, I will never be in love again," he said, a dark, brooding expression on his face.

"It did not end well," Teagan said softly. "Did it?"

"No, not well at all." Zevran agreed. "She... died, just before I left Antiva. How about you? What of your lady-love?"

Teagan smiled slightly, shrugged. "Not well, either. She married someone else, eventually. I have never found another that moved me as she did. I'll have to eventually marry, and father an heir, especially now that Connor is to be sent off to the Circle and disinherited. I'm my brother's heir, again," he said, and grimaced. "It was unpleasant enough the first time, before Connor was born, having every unmarried daughter in Ferelden – and a few from abroad – paraded before me. I am not looking forward to a repeat. I had hoped to be allowed to live out my life in quiet bachelorhood, looking after my Rainesfere property and turning into a sour old curmudgeon who shakes a stick at the village boys whenever they raid my orchards."

Zevran laughed, then grinned conspiratorially. "Some men would regard a parade of eligible females as no hardship, especially if the ladies proved to be of the friendly sort."

Teagan laughed. "And I'm sure some of the ladies would be happy to be... 'friendly'. Some of them left me in no doubt as to their willingness to be friendly the last time around. But since it carried the assumption that taking advantage of their offers would mean that I was going to marry to them, I had – and have – little desire to pursue such friendliness. I prefer my relationships without strings."

"Relationships? So there has been someone other than the sadly married lady-love?"

Teagan smiled wryly. "Yes. I am not a monk, after all, and outside of the Pearl in Denerim there are few establishments clean enough that I would want to avail myself of a purchased partner for an evening. There has been the occasional discreet liaison over the years. Suitably circumspect widows and the like. What about you? Have you had... dalliances?"

Zevran laughed. "My dear ser, I was born in a whorehouse, then extensively trained in the art of love as an Antivan Crow. I believe in taking my pleasure where I can find it; most of my life has been dalliances. Though I am sadly in the midst of a long dry spell, since I fell in with Arren. There was one member of his party that I might have pursued a relationship with... but then Arren dismissed her, before it came to anything. You might remember her from our previous visit here – the pretty little Orlesian bard?"

"The redhead? Yes, I recall. What happened?"

Zevran smiled, sipped at his brandy again. "She proved to have some rather... unpleasant opinions about elves. Especially Dalish elves. And opened her pretty little mouth to voice them one time too many. Arren being Dalish, he was less than amused. I can hardly blame him; my mother was Dalish, too," Zevran said, eyes going steely for a moment. "Just as well the two of us never became involved. Of the remaining party members... well, the witch is involved with Arren, and Arren with the witch, so neither have any interest in me. Wynne will have nothing to do with me, either – which, given her magnificent bosom, never fails to sadden me," he said, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "And neither Sten or Oghren are to my taste, nor I to theirs, thankfully."

Teagan looked mildly surprised by Zevran's litany, and interrupted it. "You consider both sexes for bed partners, then?"

"Of course. I will admit to a preference for women – mmm, those deliciously soft curves and lovely long hair and so-charming voices – but there is much pleasure to be found with an agreeable man as well. But I forget, here in Ferelden such liaisons are rare, are they not? It is not so in Antiva, and of course during my training I learned how to give and receive pleasure in many different ways with many different partners."

Teagan frowned. "Rare, yes, though not entirely unheard of. I have known a man or two who preferred to sleep with other men."

"And you? Were you never tempted?" Zevran asked curiously.

Teagan smiled. "No. I never considered taking any man as a lover."

"Does the idea repulse you?"

Teagan frowned in thought for a while. "No, I suppose not. Just... I never had any desire to make love to another man. I can't even imagine what it would be like to kiss a man, much less... perform more intimately."

Zevran smiled, and carefully put his empty glass down on the table, and rose to his feet. "Permit me, ser," he said quietly, and stepped close to Teagan's chair.

Teagan gave him a mildly surprised look, but didn't resist as Zevran took his glass and put it on the table as well. He reached out and cupped one hand to the side of Teagan's face, then slowly leaned down, giving Teagan plenty of time to refuse or avoid him if he wished to do so.

Teagan sat quietly, the look of surprise giving way to one of curiosity. Zevran's other hand reached out to rest on the arm of Teagan's chair to take his weight as he leaned further over, then he brushed his lips lightly along Teagan's. After a moment Teagan leaned slightly into the kiss. Zevran smiled, and began to put more effort into it, tilting his head to achieve a better angle, tongue flicking out to encourage lips to open. After barely a hesitation, Teagan complied. His own hand rose to cup the back of Zevran's neck, and he moaned quietly as Zevran's tongue plundered his mouth. For a couple of minutes the only sound was the purr of the fire burning, and faints gasps and moans as the two kissed deeply.

Zevran finally ended the kiss and stepped away, smiling pleasantly. "That is what it feels like to kiss a man," he said softly, then retrieved his glass, poured himself another splash of brandy, and resumed his seat, discreetly rearranging himself as he did so.

Teagan sat very still for a while, then sighed. "I can... see the allure."

"But you have no further interest," Zevran said calmly.

Teagan laughed softly. "Certain parts of me do, but... no, at heart I have no real interest in pursuing my curiosity any further than that. Though if I felt any real inclination that way, I do believe I would be feeling extremely tempted to, err... hop the border with you."

Zevran grinned in appreciation, then shrugged. "It is not for everyone. Well, it grows late, and I should probably return to my own room soon. Arren usually likes to be back on the road at a distressingly early hour, and I should get at least a little sleep."

Teagan smiled warmly at him. "Well, then let us have one last drink before you depart. Should we toast, do you think?"

"Why not," Zevran said, and held out his glass for Teagan to top up a final time. "What shall we drink to?"

"Future success in the lists of love?" Teagan suggested. "No, forget that," he said, grimacing. "How about confusion to our enemies?"

Zevran nodded. "The old ones are always the best. Confusion to our enemies!" he said.

Teagan repeated the toast, they touched their glasses, and tossed back the last of their drinks, then both stood, returning their glasses to the table.

"Thank you for the gift of the brandy," Zevran said, smiling, as he picked up the unopened bottle Teagan had given him earlier.

Teagan smiled back. "And to you as well, for the gift of a most interesting evening. Perhaps we'll have a chance to enjoy brandy together again some other time."

"That would be pleasant. I shall hope it is so," Zevran said. "Good night, Teagan."

"Good night, Zevran." Teagan said, and saw him to the door.