Zevran detested Kirkwall. How could anyone enjoy living in a city full of statues and murals depicting suffering slaves? Even the rustic, muddy sprawl of Denerim was preferable to this. He had been here years ago on a mission to kill a mercenary who had stupidly attempted to cheat the Crows. There didn't seem to be much change except for the new statue at the docks depicting a victorious soldier holding a flaming sword aloft while one boot rested on the head of the Arishok. He supposed that it was supposed to represent the famed Champion of Kirkwall.

Discreet inquiries made on the streets of Antiva City had led him here to the most prosperous city in the Free Marches. Apparently, the contract to assassinate Queen Anora had been finalized here. It was the only scrap of information he had been able to obtain from his contacts. Few Crows wished to discuss such a sensitive subject, and even his oldest acquaintances among the Guild shied away from admitting any knowledge. It had been risky to even approach them, but when had Zevran ever avoided risks?

His first few days were frustratingly fruitless. What few contacts he had there had apparently gone into hiding or left the city. He spent his nights in the Blooming Rose, relishing the familiarity of a whorehouse. Although he was approached with many offers, he politely refused them. Now was not the time for casual dalliances. He wanted to secure the information he sought, and then leave with as little trace as possible. Bedding whores only increased his chance of discovery.

Unfortunately, one of his contacts in Antiva must have betrayed him. On the third day, the proprietress of the brothel drew him aside and let him know that a group of men had arrived in town and was asking questions about an elven assassin with distinct tattoos on his left cheek. He tipped her generously for the information and stealthily made his way out of the city. An acquaintance in the elven alienage had informed him that a Dalish clan was staying near Sundermount, and he headed for their camp.

Over the years, Zevran had made numerous forays into the wilds to seek the Dalish. At first, these visits were prompted by his wish to learn of his mother's people. He found that they were wise in many skills that pertained to his profession, and he made a habit of going to visit various clans for a few months at a time, learning the art of tracking and hunting. Many of the Dalish still considered him a flat-ear, an outsider; but his presence was tolerated since he showed due respect for their ways.

He was lucky; this was a tribe he had visited before, the Sabrae clan. They welcomed him and asked him to share dinner that evening. The Dalish children, being a curious lot, surrounded him and begged for some of his amusing anecdotes, which he readily related. Storytelling was a pastime that Zevran did not get to indulge in frequently, and children always made the best audience. As the night grew old, and the parents took their children to bed, Zevran settled down at the fire with the Keeper.

"Keeper Marethari, your hospitality is greatly appreciated, and the dinner was excellent. Ma serannas."

The elder elf gave a regal nod. "Your presence is always a welcome distraction from daily life, lethallin. The children have much curiosity about the world beyond our aravels, and your tales give them much pleasure."

"I am happy to entertain them. But tell me Keeper, where is your First?"

A look of pain twisted Marethari's face. "She has left us and gone her own way. I sent her away with the Champion several years ago."

"Indeed?" Zevran wisely refrained from asking as to the reason for Merrill's dismissal, but he wondered at such a strange decision. "I have heard much of this Champion. You have met her?"

"She brought me a gift years ago, before she was called the Champion. She was a mage who gave her name as Hawke. Merrill performed the necessary ritual on this gift and then left with her at my suggestion." The Keeper looked away sadly. "It was difficult, but necessary. Merrill could no longer stay with us; she was upsetting the clan." She closed her eyes briefly, then turned back to Zevran. "And you, lethallin? What brings you here?"

"I do not know if you have heard, but Ferelden's queen was killed last month." Marethari nodded and gestured to him to continue. "The assassin was a Crow, and the trail led to Kirkwall. I was attempting to learn more in the city, but I have enemies who have followed me."

"So you wish to stay with us? You want our protection?"

"No, Keeper. I will not endanger your clan. If you will allow me, I will seek a camp in the mountains near here while I investigate."

"There is a cave up the side of Sundermount that you may find useful. It is dry and sheltered."

"Ma serannas, Keeper." He bowed his head in thanks. "If these men should come looking for me, do not hide me from them. You may tell them the location of the cave, and I will deal with them myself."

She nodded in agreement. "Ma nuvenin. I will honor your request. For tonight, you may sleep in our guest aravel, and tomorrow I will send a hunter to show you the way." She rose slowly and gave him a short bow. "Dareth shiral, Zevran Arainai. Sleep well."

"Dareth shiral, Keeper. Ma serannas." He bowed back deeply and followed another elf to the aravel they had prepared for him.

Sigrun whistled merrily as she walked the halls of Vigil's Keep. It was a late summer day, and the weather had been perfect for a shopping day in Amaranthine. To make the day even better, she had run across a beautifully crafted spyglass in the market, and it was priced low enough for her to purchase. Her old spyglass, gifted to her by Rielle, had been destroyed in the battle at the Keep, but this one would be a perfect replacement. She could hardly wait to climb to the roof of the Keep and try it out. However, she needed to report to the Warden Commander. One of the new recruits had said he wished to meet with her upon her return.

She knocked cheerfully at the door to the Commander's office and entered without waiting for a reply. They had both joined the Wardens at roughly the same time and had fought together in the final battle against the darkspawn and the Mother. Although the Commander preferred that his authority be respected in public, formalities had a tendency to disappear in private.

She wrinkled her nose as she entered the room, the putrid scent informing her that Oghren was also present. Sure enough, he was sprawled on a chaise near the Commander's desk, a customary mug of poisonous ale in his fist. Sigrun rolled her eyes at the Commander and shook her head.

"How can you stand the smell of him in here with the door closed?" She moved to the nearest window and shoved it open. "Whew! It's too beautiful a day to be cooped up in here with that stink!"

"Hey!" protested Oghren grumpily. "I'll have you know, lass, that I bathed not two days ago."

"Oh really? Was that when you were home visiting your wife and son? I know you don't bother to bathe yourself when you're here!" She sniffed and crossed her arms, glaring down at him.

"Okay, you two. Yes, we agree that Oghren did bathe two days ago. And yes, we also agree that he still stinks like yesterday's garbage." There was an offended grunt from Oghren. "However, I did not call both of you in here to discuss this." Nathaniel Howe, Commander of the Ferelden Grey and Arl of Amaranthine rose from behind his desk. He moved to the front and sat on the edge with his arms crossed. "I'm assuming the both of you have heard of the Champion of Kirkwall?"

Sigrun waved a hand dismissively. "Who hasn't? She led the defense against the Qunari invasion of Kirkwall and apparently discovered some new, ancient thaig in the Deep Roads several years ago."

Nathaniel nodded. "Exactly. Sigrun, you have traveled the Deep Roads more than any of us. What do you know of this new thaig?"

Sigrun shook her head. "From what I've heard, this one is called Primeval Thaig. It dates back from before the Memories. The Champion and her expedition are the only ones who have ever been there."

"I have also heard that there are no darkspawn there," said Nathaniel.

"Yup, that's what I heard also," Oghren chimed in. "Imagine... a part of the Deep Roads where you don't have to worry about some ugly broodmother sending her horde after you." He raised his mug in salute and belched.

Nathaniel wrinkled his patrician nose in distaste. "I think it may be worthwhile to take a trip down there and look around. Maybe there's a reason why there are no darkspawn there... something we can use in our fights against them."

Sigrun clapped her hands in excitement. "An adventure! Perfect! You are taking me with you, right?" Her smile faltered as Nathaniel shook his head.

"Sigrun, I need you here. You're my second-in-command. The Keep is under your authority while I'm gone." Sigrun growled moodily, kicking the floor with a dusty boot. "I'll take a small contingent of our men and leave next week for Kirkwall. Oghren will assist you with the management of things around here while I'm gone."

Oghren chortled into his brew while Sigrun glared at him. "Fine. But I'm the one in charge!"

Oghren looked up at Nathaniel. "What about this assassination of the queen we heard about? Should we be leaving now with all that going on?"

Nathaniel shrugged. "Alistair sent a message stating that everything is under control, and they are still investigating the murder. It doesn't sound like they have any leads yet. But politics are not our concern; darkspawn are. I want to check out this Primeval Thaig."

"Well, go have your adventure then," Sigrun pouted. "But bring back some souvenirs, okay? It's the least you can do for leaving me with this stinky dwarf!"

Lia Hawke threw down her cards with a glare at the pirate across the table. Smirking, Isabela blew her a kiss and gathered the cards from around the table.

"Seriously, Isabela. I can't prove it, but I know you're cheating!" Lia smacked the arm of the dwarf sitting next to her. "Varric! She is cheating, right?"

"If she is, she's too quick for me," grumbled the dwarf as he fished in his pouch for money. He threw two sovereigns on the table with a grunt. "Damned woman, you're bleeding me dry!"

Isabela chuckled. "If you're gonna play, be prepared to pay!" She held out her hand to Lia. "Cough it up, Champion."

With a sigh, Lia threw in two sovereigns and glanced over at the guard sitting next to Isabela. "You're not letting Donnic off the hook, are you?"

Donnic frowned and also tossed money on the table. With a self-satisfied shimmy of her hips, Isabela swept the coins into her waiting belt purse. "Another game, folks?"

Lia stood up. "Not for me. I've lost enough to you tonight. I need to get home and get some rest. See you all later." Giving a cursory wave, she headed out the door of the Hanging Man and headed for Hightown. Although it was now dark, she could feel the summer heat of the day radiating off the pavement. Nearby, several men in the shadows sent her an interested glance, then turned away after getting a better look. At least one good thing came from having a ridiculous title like the Champion; people didn't want to mess with you. Unless they were desperate, that is.

As she neared her home, she glanced across the square at the dilapidated mansion currently being occupied by a former elven slave she had come to know too well. Known, and then lost. She closed her eyes painfully, flashes of memory ripping through her mind. Lyrium-lined hands shoving her against the stone wall... warm tongue caressing her lips... sharp pain as his teeth closed over her nipple... her sigh of need when he thrust inside... her name, not her last name but her first, groaned from the depths of his throat as he emptied inside of her. She quickly opened her eyes, driving the images from her mind with practiced force. How many times do I have to tell myself it's in the past, so just forget it?

It seemed that her feet didn't agree with her brain. Seconds later, she found herself at his door, knocking. When no one answered, she opened the door, frowning to find that as usual, it wasn't locked. Fenris always refused to secure the mansion, stating that his sword was all the protection he needed. Indeed, no sooner had she entered the main hall when a large blade swung from around the doorway and stopped inches from her throat. She reached out and grabbed the hand around the pommel, pushing the sword away.

"It's just me, Fenris. Don't get your skin all riled up and blue."

"You should announce yourself better, Hawke," said the elf in his deep voice that still sent shivers down her spine. "I could have killed you."

"And put yourself out of your misery? What would you do without me to bother you all the time?" She headed up the stairs towards his bedroom, noting that the house was still in the same disarray as when they first discovered it. Fenris never bothered to clean, which was a source of endless frustration for her. She threw him a glare over her shoulder as he trailed up the stairs behind her. "At least hire a maid to clean this place. I know you have enough money from your mercenary work."

"Did you come here to complain about my house?" Fenris seated himself at the wooden table near the lit fireplace.

Lia sighed and dragged her hand over her face. "No, I didn't, and I'm sorry. I just..." She shook her head and took a seat across the table from him. "Do you realize that I haven't even been here to visit in a year?"

Fenris dropped his gaze to the floor. "I don't exactly blame you after... that night." His hand clenched involuntarily, and she resisted the urge to take it between her own and hold it to her cheek. Her heart ached for him, for them both. Why does he have to be so stubborn?

"Have you found out anything about your sister?"

He looked back up at her. "Yes, I have sent her a letter, and she is on her way here, to Kirkwall. She has agreed to meet me."

She smiled. "Fenris, that's wonderful! You have found your family at last!" His face remained impassive, and she raised her eyebrow at him. "Somehow, you don't seem quite as excited as I thought you would be."

"It may be a trap. I can't help but fear that Danarius is behind this."

"Then I'll go with you. Maybe we'll bring a few of the others. We can handle Danarius, Fenris. This is too important an opportunity for you to miss." She did break through her hesitation then, reaching out and taking his hand in hers. She was relieved when he didn't flinch.

"That would be... greatly appreciated, Hawke. And more than I deserve." The sea of green in his eyes held far too much sadness. One day soon, she was going to find a way to erase it, whether he allowed it or not.

"You always deserve more, my friend," she whispered regretfully. Raising his hand to her lips, she kissed it softly. Before he could reply, she turned and left.

Alistair stood quietly in the corner of the palace garden beneath the shadow of a great oak. Some distance away, his son was playing by the fountain with his boat. Late afternoon sunlight dappled on the water, and ripples flowed in ever-increasing circles from the splashes Duncan made. It was a peaceful scene, one of few in the midst of a turbulent, violent summer.

Alistair's heart ached for his son. After a few weeks of nightmares, Duncan had swiftly recovered from the death of his mother. He still asked where she was, however, not understanding that death was final and absolute. How would the boy fare growing up without a mother? He sighed. The argument could be made that he himself had survived the same plight. The thought didn't make him feel better.

As for himself, his feelings were conflicted and confused. In public, Anora was careful to play the dutiful wife, but in private, she made no effort to hide her disdain for Alistair. He was well aware that she had married him only to merge her lineage with the Theirins. Even that had taken quite some persuasion from Rielle. At first, Alistair tried hard to win her respect, if not her love. He treated her as a friend and a confidant, but she threw his attempts at a relationship back in his face. Apparently, the only thing he had been able to do right was to give her the son she desired.

Rielle. He leaned against the tree and closed his eyes. It had been seven years since he had last seen her, but he could still picture her delicate, pale face, lined with wavy black hair brushed behind pointed ears. He had thought he loved her, but she had ended their relationship by putting him on the throne. Even then, he had wanted to marry her, make her his queen.

Eamon had been furious, and she had sorrowfully refused. "It would never stand, Alistair. The people of Ferelden would never accept an elf as their ruler. You know this."

"So you would have me marry Loghain's daughter, who despises me." His voice had dripped with bitterness. "You would turn away from our love?"

Tears had coursed down her cheeks. "Oh, Alistair. I will always love you, but we are not to be. The sooner you can accept that, the easier our lives will be." And she had run from him, without even giving him a chance to answer. The wedding had occurred a week later, and she avoided him until then. After the wedding, she had offered her congratulations to the royal couple, and the next day she left for Amaranthine. He never had the opportunity to speak to her privately again.

So he had entered his marriage with as much optimism as he could muster, pushing the bitter dregs of his romance with Rielle behind him. Anora agreed to share his bed, only to keep up appearances and try for the child she needed to secure the royal line. Once she had Duncan, all nightly overtures were refused, and Alistair resigned himself to living like a Chantry priest. After a few years, he gave up trying to obtain Anora's regard. It was simply too difficult.

The sound of twigs snapping behind him brought him to full alert. Whirling around with his hand on the pommel of his sword, he saw Eamon approaching. The seneschal raised one hand warily.

"It's just me, Alistair."

Alistair relaxed his stance. "Sorry, but I tend to be rather jumpy lately."

"Perfectly understandable." The older man stopped at Alistair's side and looked over at Duncan. "He seems to be recovering well, don't you think?"

"As well as any child would, I suppose," sighed Alistair. "Any chance you have any information for me regarding the assassin?"

"I'm afraid not," Eamon frowned. "The Crows emphatically deny any involvement and claim that the assassin was an imposter. But they would say this whether the elf was theirs or not."

"I know," murmured Alistair. "Maker, but I wish Zevran were here. He would know what to do."

"The former Crow who helped you during the Blight?" Eamon grimaced. His dislike for elves was well known. "How do we even know he's not behind this?"

Alistair glared at the seneschal. "Zevran has no motive for killing Anora, and this wasn't his style anyway. He would do the job himself, not leave it to an obvious amateur." He shook his head. "Besides, if it had been Zevran, I would be dead now, not him. I never could get the upper hand on that rogue."

Eamon stared at him searchingly. "You feel that this assassin was an amateur?"

"The Crows are the best killers in Thedas. If they were behind this, they would have sent their best assassin to kill a royal mark. I should be dead, and I just can't attribute it to luck that I'm not." He looked back towards Duncan. "I'm grateful it wasn't an expert, or Duncan would probably be dead also."

"I've been keeping an eye on Kylon and the guards," said Eamon. "I'm surprised you didn't demand his resignation. He failed to protect you and your family."

"It doesn't matter who's to blame," replied Alistair shortly. "It only matters that it doesn't happen again. I'm satisfied that Kylon has stepped up our security."

"If you insist. I would still consider demoting him however, and replacing him with a better candidate." When Alistair didn't reply, he continued. "I am going to see Teagan soon, to check on things in Redcliffe. Do you wish to come?"

"No, I think I'll pass. I want to get to the bottom of this mess before I try to go anywhere. Tell Teagan we miss him here."

"I'll do that. Have a good evening, Alistair." The seneschal walked away, leaving Alistair standing alone beneath the oak. Pushing away his grim thoughts, Alistair joined Duncan at the fountain and together, they pretended to be pirates, sailing the Waking Sea.