Authors Note: Well, thank you everyone for the reviews so far! Thank you, everyone who has favorited this story, or placed it on alert. The more feedback I get that people actually like this story, the better. Don't worry, the fun stuff is coming up-and it wouldn't be Dragon Age without sex! As always, thank you friends and beta readers for maknig sure the story makes sense.

Chapter 3


I have an oak staff, and a cedar branch. I shall use these to find my way in this place, I shall scatter the ravens of fear and deceit. Time has no meaning in this place, and it feels like I have been here for aeons. My thoughts turn to memories of an encounter I am not sure was real. I remember a voice and a face I once knew, but the eyes-gods in the heavens, those eyes were not of the woman I knew. I had seen those eyes many times before, but never have I realized what lay behind them. An abomination, an evil so great it fooled me. I thought them witches, I thought she an old crone, with no less of right to die than that of her daughter. Apostates, maleficar...Is that what he called them? How long has it been since I heard his voice? How long was I...? Dead. I was dead and the witch brought me back. Just as she had before at Ostagar. But what purpose do I serve for her now? No, I did not have a purpose. I was always a means to an end. Morrigan-back when she was Morrigan and I considered her friend, had said as much. In order to live through slaying the archdemon, I had to let her conceive a child with my love. Alistair, I would not let you do such a thing. I wanted to be selfless-for you to have a bastard? One imbued with the essence of an Old God? No good would come of it. But I didn't want to share you either; I didn't want to know you had a child with *her* when my womb would be forever barren to you. I was afraid there would be a chance you would have fallen in love with her, a beautiful human you could be with freely.

I am afraid. No. I will not be afraid, I will drive the ravens of Fear and Deceit away from me. I would give everything to know your arms again. We have bond stronger than anything in this world, forged in the fires of Ostagar. I will find you. I will find you. But first I must make my way through the Fade. Faith, my love, I will have faith in our love. I feel eyes on me. No doubt the demons and spirits that haunt this place. I have defeated them before- let them cower! I would travel this place for eternity to see your face again. I shall not fade!

(Well then, I told you that I would rise from the dead if it meant putting you on the right path, Warden. Shall I commence with the finger-wagging?)

All that thought they knew Zevran in Antiva City were in for a shock at his transformation over the course of the week after the job at the tower. He became reclusive, no longer seeking companionship at the end of a night's business. While his schedule remained largely unchanged, he began pass off contracts to other Crows, hastened to his apartments instead of spending midnight hours in taverns drinking and reveling. Those that seemed to know him best whispered that a woman had cast her spell over him, that he was under the deadliest of enchantments - love. There were rumors of how he returned one night carrying someone in his arms, wrapped in a cloak that obscured his guest from the view of his guards. Others added-didn't he send servants out on strange tasks, retrieving parcels from various shopkeepers: a dressmakers, a jewelers? So he was doting on a woman, others countered. What is so strange about that? Why, no-one had seen her, no-one knew who it was, and while Zevran did not lack for subtlety in his work, he was an extrovert who made known his love of wine, women and song. Still, what of those others he had summoned to his quarters? The mages, the scholars? Bent and hooded figures who were not the type to be found in the elf's regular company? Why, another exclaimed, he had even seen a priest of a chantry leave his home, and one of those elves who were painted and inked and wore leaves and bark! Sounds like the start of a joke, another said. Laughter would follow their theories untill their blond master arrived, quiet and brooding.

The truth was not completely far removed from what his employees rumored and guessed at. There was a woman at the heart of the matter, Zevran would muse, but the situation was stranger than any fiction they concocted. On his bed lay Sylrien Tabris in a fitful, unending slumber. Even when she was not awake she still ruled over him. He had long since discovered that the while the coin was good, his contacts for this assignment had ceased to exist, and he did not doubt that he was meant to find her and care for her. Being someone's patsy was infuriating, but she would murmur something in her sleep, purse her lips and gasp and all that anger melted from him. It was almost like a fairytale, with the sleeping princess....he had dared hope that the resolution was similar, but when he found his lips close to hers, felt her warm breath on his skin...he lost all nerve, meekly taking her hand and kissing the top instead. So he had dedicated himself to summoning every source he could think of, pulled as many strings and called in as many favors as he felt owed to him get every leading scholar or magical mind in to see her, see what would end this deep, unnatural sleep. Sylrien being alive was another matter entirely, but one he did not wish to contemplate.

For now he concerned himself with every other comfort he could provide her. He wanted to give her what she deserved, even if she could not thank him for it. A servant was well payed to tend her when he was out, and keep silent about it. She was perfumed and bathed in milk, leaving her skin soft to the touch, dressed in the flimsy, gauzy fashions favored by women of the Emperor's court. As the Chantry called to prayer at the sunset, as their chant enveloped the city, so he would sit next to her bedside, telling her stories, reading her poetry, asking and begging for her to wake up. Eventually he would give up and kiss her forehead when she did not respond, falling asleep in the chair by her bed. Their bed. Morning would come, he would kiss her forehead and bid her a good day before leaving to tend to his business. After a month had passed this way, he was sorely tempted to send word to mages might know something, there might be a bit of knowledge somewhere among Theirin's court-but he stayed his hand and sent no message. She was their Hero, and they would surely take her away. He could not bear losing her again, had given her up once, lost her at Denerim...never again.

"Zevran?"
"You know, lovely Sylrien, if I had thought you would be joining me on this watch, I would have prepared wine and flowers and perhaps serenade you. It is rare that I receive such a honor like this, you being away from the side of your young knight, yes?"
He heard her approaching well before she had even spoken. Though she had a light step, trained from years of thinking on her feet in one of those hovels they called Alienages, he had been trained longer and it was near impossible for anyone to truly get the drop on this Crow.

"I...I had wanted to talk to you of something you said before...What you said about your mother?" She sounded so earnest, with her light touch on his shoulder, the gentle prodding. He flinched at the subject and she drew away, mistaking her touch for the cause. He swun around on the ball of his foot, sweeping an arm around her waist. "Talk, talk! Always we talk, we are adventurers, no? We should be involved in action! And..." He winked at her. "I know of a great many actions two elves such as ourselves can take under the stars in a moonlit forest-" Sylrien laughed, pulling away from him, feigning mock hurt. Her laugh always amazed him, after seeing her covered in blood and gore, seeing her pale and tremble at the horrors they faced on a near daily basis...Hers was a good laugh. "Oh no, Aranai. I have made that mistake with you once before, and I shall not mistep again!"
"You wound me so! You cut me with your sharp tongue! You danced so well, what can I do but hope for an encore?"

Sylrien gave another soft chuckle, but she shook her head. She wet her lips, those lips he had seen parted in such moans, ached to see again in such a way. "I wanted...just wanted to tell you that my mother, she was the same-Dalish, I mean. She had run away much...much like your mother to marry my father. I just wanted to tell you that..." Syl bit her lower lip, glancing up at him. "She died, too. I mean, I remember it so clearly...I watched as she...It was..." She stood straight.
"I just wanted to thank you for sharing that with me, for telling me. I know, I know that it is not something you would speak of lightly, and you honor me with your trust. I hoped I could show you mine by telling you of Adaia."

He ran a hand through his hair, untangling it and brushing it from his shoulders. "Then my thanks, Syl. But if you really wished to thank me..." The corners of his lips turned up into a smirk and he caught her hand, kissing the inside of her wrist. She widened her eyes and tried to pull free, but his grip was iron. Then she did not resist, and he continued to pull her closer to him. His other hand slid from her cheek to the back of her head, fingers winding around dark strands of hair, tugging on them slightly so she would gasp and tilt back.
"Then I think you know of much better ways of thanking of me." He half whispered, half growled. His lips brushed against hers as he spoke, his tongue darting out to lick at her lips lightly.

"Zevran..." Sylrien whispered softly..."Zevran...." It sent a chill up his spine, hearing her say his name like that. He felt her nails digging into his arms as his hand slid down her back...

"Zevran.." She murmured softly, pulling away even as her hands kept a tight grip on his shoulders.

"Zevran..."