A/N: Many thanks to those who've reviewed and added this story to your alert/favorites list. And to those who lurk in the shadows. (You know who you are.) Your support is appreciated. Comments/feedback are, as always, welcome.

Sometimes, a character you think is going to be a minor player starts taking on a more prominent role. He or she, slips out of the shadows and snags your attention. So it was with Master Stefan, presented here, with his own view on what's happening in Ferelden.

Master Stefan

If the study of history had taught him anything, it was that men like Arl Howe were always there in times of unrest, vultures clustering around a corpse, picking at the bones of power and caring only about their own appetites. So it wasn't hard to lure men like Howe with the promise of easier hunting. And that hunting usually left plenty of scraps for those like the Crows.

Stefan hid a smile as he lounged in the comfortably padded chair in a private room at the Gnawed Noble. He enjoyed a glass of wine while he waited for the arl to show. Howe was right on time, heavily cloaked and hooded as he slipped into the room and closed the door behind him. We are scavengers feeding on scavengers, Stefan thought, not for the first time, as he rose and bowed, then waited for the arl to sit before resuming his seat.

"You came alone?" Stefan asked, putting his glass aside.

"My guard is outside the tavern, if that's what you mean." Zevran's mark, Ser Meril, was right; the man did have the voice of a serpent. As for the guard, it was a violation of their arrangement, but Stefan wasn't going to push the issue. He'd expected the arl to do exactly what he'd done.

"I found your proposal…interesting," Arl Howe said. "It's not typically how we do things in Ferelden, but extreme circumstances sometimes require extreme measures."

"You understand, of course, that I would not personally see to any work you may decide to send our way. But I can assure you, my lord, whoever is designated to fulfill any contract will be more than skilled."

Howe threw back his hood. Above that hawk nose lived a vulture's eyes. "You're not Fereldan."

Stefan inclined his head. "No, I was born in Antiva. But I consider Ferelden a second home, as it were."

Those vulture eyes narrowed. "I've done some checking on your…guild. I must say I am impressed. I can appreciate the…advantages your services could give us. But there are others who still have some doubts."

"I understand, my lord. Such things should not be rushed. I am available at your convenience."

Howe studied him for a long moment then rose. "When things are decided, shall I contact Ignacio in the market again?"

Stefan rose and bowed. "That would be most convenient, my lord. Whatever 'merchandise' you decide to purchase, the order can be left with him. He will see that I am informed of your needs. And can relay the necessary contracts."

After a curt nod, Howe pulled up his hood and left, closing the door behind him. Stefan settled back in his chair and picked up his wine glass.

"What do think, Araini?"

Zevran slipped out of the small closet and glanced at the closed door, then at Stefan.

"I think the Crows will be seeing an increase in business."

"Yes, betraying one's associates does tend to do that, doesn't it?"

Zevran stiffened, then relaxed, so subtly and quickly anyone else would have missed it. Unlike the subtle reminders he'd given earlier, this time Stefan hadn't intended a reference to the incident with Rinna, but it seemed that after three months it still preyed on the elf's soul.

Stefan studied the wine in his glass. Almost seventeen years in the Crows, and Zevran Araini still had a working heart. That spoke a great deal of his resilience and tenacity. It really was a pity and a waste that he would never be raised as Master of a house. And when his beauty started to fade, as all beauty did sooner or later, he would be disposed of; another foolish waste. If someone didn't decide to get rid of him for that flippant tongue first, though Stefan hadn't witnessed much of that.

Zevran was still staring at the door, giving Stefan an opportunity to study his profile. Those marks on his face were Crow symbols, unique to the few elven masters the guild had raised, though none had been given a house. Those symbols also pre-dated the Crows by at least two thousand years. That much Stefan knew, if not their exact meaning, though he had his suspicions.

He picked up his wine glass. "You're dismissed, Araini. But don't leave the city."

"As you wish, Master."

So respectful, so unlike the man Jepheth despised, Stefan thought, sipping his wine, as he watched Zevran slip out of the room. But then Jepheth, like most humans, never looked below the surface of an elf. That was plain from the report he had forwarded to Stefan when Zevran had left Antiva. Of course, the elf had never let him or anyone else see deeper. That didn't mean those depths didn't exist, only that one had to dig to find them. As for what Stefan had found so far….

His fingertip traced the rim of his wineglass. He'd been able to get deep enough to suspect that the elven assassin was biding his time, waiting for something. But what?

Stefan grimaced as his field of vision contracted, walls of black closing in from the side. He focused on a knot on the polished pine table, letting his eyes drift over it and keeping his breathing even and steady.

His visions usually came in dreams. But the truest ones came in his waking hours. He shivered as a distorted picture of a great dragon flashed across his mind. It wasn't the first time he seen it perched on a high tower, maybe a fort's, while battle raged below it. But this time, in the midst of that battle Zevran Araini danced, his blades flashing in the dying light of the sun.