Mara had known something was going to happen. Granted, she had never dared to hope that this whole adventure was going to be easy, to stop the Blight and the Darkspawn by themselves. Then again, that was what she had wanted, wasn't it? A grand adventure, in the grand mountains of lonely peaks, and fields of endless summer where no king could claim a stake.

It had begun raining heavily, a thunderstorm, the kind of which she had never seen stuck in the Circle. It was terrific, a beautiful summer's storm of which she had never seen, or imagined, anything of the sort. The lightning splinted on the peaks of the mountains, making the rocks and stones themselves shiver under it's might. Great crashes clashed in the air, rumbling and echoing in the valley of the forest. The overwhelming darkness was frequently broken by flashes of great noise and light, only to be returned moments later.

Drops of cold water dripped upon her hair, trickling down her face. Lightning streaked across the sky, and the air swelled heavy with moisture. Goosebumps crawled up her shoulders and the back of her spine as if ants were crawling upon her skin. It was beautiful. It was terrifying. Another flash of white light raged across the sky, white beams of light plunging through the thick grey clouds that plunged from beneath a dark sky.

"So, you are the Warden I have heard so much of."

Mara whipped around, clutching her staff so hard her hands were white. Behind her was an elf, with long blonde hair that was pulled back in a braid that was deliberately and carefully taken care of. He had dark, tanned skin and an elegant tattoo across the side of his face. He wore an outfit of leather and intricately woven cloth, with chainmail underneath.

And, most importantly, he had two swords at his belt. One had a crow's head at the pommel atop a hilt engraved with gold, and the other was more plain, a simple leather hilt.

"W-who are you?" She stammered, stepping back with inconsistent breathing, panicking.

"Ah," He smiled, looking like a wolf having cornered an animal. "I suppose it would be rude to simply kill you without so much as a how-do-you do, hm? My name is Zevran, Zevran Ariani of Antiva."

"Mara." She said slowly, backing up. "What do you want with me?"

Zevran shrugged simply. "It's not about what I want, I'm afraid. It's about what the Crows have been hired to do. Someone paid us quite the sum to take your head. A shame, I hate to kill such a lovely woman."

That was all she could handle. Mara lashed out with a force of magic, then turned and ran as fast as she could. "Help!" She screamed as loud as she could, but before she could say it again a thrown knife found the back of her calf and she fell to the ground, screaming.

She turned and saw the assassin approaching, sprinting towards her. She stood as best she could, on trembling legs, and faced him, screaming for someone, anyone, to hear her.

A moment later, he was upon her. The blade with a golden hilt that was made of a flaring white steel that was almost difficult to look at. Mara raised her staff as a shield, and it stopped the impressive blade dead in it's tracks, clanking off and utterly confusing the assassin, who had never seen that happen to this blade before, never encountered anything that could stop it like that.

Her staff was ironbark, and she silently thanked Irving for such a precious gift. She couldn't defeat him, that she already knew, but this might buy her enough time for someone to come. For a terrible moment, panic took her as she wondered if anyone was coming, but then the blades were upon her again and there was no more room for fear.

Zevran's blades carried from one attack to another in a masterful, whirling dance of death, barely giving her enough time to keep up with her staff. None of his attacks found her, but every time he hit her staff it stole more and more of the strength from her arms, and it was obvious to the both of them that she couldn't survive much longer.

In a desperate attempt to stave him off just a bit longer, Mara lashed out in an attack of her own, a surge of mana that barely scratched him, and swung her staff in a vicious, clumsy blow that still struck it's target, striking him over the head.

And Zevran smiled, having goaded her into exactly what he wanted. He attacked her once more, and to her credit, she stopped it with her staff again, but the blade stuck fast. With his other sword, he made a lightning fast strike with the golden hilt, slamming it into her head and caving in a bit of her skull.

Mara cried out and stumbled back, where the assassin slid deftly behind her, tripping her. Worse still, her head slammed into a rock as she hit the ground and skull cracked with a sickening sound. Zevran stood and straightened himself out, beaming with pride, ready to take the final blow.

"Parshaara. Put the Blade down."

Zevran looked up, and saw a warrior armed in heavy armour and with a massive broadsword in hand, grey skin and dark eyes staring him down. Sten had arrived.

"One step closer, my grey skinned friend," Zevran warned. "And I'll cut her a new hole to breathe through." Sten raised his blade, angling it directly at Zevran's head. He was somehow intending to throw the massive sword, and Zevran laughed. "You think you could hit me with that?"

"I do." Sten said simply. "This blade is blacksteel. If the blade hit you, you would be killed where you stand. If not, it would be enough to stop you where you stand long enough for me to reach you. Step away from the Warden, and I won't have to. Unless you don't believe a Beresaad can throw a knife."

Smiling, Zevran stepped away from the fallen Warden, admiring the tenacity of her protector, whoever he might be. His lesser blade stayed trained on where she lay, groaning and injured, incapacitated. But his stronger one was now pointed decidedly at the warrior, who lowered his blade from a throwing position, and pointed it at Zevran.

"And who might you be?" He smiled, raising a curious eyebrow. "I believe I've seen you in my stalking, my grey skinned friend."

"I am Sten." He said simply.

"Well then, Sten," Zevran smiled wickedly, flaring both blades. "The Crows send their regards."

He sprinted at Sten and attacked with both blades at once, which the Qunari blocked with the flat of his blade, clanging through the air, and retributed swiftly with his sword, Zevran dancing just barely out of it's way. Zevran had incredible reflexes and speed, but Sten had endurance and strength. In the end, this might just be a contest of stamina.

Zevran lashed out again, hitting Sten once in the chest, though it barely scratched him through the armour, and slid backwards in a deft move out of the reach of his sword.

Now it was Sten's turn to attack. He lashed out in a vicious series of blows, and Zevran barely kept up, and was soon slashed across the chest, his screams of pain genuine. Before another could land, he used impressive acrobatics to leap out of the way, gasping and panting for breath, unused to an actual one-on-one challenge after so many years of poisoning cups and stabbing in the back. Tricks and poison were his trade, not armour and war.

A few blows later, Zevran jabbed with his lesser sword, and it was stopped dead by Sten's armour, who kicked him in the chest in retribution, sending him sprawling. But before it could be taken advantage of, Zevran rolled out of the way and back onto his feet, jumping over Sten's sword when it came again.

When a strike came for him, Zevran tried to block it with his lesser sword so he would be free to lunge and hit, knowing that only his greater could break the armour. But instead his lesser sword was broken by the sheer might of the blow, making a screaming sound as it cleaved into shards.

Before he could recover from it, Sten grabbed the stunned assassin around the collar and threw him away like a doll, using his own momentum from his attempted attack against him. In a moment, Zevran knew he couldn't win this battle through force. He would need guile. And then he remembered. The cliff the Warden had been investigating. The Qunari was heavy and in full armour. He had no idea if a fall from it would kill him, but it would get rid of him, certainly.

He ran for the cliff, still facing Sten, and met him blow for desperate blow, and feigned his injuries even worse than they already were so that the Qunari would think him a dying animal, ready to be finished. He was hit over the head with the hilt of the sword, his leg gouged open, stabbed into his side, and Zevran knew this had to end, or he would soon be dead. His speed was gone, his agility, his only strength against this warrior. All he had left was his guile.

Then Sten did exactly what he wanted. He charged, and swung the blade over his head to cleave through the elf in a single smooth motion. Zevran darted under it's reach, and slammed his blade into Sten's breastplate, through his chest, and used his charge against him, twisting him with his back to the cliff, every last bit of his remaining strength going into a series of lightning fast jabs through his armour before shoving him. Sten stumbled, almost at the cliff's edge.

Zevran gave a final kick to the middle of the chest, and Sten fell off of the cliff.

The Antivan Assassin collapsed, dropping his blade by his side, panting and gasping for air, sweat furrowed on his brow and blood on his lips. He rested a moment, before he heard a noise behind him, and turned.

Mara stood there, bleeding heavily but now conscious. And in her hand was the broken remnants of Zevran's blade, and she held it against him, utterly unsure of herself, but knowing that she had no other chance. He couldn't turn his back to grab his sword from where it had fallen, unless he wanted a blade in the back. So instead he stood slowly, backing towards the cliff and laying a foot on the sword, Mara slowly approaching.

He tried to reach down for it, and rolled away from the cliff just in time to avoid a blade in the skull, and she kicked the sword further away so she was the only armed one.

Even unarmed and injured, Zevran was still incredibly dangerous with his training far surpassing hers. She tried to swing it, but Zevran caught her arm and punched her repeatedly in the chest, but she managed to squirm out of his grip a moment later, bleeding from her lip.

Her next flurry was more successful, striking him again and again in an elegant sequence, but failed when she tried to grab him, being hit square in the chest again to knock her back and ripping the blade from her grasp, but was wounded enough that wrangled out of his grip and punched him across the face, fumbling with the broken blade, dropping it.

Mara dove for it, but Zevran had seen it coming, grabbing her by the base of the skull when she hit her knees. Before he could act on it, she slammed a balled fist into his crotch and he fell, tumbling over her, facefirst into the mud.

The Warden crawled for the blade's hilt, but was treated to a kick in the back of the leg, Zevran sitting on her back and locking her neck in his hands.

"Vete a la mierda!" He hissed. Mara tried to choke out a reply, but was being strangled. She grasped desperately, and found a rock, the one she had hit her head on earlier. Twisting, she slammed it into the side of his head, cracking his skull and knocking him off of her, rolling back to his feet.

Mara stood, rock in hand, and beat him back again and again before being kicked square in the chest, Zevran jumping onto her back and she stumbled. AS she tried desperately to stand with him on her back, he bit her on the neck.

She threw him off and hit him in the face once more, sending him stumbling back, before he grabbed her, and threw her onto the cliff's face. Zevran dove for the broken blade and advanced on her, holding it menacingly like she had. Neither of them were in the condition to keep fighting, and he would win by sheer virtue of being able to stand.

With a final, heaving cry, Zevran charged, her, holding the blade over his head to swing down onto her neck.

With a whirling move, Mara stood and turned, holding the golden hilted sword he had forgotten lay where she had fallen, and stabbed it through his chest. Zevran gasped and dropped his sword, swaying as pain erupted throughout him, and he screamed with the last of his strength.

She lifted the blade as he fell to his knees, ready to finish, but then she froze, cold and shocked. In his eyes, she saw the same fear and darkness from that boy in Lothering. Nothing could bring her to swing the blade down.

Not realizing Mara's struggle, Zevran saw an opening. He dove forward and tackled her with all of the strength he had left, and shoved as hard as he could until she went tumbling down the same way Sten had.