Hello everyone! The story is back to life! Unbelievable, I know. However, this time it's all Zevran's fault, he was refusing to do what was necessary for the plot.

Thanks to my dear friend and beta ShebasDawn for her help and encouragement, and to all others who reviewed the story, or poked me for an update. :) I can't express how much it helps me to keep going.

Since it's been a long time, here's the summary of the last few chapters: On Alistair's request, the team made a long detour to the Keep - on condition Alistair will be in the lead. During the quest, Alistair openly admitted issues he had with some of Airam's decisions and opinions - he accused Airam of favouring mages, even maleficars, over Templars. This provoked Airam to reveal he is a blood mage, too. For a while it seemed their friendship was ruined, but with the help of others they managed to talk it out. Airam also solved the problem with Wynne learned about her, um, spiritual problem, and restored his authority - or switched back to the Commander mode, as Zevran put it.

After they reached Denerim, everything seemed to go fine... except Airam and Zevran's date. When they finally found time to go out for dinner, they met Isabella who informed them about Loghain's deal with Tevinter slavers. The next the team sneaked into the alienage through the sewers. Zevran sneaked on one of the slavers' ships to find evidence against Loghain. He was almost captured by the magister, who used blood magic on him, but managed to escape. In the meantime, Airam freed the slaves that were not boarded yet, and roused the alienage. The magister used the blood magic again, but against Airam's Blizzard spell, enhanced by an unexpected lightning storm, he had no chance.

And that bring us to this chapter. With the slavers defeated, will Airam and Zevran finally have some quality time together?

Leave a whisper
For the dearly departed
And trade a bag of fools
For the broken hearted

(Shinedown, Leave a Whisper)

oOo

Were they in his beloved Antiva City, searching through brothels would've been an exciting experience… in more than one sense. Alas, they were stuck in provincial Denerim, whose biggest pride was the underground sewage tunnels. Indeed, the red lantern district was… unappetising, should we say. The snow was shovelled into yellowish-brown heaps that reached almost to the windows; the once-whitewashed facades had a sickly greyish undertone to them, especially near the doors, and the tiny red lanterns looked like something forgotten from an ancient festival. Zevran wrinkled his nose.

"Are you certain they are here?" he asked their guide – the officer who had been tied up for his unwise comments. The man nodded eagerly – like everything he'd done and said since they had given him the chance to cooperate and find his former comrades. Apparently he did not like being tied up like a ham.

"Yes, ser. They are common sailors, they cannot afford the Pearl. These are much cheaper and they're not that bad – they're still elves, and you know, they make for the best-" The man's eyes widened and he shot a panicked glance over his shoulder at the six angry elves accompanying them.

"Yes?" Zevran asked sweetly. "The best what?"

"Ah – the – the best… companions," the man muttered vaguely as he hurried to the door. Zevran waved the elves to wait outside - the plan was to lure the sailors out without fight, if possible - and followed the man, with Oghren in tow.

There was no entrance hall, and they found themselves in a warm, cosy room. The walls looked like they had last been painted in the Storm Age, and no two chairs were the same, but it smelled of fresh bread, stew and garlic.

In the middle, several poplar tables were lined up together. Seated around them were about fifteen men drinking ale, playing cards, and occasionally groping the girls that bustled around them removing the empty stew bowls and bringing trays with cheese and more jugs of ale. At the rate they were going, the sailors would be under the tables long before nightfall.

On the right, a massive human who could have been Sten's human half-brother was behind the bar, polishing copper cups; on the left there was a sofa and a few armchairs decorated with the poor bastard cousins of the lush cushions found in Antivan brothels. An older woman in a pale yellow gown was seated in one of the armchairs, like a dried flower someone had forgotten there a few decades ago, sipping something from a cup.

She paid no attention to him or Oghren, but when she noticed the Tevinterian, she hastily got up and bowed. "Ser Eppius! Always a pleasure to meet you, ser. Alas, much as it grieves me, I can't provide service for you and your honoured friends. As you can see, all my girls are already booked."

"No, today I'm here for a different reason," Eppius said tersely, before addressing his men in Tevene. Whatever he said caused a burst of furious protests and rude gestures. One of sailors pointed at Zevran and Oghren; despite not understanding the words, the meaning was quite clear.

"Well?" Zevran asked after a moment, when the sailors didn't move.

"They think the Captain cancelled their free day, and they're not taking it… I can't make them move without alerting them to what's going on," Eppius said nervously.

Oghren cursed. "Eh. This is all too much trouble for a bunch of nughumpers. They're bound to find out anyway."

Without waiting for Zevran's reaction, he stomped over to the tables. The sailors laughed at him, making naughty proposals in broken Fereldan. The nearest sailor, a burly man with a sloppy drunk smile that was in sharp contrast to his stern features and eagle-like nose, stood up and stumbled toward him, reaching with his hand. Maybe he wanted to grope Oghren - that would've been fun to see! Or perhaps he wanted to stroke the dwarf's beard. Whatever he hoped to accomplish, he never got the chance. Oghren grabbed him by his grubby shirt and slammed him on top of the table, toppling the mugs and bowls in the process.

The sailors yelled and jumped away, reaching for their knives. The huge barman made a move as if to intervene. Everyone stopped in their tracks, though, when Oghren swung his axe and brought it down on the table, mere inches from the befuddled eagle-beak, who was still trying to scramble to his feet. The table cracked and broke, and everything collapsed into a slimy mess on the floor, with the sailor in the middle like an oversized dumpling.

"The party's over," Oghren shouted over the threats and curses of the sailors. "Your other comrades are mostly dead or arrested. We were supposed to bring you peacefully. But if you want to fight, I'm game."

For a moment it looked there was nothing they wanted more than to accept his challenge, but then Eppius found his ability to speak again. He straightened up and snapped several angry orders. The sailors exchanged a few confused glances, but finally sheathed their knives.

"We can go now," Eppius snapped at Zevran in the same tone.

Zevran was unimpressed. "There are some guys outside; call them in," he said to one of the girls, before turning back to the man. "Tell your men to drop their weapons, and tie their hands. Make it quick," he ordered. "And pay the tab. The extra damage as well," he added as an afterthought.

Eppius opened his mouth to react, but changed his mind. From the bill the Madame – who'd recovered from the unexpected turn of events remarkably fast – gave them, the stew had been made of the most tender dragonling loin, the wine one of the renowned Rivaini brands, and the furniture plated in gold. All the money Eppius had on him was not enough, and the other sailors had to chip in. There was some grumbling, but with the Eppius once again determined to please the Wardens, and under the hateful glares of the elves, everything went smoothly.

A few moments later, they were marching back to the Hahren's house: the sailors with their wrists bound together, guards on either side of them, followed by the Second, Zevran and Oghren bringing up the rear.

"Surfacers are a band of sissies." Oghren sounded almost disappointed. "No dwarf would let himself be dragged out of a whorehouse like that. Not without chopping off all the dangling parts of any fool who'd try it."

Neither would an Antivan, Zevran had to admit. But right now, all he wanted was to get back to Airam as soon as possible - his terror at hearing his crazy mage had offered himself as a slave was still too fresh in his mind. Better not leave him alone too long; who knew what else he would come up with.

"Ah, but those dwarves did not meet us, yes?" he said lightly. "We are so ridiculously awesome everyone looks like a sissy… And between us, my friend, Fereldan brothels are hardly worth dying for."

"Yeah." Oghren made a half-hearted belch. "There are some places and people that are, though."

Zevran stopped in his tracks. "What's this? Oghren! My dearest, smelliest friend! You have a woman?! And you kept it to yourself? Such a lack of trust on your part - for shame, Oghren!"

Oghren didn't bother to reply; no matter how much he needled and teased all he got from the stubborn dwarf were deep belches.

oOo

They left the Tevinterians in the same old warehouse near the docks where they had kept the slaves. The few survivors of the fight were also there, tied together like the slaves had been on the ship. Only the leader had been spared that fate, if only temporarily – he was still frozen, with his arms lifted above his head and his mouth open. He was kept in a separate cell, to be dealt with by the Warden Commander once he unfroze.

They left the six elves at the warehouse, too. It wasn't truly necessary, there were at least two dozen guards already, watching with cold hate for any sign of trouble that would give them an excuse to kill the prisoners.

Zevran kept his tone polite, but he was annoyed. Easy to act all high and mighty and full of righteous indignation now, when the Wardens had taken care of everything. Where were they a day ago? Everyone knew what had been going on, but they all took it quietly, like sheep.

His annoyance increased when they reached the main square – the one with the vhenan-something tree, the pitiful reminder that they used to be members of a proud nation and have balls. The square was crawling with people. Freed slaves, their relatives, everyone able to walk and talk was standing in front of the Hahren's house. Waiting for the King and the Wardens to give them hope and love and salvation. Always waiting, always whining, always giving up their battles without trying at all.

It disgusted him. The Crows were horrible, but at least they taught him to fight for himself. If you wanted to survive, you had to fight. Every day, every thing, every moment of pleasure were yours only because you fought for it, because you bested someone else. No one cared for you, no one would ever help you, not for free.

Unless they were Airam Surana and helped whoever they could, because they could. But Airam was simply crazy that way, yes? As much as he admired Air's generosity and noblesse, it was hardly the standard way the world worked.

And naïve idealists like Wynne, who didn't really know how the world worked.

And brilliant masterminds like Erwin McLam. Who did know how the world worked. Who should know better… Ah, but he was the crazy kid's best friend, no? Perhaps it was contagious.

Zevran chuckled despite himself. Ignoring the curious glances and whispers that followed him, he pushed through the crowd and entered the house.

oOo

"If you think I'll let you do whatever you please – do nothing, that is – then you're more senile than you look! And don't stare at me like that! Don't you dare – you have no right to pity me!"

A petite red-haired woman stood in the middle of the room, yelling at the top of her lungs. Her words were addressed to an old elf – the Hahren, Zevran guessed – who didn't look at all impressed. The others seemed rather exasperated, and even slightly embarrassed, in Alistair's case. The only one who appeared relaxed and amused was Tabris, the carpenter who had helped Airam.

"I didn't say we should do nothing," he replied with a tired sigh. "But a rebellion? What good can that bring? We'd all be dead the very first day."

"At least we'd die with honour! We should-"

Zevran coughed. The woman whirled around and looked him up and down, with her hands on her hips. "What do you want?"

She was young, and had she smiled, she might have been pretty in the impishly-cute way; but the scowl was carved into her face so firmly he wasn't sure she could do that even if she wanted to.

"Let me introduce you." Airam got up, clearly happy he could interrupt the rant. "These are my companions – the elf is Zevran Arainai, formerly of the Antivan Crows; the dwarf is Oghren Kondrat, a warrior from Orzammar. Zevran, Oghren, meet Valendrian, Hahren of the alienage, Shianni Tabris, and her cousin Darrian."

"Pleased to meet you," the Hahren said with a slight nod of his head. Shianni had called him senile, but that couldn't be further from the truth. He was old and wrinkled, but there was no trace of the meekness or humility Zevran sensed in old people so often. This guy had a stern face and shrewd eyes – a guy who thought more than talked, and never acted without calculating all the options. A guy who'd do well in the Crows. Not someone Zevran would've expected in this cesspit.

"As I was saying-" Shianni turned back to the old elf "-we must not let the Arl get away with this! If we don't say anything, it will happen again! Loghain also promised changes when he needed the elves during the war, and look what he's done now!" She pointed at the Tevinter papers lying on the table. "It's his signature, Hahren! A great friend of elves, founder of the Night Elves, and now he's sold their children to the slavers! We can't believe humans and human kings; we need to take matters into our own hands!"

"I agree," Zevran said, making everyone stare at him in shock. "Go ahead. It will be suicidal, but at least this will never happen again. And there might be a cat or two left who will remember your heroic sacrifice. Now then, if that is all, we should move on." He turned to Airam. "The magister will thaw in half an hour at most. We should-"

"So you'll simply leave and let us fight alone?" Shianni cut in.

"Did you not say we cannot be trusted? Besides, these two already have more than enough on their plates. We have neither the time nor the resources to help ingrates."

"Um, I think I should go check the magister. Zev, you come with me," Airam said hastily before the annoying woman could reply. He grabbed Zevran's arm and, followed by Leliana's snickering, steered him to the door.

oOo

The moment they left the crowd surrounded them, demanding to know what was going on and if it was true they were marching to the palace now.

"NO! The true king is discussing the situation in the alienage with your Hahren – but as you know, we're in the middle of the Bight and a civil war. We'll send runners to our allies in town to provide food, healing potions and other supplies to help you, but it won't arrive sooner than in a few hours. No need to wait here. Please, go home. Now if you'll excuse me, I have other urgent matters to attend to."

The people weren't satisfied with such an answer, and it didn't look like they would be leaving the square anytime soon, but at least they obediently got out of their way.

oOo

"Am I not supposed to be the cheeky brat, and you the diplomat?" Airam asked with a chuckle as they strolled to the warehouse. "What got into you back there?"

"Oh? You think fleeing away is 'diplomacy'? Why don't we ask Alistair if he agrees, hm?"

"Let's not linger on the past." Airam laughed. "All right, I admit, I was happy to leave, too. Still, you didn't need to be that harsh. She's got a good reason to be mad at humans. About a year ago – around the time I was conscripted, I'd say – the son of the previous Arl came to the alienage with his friends and they dragged several women to their house. Shianni was one of them."

Zevran sighed. How many times had he heard that story? It happened all the time, in every alienage. Antiva, Ferelden, Orlais – when it came to exploiting elves, humans were the same everywhere. "At least she survived," he muttered.

"The guys from the alienage rescued them. They sneaked into the palace, killed the guards, butchered the nobles, and brought the girls back."

Zevran stopped in his tracks. "They did? Kill the nobles?" Now that wasn't the usual response to human abuse. He looked around him with increased respect. Perhaps he was too harsh on these elves. "And the humans didn't strike back?"

"They combed the alienage, but never found out who did it. If the old Arl had been here at the time, it would've been much worse, I think. But he was at Ostagar with Cailan's army. When Loghain became the regent and named Howe Arl of Denerim, the elves here took it as a good sign. You heard Shianni – Loghain had a reputation as a guy who respected elves. No wonder they are hesitant to believe the promises of another 'future ruler'."

It made sense, yes… Maybe they weren't just dumb prey after all. True, they didn't fight back, and they let the humans rule over them. But they did what they had to to survive. If he had to be honest, the Crows weren't that different. They, too, chose the easier and safer way, obeying every command the Masters gave them. Anything to live. If things hadn't gone all wrong, he would still be a Crow. Not happy about it, perhaps, but not fighting against it, either. Had Master Xavier chosen him to kill Rinna instead of Taliesen, would he have made a different decision?

He pushed the troubling question away, like he had so many times before in the past year. "Be careful around the magister," he said instead. "Don't give him a chance to cast. He used his blood magic on me, and it was not funny. It made me stiff in all wrong places."

"He – Maker, Zev!" Airam stopped, eyes wide in fear. He grabbed Zevran's arm and turned him to himself. "Did he hurt you? Are you all right?"

"No need to worry. It was only a paralysis spell; not even evil magisters can bring themselves to kill or hurt someone as gorgeous as me."

Airam didn't seem reassured. "I can't believe I never thought to ask how it went… Some kind of a boyfriend I am."

"Tsk." He wrapped his arms around Airam's waist and pulled him closer. "You did not ask, because you believed in my abilities, no? I would be sorely disappointed if it was any other way. As if one magister was a match for me. But if you have any doubts, there is an easy way to drive him out of my mind."

Airam laughed and gently pushed him away, but his eyes held a promise Zevran was determined to make true later.

oOo

They arrived just in time. The ice crust was paper thin, cracking and falling to the floor, creating a mud puddle around the magister's legs. It wouldn't take much longer. From his own experience, Zevran knew that even after he was unfrozen, the magister wouldn't be able to move properly for at least a quarter of an hour – deep freeze tended to make your joints stiff. The elven guards did not know that, however, and sighed in relief when they saw Airam, well aware they'd be no match for the blood mage.

"Hello." Airam's sweet tone was in sharp contrast with the ominous icy aura whirling around him. The guards retreated as far as they could from him.

Airam ignored them. He leaned against the cell's door and crossed his arms. "Did you miss me? I hope you used this unique opportunity to reflect upon you behaviour. No? Nevermind. You'll have plenty more opportunities. Here's what's going to happen now. Once you've thawed, Zevran here is going to tie you up. I strongly recommend that you don't make any sudden moves. While I'd prefer to keep you alive until I confront Loghain, it's not really crucial. We already have plenty of evidence. So don't move. Don't speak. Once you're tied up, we'll take you to a better prison – by which I mean, more fit for monsters like you, not more comfortable, you understand – where you'll wait for the trial. Any questions?"

Unsurprisingly, the magister didn't have any.

A few moments later, the last bits of the ice were gone. Zevran approached the magister and roughly pulled his arms behind his back. He tied them tightly, but carefully, making sure he wouldn't be able to make any magic signs with his fingers, then tied his legs so that he could shuffle forward, but not run.

"We also need to gag him," he said. "Do you have any cloth we could use?"

"No, but I'll get you one." Airam turned to the captured sailors who were watching everything from the next cell, and pointed to a guy with a scarf wrapped around his neck. Without waiting to be asked, the man quickly took it off and handed it to Airam through the bars. Airam ripped off a piece of it, and rolled it into a ball. "Say aaah."

The magister spat in his face.

Airam grinned. "Was that truly a wise thing to do right before we drag you to your new home – through the sewers? I guess we'll find out soon."

oOo

Two hours later, they were finally backed to the civilised world – relatively speaking. The last bits of the magister's grand airs and pride had been washed away in the depths of Denerim's biggest pride. Amazing, truly, how a few involuntary baths in sewage – all accidental, naturally – can improve one's manners. Eamon's soldiers, who were waiting for them at the sewer's entrance, wrinkled their noses in disgust.

"I must say, Air, I am very glad I am not your enemy," Leliana said as they watched the guards dragging the man away.

"As long as you don't try to mess with my boyfriend's mind." Airam chuckled "So… feel like one more detour before we return home? I know we're all tired," he said, when they grumbled, "but we're not far from the Wardens' warehouse, so maybe we could go there now?"

"The warehouse has been there for centuries. I'm certain it won't disappear by tomorrow," Wynne said.

"The warehouse might be there tomorrow, but I won't," Airam replied. "I have other plans. In fact, I'm taking a day off from all the world-saving tomorrow. Loghain, the Archdemon and everyone else must find some other unfortunate to play with.

Zevran arched his brow. "Everyone else?"

"I might make a single exception. For a price. Dinner in a proper restaurant – not a brothel, for example."

"Hmmm that sounds tempting," Leliana cut in before Zevran could reply. "How about The Gnawed Noble?"

"Not bad, but I'll wait for other offers before I decide," Airam replied haughtily. "Anyone interested may apply until nine this evening. Now then. Shall we go to the warehouse now, or some other day?" He turned to Alistair.

"Let's go."

oOo

Based on Avernus' description, he'd expected a dark, half-forgotten ancient safehouse, crawling with spiders and other creepers and full of ancient mysteries and treasures. Instead, they found a warehouse. The building itself was old, but no more so than the other, similar houses that surrounded it, and it didn't look abandoned at all. The paint on the façade was at most a couple of years old, the massive oak door and the window shutters were well-maintained, and the lock, when Airam inserted the key, opened easily.

The inside was dusty, but it was not the dust of centuries. The walls were lined with crates, weapons racks and armour stands, and shelves; all the weapons and armour sets were of a decent quality, but nothing remarkable or unique. In the right corner, a staircase led to two bedrooms, each containing two plain beds with chests at their feet, a washbasin, and a tiny desk with a chair.

That was all. How utterly disappointing. He didn't say it aloud – the crestfallen expression on Alistair's face was loud enough.

They were getting ready to leave when he noticed some crates under the staircase that they had not checked yet. The chances they would contain something interesting were ridiculously low, but they decided to check anyway. The barrels only contained cured beef. Ugh. But as they pushed them away they discovered something that returned the spark to Alistair's eyes – a trapdoor to the treasury.

oOo

Now this was more like his idea of an ancient Warden storehouse. There wasn't much – a single cabinet, a few weapons racks, a few bookshelves, and three chests – but the contents were far more interesting. The shelves were full of journals and documents that appeared to chronicle the whole history of the Wardens in Ferelden. Airam immediately grabbed one of the oldest looking ones and unceremoniously sat down on the floor to read it. The old pages crackled as he gently turned them, trying to decipher the faded handwriting.

Leliana followed his example. Wynne was more interested in the potions stored in tall, ornamented flacons, while Alistair and Oghren were checking out the racks.

"It looks like blood," Wynne muttered, as she turned one flacon in her hands. "But no phylacteries are this big. Who would need this much blood, and why protect it with magic?"

"Did you say blood?" Alistair joined her. "It could be archdemon blood! You know – the previous one. It's used as one of the ingredients for - the potion." He shot a pointed look at Airam. "What a pity we don't know the rest of the recipe!"

"There are some recipes in this book," Airam said excitedly. "But they're hard to decipher, and the few ingredients I figured out are all rare… We'll take the books and journals to Erwin," he decided after musing it over for a moment, "but not tonight. They're too fragile. I won't risk destroying them, not when we're not in a hurry and it's not far. We can always come back-"

"-in two days. Yes?" Zevran cut in, not liking where this was going. Better remove the danger immediately.

Airam laughed. "All right, then. In two days."

"We should check the chests, too. Who knows what else we'll find," Alistair suggested.

"Hey, spike twirler – you should check out the swords. This one's red steel, and far better than what you use now."

"Let me see." Alistair gave the potion to Wynne and returned to Oghren. "Maker's breath! That's Duncan's! Look!" he called to Airam. "That's Duncan's sword – and his shield, too!"

That was enough to force Airam away from the book. "Are you sure? Why would they be here, then?"

"I don't know why they're here, but it's definitely his. Well, the Warden-Commander's, really. See the heraldry on the shield? It's the symbol of the Warden Commander. He preferred daggers – he used to be a rogue and a thief like Daveth before he became a Warden, but he used these, too. He had them when we first met. He came to the Templars' tournament to recruit Wardens… Here." He passed the sword and the shield to Airam. "You should take them."

Airam blinked in surprise. "You do remember I'm a mage, right? I don't know how to use this – I'd probably bash myself if I tried."

"They belong to the Warden-Commander, so they're yours now," Alistair said heroically, although the desire in his voice was plain to hear.

"I guess…" Airam frowned at the shield. "Hm… Oghren, you said these are good quality? Quite valuable? Okay, in that case I have an idea."

That was too much for Alistair. "You want to sell them?! Have you no respect-"

"I didn't say that – but Maker damn you, Alistair, yell at me like that again and I'll sell it all, together with you!"

The two Wardens glared at each other with the same indignant obstinacy.

Wynne sighed. "Here we go again."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Airam declared. "Now. Where was I." He took a deep breath and grinned at Alistair. "I will not sell it. I will use it to support good relations between the Grey Wardens and Ferelden."

Alistair crossed his arms. "I don't see how that's any better," he snapped – but didn't yell, as Zevran noticed amusedly.

"Specifically, with the Fereldan Crown." Airam coughed. "Your Highness, please accept this gift from the Grey Wardens as a token of our gratitude for your friendship and support during this crisis." With a deep bow, he handed first the sword and then the shield to his friend. "Allow me to express my hope that the good relations between us shall continue into the future."

"Brilliant!" Leliana clapped and dropped a curtsey. "I admit I also had doubts for a moment, but you found the perfect solution!"

Alistair gave Airam an awkward hug. "Thanks. And – what I said… I take it all back. I didn't mean it."

Airam snorted. "I did. Seriously, Al. Don't. Yell."

"You would sell me? Your own brother? To whom?"

"Of course not. No, I'll ask Erwin and Daria to invent a spell that records voices. Then the next time you start yelling I'll record it, freeze you, and make you listen to it… for one day, let's say."

Wynne shuddered. "A whole day of his yelling? Please inform me first so I can make sure I'm not in the building."

"Selling him might be more merciful – to us," Leliana agreed. "I'm sure we'll find someone who'll take him. No one says it must be a great bargain."

This was too good not to join in. "A handsome lad who looks like a deceased king? All we need to do is visit the Pearl - I bet we could get at least six or seven sovereigns for him."

Alistair rolled his eyes. He replaced his sword and shield with Duncan's, then looked at Airam. "May I at least go and take a bath before you present me to Sanga?"

oOo

They were being tailed. The feeling of wrongness he'd had since they'd stepped out of the warehouse turned into certainty: the Crows were here. Toying with them like a cat with a mouse, nothing more than an unsettling flicker of shadows at the edges of their vision. The oldest trick in the book, meant to agitate the victims, throw them off balance before the attack. In an assassination, every second could be decisive, Zevran knew.

Which was why it didn't make any sense. Surely Taliesen didn't think Zevran had forgotten the basics in a few months? Come on. He caught Leliana's glance and nodded.

"Get ready," he muttered to Airam. "But be discreet. Tell Wynne, too."

He looked around, trying to picture the route to Erwin's house in his mind, but he couldn't see a way to avoid the fight. It wasn't more than two or three miles as the crow flies, but the winding alleys offered countless possibilities for a trap.

The alley ended with a flight of stairs leading to a small square above. Not the perfect place, but better than being picked off one by one by archers in a narrow alley. He glanced at Airam, who gave him a little encouraging smile. The others seemed to be ready, too.

Zevran stopped. "Taliesen! Let's end this, shall we?"

For a few heartbeats there was no reply. Alistair shot a questioning glance at him, but he shook his head. Just another trick for the hapless prey. Let them relax, think they only imagined the danger, sheathe their weapons, cancel their spells. Then kill them. It was truly frustrating Taliesen – his subordinate – would mock him like this.

And then he finally appeared at the top of the stairs, slowly clapping. "As expected from the infamous Zevran Arainai," he said in that teasing, arrogant tone Zevran used to love. Dressed in sexy black leather, without a helmet, his long curls nonchalantly framing a face with classical features. Taliesen. His lover. His traitor.

Zevran swallowed. "Cut the drama, please. You didn't attack us right away, so I assume you want to talk?"

"Maybe he needed extra time to fix his hair," Alistair suggested, earning an indignant glare from the Crow. "What? Not even Leliana's hair can stay that perfect in this weather for more than two minutes."

"Zevran. I don't know why or how you tolerated this for so long," Taliesen said in Antivan. "But it's time to finish it. Come, let's do this together and then we can go home. If you're worried about Master Xavier, there's no need. He knows his best and favourite wouldn't betray him. There were complications that prevented you from finishing the job in time, that is all. Yes?"

"What's he saying?" Oghren asked.

"I can translate," Airam offered. "He says, 'I know I'm no match for you and your friends, so I'm buying time with blabbering'."

Zevran burst into laughter; Taliesen didn't find it amusing at all. "Quiet! Impertinent brats! What makes you think you can look down on me, or the Crows? You think that because Zevran let you capture him you are stronger than us? Haven't you figured out it was all part of his plan? Zevran is not so stupid as to throw away all he has achieved for one snotty mage. What could you possibly offer him? He and I, we were together from the start, two underdogs, impossible winners. Many thought they were stronger and better than us. But only the two of us made it. We-"

"Three of us," Zevran cut in. "There were three of us, Taliesen."

"Oh please! Don't tell me you're still going on about that! I already explained that – I got orders from Master Xavier to choose one of you. There was no other option, you know that as well. I chose you. Look me in the eye and tell me you'd choose differently."

Zevran hesitated. Would he? If the choice was up to him, would he choose differently? Would he have enough courage to go against Master Xavier and save them both?

"He would," Airam said next to him. "And I bet this master of yours knew it – he knew Zev is loyal and brave and wouldn't sacrifice his friends to save his neck. I guess that's why he asked you to do it."

Taliesen's face twisted with hate. "You will not die easily," he promised. "Attack!"

At his sign, at least fifteen Crows attacked, coming from every alley – including the one they had come from. They had barely gone a step, though, when the ground shook. Several of them fell, knocked off their feet; Oghren and Alistair swooped down on them before they could get up, while Leliana covered their backs.

But more were coming now, doing their best to separate him and Airam from the others. Taliesen was nowhere to be seen, waiting for his chance in the shadows. Brasca! What was Airam doing? Why weren't they frozen yet? Had he cast his Blizzard, it could've been over already. His crazy mage showed no signs of casting, however, fighting with his daggers instead. Daggers! He didn't truly think he could defeat several Crows, did he?

He impatiently stabbed the fool attacking him in the chest; the wound wasn't fatal, but it would have to wait. He had to get to Airam!

Too late. With a triumphant shout, Taliesen reappeared right behind Airam. Zevran tried to call, to warn him, but the warning died on his lips. His heart stopped. In a blinding instant, all his life, what he had been, what he could be, flashed before his eyes.

Taliesen was lifted from the ground, his body pierced by beams of white light. He screamed in a shrill, inhuman voice that made everyone else stop fighting. Zevran closed his eyes. It was over, he knew.

Taliesen, his first ally in the Crows.

Taliesen, his first real lover.

Taliesen, whose biggest fault was that he loved a man unable to love him back.

Dead.

Just like Rinna.

The other Crows fled. Leaving him behind like a dead dog. The fate of the Crows. No matter how strong you are,in the end, you always died alone.

Alistair was saying something, but Zevran didn't pay attention. He knelt next to the body and gently closed his eyes. "Forgive me, my friend. You should've stayed in Antiva."

He felt a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Zev."

He got up, forcing himself to smile. "What for? All is at it should be, yes?" he said lightly. "The bad Crows are dead and I am finally free. In fact, this is exactly what I have been hoping for since the beginning – it will take months before my Master finds out and sends someone else. If I leave now it will be easy to cover my tracks."

"You want to leave?" The hurt in Airam's voice and eyes almost broke his heart and he wanted to pull him into a hug and tell him there was nothing he wanted less – that it would be easier to stop breathing than to leave.

But did he have a right to do that? Airam believed he was loyal and brave. But could he dare to believe it? The results of his choices so far didn't seem to justify that trust. Look at Rinna. Look at Taliesen. Could he risk Airam would be next? No. Big decisions were best left to others.

"I don't know," he admitted. "If I stay, the Crows will eventually find out what happened and try again. It wouldn't be safe for either of us. What do you think?"

Airam shook his head. "I want you to stay with me, but... you should do what's best for you, Zev. If it's safer for you to leave, I… I understand. I'd much rather have you go and be safe and well than stay and lose your life."

They stared at each other, the silence heavier every second.

Finally, he forced himself to smile again. "I will think about it. But this is hardly the time and place, no? Come. I am dying for a hot bath and hot wine. Let us go home."

For a little longer.