Author's Notes: Thanks all, glad you liked it. ^_^

Mystialla - I learned something recently regarding the elven language :) Another reader/writer, Lehni, wrote in to say that in the DA book "The Stolen Throne" there are specific cases of elves talking to each other in their own language, as heard by Loghain and Maric. One of the elves explains to them later, in the King's tongue, that they try to speak their own language amongst themselves as much as possible to keep it alive. Apparently there were plans to have ambient conversation in elven and dwarven in relevant areas (or so it was mentioned in the Bioware forums), but this was not implemented for various reasons. Thanks again Lehni for that info! :D

As to your questions, I don't know if 'Bonne niviati' is from an actual language (though it could be a bastardised form of something? Bonne = good?). I took it from in-game dialogue. Zev says this post-coronation if you say you don't want him to stick around anymore, with something of an explanation as to what it might mean. :) Cioccolata Densa, on the other hand, is Italian for 'Thick Chocolate'.

Galahan's name might have been unconsciously inspired by Galahad, as I realised the similarities after I picked it. ;) It was more directly inspired by Garahel, a Grey Warden hero of the Fourth Blight. So I think he draws from both. :)

Ok, back to the story... :)

The last thing Zevran wanted to do, now that he knew the Crows were circling Starkhaven, was to stay in one place. Even though the front gates of the Circle Tower with its Templar guardians might feel like a safe location, his instincts wanted him to keep moving. At the same time, he wasn't stupid enough to go looking for trouble. The scattered villages were not a city; they didn't have interconnecting rooftops to run across or sewers to flee through. They didn't even have handy little back alleys and twisting backstreets a man could conveniently slip into and disappear.

He compromised by keeping close to the tower and circling its perimeter with Ferrix. He would have liked to have looked for Alistair as he'd told Asleena he would, but wherever the ex-Templar was it was almost certain a Crow would be keeping watch. As good as Zevran thought himself to be, he was smart enough to know when to lie low.

There was a stone walkway that went around the circumference of the Circle Tower. It was narrow, barely wide enough for two abreast, and it was on this that Zevran and Ferrix walked until they reached the western side of the structure. Here the walkway was elevated above ground level by at least ten feet, and it dropped away into a fork of the Minanter River. It almost looked like the tower itself was splitting the flow of the water; for it came in from the west, surged up to the rocky foundations of the crag Starkhaven rose from, then diverted north and south.

Zevran admired the view for a little while, enjoying the cool mist of spray that was carried up from the river by the wind, then noticed a solitary helmeted Templar guard patrolling his way and decided to continue walking.

It occurred to him then, as he and the guard angled their bodies to pass one another on the walkway, the Templar close to the wall and Zevran on the outer edge, that full uniform armour could be a very effective disguise.

This realisation came as the Templar moved, a Crow dagger sliding quietly from one arm brace into his gloved hand and stabbing towards Zevran's heart. Unable to jump backwards without risking an uncertain landing, Zevran barely managed to lunge to one side and grab at his attacker's arm in an attempt to avoid serious injury, but he still felt the hot slice of metal cutting across his ribs…coupled with the numbing chill of a strong poison that brought him to his knees.

"The Antivan Crows send their regards…traitor."

Through the stupefying fog of chemicals stunning his mind, Zevran could only vaguely make out the sound of Ferrix snarling and the dark blur of him launching his body against the fake Templar, bearing him backwards and forcing him to defend himself in the unaccustomed weight of armour rather than finish his target off. Zevran struggled to stand, one hand pushing at the stone while the other groped for the hilt of any blade he could find, but then he was grasping at the metal-clad fist closing around his throat.

This time the dagger sank into his belly.

"Any last words?" the man asked coldly, his voice hollow behind the Templar helmet.

Zevran managed a chuckle and took a firmer grip on his attacker's wrist. "Do you know how hard it is to swim in full plate?" he rasped.

And pushed backwards.

The sky and archaic tower spun dizzyingly above. Hair and cloth flapped briefly in the air as everything hung suspended, timeless. The blade in Zevran's stomach came free with a wrench of pain…it lifted, steel and blood glinting as sunlight struck, but the river hit them first and sucked both men down.

Zevran grabbed at the arm with the blade and tore at the fingers digging into his throat. He didn't bother trying to strike—it would have been a waste of time through plate and with the weight of the river hampering momentum. His goal for survival was simple: avoid further damage and get free…the river would kill his foe fast enough. But as though resigned to his fate that he would indeed drown, the Crow-Templar seemed determined to take Zevran down with him. When his hand finally slipped from the elf's neck it seized the thick belt crossing his chest and dragged him even deeper into the black cold.

His lungs started to burn. He hadn't been able to draw a proper breath from the get-go. There was a painful throbbing in his abdomen, and bright spots started to dance in front of his eyes in the liquid gloom. Zevran gave up trying to pry the fingers from his shoulder belt and pulled a dagger to shear desperately through the leather strap. It gave, taking his sword with it, and he let go of the man's other wrist to let him sink to the bottom, white Templar armour gleaming ghost-like even down here.

It was odd how the memory played tricks when the body was struggling not to die. Zevran had almost drowned once, some time ago back in Antiva City—knocked out of a window during a fierce battle, only to be fished from the river by some urchins who'd been more interested in liberating his possessions than seeing if their owner still drew breath.

He hoped they wouldn't steal his boots this time. He really was quite fond of them.

Streamers of wavering light filtered down from above and he kicked towards them, fingers reaching, but his legs felt leaden and his chest burned with effort. He choked once and water trickled down his windpipe.

So. Here I am. An inglorious end, no?

If this was an epic adventure of legend instead of reality, he'd be rescued.

And resuscitated by the heroine, who would weep tears of joy at his deliverance then clasp him to her bosom.

Zevren felt a weak grin touch his lips…then he floated, one arm still stretched towards the sun.

"You might have to do it, one day," Zaria said.

"Maybe."

The Harrowing Chamber was empty but for them. The other Wardens had helped or carried the new recruits from the room some time ago. The new recruits…and one elven corpse. Revas had not survived the Joining. Asleena stared dully at the silver chalice she had passed him, the poison that had taken his life.

We all do our share of killing around here, don't we?

She rubbed a hand over her face.

"I've been a Warden for twenty-six years now," Zaria said, shifting position a little. She sat cross-legged on the floor like Asleena did, the Joining cup between them. "It gets easier. After a while you see the taint take so many lives it just doesn't bother you so much anymore." She didn't say it in a way that was meant to sound comforting, rather matter-of-factly.

"I don't know if I want to be like that," Asleena replied. "You make it sound like…emotion…compassion…gets worn away. Like water on stone."

"It does for a lot of us. One can hardly go through things like this regularly without developing a certain numbness to it all, and finding ways to avoid emotional distress." Zaria glanced at the chalice. "Most of us learn very early on not to become close to recruits before the Joining, for instance. Most of us learn the hard way," she added softly when Asleena began to frown at the perceived rebuke.

Silence fell, then was broken by a tentative tap at the door.

"Come in," Zaria called, and a young mage entered the room. He glanced around the Harrowing Chamber with an uneasy expression, then approached the two Wardens.

"I was asked to carry a message up here for the Grey Warden Asleena?" he said, looking between the two women and holding up a scroll.

"That's me. Thanks." Asleena took the missive and unrolled it to read:

'The Crows from Markham are in Starkhaven and have been for three days. Unknown if Xai is here. They must have travelled direct while we went to the Green Dales. Expecting trouble.'

"What's wrong?" Zaria asked when Asleena stood up.

"Assassins. Loghain set up a contract with the Antivan Crows to try and kill the Grey Wardens who survived Ostagar," Asleena explained. "They ambushed us, failed, and the one survivor, Zevran, joined us when we spared his life. The Crows have been trying to off him since then. He's here in Starkhaven, outside, and he's just warned me that some of his former colleagues are here too."

"How do you know this Zevran can be trusted?" Zaria asked, standing.

Asleena smiled. There were too many reasons, so she picked one a Grey Warden veteran would appreciate. "He stood by my side against the archdemon, for one thing." She waved the parchment and started for the door. "I better get down there. The Crows caused a great deal of trouble for us in Markham City."

"If you need assistance, Sister, you know where we are." Zaria bowed. "When your recruits recover, where should I send them? Or should they remain here?"

"They probably won't want to stay indoors," Asleena said. "Tell them to wait at the stables if I'm not right outside the tower. Oh, and thanks…for letting us barge in on your Joining."

"It was interesting, certainly," Zaria replied with a small smile. "Travel well, Asleena. And might I say…I am glad your friends survived this day. I pray you are always so fortunate."

Something was licking his face and whimpering.

Zevran groaned, gagged, then hurriedly rolled over before throwing up an unhealthy amount of the Minanter River.

"Good boy," he croaked to Ferrix, who was now bounding excitedly around him, dripping and yapping in equal measure. "I must admit I was hoping to be saved by someone with longer legs, but the licking was a nice touch."

He glanced around groggily, trying to get his bearings. The Circle Tower was clearly visible to the north above the trees, but no cabins appeared to be nearby. The river was lapping at his boots and he lay stomach down on the earthy bank, minus his sword and another dagger. Ferrix had deep scratches on his muzzle and shoulders, but for the moment looked incredibly pleased with himself that Zevran was alive.

"Yes, yes," the assassin said, chuckling as the mabari ducked his head in close and huffed anxiously. "I owe you one, my friend. Now would you mind going off to find Asleena or Sindel? I still seem to be bleeding a fair bit, and I'd like to stop doing that. It makes a dreadful mess and I get all dizzy after a while."

Ferrix barked and tore off in the direction of the tower, leaving Zevran to sit up and press his hand against the sluggishly seeping wound in his belly.

"You have more lives than a sodding cat, Zevran Arainai," a feminine, Antivan-accented voice remarked.

Zevran's hand moved reflexively towards his right boot in which a blade was strapped, but he stopped when two elven assassins emerged from the trees, one of whom had a bow trained on him.

"What can I say?" he replied, trying for a smile. "Someone up there likes me." He coughed then, spitting up more water. "Or not. It is not so easy to tell right now."

"Kill him before that mongrel brings the Grey Wardens down on our heads," the other elf, a dark-haired tattooed man said.

"It's funny you should mention them," Zevran said, thinking fast and deciding to lie for all he was worth. "Did you know, had the Crows ever taken the time to approach me in secret about my botched contract rather than constantly trying to kill me, they might have learned I had not, in fact, gone rogue?"

"Nice try," the woman said, keeping her bow on him. "If you were still a Crow you could have pleaded your case to Taliesen instead of helping the Wardens kill him."

"You heard about that, hm? Unfortunately for Taliesen, he made the same mistake I did when I first tried to lay ambush for my marks: he thought a straight fight would win the day." Zevran chuckled self-deprecatingly. "If I sided with him I would be dead right now, for I doubt the Wardens would have spared me a second time. No, my friends," he went on, keeping control of the conversation, sounding calm and trying to buy time for himself, "when I survived that first fight I took the path I should have seen from the start and began to earn their trust. They already had an Orlesian bard in their ranks, an apostate mage from the Wilds and a self-confessed murderer of the qunari, so why not an Antivan assassin?

"These Grey Wardens, Alistair and Asleena in particular…they place great store in loyalty. Once it is earned you can get close enough to kill them, and I have gone to great lengths to achieve this. They trust me. You heard Asleena say so in Markham City, no?"

"Then why are they still alive?" the man challenged.

Zevran gave him a scathing look. "Well, the one obvious reason is that I need witnesses—a team. If I returned to Antiva claiming the contract was fulfilled after my initial failure, who would believe me? But now that you two are here…would you like to know exactly how much gold Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir and Arl Rendon Howe sank into this job?"

The woman's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Bind his arms," she told her frowning companion. "Search him for weapons and bring him. We will discuss this elsewhere, and kill him if he's unconvincing."

Zevran chuckled low in his throat and gave her a very deliberate smile that had served him well in the past. "My dear…if I am unconvincing you can do whatever you wish with me. If we are going to do this, however, I must ask one thing."

"And that is?"

"Before we kill the lovely Asleena Cousland," Zevran said, smiling wider and half-closing his eyes, "you allow me to kiss her goodbye."