Thanks to everyone that has read and reviewed! Tis author fuel!

A/N:
Wherein a plot begins to form.

The sewers of Kirkwall left a lot to be desired. It was a rabbit's warren of twists and turns, and unless one knew precisely where to go, you could get lost in them for days—if something didn't kill you first. The city guards and the templars liked to pretend that the sewers weren't the problem that they were. They rarely ever ventured into them unless it was a dire need. Lyrium smugglers, escape slaves and mages, along with the gangs of Kirkwall had made use of them over the years. Each time they had left their mark in dead bodies and the gruesome carvings on the walls.

Not to mention the spiders-and Maker only knew what else-that had called some of the cave system home for far longer than the city had been in existence.

Zevran moved silently through the tunnels, a dagger in one hand and a lantern in another. He had memorized the map that Anders had drawn for him, and quietly hoped that the sewers had not changed in the time the mage had last utilized them. It had been a while since he'd had to use his skills in an unknown environment, and a thrill raced through him at the prospect. He had long ago ferreted out the secrets of Vigil's Keep and Amaranthine. Sneaking into the Gallows was something new, and if he loved anything, it was something new.

Aedan would not be pleased when he found out, but the elf wasn't concerned. One of the many things he loved about the man was that he let Zevran be who he was. He would rage and bluster, but in the end, he would not remain angry. It wasn't complacency, just a statement of fact. Aedan's quiet acceptance was pivotal in their relationship. In return, Zevran made sure that nothing touched Aedan as long as he could prevent it.

If Anders went into the Gallows to break someone free, then it would touch Aedan—Fenris had been correct in his assessment. The mage could give all the assurances he wished, but Zevran knew the Knight-Commander would come to him first. Cullen wasn't stupid. A mage comes into the city, asks unreasonable things, and then a few days later, a friend of his escapes. Anders would be the first person Cullen would look to, and Zevran wouldn't blame him. Aedan would be caught in the middle in his zeal to protect one of his men.

No one would look to Zevran as the culprit. He was only the Warden-Commander's pretty lover, beneath notice and suspicion. Or at least, that was how he had to play it for the rest of his time in Kirkwall. If Anders and the others were seen in the Viscount's Keep, away from the Gallows, then no one should look in their direction long.

Neat and simple, just the way Zevran liked it.

As he rounded another corner, he heard heated whispers drifting from up ahead. He paused in mid-stride and tilted his head to the side.

"…already… came… warden…"

Zevran extinguished his lantern, and plunged the tunnel around him into darkness. He slipped it into the sack on his back, careful not to make any noise. Slowly, he made his way to the source of the whispers. Each placement of his feet was calculated for silence as he moved to a bend in the tunnel. He stopped and flattened his back against the wall. He slowed his breathing as his ears strained to hear what was being said.

"If the Knight-Commander was that angry, then maybe we have nothing to worry about. We can only hope that he gives a repeat performance in Starkhaven," said one voice. It was a young woman from Orlais if the faint accent was any indicator. She was trying to cover it up, but it slipped through in her agitation.

"The Prince of Starkhaven will be no problem. He will not go against the Chantry. We must make sure that it stays that way. If it proves necessary, we will eliminate the mage and stop his subversive behavior in its tracks. But it must be done carefully. Nothing must be tied to the Chantry." It was a male and older than the woman, with an accent that marked him as a man from the Free Marches.

"I'll alert our sister in Starkhaven," the woman said. Carefully, Zevran inched his way along the wall. It was a tedious process, and at times he barely moved at all as he drew closer to the bend. When he was near enough, he dropped to the ground and crawled the rest of the way. His nose wrinkled in distaste at the smell that rose to his nostrils. He was just going to not think about what was seeping into his clothes.

Things just got more interesting than a simple rescue.

Up ahead, he could make out two figures with lanterns between them. Both of them were dressed in the garb of the Chantry. Zevran made a mental note of their appearance, committing to memory every detail. The woman was indeed young and looked no older than twenty. She had long, blond hair that was plaited down her back, and she was shorter than most women. She seemed frail and delicate, and her appearance was a strange juxtaposition with her surroundings and the plot she was entangled in.

In contrast, the male appeared as if he had lived in the sewers his whole life. His robes were stained with muck and he looked as if he had not bathed in a long while. A zealot is what first came to Zevran's mind. One of the mad that could be found in every city in Thedas, the ones that raged about the Maker and the end times. He was shaved bald, but Zevran could see that his eyebrows were pure white. His eyes were alight with righteous fervor as he spoke.

"Alert her and tell her to be ready. If the apostate proves too persuasive for the prince, then the Maker shall guide her hand, and a place at his side will be her reward."

The woman muttered a prayer in response and Zevran's mind worked rapid fire. He had three choices as far as he saw it. He could wait for them to leave and continue on to the Gallows, and inform Aedan later on what he witnessed. He could also take them by surprise and question them, but without knowing who they were, that was dicey at best. They had come this far into the tunnels alone, and that was not something someone who was unskilled did and lived. Or he could just outright kill them and save himself some trouble. But then, he ran into the same problem and he would lose any chance of finding out who they were.

His decision made, Zevran waited in the dark as the grimy water seeped into his clothing, chilling his skin. His jaw clenched down to prevent his teeth from chattering as he watched them move off, noting which direction they went.

Counting to himself silently, he waited until enough time had passed and he was sure they were long gone before pulling himself upright. The lantern was retrieved from his pack and he lit it, blinking against the sudden light.

Tomorrow, he would make a little trip to the Chantry and see what he could find out, but right now, he had a blood mage to save.

"He's where?" Aedan's angry voice boomed through Varric's room at the Hanged Man.

"He's gone to rescue a friend of," Fenris paused, searching for the right word and coming up with nothing, "ours, in the Gallows." Fenris had decided not to wait until Aedan came back to find out where Zevran was. He wasn't going to sit there in the Viscount's Keep with a sword hanging over his head. It was best to get it done now while Aedan was in good company and near alcohol. Anders hadn't wanted to come, but Fenris had pointed out the whole thing had started with his big mouth, and he needed to be there when Aedan was told.

Oghren immediately started laughing. "Can't take your girlfriend anywhere, Cousland. Maybe if you tied him to the bed he wouldn't wander off so much, eh?" The three wardens sitting at Varric's table playing Wicked Grace all looked intently at their cards. One of them, an elf named Denerou, was fighting to keep a smile off his lips—and failing. Denerou, Markum and Sandor were three older wardens—the last two human. They were part of the group that usually went into the Deep Roads with Fenris the most. Nate had insisted that Aedan take them along, incase Weisshaupt proved to be all that they feared and he needed back up. They were also close to Fenris, having fought alongside him for a year now, and the more wardens that could vouch for Fenris, the better.

"Shut it, Oghren," Aedan snapped. He was more than a little drunk. He had been sitting in Varric's room all day, drinking and listening to the dwarf's tales. It was so rare he got a chance to do this. He was always the commander now, a mantle that was at time, too strict. He missed the days when he could just decide to go to a tavern and drink and gamble until well pass dawn.

That only sent the dwarf into fresh peals of laughter. "Oh, this is too rich. Howe was so sure that you would be the one to get into trouble. Never thought of the Crow."

"I'm so sorry, Aedan," Anders offered weakly. "I shouldn't have said anything."

Aedan took a large swig of his ale. He wiped the foam off of his lips with a massive forearm covered in scars. "No, you shouldn't have." He sighed and closed his eyes, letting out a slow, fortifying breath. "But Zev can be rash, and it's hard to talk him out of anything once an idea gets hold. If he wants to do something, then he'll do it." He opened his eyes. "How long has he been gone?"

"Three hours." Fenris felt some of the tension ease out of his shoulders. He took an empty seat at the table. "He said if he wasn't back by morning then to come look for him."

"He should be fine." Varric automatically dealt Fenris in out of habit. "Blondie made it in and out of there countless times. If he can do it, anyone can."

"Thanks, Varric." Anders took a seat opposite of Fenris and was dealt in as well. "I appreciate your confidence of my skills, and years of trial and error."

"Just telling it like it is, Blondie. Can't have it be said Varric Tethras tells lies."

"But that is all you tell." Anders looked at his cards and tossed two into the growing pile in the middle of the table.

"Well, people don't know that. So like I said, can't have it be said that I'm telling untruths." Varric glanced at Aedan over his cards. "You still in, Cousland?" Varric was asking more than if he was still in the card game and Aedan took it that way.

"Yeah…" Aedan propped his elbows up on the table and scrubbed at his face. "Don't let me drink anymore, alright. I need to be somewhat sober when Zev gets back."

Markum was quicker and snagged Aedan's tankard before Oghren could. "Done!"