A tense, eerie silence settled among them as they filed out of the Arl's estate into the dark streets of Denerim. The servants had helped, creating a diversion at the front gates, causing a small commotion when a covered cart attempted to leave the estate. It successfully summoned the attention of the guards and any suspicious bystanders and loiterers. Their party slipped out a back entrance, guarded by sentinels who tipped them off to occasional movement in the nearby alleyway.

"Head straight that way. You are likely to run into the occasional drunkard or homeless refugee bumbling about…The city is rife with them," the sentinel explained, betraying mild disgust.

"Hmm...I these alleys? Probably spies," Alistair frowned.

"Yes, but the question is: whose?" Leliana concurred.

"Does it matter?" Zevran interrupted. "They won't be earning their fees tonight," he declared, unsheathing his daggers. The blades glinted in the weak glow of the lanterns at the doorway. He took in a deep breath. "Can you smell it?" he asked them all.

"Yes...the delicate aroma of piss and offal," Oghren grumbled, staring at the slimy water coursing down the cobblestones.

Zevran flashed a sinister grin.

"Exactly. Like the back alley of any city, anywhere in Thedas; I am right at home. Let's see if we can get our new friends to introduce themselves!" he stated, slipping around a shadowy corner.

Jayne beckoned Sten and Morrigan out before the sentinels hastily shut the back gates, all quickly assuming their positions, lest their late prowling alert any lurking informants. After the initial rush of excitement and nervousness, her disciplined training took over almost instinctively: she found herself focused, hyper alert, and calm. As she watched Zevran disappear around the corner, she realized that he, too, was entering a combative mindset: his assassin self, a hardened, dangerous side of him she had glimpsed many times but seldom had any personal exchanges with.


The ruse at the gates proved successful. They met with no one as they made haste through the back alleys towards the banks of the Drakon River. Once they approached the road running along the canal, still busy with the activity of street merchants and taverns, they broke off into smaller groups so they did not appear too conspicuous as they crossed the bridge in the general direction of the royal palace: the Arl of Denerim's estate was located a stone's throw away from the palace gates.

It was strange, Jayne thought, how despite her focus, she made note of small occurrences around Denerim, fragments of life: the unseasonably warm evening, a child's sooty garments as he wove through the crowd. He sought passage into the taverns in order to sell his wares: in a box he carried small Chantry-issued medallions of Andraste. As they passed a decaying, desolate doorway, the last notes of a melancholy ballad sounded, the last chords fading tremulously into the starry night before light applause burst forth. Just after they crossed the bridge, a disheveled woman of undetermined age approached them in a green dress that might have known better days, offering herself to them for the night and a price, her manner of speech mechanical, monotone. Zevran, she noticed, avoided her eyes. As they passed her by wordlessly, she turned away as if poised over gears, resuming her penant lookout by the bridge. All those details—even the tenuous gleam of the lamps over the damp cobblestones and the raucous voices booming from the taverns—seemed stronger, brighter, wilder to Jayne.

It's as if I am hearing them for the first time, she realized. Or perhaps, for the last, she shivered.

They moved purposefully, not exchanging any words except to occasionally look up or back, to wait and regroup, only to decide on a direction, and break away again.


The Arl of Denerim's estate was a somber, imposing stone building with narrow, vertical windows apparently devoid of light or signs of life within. Far from being silent, though, they found a crowd of people assembled before the estate's main entrance.

"For the hundredth time," a thunderous voice hushed the crowd threateningly, "his Lordship isn't seeing anyone! You'll have to come back tomorrow!"

The announcement was met with a volley of angry protests and insults hurled at the unfortunate messenger, who stoically resumed his post among his fellow guards.

Jayne surveyed the area, finding that the tumult in front of the Arl's estate afforded them a welcome cover: the guards had their hands full appeasing the angry mob. If they had been noticed at all, they had been written off as a new wave of protestors coming to add their voices to the assembled throng. Alistair sought to catch her attention. He tilted his head towards the left of the gates, where a large cart sat, abandoned on the street. Standing strategically behind the wagon and out of view of the guards was none other than Erlina herself, still in her fine red-colored dress. Morrigan, Leliana, and Wynne attempted to blend in, feigning interest in the passionate exchanges between members of the crowd and the touchy guards. Sten and Oghren remained further back, trying to avoid any notice, while Zevran planted himself by the cart, casually leaning against one of the sides. He crossed his arms and he too, pretended to be absorbed in the ongoing spectacle, but Jayne could tell from the slight tilt of his head towards the ground that he was attentive to any movement from the Queen's handmaiden behind him.

"The servants' entrance is on the other side of the house," she began as Jayne and Alistair approached her. "We must slip past this crowd to reach it." She drew her gaze back towards the main gates. "We'll have to be very careful: Arl Howe is inside."

Jayne nodded, her pulse quickening. She risked one more glance at Zevran—he had turned his head away. He had begun to clap along with the rest of the excited crowd that was growing rowdier as someone towards the front had broken out into an inflammatory jeremiad.

"What's the crowd gathered for?" she puzzled.

Erlina smirked disdainfully.

"The estate is in poor repair. The new Arl, he has not been very prompt in paying his workmen," she revealed contemptuously.

She stepped aside, indicating the path they should take.

"I'll be right behind you."

Alistair appeared to be guessing at her thoughts, as if trying to gauge whether or not she was having second thoughts about their approach.

Time to act. No turning back.

Jayne sneaked past the handmaiden towards a well-trod path snaking along the left side of the estate. Alistair hissed lightly as she started without him. Movement out of the corner of her eyes revealed that the others quickly noticed and reassembled to follow further behind.

It was madness. Reckless madness. Even in the cover of relative darkness, their trajectory was perilous. They were entering enemy territory. If they were caught, there would be no one to appeal to.

If we are caught, none of us will survive.

She was possessed by an impulse to stop in her tracks and order Alistair to stay behind, but one glance over her shoulder at the hardened expression on his face told her it would be futile.


The walls of the estate towered around them, the passageway growing narrower as they coursed towards the servants' entrance. They emerged in a small courtyard, before several statues running along the exterior of the estate. They prepared to rush across it when Leliana issued them a quiet warning, indicating with a hand motion the guard stationed along the lower ramparts.

"Can't you just shoot an arrow through him?" Oghren asked hoarsely.

"I most certainly can, but should I?" she retorted. "It would attract immediate attention."

"How about you ladies?" he continued, turning to Morrigan and Wynne. "Can't you wiggle your fingers and cast a sleeping spell or something?"

"That's not how it works," Wynne explained.

"He's too far away," Morrigan concurred.

"So what are we doin'?" Oghren protested. "Are we kickin' some bad guy arse or are we just standin' here makin' nug-eyes at each other?"

"Just what would you propose we do?" Alistair snapped tersely.

Oghren shrugged.

"I dunno, but if we just stay here we are goin' to be scooped up and dungeoned!"

"That isn't even a word!" Alistair censured him.

"Well, it is now! Common came from Dwarven and that means I can make up any crap I please—"

Before Oghren could continue, they noticed Zevran crossing the courtyard by edging along against the wall as stealthily as he could.

"Damn elf!" Oghren huffed, hurrying to catch up to him.

They traveled past the courtyard with their backs against the wall, concealed by the shadows. The guard paced up and down the rampart, his armor clanging lightly, but he did not give any indication of having spotted them. Zevran's arm shot out warningly, though, forcing them to hold still before they rounded the corner. He turned to them and raised four fingers, before pointing them towards the turn.

That was the sign for four enemies up ahead.

"How many?" Oghren whispered. "I couldn't see," he mumbled crossly, trying to look past Sten.

"Sssh!" Alistair implored.

Wynne cast an uneasy glance towards the ramparts, but the guard had paced towards the opposite end, oblivious to their furtive activities.

"Warden?" Zevran asked very softly, his eyes trained on the backs of four patrolmen stationed at the entrance of the estate's extensive rear garden.

Jayne silently pointed to him, Leliana, and Morrigan.

The three nodded, huddling before the turn, gesturing what their intended strategy would be.

With that, Zevran moved forward in a hunched position and emerged beside the guard closest to them. He cast Leliana and Morrigan a hasty nod before revealing himself, his two daggers rapidly slicing the front of the guard's neck. Before the man could let out an agonizing cry, an arrow flew out from the darkness, piercing the chest of another guardsman who then collapsed to the ground on his knees at the same time the bright flash of an ice spell immobilized the two others. Zevran spun his daggers dexterously before attempting to bury the blade into the chest of one of the guards that had been immobilized by the ice spell.

The blade slipped, unable to penetrate the icy barrier encasing the man. Zevran puzzled and attempted another stab only to find himself rapping lightly on the thick layer of ice.

"Morrigan!" he rasped at her in an annoyed tone. "How am I supposed to finish them off now?"

"Ice spells are not my specialty!" she growled, equally peeved. "I would rather cause combustions, but that would hardly be discreet!"

"So what do we do now? Place them next to the other statues? I can hear the other guards already! 'How interesting these new garden decorations! Their likeness to Privates Smith and Jones is uncanny!'" Zevran teased.

Sten and Alistair piled the two other corpses out of the way while Leliana and Wynne tapped the thick layer of ice around the guards. Without a further word, Sten unsheathed his sword.

"Wait," Wynne cried out in a half whisper.

He ignored her and rammed Asala forcefully through the first, shattering the ice.

"I was going to say that the men are probably already dead from the shock," Wynne sighed.

Oghren guffawed.

"It's what I call a chilly reception," he added mirthfully.

Sten struck the second guardsman, shoving the blade through his midsection.

Zevran smirked.

Jayne also unsheathed her sword, the quietness and solitude of the garden suspicious. Four guards in front of a garden gate had hardly been the army Howe had supposedly been amassing for protection. The moonlight cast a pale blue gleam over the neglected garden revealing beds that had grown tangled with weeds. Overgrown grass crowded the paths, springing between the stones, unruly and unwelcoming. Large, discarded marble planters littered a corner and a desolate fountain lay still and silent, its elegant statues of shield maidens overlooking the dark, murky water.

"It's Antivan tradition to throw coins in such a well as this. Supposedly it brings one luck," Zevran mused as they examined the desolate corner of the garden.

"Well, hope you're ready to throw a few bars of gold in." Oghren examined the malodorous standing water. "We're gonna need all the luck we can get."

"We will be fine," Jayne replied in a curt manner.

A slender silhouette appeared between some overgrown bushes along the entrance. They recognized Erlina, hurriedly rushing down the path.

"Well done," she murmured, catching up with them. "Doesn't look like you ran into any trouble," she added.

"We ran into a few guards, but they're cooling off now," Oghren remarked cheerfully, seeking to goad Zevran into one of their usual exchange of double meanings. He only managed to elicit a perfunctory smile, as Zevran's eyes apprehensively scanned the garden for any sign of movement coming towards them. Erlina led them towards a side entrance, pointing to the sentinels stationed before a hefty wooden door.

"I can distract the guards, but you must move quickly."

"There are only two guards," Sten noted.

"More guards patrol every hour. If they find these two missing, they will know…how you say? Something is amiss," Erlina warned them.

"I do not mean to interrupt, but did you not mention something about disguises?" Zevran asked, raising an eyebrow.

At that, the others groaned.


A/N: Dialogue with Erlina straight from the game, as well as the commotion before the Arl's estate and Zevran's comment about tossing coins into the fountain in the garden. For some reason, this particular quest/passage has been harder to write. I remember that when I played it, I was so pumped up to go get that damned Howe that I was singularly focused...and a lot of details kind of slipped away...No worries, though. I'm getting there. Thank you for reading and for not giving up on me! :-)