Author's note: Thanks so much to my beta-reader, clafount!


You know, for a newly-acclaimed teyrna, you seem to spend an extraordinary amount of time away from your domain, Zevran would have said, had his Warden not chosen that precise moment to clap her hand over his mouth. He tensed against the chains that connected his wrists to the ceiling, but as strong as he was, he knew that he could not hope to lift himself out of the other elf's grip.

"I hear you're planning on heading out of town," she breathed against his ear, her scarred chest pressing against his bare shoulders. "You plan on quitting Denerim...maybe for good." Her index finger shifted to clamp over his nostrils, cutting off his last avenue of breath, even as her free hand stroked almost lovingly down his flank. "When I let go, you'll tell me why ."

The Antivan waited as patiently as he was able, but his Warden didn't exactly make it easy for him; her left hand claimed his hip and abdomen, fingernails tracing over his flesh and digging in by turns, and she held on until his lungs burned and his heart hammered away in his chest. When at last her right hand relented, he had to gasp for breath, and he was powerless to resist her spinning him around to face her. "It is true, querida," Zevran admitted after a moment. "Though I do not know your source for this information." He'd been discreet, even by his usual standards. "I don't suppose it's too much to assume that the bard had some hand in it?"

Athadra shook her head, her blood-coloured eyes blazing with something even deeper than hunger. "I've got me own ways of knowing," she allowed, vaguely, in that too-rough brogue. "Leliana and I haven't precisely seen accord since I led her away from Morrigan empty-handed." Even in the low light of the dungeon beneath the capitol's Redcliffe estate, he could see the amusement dancing in her face, and it was nearly enough to take the ache out of his manacled wrists. "Do you intend to return to me, Zev? Or is this to be one last flight?"

He watched her step backwards away from him, not exactly gracefully, but as she moved toward the rack on the far wall, Zevran shivered in anticipation. "I do not know, amora," he answered honestly, tasting the new appellation for perhaps the second or third time. If it offended her, he'd certainly find out in just a few moments. "Nuncio is still after me, and my skills are not so sharp as they once were."

His Warden turned to select her first instrument; he was not disappointed to see her pick up a three-tailed shortwhip, the kind that would mar without scarring. Of course, he expected to weep in more than one way before the night was through . "And so you're going to fly into the viper's nest, an old Crow ready to die?" Her timbre cracked but slightly, and if Zevran did not know her so thoroughly, he might have pinned the subtle shift to mere anticipation of what was to come.

But he could tell in her step and in her glance that his Warden was truly worried about him, and that brought an ironic smile. "I do believe my usefulness with the king is wearing thin, even if he's released the bard to pursue her interests in Orlais ," he pointed out.

Athadra stepped around him, letting the ends of her whip tickle over his hip and upper thigh. "You're afraid that your own assassins will distract you from protecting him," she stated bluntly, taking a position a half-pace behind him. He consciously relaxed, willing himself to accept her first strike, whenever she deigned to give it to him.

"You are not wrong, my Warden," he allowed, when she hadn't made a move in a dozen heartbeats. His reply was met with the first kiss of fire that licked over his back in three lines, though he'd had far rougher introductions, as these affairs went. Hissing through his teeth, Zevran shifted his weight from his legs to his arms, stretching out his spine to present a more appealing canvas. "Our trip through Antiva brought with it renewed attention to my impertinent existence, sadly...as I knew it would."

His Warden's follow-up stung along Zevran's flank and ribcage, and a third impact had the small of his back glowing with the flogger's attentions. "Yet you followed me anyway," Athadra observed, and he couldn't tell whether the growl in her tone was borne of her frustration with his assistance in Tevinter or with his lack of cries from her current ministrations. "And even if you're useless to Alistair," she went on, striking him thrice more in the process, "you're...still...useful...to...me!"

Each word was punctuated with a blow harsher than the last, until the final caress sent a finger of flame racing through Zevran's spine, straight to his lungs. He couldn't hold back the gasp of pleasure that the sensation tore from him...or, at least, he could blame the sensation rather than the frankness of his Warden's statement, which admitted more than she might have realised. "Ahh, Athadra," he sighed. "Would you turn me from a Crow into your mockingbird, piercing your evenings with song ?"

The woman was already halfway to the rack, but Zevran did not look to see which tool she looked to replace the three-tailer with...as old a hand as he was to this game, the Antivan still enjoyed his surprises, from time to time. "Oh, I'll make you sing," she assured him, after she'd made her selection. "But I can't go to Antiva with you to clean out the birdcage, I'm afraid...though I'm not certain you have to, either."

As she took her place behind him, he took his chances and spoke up. "Surely you do not think that Nuncio would stop hunting for me even if you kept me locked away beneath the floorboards," he all but spat.

She waited until he'd drawn a lungful of breath before she answered, her reply coming in the form of a leather strap across the backs of his thighs. The smack reverberated in his ears, cutting through the startled yell that the blow had torn from him. "Of course not," his Warden snorted, and she gave him another solid blow across his shoulderblades. "But I hear that Hawkes are good at killing Crows, when they've got a mind."

Zevran could not form a proper response, for each time he took enough breath to answer, she drove it from his lungs with another powerful strike, until the flesh from his shoulders to his knees vibrated with dull heat. As he felt the glow consume him, however, the Antivan elf turned her suggestion over in his mind. Perhaps his battlefield need not be in Antiva after all, he mused, as his Warden closed in to pepper his abused flesh with more torture from her very fingers. Perhaps Kirkwall was where his fate would be determined, instead .


More than once, during his short trip across the narrow sea, Zevran's fingers moved to flick his earring, only to find it gone. He hadn't thought that his Warden would accept the token, when she'd come to see him off at Denerim's docks a few weeks after their discussion in her dungeon, but she'd surprised him. It was as much an admission of her feelings as he dared hope for, at least until his problems with his former employers were settled...but still, it was good to finally see where things stood, after so many years of dancing.

And having a reason to return to Ferelden's chilly, dog-smelling shores was more pleasing than the Antivan could have expected. Not that he'd intended to bleed out in an alleyway in Antiva City, necessarily, but Zevran had always played the odds as only a scoundrel could, and he could not hope to walk away from an encounter with Nuncio unscathed….at least not without allies of his own. Allies he'd not have thought to call upon, without Athadra's suggestion. He would have doubted that the Champion of Kirkwall would deign to assist him, but his Warden had let slip that the Hawke woman had come under contract from the Crows herself. A bit of digging told him that Nuncio's signature had authorised that contract, which was too much of a coincidence to ignore, by far.

So the assassin sharpened his blades, and he prayed that the letters he'd sent to Rivain would be intercepted by the right sort of people en route. In them, he spoke to a fictional friend about his plan to get lost amongst the Dalish elves that had made their camp outside Kirkwall; Zevran knew that they had moved on, and would be unlikely to accept him in any case, but he trusted Nuncio not to know either of these things. If his bait worked, it would only be a matter of days after landing in the city that a trap would be set up for him, hopefully by Nuncio himself.

When he arrived at the Champion's doorstep, Zevran only remembered at the last moment that the dwarven merchant Bodahn Feddic resided in the estate. "Ahh, Senior Bodahn, it is lovely to see you again," he told the well-dressed dwarf, who looked puzzled and then taken aback by the assassin's appearance. "It is no trouble if you do not recall my name; notoriety is unhealthy for a man of my business, no?"

Bodahn covered his mouth with his hand for a moment, and then he laughed jovially. "Master Zevran!" He exclaimed, to any and all who might be passing by. "It's lovely to see you again, messere! It seems not a year goes by these days without someone from our Blight travels showing up at the Champion's home."

Zevran flinched at the open use of his name, and tried to make haste with his entry. "That is an interesting happenstance," he mused. "Might I have a word with our fair Champion? I'm afraid it is rather urgent business, my savvy friend." He tried his smoothest smile to help accent his request.

The dwarf's brows bristled, but whether or not he suspected the Antivan of nefarious purposes, he evidently judged it prudent to usher Zevran inside. "Please wait here," Bodahn instructed him, at the end of the mansion's entryway.

The Antivan shrugged and stood his ground, looking curiously about at the room's simple furnishings. There was a bench where one might sit to lace one's boots, and a deep red rug on the carpeted floor, but otherwise the anteroom was bare. Spaces of lighter paint on the walls told of old paintings that no longer hung there, and Zevran found himself curious as to why they hadn't been replaced, but his musings were interrupted by an excited bark from the room beyond. "Ahh, yes, my furry friend," he said in greeting to the mabari who nearly bowled him over. "You're beginning to look a bit grey in the muzzle, if I'm not being too bold," he teased the dog, and had to jerk his hand away to avoid a playful snap of the beast's jaws.

"He is nearly nine years old," came a wistful voice from the sitting room beyond. "Don't look at me like that, Barcus," the Champion scolded her hound. "You are. And if I've got anything to do with it, you'll have another nine years to go, at least." That seemed to reassure the mabari, and he padded back into the sitting room.

Zevran took the chance to follow. "You have a lovely home, my dear Champion," he began, and he let his eyes scan briefly around the sitting room. Here there were at least a few tapestries, and tables which held fine silver implements for writing or crafting. Then, quite deliberately, the assassin turned his gaze upon the human woman. She did not wear armour, but her plainspun garments did little to accentuate the figure he knew was lurking just beneath them. "And you are as beautiful as when last we parted, of course."

The Champion seemed unimpressed with his half-hearted flattery; the flash in her eyes reminded him of nothing so much as his Warden, and he found himself grinning, even as the Champion spoke. "What brings your company, Serah Zevran? Please speak plainly."

The assassin shrugged, leaning against the doorway and considering his fingernails. "I have heard that you were attacked by a cell of Antivan Crows recently," he let on. "You should know that it is only a matter of time before you are attacked again, and again...until either you are dead, or you have slain the guildmaster who accepted the job of killing you in the first place."

He did not think it was entirely his imagination that the air grew colder in the room. "That was over a year ago," the Champion whispered, a shadow crossing her face. "If what you say is true, why have I not seen any more of them since?"

"Because Athadra and myself have been keeping them rather busier than they are accustomed to being," Zevran retorted, buffing his fingernails on the fine shirt he wore over his supple leather armour. "We have killed a pair of guildmasters over the years, including the foolish bastard who took out a contract on Athadra at the beginning of the Blight, but my former guildmaster remains."

Suspicion stole over the Champion's expression, but she took a step forward, rather than shrinking back. "What do you mean, your former guildmaster?"

She appeared unarmed, but then again, she was a mage, and Zevran had no intention of decorating her walls with his blood. "It is as it sounds," he admitted, trying on one of his more dashing smirks. "I was once an Antivan Crow myself, as you may know."

"I seem to remember Varric saying something to that effect, after we got back from Antiva," the Champion supplied, but she seemed no more mollified. "But what does your former guildmaster have to do with anything?"

The assassin clicked his tongue. "He is a man by the name of Nuncio Caldera Lanos, and he is an incredibly ruthless killer, even when compared to the company that you and the Warden tend to keep. He also wishes to see the both of us dead; you, because he accepted a contract on your life , and I, because I had the temerity to fail him." When the Champion's eyes flashed again, Zevran chuckled and held up a hand. "My failure was many years ago, when he loaned me out to help fulfill a contract in Ferelden. You have no need to worry on my behalf, my dear Champion, this I swear." He decided to press his luck, to play the odds. "We have a common enemy," he observed. "I have arranged for that enemy to arrive here, likely within the next day or two, in order to kill me. He may very well attempt to recruit you to the purpose, just so that he can keep an eye on you and kill you when I have been dealt with. I propose that we work together."

A creak on the far stairs drew Zevran's attention, but the Champion did not hear it, for she looked to speak. Before she could get a word out, however, Isabela came into view and laughed. "I thought I'd smelt Antivan leather," the pirate quipped, sauntering over to stand somewhere between the Champion and the elf.

He let his eyes wander more thoroughly over the caramel-skinned woman, since the cut of her garments was far more flattering...though the Rivaini's bodice seemed hastily done up, and one of her boots rode a few inches lower than the other . Zevran also noticed a distinct lack of the usual preening that normally accompanied his gaze, and he suppressed the urge to frown. "It is good to see you are well, Isabela," he allowed, with a glance back at the Champion. The thought occurred that her rough tunic might have been a hasty selection owing to his own untimely arrival, which would normally have given him cause to flirt, if the mage didn't look as though she were within an inch of freezing him to death with her mind. "I was just discussing a business proposal with your Champion, here...and possibly getting myself killed in the process."

Isabela glanced at the other woman, and then looked away for just a second before her attention refocused on the Champion once more. "Hold a moment," she purred, taking a step closer. "I've seen you look like that before, Beth. Are you jealous?" The pirate's question was undercut with a breathy laugh .

The Champion's cheeks rouged just slightly, enough that only Zevran's elven eyes could pick up on the change. "No," she declared. "I'm more worried that he's shown up out of the blue and is trying to rope me into murdering someone with him." Those brown eyes cut into Zevran again, as skeptical as before. "You speak of Crows coming after me, leaving it unsaid that my family is in danger. I don't like people who threaten my family."

"And people you do not like have a habit of dying," Zevran observed, not without a certain professional courtesy. "Which is why I thought to warn you-"

"You claim you've led assassins to my doorstep," the Champion cut in. "Without asking, you've put this household at risk…" She trailed off when Isabela laid an ungloved hand on her shoulder, and Zevran witnessed the silent exchange the two women shared with a mix of an ancient envy and an obvious relief.

"Of that I am guilty," the assassin admitted, shrugging his shoulders lightly. "But it was only a matter of time before Nuncio or one of his underlings made another attempt on your life...and then, it would have been a time and place of his choosing, rather than of ours. If we work together, Champion, we can end his threat once and for all. I swear it on my mother's memory."

Another few heartbeats passed, during which the Champion and her Rivaini companion spoke volumes with their eyes alone, and eventually the mage relented. "Alright," she allowed, looking grimly determined. "I suppose we should work out some sort of plan, then."

Zevran nodded. "It should be relatively simple," he claimed. "I have laid a trail that I am going to hide in the mountains near here, and Nuncio is almost certain to come after me in force...unless he can convince you to do the deed instead."

The Champion arched a brow. "Why would this Nuncio fellow want me to help him? Isn't he trying to kill me?"

"Indeed so, fair Champion," the assassin affirmed. "But as I've said, Nuncio is ruthless...and very nearly as clever as he believes himself to be. He will bring an entire cell of Crows, but he will also know of your reputation. Were it me, I would pose as an Antivan nobleman or magistrate, and I would try to convince you to go after a notorious fugitive out of your own sense of justice." He couldn't help the smirk that dimpled his cheek at the thought. "Then, after you have exhausted yourself in battle and hopefully killed the fugitive, I would descend upon you with all of my men, finishing two enemies with but a single battle ."

"That does sound like something you'd do," Isabela added, giving the Antivan a smirk of her own. "But what if Nuncio is cleverer than you think he thinks he is, and he tries to kill Beth's family while she's distracted with you?"

Zevran sniffed, annoyed that he hadn't thought of that wrinkle. "We shall not give him that chance, if it can be helped." He looked to the Champion. "You have a fair few companions of note," he pointed out. "Including the Captain of the Guard, as I recall." The mage nodded, slightly, and the assassin pressed on. "Nuncio will not arrive for another few days, so we should make arrangements to secure the house against infiltration. Between the three of us and the crossbow-wielding dwarf-and the dog," he added, after an argumentative bark, "we should be able to take care of Nuncio and his thugs."

The Champion laughed incredulously. "A whole cell of them?"

"Fewer than the darkspawn that swarm beneath the ground," Zevran pointed out. "Or so I'm told. In any event, I have every confidence that we can end Nuncio, and then you need never see me again, if you wish." He kicked off from the doorway and took two steps closer to the Champion, extending his hand. "Do we have a deal?"

The Champion hesitated, but then she appeared to come to a decision. "Alright," she conceded, and she took up his offered limb in a surprisingly strong grip. "But if you're thinking of double-crossing me, I will kill you, too. Isabela's friend or not."

The sound of her voice reminded him so much of his Warden, then, that Zevran had to chuckle in order to cover a wistful sigh that threatened . "Trust me when I say that I would expect nothing less from a woman of your experience. Now, if you will excuse me, I must go find some inconspicuous accommodations outside of the city." He spared Isabela a look as he turned. "If you still do a bit of business around town, I suggest you keep a few ears out for Antivan accents," he suggested lightly. "I shall return in the morning, and we can begin to set the snare ."