Right sighed in relief as he stepped out the door of the Arl's estate, and almost laughed to hear Alistair doing the same.

He'd elected to choose his companions for the day's rambles based on who was most likely to be able to get people to talk to them; that left out Sten, Shale and Oghren, as too intimidating, too strange, and too aggressively drunk in turn, and meant he was with Alistair, Wynne and Zevran. Wynne was out of her usual mage robes – which would have qualified her as too intimidating as well – and was instead dressed in some rather beautiful elven armour they'd picked up in their travels. Right had been considering it as another gift for Zevran, but the need to make the mage less obviously a mage came first. Wynne had been delighted by the set, since it gave her a chance to try out some rather martial magic they'd obtained a scroll about in the course of their journey through the elven ruins in the Brecilian Forest.

He'd been doubtful about the armour being a significant improvement over her robes as a means of making her less intimidating, but had been assured that there'd been enough skilled women warriors involved in the rebellion years before that the sight of grandmotherly figures who still affected full armour was not as unusual as he might think. Not exactly common, either, but she wouldn't look out of place in it.

His first stop after leaving the estate was to see what progress Wade had been making with the drake scales. The smith was reasonably pleased with this second armour set he'd made with them, and Zevran quite happily equipped the pieces before they returned to the market.

His second stop was to look up Slim Couldry again. This time, the man did indeed have an additional lead for them; Teryn Loghain's seneschal had taken the Teryn's crown out for cleaning prior to the upcoming Landsmeet, and was currently to be found breakfasting at the Gnawed Noble, the crown in his possession. It was a very short term opportunity, and Right hurried to take advantage of it.

The Seneschal was in one of the back rooms. As Right approached the door, a guardsman blocked his way. "Nobody goes in the room. By authority of Teyrn Loghain," the man said, giving Right a look that clearly questioned why he was even in a tavern full of nobles in the first place.

Right gave him a dark look. "Stand aside or be thrown aside," he grated out.

"I'll take none of..." the guard started to respond sharply then abruptly paled. "Sweet Andraste!"

"You know who I am, right? Five guards can't stop me. Run." Right said quietly, voice a harsh whisper.

"Th-Thank you. Men, run! Run for your lives!" the guard stuttered, and fled with his men in close step behind.

Right grinned. Some times having a reputation for leaving blood-spattered mayhem in your wake was fun.

"I say, what's the meaning of this?" The Seneschal said, looking up and frowning as Right approached his table, nervously looking around for his missing guards.

"As crass as it sounds, this is a robbery," Right told him with a pleased smile.

"A robbery? But you... You're the Warden." the man exclaimed, paling almost as dramatically as the guard had. "I... uh... here. Please, spare me!" the man begged, fumbling in his haste to untie a soft cloth sack from his belt, tangling the laces as a result.

"Allow me," Right said, drawing a dagger. The man fainted dead away. Right snorted, cut the knotted cord, and walked away.

When he reported back to Slim to sell him the crown, Slim had word of one last job that Right could try pulling off, he said – called it a "legendary" one. Breaking in to the estate of Bann Franderel, one of the richest men in the entire kingdom. Slim had a route mapped out that would get Right into the estate undetected, and knew where the Bann's treasure room was supposed to be.

Right looked over the information, and decided to give it a try; tonight. Just him and Zevran – he wanted to be in and out quietly, if at all possible.


"Your dog is following us," Zevran said quietly as he and Right strolled along a Denerim street, working their way toward Bann Franderel's estate. It wasn't quite dark yet, but was getting close; it should be by the time they got there.

"Could be worse," Right said after glancing back. "Could be one of our companions in full plate. Not exactly unobtrusive."

Zevran grinned. Right snapped his fingers, and Stench ran forward, slipping his head under Right's hand to have his ears scratched, tail wagging happily.

"At least he knows how to move quietly," Zevran agreed.

They found their path blocked by two carts that had managed to lock wheels, the drivers involved in a loud argument over whose fault it was. They cut down an alley, seeking a way around, soon reaching an open area. They were crossing it toward where a second alley appeared to lead back to what should be a point beyond where the carts were, when a man stepped into view at the top of the staircase they were approaching.

He was tall and slender, with short-cropped black hair and a scruffy beard. He grinned widely, looking delighted at the sight of the pair of them. "And so here is the mighty Grey Warden at long last. The Crows send their greetings, once again," he called out.

"So they sent you, Taliesen? Or did you volunteer for the job?" Zevran asked, watching the man warily.

Right glanced back and forth between the two. He remembered Zevran mentioning the name Taliesen before; his partner, the one who'd sliced Rinna's throat open in front of him.

"I volunteered, of course. When I heard that the great Zevran had gone rogue, I simply had to see it for myself," Taliesen said.

"Is that so? Well here I am, in the flesh," Zevran said, holding both hands wide and smiling charmingly.

"You can return with me, Zevran," Taliesen said cajolingly. "I know why you did this, and I don't blame you. It's not too late. Come back and we'll make up a story. Anyone can make a mistake."

"Zevran belongs with me now," Right said quietly.

Taliesen laughed. "You don't even know who you're talking about, do you?" he said.

"And neither do you, Taliesen," Zevran said, quietly, the very calmness of his voice somehow more menacing then anger would have been. "I'm sorry, my old friend. But the answer is no. I'm not coming back... and you should have stayed in Antiva."

Taliesen scowled, then lifted his hand and signalled. The lengthening shadows seemed to sprout shapes; a whole horde of Crows, weapons in hand, many of them grinning in anticipation as they closed in on the two men.

Oddly appropriate that the collective term for crows was a murder of them, Right thought, as he and Zevran turned, placing themselves back to back. Stench gave a low growl and charged the closest group, bowling two off their feet and immediately starting to worry at one of them.

Right glanced quickly around. Where they were was too open; the Crows included several archers, and with nothing to block their line of sight, those arrows would tear the two of them to shreds while they were trying to deal with the close-in fighters. "Up the stairs – now," he snapped, and the pair of them turned and dashed upwards side by side, towards and then past a startled-looking Taliesen.

What had looked like a second alleyway at the top proved to be a short dead end passageway. At least it gave them some shelter, forcing Taliesen's forces to attack them from one direction only. Thankfully, with so many of them packed into such a small area, and not as well-practised at fighting together as Righ and Zevran were, they were getting in each other's way more often then not. The world seemed to narrow down to just the two of them, the fight, the effortless co-ordination of their moves, as Crow after Crow was ruthlessly slaughter by the pair.

Zevran feinted; Right took advantage of the opening it created. Right swatted an arrow out of the air that would have hit Zevran; Zevran batted aside a dagger that would have sunk into Right's side. Zevran stabbed at someone's head, making him flinch back; Right ducked and cut low, hamstringing him, and as he went over backwards Zevran lashed out with a powerful kick, sending him flying into the people behind, fouling their weapons and knocking another to the ground, where Stench, ever on the look-out for an opportunity, darted in and savaged him.

At some point they found themselves fighting Taliesen, the one lone swordsman he had left at his side, a pair of worried-looking archers edging back and forth beyond him, looking for an angle to shoot past him at the pair.

Right grinned, stepped to the side, engaged the swordsman. Zevran smiled, feinted once, dodged, swung – and Taliesen's head went flying, cleanly separated from his shoulders, as the swordsman sunk to his knees, blood pouring from his slashed-open belly.

The archers turned to flee, but didn't make more then two steps before Zevran and Right cut them down.

They stood a moment, both taking in great heaving gulps of air. Zevran straightened and sheathed his weapons first. "And there it is. Taliesen is dead, and I am free of the Crows," he said wonderingly. "They will assume that I am dead along with Taliesen. So long as I do not make my presence known to them, they will not seek me out."

Right frowned. Something about that claim didn't quite make sense... but he was too tired to figure it out now. "So what does this mean?" he asked.

"I... do not know," Zevran said hesitantly. "It seems I have options now, whereas once I had none. I suppose it would be possible for me to leave, now, if I wished. I could go far away, somewhere where the Crows would never find me."

Right tried not to show how much the talk of Zevran leaving hurt. "If you want to go, you should go," he said quietly.

"But that is what I am asking you. Do you want me to go? Do you need me here?" Zevran asked, hesitantly.

"Of course I want you to stay!" Right growled out.

"Than I will stay here. I made an oath to help you, after all. And saving the world seems a worthy task to see through to the end, yes?" Zevran said softly, sounding relieved.

Right smiled. "I would be glad to have you stay."

"Then stay I shall. I'm with you until the end... provided you do not tire of me first. Or I die. Or you die. But there you go. Let us return to the task at hand, then. There is still much to be done, yes?"

"Yes," Right agreed, and swore as he took in their blood-spattered appearance. "We need to clean up first. I hope one of these Crows has a waterskin."

They quickly looted the corpses, and cleaned up the worst of their appearance; they didn't want the first guardsman they bumped into to decide they needed questioning, after all. Right briefly considered returning to Arl Eamon's estate now, and trying to get to Bann Franderel's place another night, then changed his mind; they were most of the way there now, and he'd rather get it over with.


Right crouched on top of the wall for a moment, then turned and slid down, hanging from the edge before dropping free, dropping and rolling as he hit the ground, ending in the shadows beneath a ragged canopy hanging limply nearly. Zevran followed a moment later. Right heard a faint whine from beyond the wall, then the clicking of nails moving back and forth. He shook his head, hoping the dog wouldn't do anything foolish, like barking, that might draw attention.

He heard the clicking fade away; the dog must be heading back to Arl Eamon's estate. Then, to his astonishment, he heard them return, louder and faster, heard a grunt, and saw Stench clear the wall, belly almost scraping the top, legs scrabbling for purchase, before momentum carried him over and down to land with a faint yelp in front of the pair of them.

Stench lay sprawled there a moment, then rose to his feet, gave himself a good shake, and turned a very doggy grin their direction.

"You realize we need to go back out over that same wall again later, don't you?" Zevran asked the dog quietly, sounding amused,

Stench cocked his head and whined, then walked over and pushed his head against Right's leg. Right snorted, and rose to his feet. "Come on, let's get moving," he said softly, and led the way into the warren of passageways between the buildings of the estate.

For a wonder, they met no one on their way to the cellar entrance marked on the crude map Slim had provided them; not so much as a single patrolling guard or straying servant. Right made short work of the door's lock, and they slipped into the cellar, gliding quietly through an armoury and a wine cellar before reaching the room where Bann Franderel's hidden treasure room was supposed to be. While Right worked on picking the lock to it, as well, Zevran amused himself picking up bottles at random and commenting on how excellent or poor a vintage they were.

Right bit back any biting responses he might have made to that; Zevran had been oddly elated since their earlier encounter with Taliesen. He was sure the elf would calm down eventually, and in the meantime, he could certainly understand why the elf might be in a fey mood.

The lock snicked open, and they entered the next room. Right frowned. It was empty, apart from a small wheelbarrow, a few empty wine casks, and a wooden crate containing nothing more exciting then a single dusty crystal of quartz wedged in between two of the slats.

"A secret room, perhaps?" Zevran said softly, frowning.

Right shrugged, and the pair spent a few minutes roaming the room, tapping lightly on the walls and wiggling every projecting stone and the single wall-mounted torch holder. Nothing.

Stench, who had been nosing around the base of the walls, suddenly lifted his head, looking back the way they'd come and growled warningly, ears pricked.

Zevran and Right exchanged a look, then returned as silently as they could move to the wine cellar. For a moment nothing seemed changed.

"The door," Zevran suddenly breathed. Right looked, and saw that the door into the room was shut; yet he was certain they'd left it open behind them. The two slowly began to ease toward it, trying to keep watch in all directions at once.

They were almost to it when a group of guardsmen moved out from between the racks at the far end of the room, grinning triumphantly. As Zevran and Right rushed toward them, they raised a cry, and the closed door slammed open, admitting even more of them.

It was like the fight with the Crows all over again, thought thankfully with substantially less well-skilled opponents. Right could hear Zevran suddenly cursing somewhere behind him as he took out a group of archers. "You all right?" he called, worriedly, not daring to look around.

"Apart from an arrow though my leg, I am just fine," Zevran responded, sounding pained.

Right spat a curse of his own, finished off the archers, and hurried back to Zevran's side. The elf was being hard-pressed by two guards, hoping to take advantage of his wound to bring him down. Right finished off one before the man even noticed his approach, then together he and Zevran cut down the last.

Right crouched down to check on Zevran's leg. The arrow had sunk into the meaty part of his left thigh.

"You'll have to push it through, and cut off the head," Zevran grated out. "Give me something to bite on first."

Right quickly did as told, hissing in sympathetic pain as he pushed it through.

"And I had liked these leathers," Zevran muttered in an aggrieved voice after spitting out the folded glove he'd been biting down on, looking at the cut and bloodied state of his leggings.

Right quickly bandaged his wound. "Let's get out of here," he said softly. "This is obviously as trap."

Zevran nodded, and rose shakily to his feet. He couldn't put full weight on his leg, and Right had to walk at his side so he had something to lean on to keep his balance. They hurried through the armoury, and back out to the passageways.

As they reached ground level, they were attacked again; more soldiers, and a pair of mages, one down the passageway to either side. Right swore and darted to one side, to take out one mage, abandoning Zevran to take on the guardsmen. He dispatched the mage as quickly as he could, and spun back, feeling a surge of relief as he saw that Stench, once again proving just how intelligent mabari hounds were, had the other mage down on the ground and was busy tearing out his throat. Zevran was managing to hold his own versus the guards, and Right quickly joined him. By the time Stench rejoined them as well, they were down to the last man, and shortly after he, too, was down and dead.

"Remind me to have words with Slim next time we encounter him," Zevran said breathlessly, "Strong words."

They reached the cul-de-sac where they'd come over the wall. Right eyed its height and knew there was no way he was going to be able to get Zevran back over it. He looked around, and spotted a grate in the ground. "This way," he said, striding over and prying it open.

Zevran groaned. "The sewers? Make that very strong words." he muttered.


It took them several hours to get back to Arl Eamon's estate. They'd cleaned up as best they could after emerging from the foul depths of the labyrinthine sewage tunnels, paying special attention to cleaning Zevran's wounded leg, but the elf was already feverish by the time they got back, the wound looking red and swollen.

Right hurried him through the hallways to their room, thankfully meeting no one on the way, stripped off their sodding, stinking clothes, and pulled on a clean, dry tunic before hurrying off in search of Wynne.

She wasn't pleased to be woken in the middle of the night, and was even less happy when she saw the condition of Zevran's leg. She ordered Right off to fetch warm water, soap and towels while she set to work with poultices and healing magics.

It was well after midnight before she finally left, Zevran's leg mainly healed, and only a lingering fever that she said should clear up by morning left as an aftereffect of their dangerous outing. She left the pair of them with crisp orders that they were both to rest quietly for the remainder of the night.

As soon as she'd left, Zevran tried to get back out of bed. Right made him lie back down again, but as soon as he released him, he was trying to sit up and get out again. "What's wrong?" Right asked him.

"I need my backpack," the elf mumbled.

"I'll get it. You stay," he said, and hurried across the room to separate it out of the mixed pile of their belongings, carrying it over and putting it down beside Zevran.

Zevran sat up, and started sorting through the contents of the pockets, obviously looking for something. After a while he found a crumpled blue silk tunic, made a pleased sound, and unrolled it, revealing a handful of assorted jewellery all tangled together in the middle. He delicately picked loose a single item, then turned and smiled warmly at Right, holding it out toward him. An earring, a small hoop of some silver-coloured metal, in an organic flowing shape inlaid with chips of jet or obsidian, from which hung a single tear-shaped drop of polished amethyst.

"Here... it seems an appropriate moment to give you this."

"You don't need to give me anything, Zev," Right said, surprised.

"I may not need to, but I want to," he said, and smiled. "I acquired it on my very first job for the Crows. A Rivaini merchant prince, and he was wearing a single, jewelled earring when I killed him. In fact, that's about all he was wearing. I thought it was beautiful and took it to mark the occasion. I've kept it since... and I'd like you to have it."

Right wasn't quite sure what to say. "It's a fine gift, Zevran. Thank you."

Zevran smiled charmingly. "Don't get the wrong idea about it. You killed Taliesen. As far as the Crows will be concerned, I died with him. That means I'm free, at least for now. Feel free to sell it, or wear it... or whatever you'd like. It's really the least I could give you in return."

"It's a reward for helping you?" Right asked, surprised.

"I... look, just... just take it," Zevran said insistently, holding it out again. "It's meant a lot to me, but so have... so has what you've done. Please, take it."

Right bit his lip. For a moment there, he'd half hoped... he wasn't sure just what, but this wasn't it. "No. I don't want it," he said as gently as he could.

Zevran glowered at him. "You are a very frustrating man to deal with, do you know that?" he snapped. "We pick up every other bit of treasure we come across, but not this. You don't want the earring? You don't get the earring. Very simple."

He shoved it back into the pocket of his backpack and knocked the bag off the bed to the floor, then turned over and curled up on his side, back to Right, obviously ignoring him.