In the Alienage

CONTENT:
Rating: Mature
Flavor: Adventure/Drama
Language: yes
Violence: yes
Nudity: no
Sex: no
Other: none

Author's Notes:

Expected this to be out quicker; it took forever to type. Yes, it is long! Long is good, as Zevran would say!

In the Alienage

==#==

"Alistair, you will be having tea with several of your supporters and neutral patrons," Leliana informed him. "Some of them don't get along, so we have judiciously divided them into two tea times - nuncheon and afternoon tea. I've arranged the seating chart for, shall we say, minimum friction, yes?" She crinkled her nose with a cute smile. "You should memorise these names. I have prepared a simple mnemonic to make it easier." She handed him the papers.

"Uh, yeah, that's great; thanks Leliana," the knight said hurriedly. "I'll look at these when I get back."

"Back?"

Eamon asked, "Where are you going?"

"We're just going to pop over to the Alienage to see Bannon's family," Alistair replied. "We'll be back in plenty of time," he added at their worried looks.

"It's dangerous," Eamon warned.

"I'll be with Bannon and Zevran. It'll be fine."

"And to be blunt," the arl continued, "There are no Landsmeet votes to be attained in the Alienage." He glanced aside at Bannon. "No offense."

The elf shrugged his shoulders.

Alistair said, "Look, he doesn't even know if his family is still alive. We're going, and right now."

Eamon may have actually looked impressed. Before he changed his mind, Alistair turned to the others. "Sten, you want to go?"

"Will there be a battle?"

"No."

"Then it is pointless."

Alistair turned to the golem. "Shale?"

"Will there be squishing?"

"Look," the Templar said, "we're just going for a little walk, a little visit, a little chit-chat. Anybody who wants to come along, can."

"I'll go," Morrigan said, startling both Alistair and Bannon.

"You will?" the elf asked, a little warily.

"Yes. 'Twill be interesting to see where you come from. I've heard much about these 'alienages,' but have never seen one."

"Um, all right." Bannon couldn't seem to think of a reason for her not to. Alistair couldn't, either, but wondered why this seemed a bad idea.

==#==

The gate guard seemed supremely bored. He stared at Morrigan's decolletage while they told him their business in the alienage, then let them through.

They crossed the bridge and passed into the Alienage proper. It was as dreary and rundown as Bannon remembered all right. And it smelled. Not too badly, today; the river was running rather briskly.

"So...," said Alistair. "Are they going to mob us? That's what they do, right?" He seemed to be joking.

Zevran scoffed, but Bannon only said, "What, like that guy?"

Sure enough, up ahead, a man backpedaled out from a cross street, followed by three elves. One shoved at the man, sending him skidding to the dirty cobblestones.

"Get out, shem!" One of the elves picked up something from a nearby puddle. Probably mud. He hurled it at the human.

The others, even Zevran, looked to Bannon to see what they should do. Bannon just folded his arms and waited for the scene to play out.

"I was only trying to help!"

"Yeah, help yourself! We don't need you coming in here." The elf aimed a kick at the downed man.

He scrambled away, getting his feet under him. He moved briskly towards the bridge. "Savages," he muttered as he passed the Wardens' group. Then he seemed to suddenly notice that two of the armed warriors were elves, and he trotted away even faster.

Bannon looked at Alistair who, if he had any judgments about that little scene, wisely kept them to himself.

"Lead the way, amico."

Bannon thought a moment. He didn't want to go to their apartment. He wouldn't be able to stand it if he found it empty. He led his companions towards the square. There would be people with news there. He could ask Valendrian.

"Spare a penny for veterans of the war?"

The three elves who'd rousted the shem now accosted them, with hands out.

Morrigan said, "Now you want help from 'shems' as you call them?"

"You're honest warriors," said one.

"Yeah, like us. We was at Ostagar, y'know."

"Aye, a darkspawn et half me foot!"

Zevran muttered, "Well, that line is still going strong."

"Defending the kingdom, we were," the beggars waxed poetic.

Alistair frowned, but Bannon put on a big smile. "Of course you were! We were all there." He pulled three silvers from his pocket and gave one to each of them. Their eyes went wide as saucers.

"Thank you, ser!"

"Andraste's blessing on you!"

"Enjoy it in good health," Bannon said, still smiling fondly. He led his friends onward.

Alistair looked at him as if he were crazy. Even Zevran had a quirk to his brow.

Morrigan didn't hold back. "Is it wise to let these people know you have so much money?"

"They're not going to mug us," Bannon reassured her. "We're armed. They'd need a much bigger gang."

"Well, good to know," Alistair said dubiously.

In a few more turns, they could see the top of the Vhenadahl over the rooftops. It was a comforting sight. One of the greatest fears for a city elf was that the humans would come and cut down the mighty tree, or burn it in a Purge. Yes, it was 'only' one tree as the Dalish had scoffed, but it was older than anyone, ancient like the elven civilization that once had existed.

But the shems knew better. Destroy the Vhenadahl only if you want the elves to riot and commit bloody massacres in your streets.

"Ah, the Vhenadahl," Zevran said reverently. Then added, "The tree they give us to remind us of our noble elven heritage. Then we pee on it."

"Zevran! You do not pee on the Vhenadahl!"

"No? You can't tell me you have not stumbled home drunk one night, with your bladder over-full, and passed by-"

"Zevran, shut up!"

Was that a suppressed snicker from Alistair? Or was it Morrigan? Bannon ignored them, and the annoying assassin.

As they drew closer to the square, they heard voices. Bannon trotted ahead when he heard Shianni's name.

"Go home, Shianni," Elva harped. "Nobody wants to hear the paranoid fantasies of a shem-broke woman!"

"You go home! All of you go home," Shianni yelled at the crowd. "These people are not helping us!"

The square was filled with people, families with children. They all looked towards the far side of the square, milling about as if waiting for something.

A man scoffed at Shianni. "They cured my Pitel!"

"He wasn't sick," she insisted. "And what about all the people they failed to help? What about Keene, and Braida? What about Misha's girls?"

"They died of the plague, not for lack of helping!"

Elva snarled, "You just want everyone to be sick like you. We don't want you here. Now go home!"

"Yeah, go home!" Others turned to Shianni with threatening scowls, clenched fists.

Bannon came up beside his cousin, glaring at them. They drew back, eyeing his armor and weapons. "What's going on? Shianni?"

She turned. Her mouth dropped open, here eyes flew wide. "Bannon!" She threw herself at him, and he caught her gingerly, mindful of the buckles and hardware on his weapon harness. "You're alive! We were so worried when we heard all the Grey Wardens had been killed, and you didn't come back...!"

He hugged her. "Yes, I'm alive."

She pulled away a moment later. "Zack told me, and I didn't know what to think, and did you get my message?"

"No, I didn't. Shianni, what's going on? Where's my dad? Is he -?"

"They took him!"

"Who?"

Shianni looked around. The crowd had drawn back, and some gawked at them. She tugged Bannon towards the other side of the Vhenadahl.

The others followed them. "These are my friends," Bannon told Shianni. "Alistair; he's another Grey Warden. That's Zevran, and that's Morrigan. She's a Witch of the Wilds."

Shianni nodded shyly to the humans, nervously stepping back.

Zevran said, "Mi encanta, seniorita," with a sensual smile. Her cheeks reddened.

"Nevermind him," Bannon said, putting himself in front of Shianni to block her view of the Antivan. "Who took my dad? Where is he?"

She took a breath. "They say they're healers, but they're taking people who aren't sick. Then they claim they died of the plague. They took Uncle Cyrian three days ago."

"Wait, what heal-? No. Start at the beginning. After Ostagar. They said there was a plague?"

She nodded. "When the elves returned from Ostagar, some of them were sick, with the Taint."

Bannon looked over to Alistair. "Could they have gotten that from camp? They weren't fighting darkspawn."

Alistair thought. "Maybe. If they were in the sick tent."

Bannon nodded. Of course, the elves would have to fetch water, bring food and healing supplies, wash soiled linens, burn infected bandages.

Shianni said, "They said some of the wagons were attacked on the retreat. The soldiers had to fight darkspawn off."

Bannon frowned. If there had been darkspawn that far north... maybe Loghain had been right - the battle was lost and retreat the only option. He glanced at Alistair. A line creased the Templar's brow.

Shianni continued. "Valendrian set up a hall where the sick could be tended. They... they didn't survive. When the shems got wind of it, they locked us in.

"Valendrian was handling it. Then..." Her eyes flicked past Bannon for a moment. "Arl Howe started a Purge. It lasted for days." Her voice wavered. "They-They came into our homes. Anyone who stayed in... even they weren't safe."

Bannon reached to grip her shoulder in comfort, but she moved back.

"Then... Then these people showed up. Healers, they said they were, with strange accents. Antivan, I think? Howe said it was to make sure the sickness was truly eradicated, but Bannon, something strange is going on." She took a breath. "These so-called healers... they claim people are sick, take them away to treat them. Most of them die, or so we're told. The bodies burned to prevent spread of plague. But I told you, Valendrian handled those with the Taint. It didn't spread. We're not sick - there is no plague!"

Alistair asked, "If they're not sick, why are they going to the healers?"

"It's free healing! Every cough or sniffle, every aching joint, or old bone breaks that act up... Who wouldn't try to see a healer when they had the chance?"

Bannon said to the Templar, "We don't have healers in here every day. The Chantry charges money if you go there."

"We have herbalists," Shianni said. "Had." She looked at the ground.

"Where's Valendrian?" Bannon asked. "Why hasn't he done something?"

She didn't raise her head. "He's one of the first ones they took."

Zevran said, "I am interested in these 'Antivan' healers. Odd that they should send for foreigners."

Morrigan said, "Not if their own mages were lost in that tower overrun by demons. Or that... what do they call the slaughter of mages?'

"The Right of Annulment," Alistair supplied bitterly.

"Perhaps so," Zevran allowed. To Shianni he said, "These foreigners, do they talk like me?"

She shook her head.

"He's Antivan," Bannon explained.

Zevran said, "I think we should investigate this, mi patrone."

"Si."

==#==

They circumnavigated the crowd to get closer to these 'healers.' Three robed men with triangular beards stood on the raised platform.

"Please, please." One man raised his hands and gestured the elves back. "We will see and tend to everyone. You must be patient." He had an accent, but not Antivan.

Zevran growled low, "Is Tevinter."

Bannon frowned. They knew what that meant. He turned to Shianni. "Where are they keeping these 'sick' people?"

"Alarith's store."

"Where's Alarith?" He'd never let these people take over.

Shianni's eyes welled up. "The Purge."

They'd killed Alarith? Well, no surprise there. Bannon hoped he'd taken a few of the shems with him. But what of the secret school. "Did they find...?"

"I don't know."

"All right. Stay back."

Bannon marched up to the platform. He easily caught the eye of one of the mages. The man came swiftly down the steps.

"My friend, you are very, very ill. You must come inside at once."

"I am?"

He nodded. "You may not feel the effects yet, but we are trained to sense these things."

He looked so sincere and worried that Bannon had to wonder if he could somehow sense the Taint. "I have been feeling... strange. Since I drank... something that didn't agree with me. I've been having terrible nightmares, and my appetite hasn't been the same."

The man nodded. "Come inside, quickly."

"Hey! Why does he get to go first?" someone in the crowd yelled. And, "I've been waiting here three days!"

"This man is very ill! Please, you want to stay back."

"What about my friend here?" Bannon gestured to Alistair.

The knight stepped forward. "Yeah, I drank some, too."

The mage looked him up and down, then shook his head. "No. No, you're fine."

"Really?"

"You are hale, thank the Maker."

A second mage came down and pulled the same act on Zevran. "You are very sick as well."

"Am I?"

Bannon started to cough, a deep, wet hacking. He gestured for Zevran to hang back.

"I feel fine," the Antivan said. When the mage started to argue, he added, "I assure you, the moment I feel the slightest twinge, I shall be here, begging for your attention."

Bannon started hacking up a lung, and the crowd drew back. Zevran melted back with them.

"He could infect us all!"

"Let's get out of here!"

The third mage tried to calm the crowd. The elves suddenly weren't so eager to be around the healing hall if they might catch whatever disease Bannon had. That was one way to get them to go home. The second moved to go after Zevran, but Bannon collapsed on him, and both mages were needed to hold him up. They started pulling him towards the store.

"Let me help you with him," Alistair said.

"No! You can't go inside. You might contract the plague."

"Stay, back," Bannon panted dramatically. "I don't want you to die!"

Zevran tugged at the Templar's arm. "We should stay away, as he wishes." Staying out of reach of the mages, he called to Bannon, "Good luck, my friend! If you don't make it, have no fear, for I shall take very good care of all your worldly possessions!"

"See you...," Bannon gasped out, "on the other side! Farewell!"

The mages dragged him through the door and shut it firmly.

==#==

Zevran thought quickly. He turned to Shianni. "Where is the back door, seniorita?"

"This way."

She led them around to the back alley. Zevran turned and told her, "Go back and get your people to safety."

"Didn't you notice? They don't want to listen to me."

"Perhaps you can persuade them with something other than the truth they do not want to hear."

She chewed on the inside of her lip. "Like Bannon does."

Zevran chuckled softly. "Just so."

The young redhead nodded. "I'll try." She marched back the way they'd come.

Zevran turned to Alistair and Morrigan. "Let's go."

They found an elf lad hanging about near the back door. "Piss off. No one's allowed here."

"Really?" the assassin said. "You're here."

"I'm guarding the door."

"You? You're a sapling. Did you not notice our weapons? Or were you too busy oogling the witch's breasts?"

The boy's eyes snapped back to Zevran. "They pay me ten whole coppers a day to keep people from snooping around here."

"Ten!?" Zevran was, in fact, impressed.

Alistair said, "We're not going to have to fight this kid, are we? I don't think I'm all right with that."

Zevran waved him off. "Of course not! We shall use Bannon's strategy." He dug into his belt pouch, past vials and sundries, and finally produced a silver coin. "How about we buy you out?"

The boy's eyes got big. "That would be fair!"

Zevran pulled the coin back from his greedy grasping hands. "And perhaps we can buy the key from you as well?"

"They don't gimme no key," the boy scoffed. "They only want me to keep people out."

Zevran sighed. "Fine, fine." He handed over the coin and shooed the boy away. He went to the door and tried the handle. Locked, of course. "Brasca!"

Morrigan said, "Well, now we really do need Bannon."

"Pah! I can pick this lock!"

"You can?" asked Alistair in disbelief.

"Your lack of faith wounds me! Just keep watch." Zevran found the lockpicks in his pouch and set to work.

Several minutes later, Morrigan said, "This would be faster were I to freeze the lock, and then we wait for it to rust out."

"Shut up witch," Zevran growled. "I am concentrating."

Alistair added, "I could probably bash it in-"

"Stealth!" Zevran insisted. "That is Bannon's way."

"Don't think it's our way," Alistair grumbled.

And Morrigan said, "I hope he's still alive by the time we get there."

"If you want to actually help, go fly back to Eamon's estate and fetch the others. With Blood Mages, we need all the help we can get."

At first, he didn't think Morrigan would heed him. But after a few moments, he felt the sussurration of magic brush the hairs on the back of his neck, and heard the flapping of wings that receded over the rooftops.

Finally, the lock clicked open. "Aha! I am ridiculously awesome!"

"You do know that Bannon could have done that in like three seconds."

"Everyone is a critic." Zevran shushed the Templar, then eased the door open. A dim hallway was beyond. "Stay back," the assassin whispered. "Try not to clank."

They snuck inside the dimly-lit shop. Or what used to be a shop. There were many things shoved in the back for storage. They found a larger room lined with empty cots. A body sprawled on the floor in a pool of blood, one of the mages.

"Bannon?" Zevran hissed.

"In here."

Zevran came out of his crouch at his partner's unhushed voice. He and Alistair came through a doorway to an adjacent room with a desk. Bannon stood looking down at some papers upon it.

Alistair asked, "What happened to him?" indicating the dead Tevinter.

"After they gave me a 'healing potion' to knock me out, he tried to relieve me of my weapons and armor."

Zevran snorted.

"What? I helped by sticking one in his ribs."

Alistair said, "Have you figured out what they're doing here?"

Zevran snapped, "Isn't it obvious, Alistair? You're just lucky they didn't flag you as 'sick.' Tevinters take human slaves, not just elves."

"Slavers?"

Bannon handed him the papers. "Look at this. 'Send a dozen healthy young males. Twenty virginal girls.'"

"An order list," Zevran sneered.

"And this one, cargo manifest." Bannon paced the small room while the Templar read. "You see that? 'Skilled artisan.' That's my father!" Then he shoved past them. "Where's Morrigan? We have to go."

"We sent her back to get the others," Alistair said. "We should wait for them."

Zevran added, "Si, and in the meantime, we can lure the other two in here, for a bit of assassination."

"There's no time," Bannon insisted. "Look at the date - the slave ship is due to set sail this morning!"

"Bannon, we can't fight them, just the three of us," Alistair said. "We don't know how many there are. And they're most likely Blood Mages." He and Zevran followed the agitated elf out past the cooling body.

"They use knock-out drugs. They... They don't have guards in here. There might only be a few of them."

Zevran mused, "The only guard on the back door was some local boy."

Bannon pounced on that. "See! For all we know, it's just these three - well, two."

"But how are they getting all the elves to their ship?" Alistair asked. "Without being seen?"

"If they're unconscious, and wrapped like corpses... they could haul them out to be 'burned' right under everyone's noses."

"I don't know," said Alistair.

"Fine," Bannon spat. "Stay here, then. Zevran, let's go."

"Of course, amore."

"Bannon, wait." Alistair forestalled them from heading out the back. "We don't need to wait for the others, or to fight these people on our own. We can call the city guard, get them to look about and seize the ship."

"The city guard?" Bannon asked incredulously. "You think they're going to help a bunch of elves?"

To which Zevran added, "You think they don't already know about it?"

Alistair turned to him. "Slavery is illegal in Ferelden!"

"So you truly think Howe sent away... all the way to Tevinter, for some perfectly benign mage healers to help his poor, plague-ridden elves?" Zevran's voice rose as he carried on. "And somehow, he got swindled, because they actually sent slavers to help empty out his Alienage right under his nose? Without him having the faintest clue what was going on? Get your head out of your ass!"

"You need to stop thinking that every human is out to get you!" the Templar shot back.

"All right, stop," Bannon cut in. "I have a plan."

"That's more like it." The Templar settled down.

"Alistair, you stay here, wait for the others. Zevran and I will go on ahead."

"When you said 'plan,' I thought you meant a better one than charging in there and getting yourselves killed."

"We won't charge in," Bannon explained. "We'll sneak in. We'll mark the path so you guys can catch up with us. If we find any sentries, we'll take them out. If we get in there and there are only a few mages, we can get the drop on them."

"It only takes one mage," Alistair warned.

"If there's too many, we'll wait. Alright?"

"Well..."

The elves didn't' wait for an answer.

==#==

The path the slavers took was quite clear, actually. There was a blind alley behind Alarith's store. Then another heading East, which was covered with scaffolding. Bannon didn't know where they were heading. The sea wall was the tallest and thickest, and there were no gates, except where the river flowed through. If one could consider a grate a gate.

They were in the poorest part of the Alienage now. The streets narrower, the windows fewer, piled boxes of apartments stacked one atop another. It smelled of sickness and rot.

The elves came to a boarded-up alleyway with a large sign. DANGER. KEEP OUT. "This is where they've been repairing an old part of the wall," Bannon said. "They've been at it for years."

"Shems come all the way down here?"

Bannon scoffed. "Not since the first few weeks. There's a gang in residence here. Nasty thugs. Keep an eye out for them." He went to look for a way past the barrier.

"What are they called? The Hole In The Wall Gang?" Zevran scanned what little of the alleyways he could see from here, paying special attention to the scaffolding above, peering through any chinks in the wood planks. All was quiet. He gripped his dagger hilts.

"No, the Rats or Lizards or something."

"Not very imaginative," the Antivan muttered. Then he said, "If Howe only wanted elves taken as slaves, I have to wonder why he didn't just send to Antiva, instead of all the way to Tevinter."

"Probably because he got such a bad deal hiring Antivans before."

"Hey!"

"Not complaining," Bannon assured him. "Just sayin'."

"At least with Antivans, we wouldn't have to worry about Blood Mages."

"Yeah, but there'd be more guards. Here we go."

The barricade was cleverly latched and hinged. Bannon pulled it wide, then found a brick to prop it open. With his dagger, he drew a big arrow on the back of the wood.

Zevran peered down the shadowy passage. "Close quarters?"

"Yeah."

"Daggers, then."

The elves drew a blade with each hand, then crept inside.

==#==

Alistair paced and fretted. Why had he let the elves go alone? When were the others getting here? If he went after Bannon, how would they know which way to go? What if the elves got themselves killed?

Alistair took a deep breath and faced the alley. He tried to sense his fellow Grey Warden. He thought he could... or was it his imagination? Surely, he would know if Bannon were in trouble, or hurt, or... or worse. Right? This would be so much easier if they were fighting darkspawn instead of Blood Mages.

Finally, a crow swooped down to the street.

"Are they coming? Where are they? Go fly down there and see if you can see where the elves are." Alistair hoped he wasn't talking to some random ordinary bird.

No, the crow shook its feathers and expanded back into human form. "You let them go alone?" she snapped.

"I tried to stop them and make them wait, but I couldn't, alright?" Alistair ran a gauntleted hand over his hair. "They have his father, Morrigan. It's family." He still knew what that meant, despite everything. But did the witch? "You must have some inkling what that's like. It was you and your mother all alone in the wilderness. Surely you'd... worry if she were hurt. Or killed."

Yellow eyes never looked so icy. "My mother raised me, like cattle, to serve her as a vessel she would possess when her own body became too old."

"Sh-? Wh... What?"

"Nevermind. Mother's dead."

"Sh-? Flemeth?" Alistair's mind scrambled to try to deal with this information from another time and place, so far away, and so irrelevant in this moment.

"'Tis not important!" Morrigan barked. "Where did those two fools head off to, and how are we expected to find them?"

"Down there." He pointed. "And they said they'd mark the trail. But when are the others getting here?"

"In their own time."

"You didn't show them the way?"

"Really, Alistair, some people are capable of following directions."

"But when they get here-"

"They will have to figure it out."

"No wait!" he called as she turned down the alley. An idea flashed in his mind. He ran inside, back to the slavers' office, to write a note. This, he pinned to the back door with the dead Tevinter's belt knife.

"Anyone could see that," the witch complained.

"Not if they're coming out the back door," Alistair countered. "Besides, by then it won't matter." He pulled his helmet on. "Let's go."

==#==

Zevran took the lead within the maze of tunnel-like passageways. It was a good thing; the place was lined with traps. The assassin slowed down, checked carefully, whereas he feared Bannon would have rushed in carelessly, with the same recklessness that had left their muscle and magic firepower behind.

Of course Zevran didn't mind rushing into danger, if that is what his patrone wanted. He'd love to gut a few slavers given half a chance. But he didn't understand Bannon's urgency.

Unlike Zevran, Bannon knew his father, who had raised him. His mother was gone, but unlike Zevran's, she had... hadn't sold him into slavery.

The assassin wasn't sure about this whole familial loyalty thing. It sat uneasily with him. But, ah well. The thrill, the danger, the chance to fight side by side with his partner, competing for points - it was a good way to die. An even better way to live.

Zevran signaled a halt. There was a tripwire here, but this one was sloppily set, and seemed to only to connected to a box of thin wood slats, balanced to tip over and spill a handful of tarnished metal spoons. An alarm.

Bannon crouched at the other side of the passage and pulled his helmet off with an irritated flick to free his hair. Zevran would have to show him how to braid it back. He followed suit. The Dalish helmets were comfortable enough, but still blocked sound to some degree.

They listened and heard low voices ahead. With a nod, they stepped over the alarm and crept closer. Bannon peeked around a corner. After a moment, he held up his hand, fingers splayed. Five, good. There wouldn't be any tied score.

Bannon turned back and mouthed, "Elves." His whisper barely crossed the hall. "I'm going to talk to them." He gestured for Zevran to sneak around.

The assassin frowned, but nodded. He clipped the helmet to his belt. Yes, it left his head more exposed to blows, but it also left his eyes and ears unblocked, the better to notice those blows coming and avoid them altogether. Really, Zevran rather preferred sneaking around naked. Like that time in the Contessa's country manor. That had been fun! Zevran shook the memories from his mind. He could tell Bannon that story later. Maybe if they found a private little nook somewhere at Eamon's estate. Later!

He found a side door to the room Bannon had entered, and eased the door slowly open while the thief distracted the guards.

==#==

"Hello?" Bannon called out carefully.

The gang members leapt to their feet, pulling out an assortment of daggers and short swords. Their armor, what there was of it, was piecemeal and patched. Scavenged, no doubt.

"Whoa, hey, easy." Not espying any crossbows, Bannon eased out into the doorway, his clearly empty hands held up. "I'm sorry to barge in on your like this, but your door was open."

"Spatch!" One of the bigger elves clobbered the little guy next to him.

"Ow! But I'm sure I closed it this time!"

The woman in the center snapped, "Enough! What do you want, knife-ears?"

"Oh, are you in charge? Pleased to meet you. My name's Bannon. That guy who murdered a bunch of nobles up at the arl's estate?" He paused to see if they recognized that.

"You're him?" Spatch breathed. His companion thwapped him on the head again.

"And you are...?"

The woman scowled. "We're the Red Slicers, and you didn't answer my question."

"Well, I've been tracking some Tevinter slavers. Have you seen any?"

"Duh," said the big lout. Spatch snickered.

The woman stepped forward, her dagger aimed straight at Bannon. "Who do you think we're guarding this passage for, you idiot?"

"Why would you work for them?" Bannon countered. He folded his arms, without making any sudden moves. He also edged sidewise, away from the direction Zevran should be coming from. He couldn't see the assassin, but he wasn't looking, lest he give something away.

"Because they pay very well."

"But they're slavers," he said, looking into her eyes. "You'd let them enslave your people?"

She snorted. "They're not my people. I'm my people. And you-!"

Bannon laughed, throwing his head back, exposing his throat if she had the wherewithal to slash it. In her confusion, she didn't. He laughed harder to cover the sound of one of her lackey's bodies slumping to the floor. "I've heard of people willing to sell their own mother, but I didn't know I'd ever meet one!"

She snarled, but he went on, pacing side to side while he prattled. "Do you think they'll buy my sister? She's nothing but trouble! Lays around all day, does nothing but complain, and wonders why she keeps getting pregnant. Seriously? After five times, you'd think she'd figure it out!"

Another gang member disappeared into the shadows.

"'Oh, help me, help me!' she whines. Expects me to do everything, you know? So I find her a job. Is she grateful? No! It's just 'why do I have to work? I want to be rich and idle.' Whine, whine, whine!"

He dropped his hands to his belt and came up with two daggers. Without warning, he slashed for the leader's throat.

She jumped back, and Bannon cursed himself. Had he been too slow? Pulled his strike, like he had at the brothel? He just didn't want to kill any elf, especially a woman. But she was an enemy. He was determined to go through with it this time.

He needn't have worried. She launched herself at him. He caught her blades on his own, but she rammed a knee to his groin as they both tumbled to the floor. Pain jarred him to his core, and he hoped she at least bruised her kneecap on his codpiece.

The fight was quick and dirty and bloody. Bannon turned away from the bodies, cleaning his daggers. Zevran was bleeding along several spots on his arm. "What happened there?" Bannon asked him.

Zevran frowned, turning his arm to inspect the damage. "He was a biter. Heh, like trapped rats, no?" A little bloodletting always put Zevran in a good mood. Bannon couldn't share it this time. She's not my people, he insisted. She said so herself. He took a breath and prepared a witty retort when a crash sounded behind them.

The elves sprang apart, angling for cover on either side of the doorway. A shield and a knight appeared in the doorway.

"Alistair," Bannon called, so he wouldn't attack them.

"Oh, there you are." He frowned. "Why aren't you wearing your helmets?"

"So we don't blunder into any traps."

From the passage, Morrigan said, "I told you I should go first."

"If you want to go first, and catch all those arrows so my shield doesn't get nicked, I'd really appreciate it," Alistair responded dryly. The tower emblem on his shield had been nearly obliterated by cuts, scrapes, patches, and one lopsided dent. His dwarven armor came with a new matching shield, but he preferred his old set. The dwarven armor was his 'feastday best,' he insisted. No use mucking it up in actual combat.

"Where are the others?" Bannon asked.

"They will catch up," Morrigan said.

"If they can follow Morrigan's directions," Alistair muttered.

Bannon shook his head. "They'd better hurry. We can't wait."

Zevran drew a lurid arrow in blood, leading to the next door, since he didn't have the time to artfully arrange the bodies.

They passed through three rooms, bare of everything but a rickety stool, then came to a claustrophobically narrow hall. The elves went first, disarming traps.

Alistair commented, "This place is entirely unlike a maze."

"They don't want their slaves to get 'lost' on the way to the ship," Zevran replied darkly.

At the end of the passage, there was a heavy door, locked, but not for long.

It opened to the outside, under some more scaffolding. Trash, loose bricks, and broken boards were piled up in a thick barricade on either side. And ahead, the wall, with a crooked dark hole in it.

If only the gang had shared it with the elves, more could have escaped the Purge. Instead, they sold it to the Tevinters. Bannon clenched his teeth in anger.

On the other side of the hole was much the same. A shack had been erected as an entryway through the back wall of a warehouse. This door, locked, was quickly opened and the human guard snoozing inside just as quickly dispatched. His armor was nondescript leather; it wasn't clear if he was Tevinter or a local. If he worked for Howe or Loghain, he didn't do it under their insignia.

The front of the warehouse was cut off by a wall of crates. Here at the back was a long empty space. Narrow stairs on the seaward side led up to a high platform. There were three more guards up there. They yelled and ran to descend the steps to engage the intruders.

"Seriously?" Zevran sighed.

"This is almost too easy," Morrigan added. An ice bolt turned the third man into a heavy chunk of frozen water and flesh. Momentum carried it down onto his companions, and they all came crashing and bumping to the floor below. Taking into account the broken bones, not to mention the hideous embarrassment of it all, cutting their throats seemed rather considerate.

"Do you think anyone heard that?" Alistair wondered.

Bannon and Zevran raced up the steps, the others behind. At the top were two doors. The far one was open. Bannon gestured Zevran ahead. The assassin flattened himself to the wall and peeked through. He shook his head, seeing nothing.

The other door was unlocked. Bannon eased it open, but found only another such balcony on the other side, with a solid wood plank rail. The elves went through and looked over.

It was not good.

==X==