Thought this idea up yesterday and I just couldn't stop writing it! I don't know if I'll continue it, but I've never written so much in one sitting so I decided to post it.

Most of the Dalish language is made up except for a couple words like lethallen (friend) and shemlen (quickling, which is what the elves call humans). This is set after the defeat of the Archdemon. Alistair is King along with Anora as his queen. Male Dalish archer origin. So, yes, this will be SLASH with ZevranxWarden. Anything else I'll explain on the way.

What's really important though is that the Blight occured a YEAR before it actually happened in the original Dragon Age game. I set it that way so that Zevran never joined up with the party as he hadn't a reason to leave Antiva. SPOILER: The mission with Rinna and Taliesen has NOT happened yet. END SPOILER. Everything else is the same, but just without a sexy, Antivan assassin.

Enjoy!

It had been a week and still nothing. His missive should have arrived days ago, but now it was a week late. The King of Ferelden began to worry. He paced across his bedchamber in an agitated state as he folded his hands against one another. Leovin had promised! There was no reason –

The bastard king struck his booted foot out to strike the chest at the end of his bed. He immediately regretted that action as pain shot up his leg and he hopped around on one leg until he lost his balance and collapsed on his oversized bed that served no other purpose than to put more space between him and his reluctant wife, Anora. With a sigh, Alistair stared up at the ceiling with a troubled expression.

Being King was awful, the Grey Warden thought. He told Leovin that he wanted nothing to do with his bloodline, but the Hero of Ferelden insisted upon their union. To preserve the peace, the pale elf had said. Well it didn't make things peaceful at night between husband and wife.

Alistair practically pouted. His friend wasn't even here to give him advice or call him names in that Dalish language of his as Leovin was prone to do when annoyed. By Andraste's knickers Alistair missed his brother in everything but blood. He remembered clearly the last night they spent together just whittling away the hours of the early morning before Leovin left.

Alistair could recall the feel of the bearskin rug on his bare feet and the heat of the fire on his right side as Leovin, who sat on the hearthrug, carved a warhound out of a discarded piece of firewood with his hunting knife the elf hid underneath the bracer of his left hand. The black-haired elf's Mabari, Fen (named after the Dread Wolf Fen'Harel the elf explained), lay on its belly with its massive head buried in Leovin's thigh as he too enjoyed the lazy warmth. Unconsciously, Leovin tilted his head to the side towards the sound of a servant's retreating footsteps down the hall which had Alistair chuckling at the mimicry of his hound that flicked a lazy ear at the same noise.

"And what is so amusing, lethallen?" Leovin asked his friend.

Alistair lifted his goblet of wine to slowly to hide the impish smile twitching at his lips. "I'm afraid," the King said after being silently prompted by his fellow Grey Warden's raised eyebrow, "that if I say anything about you or your hound's ears, you might take it the wrong way. And I would hate to get you mad at me. You could kill me," he jibed although the statement was true.

Leovin snorted as he manipulated his carving knife to scratch out a pointed ear. "You are king now, lethallen. I would have to have a very good reason to kill you."

"Oh? Liiike…putting a heavy tax on all the cheese in Ferelden so that no one would buy it and I could have all the cheese in the world!" Alistair exclaimed evilly.

The Dailsh elf smirked. "No, like insulting my ears."

He thought for a bit. "…So I can put a tax on cheese?"

"Eshai'du."

Alistair placed his wine goblet down on the table beside him to point an accusing finger at his friend.

"You've called me that word before. It doesn't sound nice. In fact, I think that you just insulted me. Look at me," the swordsman said, turning his finger to point at his pouting face. "I'm insulted."

Leovin looked up from his blocky, but recognizable wooden warhound, and snorted at the "hurt" look on his friend's face. Fen, his sleeping model, completely ignored the human's playful banter and fell back to his drooling sleep now that the presence at the door had left.

"It is a look you wear often."

"Ouch, I'm wounded." Alistair placed a hand over his heart. "Deeply, deeply wounded." Leovin smoothly flipped his knife and gripped the sharpened edges carefully so that the tip could gently scratch in the fine hairs of the carved dog. "You don't even care."

Alistair's accusation was met with a shrug. The bastard king grumbled, "It's like Morrigan's still here; taunting me with her witchy ways."

Leovin's muttered curse awoke Fen from his nap. The mabari whimpered as his nose twitched at the smell of his master's blood. Gently, Leovin pushed away the head of his massive dog away from his cut finger.

"Geeze, what'd ya do?"

"Knife slipped," Leovin mumbled to the inquisitive Alistair. The pale elf examined the figurine and noticed a fingerprint of blood marring the side of the wood.

The King narrowed his eyes. A fool among fools, Morrigan had frequently called him along their journey together to end the Blight. The only reason Alistair hadn't stuck his sword through her bitchy head was because Leovin had practically ordered the two of them to get along, although Alistair could tell that the other Warden fought not to smile at their petty squabbling.

Although, he had to admit. Alistair wasn't the sharpest sword on the stand, but he could definitely tell that something was wrong with his closest friend who had stood beside him on the battlefield. Leovin had supported him with deadly arrows that pierced through hearts of the darkspawn. His aim was something of the legends of old. In fact, Leovin was now a part of those legends as a Hero who slayed the Archdemon with his bow and daggers. A brave commander, a brilliant strategist, and a merciful elf; these were the things that even the most common of folk knew.

But Alistair knew the real Hero of Ferelden. Indeed, the stories told of his bravery and compassion were all true, but Leliana's tales didn't include the Grey Warden's nightmares that had him screaming hoarsely in the night with tears wetting his cheeks or how after he had taken his blade to young Connor's throat to save Redcliff from the demon Leovin had vomited for hours even after he purged nothing but bile from his stomach. Guilt plagued him. Anyone could tell if they looked past his expressionless, tattooed face and into his downcast eyes. No matter the smiles he hid, the grimaces, or frowns…his green eyes gave him away every time.

When Alistair questioned him on his decision to murder the child even though the Arl's son had become an abomination, Leovin stood beside his choice. Defended it even, although his terrifying dreams about the Archdemon were joined by the images of Connor's death. Leovin had asked him what he, Alistair, would have done in his place. Alistair was the senior Grey Warden of the two, why didn't he make the decisions?

The Chantry raised boy hadn't an answer.

Leovin asked how many more people would have died if he hadn't made a choice right at that instant.

Alistair thought pleading to the Circle of Magi for their assistance would help save everyone so that no one had to be killed.

Too much time. Connor would not remain complacent for the three days it would take to make the journey there and back.

The senior Grey Warden yelled out that they couldn't resort to blood magic. Killing Isolde in order to save her only son was not a choice.

Leovin agreed although Alistair found out later that he had seriously considered letting Jowan do the ritual for he despised the Arl's wife for her poor decisions and reckless endangerment of her subjects.

In the end, Leovin made the most rational decision in that limit of time. The Arlessa was still young and fertile. Isolde could produce another heir for the Arl; a child that would hopefully not be a mage and not half mad from being possessed by a demon.

Alistair would have never known the Dalish archer's troubles had the younger man not drawn him into his confidence. They were brothers. Eliai'nerains. Leovin had said. Soul-brothers.

But no matter how much "subtle" prodding, Leovin told no-one the reason behind Morrigan's disappearance. The night before the final battle remained a mystery. Leovin refused to speak of it even though remained the last to see the Witch of the Wilds before she disappeared.

And by Andraste's knickers, Alistair wanted to know! Because every time someone made even a mention of the dark-haired sorceress, Leovin flinched. The elf hated to lie. Alistair thought he couldn't, but the blasted elf could damn well keep secrets to the grave.

The young king sighed, but forced a teasing smile. "Be careful. We wouldn't want the Hero of Ferelden to only be able to count to nine, now would we?"

He would let it go. His curiosity nagged at him and whined at the lost opportunity to question the Grey Warden, but his respect for his friend's privacy won out. Barely.

Leovin grunted good-naturedly and wiped his thumb on his oversized cotton shirt. Oversized for an elf, normal for a man: Leovin claimed it was more comfortable.

"Even if nine is the highest I can get to, 'tis still better than you. And do not call me that. The title is too long and annoying."

This time, Alistair's smile came naturally. "Now, now let's not get grumpy or I'll name my first-born child after you."

His comment forced a hearty chuckle from his companion as both of them remembered their first meeting.

"That poor, poor mage. I'm surprised he did not magic you into a toad."

"I'm really glad he didn't. I couldn't imagine living my life as a frog. Flies look nasty to eat."

Leovin ruffled Fen's scruff affectionately. "Couldn't be worse than your lamb and pea stew."

"Stop being so mean!" Alistair whined but he couldn't hide the wide smile on his face. "Everyone knows that Ferelden cuisine is gray and tasteless."

The younger Grey Warden nodded in acceptance. "Ah. My mistake."

Their gentle teasing soon dwindled down until the only noise was Fen's thunderous snoring, but the sound was comforting and reminded the two Wardens of days spent gathered around a campfire settled underneath a wide expanse of stars.

Alistair's obnoxious yawning interrupted the comforting silence between them and Leovin shook his head at his friend's over exaggerated stretching in the chair his King sat in.

"Well," he yawned again. "I'm off to bed. Goodnight and don't let the darkspawn bite."

Leovin kept his gaze on the licking flames. "Vlana sear, lethallen. A'laena sar li saena."

The taller man paused at the doorway. "That sounded like a lot more than 'Sweet dreams, Alistair'," he pointed out, worried at the forlorn tone.

"Sleep well, my friend." Leovin said, saying nothing more whilst burying his slender, calloused fingers into the short fur of his drooling hound.

That had been their last meeting and Alistair was the fool for not guessing at his friend's thoughts. Now Leovin had wandered into the wild lands of Antiva with nothing more than the clothes on his back, a bag of supplies, his bow and daggers, and a promise to return with letters addressed to him every fortnight. He wasn't even sure the Grey Warden had left with a plan.

Alistair rolled over to his side to glare at Leovin's promise that stood proudly on the King's bedside table with its lolling tongue silently mocking him. The ex-Grey Warden lifted up the wooden mabari hound that held down the Dalish elf's neat scribe and quietly spoke to it.

"He's going to come back. Leovin probably just got curious about what was out there; the Dalish travel all the time so I guess all this sitting around finally got to him. He's fine. The letter is just late because he's busy or the mail courier got shot. I mean, he wouldn't go to Antiva City if he didn't know about the Crows, right?" The wooden replica remained silent. "Right?"

His face itched even more than the rash he had gotten as a child when the young elf had wandered into a patch of questionable ivy. The elders of his clan had chuckled at his scrunched up face as he attempted to persuade himself to not scratch at the maddeningly itchy, red bumps. They rubbed a cool poultice on his skin to soothe the urge and Leovin ached for the substance to quiet the need to rub at his cheeks. Leliana gave him strict orders to not let anything touch his face as the powder applied was delicate. Leovin had grumbled that the application was so thick that it wouldn't matter, but the Orlesian bard reminded him that his Vallaslin, or blood-writing, was in a dark ink. He would need to reapply it every morning in order for his markings to be completely covered.

Leliana had asked him the reason for her to make the fine powder, but Leovin just replied that he didn't want to be stopped and marveled at for being the Slayer of the Archdemon every time he went down to the markets. His tattoos were very distinct and although only members of the Dalish clan knew what they meant even the common folk knew what they looked like.

Damn Alistair for his statue of the Hero of Ferelden. Also may Elgar'nin, the God of Vengeance, take the artist's soul who had insisted on being entirely accurate of every little detail about the black-haired elf.

Agitatedly, Leovin pulled at the hood of his cloak that shrouded his features even more than the shadows cast by the slowly rising sun that peeked over the docks and illuminated the bear-like sailors that even at this early hour worked steadily on their massive ships. Leovin had never seen the sea before and he admitted to spending more time than he should have merely staring out at the dark waves as they hit the shore. And although the elf was fascinated by the sea, he could stand to have less of the rotting fish smell permeate everything he owned.

However, the docks were the only place his contact would agree to meet.

"Ja nevnay," he sighed exasperatedly as the dawn stretched on and still he was alone next to a crate of ice-packed fish.

The meeting had taken too long to set up and finding an apostate with the skills needed to do what Leovin wanted took longer still. Unfortunately, the item Leovin wanted was listed as illegal in Thedas and only the Tranquil sold magical items that were legal in Ferelden, so the Grey Warden was forced to look elsewhere for his trinket.

For the longest time, Leovin jumped from rumor to rumor to only come across an Antivan merchant who sold…questionably obtained items. Master Ignacio was his name if he remembered correctly and the shady but "honest" businessman suggested Antiva City to be the Warden's destination. That remained his only hint and it was up to Leovin to figure out the rest.

A shuffle to his left made Leovin's hand stray to his hip where his sheathed long knife hid underneath the dark material of his cloak. Green eyes acclimated to the darkness, quickly pinpointed the source of the disturbance. Finally, he thought and made to stand up straighter as the paranoid mage he had arranged to meet over an hour ago decided to show. Leovin attempted to shadow his agitation, but the slow shuffling walk of the mage made his eye twitch in irritation.

The apostate crossed a beam of light that shone through the cloudy sky from the rising sun and Leovin acquired his first good look of the man that hadn't been through a hole in the wall. Brown-haired and mousy looking, the powerful mage didn't seem as such. His robes were far too big for his person and his gaunt face told the elf of recent weight loss. Shifty black eyes went back and forth from his person to all around the area until the small man came to a stop in front of him.

"You have it?" Leovin asked immediately in hopes for the meeting to be over as soon as possible so that the smell of putrefying fish would stop burning the inside of his nose.

The apostate nodded fervently and drew his hands from his massive sleeves to produce a small wooden box that seemed so insignificant in its simplicity. The archer's pale hand reached out for it but the item was hurriedly pulled back into the mage's wrinkled, ink-stained robes.

"No no no no! Payment first then you get it," the mage protested.

"I cannot even be sure it will do what I want?"

Frantic eyes waved back and forth from the hooded figure of Leovin to the dock workers and finally settled on twitching fingers that the mage knotted together.

"It-It'll work," the magic-user squeaked and stuttered. He cleared his throat. "The spell is flawless. All it needs is the blood of the person you're searching for and it should lead you right to them."

Leovin quirked an eyebrow although the small man, as tall as he was, couldn't see it. "No matter the distance?"

The apostate practically looked offended that Leovin had asked the question. "Of course! My magic is not that of an apprentice! To think you would even-!"

The familiar sound of a bowstring being pulled taunt had Leovin jumping to push the mage out of range. A quivering bolt from a crossbow struck the crate behind Leovin at an angle that would have pierced the heart of the mage in front of him had the elf not pulled him to the ground. The mage screamed as Leovin rolled them to the side as another bolt sailed through the air to strike the wood of the pier. The Grey Warden dragged the quivering mage behind the reeking crates of fish and unsheathed his short blade. Leovin left his bow and arrows back at the inn; he thought they were useless in the close quarters of the docks. He really regretted that spur of the moment decision now.

A couple more telltale thumps into the thick wood behind him had more than thoughts of how to escape fall into the elf's mind. Leovin looked down at the simpering man who tried to hide inside his voluminous robes.

"Who's trying to kill you?" It couldn't have been Templars. They liked the more heavy approach than the subtlety of an assassin.

"Wh-what? N-n-no one! I don't know what's going on! Help me! Help me, good sir!"

The Grey Warden growled and crouched next to the mage to lift him up from his blubbering sprawl. "You lie. Tell me or I give you to them wrapped up in a bow." Leovin's threat worked better than he planned and tears of fear poured freely down snot covered cheeks. "Ja nevnay," the elf whispered heatedly and dropped the useless mage back on the ground. Leovin brought a hand to his head to stave off an approaching headache but recalled at the last second Leliana's warning.

Leovin's sharp ears caught the difference in sound of the bolts striking the boxes the two of them hid behind and noticed that they were steadily becoming louder which told of more force. Their would-be assassins were drifting closer as the bolts came too frequently for it to only be one. Time too quickly was running out. Sharp green eyes surveyed their situation in less than a second. The two of them were on the edge of the pier surrounded by water on both sides with their only exit in the direction of the firing arrows. They were neatly trapped.

Leovin growled under his breath. Was the Blight so long ago that he had forgotten his most basic training? Mentally checking his weapons, he felt all he had were his long dagger and his hunting knife sheathed in his bracer. Nothing useful against a ranged enemy. Leovin eyed the blubbering man beside him and knew his magic to be useless if he couldn't even sit up. The Tower probably threw the man out rather than him escaping.

Another bolt vibrated the crate. They were coming too close. He needed to do something.

"Can you swim?"

The sudden question startled the apostate. "W-well yes, but-!"

"Good." Leovin kicked his foot out and pushed the mage into the ocean off the edge of the pier. "Swim to safety. I will protect you," he promised and tore a loose board from the crate as long as his forearm. The Dalish archer didn't wait to see if his order had been followed and instead took advantage of the break in fire to step from cover and whip the board with enough force to break bones.

His aim remained as deadly with thrown objects as with his arrows and Leovin saw one of the masked assassin's fall off the pier with his hands clutching his abdomen where Leovin was sure a couple of cracked ribs were. The Grey Warden didn't stop in his assault and ran to the other bowmen who stood too long in shock. Leovin's open right hand shot out to crush the elf's nose and smack the crossbow from his suddenly slack arms. Leovin's long knife in his left hand sliced a clean line through his enemy's hamstring. The bowman crumpled to the ground.

Leovin took a moment to look for an insignia as the two assassins wore the same uniform, but found none. Annoyed that the supposedly simple exchange had devolved into chaos so quickly, even though he should have been used to things never being so simple from his journey to stop the Blight, the elven archer crouched to place his blade across the whimpering bowman's throat. The enemy elf had his hands wrapped around his bleeding thigh and blood seeped down his masked chin to stain the collar of his leather armor. No distinctive features besides the newly acquired broken nose: brown hair and dark Antivan skin. A local.

Leovin pulled down the mask and asked, "Who sent you?" Well, it was more of a demand but the assassin refused to answer. "Why are you after the mage?" He asked a little harsher. No answer except for whimpers. "Useless," he muttered and withdrew his knife. "Keep pressure on the wound," Leovin said as he stood up. "I did not slice too deeply. You will walk again."

The Warden turned around to only sigh in frustration. Another man with the same uniform held the wide-eyed and now wet mage to his chest further down the pier with a wicked looking blade inches away from the apostate's neck. The mage appeared to have only gotten a few feet before being forcefully dragged from the water.

"Another step and I'll give him a new smile," the mage's captor warned when Leovin inched forward. "Drop your weapon." His knife clattered on the pier when Leovin unclenched his fist. "Good. Now stay there. The Crows have no quarrel with you," he told the disguised Warden in the accent of Antiva which in the past week Leovin had gotten used to.

The Crows? He had only heard of the group in hushed whispers as talking about them summoned the Crows as the fishwives told him. The Dalish archer thought them to be an underground rebel group. It looked like he was far off from that. They appeared to be nothing but contract killers. Assassins for the politically important and bored noble.

Ignoring Leovin completely now, the Crow bent his head to talk directly into the smaller man's ear. He could only catch a few words of their conversation and it wasn't enough to make more sense than the mage had somehow cheated the Crows out of what appeared to be a substantial amount of money. The green-eyed elf couldn't help but roll his eyes. Because of course it was always a good idea to cheat the guys with pointy objects, but he couldn't be too surprised. After all, the apostate was a business man.

Leovin refocused his attention on the two bargaining men and clenched his teeth as the Crow dug his hand around in the mage's robes for a few moments before pulling out the simple-looking box. He looked puzzled at it.

"This?" The Crow questioned doubtfully and flicked it open. "Ah. That's more like it." He dropped the box and dangling from his fingers was an amulet of incomparable beauty with strands of gold twining amongst itself. A drop of sapphire nestled in the middle completed the striking image of a priceless treasure held on a thin gold chain.

The mage squirmed in his hold, but the Crow didn't budge an inch as he whistled at the twinkling gem in the increasing sunlight on the docks. Leovin looked around but saw nary a soul. The dock workers must have run as soon as the Crows had shown. So no help there.

The amulet winked its beauty as it twirled silently on its chain. "How pretty, Sandeep. You do good work."

"Th-thank you, Master Crow," the mage whimpered

The assassin laughed. "Flattery won't help you." His captor tightened his grip and drew his blade closer. "You cheated the Crows and therefore forfeited your life. No offense. It's just business."

Before Leovin could protest, the Crow drew his knife deeply across the apostate's throat almost severing his head clean from his shoulders. Blood spurted heavily from the fatal wound and coated the madly grinning assassin's chest and face. Heavy droplets dotted the rotting wood around the dead man's body and blood pooled sickeningly at his head. Wandering tendrils of blood seeped into the cracks and crevasses of the pier and a cacophony of drips spread into the ocean below. Leovin didn't understand. Why must men kill one another when there is no need? There was nothing to gain by killing the mage…just needless death.

"The Crows send their regards," the assassin spat on Sandeep's corpse and didn't bother to clean his blade before sheathing it. The shemlen turned his fanatical grin to Leovin and mockingly dangled the golden talisman in front of him. "At least he was good for something. This trinket could probably buy me a couple of nights at the whorehouse."

Leovin struck.

Brown eyes trailed over the macabre scene before him. Four bodies. Three Crows: two wounded and one dead. At least he now knew why Rishi hadn't checked in after he was finished with his assignment. A leather boot tapped the Crow's corpse to turn him over to see relatively shallow stab wounds in his gut, but the killing blow was a precise cut across the man's throat. The killer gave him an easy death? Interesting, Rishi's eyes were also closed. He crouched to pick up a limp arm. Defensive wounds on his knuckles and a shallow slice down the length of Rishi's forearm with a broken thumb. Effectively disarmed. His opponent hadn't been an amateur. Of course to kill a Crow, one had to be better than an average swordsman; especially one as ruthless as Rishi. Although the man did get careless after a kill. Overconfidence always had been his weakness.

A box out of the corner of his eye caught the Crows attention. Dropping his dead comrade's arm, a dark-skinned hand clasped the opened container. Empty. Taken by the victor of this little duel? Perhaps. He dropped it back on the pier as he stood to silently walk over to the two other men who lied injured on the creaking wood. He raised an eyebrow. One of them appeared to have taken a dip in the water.

"Have a pleasant swim, Kadhi?"

The dripping Crow glared before the effect was ruined by a coughing fit that had him moaning and clutching his lower chest. "Fuck off, Zevran," he hoarsely cursed. "Maker-damned shit broke my ribs!"

A nasally chuckle had Zevran gazing at the other man who sat up with two fingers pinching a shattered nose together as he attempted to reset it. His thigh was sloppily bandaged with a dirty undershirt spotted with blood. "Yeah, took you out wit' a board." The bowman's smile was grisly with dark blood stains on his lips and over his chin.

"Fuck you, Faust!" Kadhi moaned. "Fuck I'm gonna be sore for a while."

"And here I thought only whores got you to say such pretty things." Kadhi glared and Zevran held his hands up in mock surrender. "Now, now over our hearty breakfast of questionable food items did I not hear this was a simple assignment? Did my ears deceive me?"

Faust yelped when his nose snapped back into place. He rubbed the already swelling ridge and answered. "Nah your pointy ears work just fine. Started out routine: followed the target to an isolated area and covered potential escape routes," Faust began to report to the senior Crow. "We advised the dock workers to look away and waited for an opening."

"Why the docks?"

Faust shrugged and winced as the motion jarred his bruised cartilage. "Don't know, but apparently he was meetin' the guy who was waitin' for him when he got here."

"Oooh a secret love affair always gets the blood pumping in the morning. Amongst other things."

Unimpressed by Zevran's innuendo, or perhaps used to them, Faust continued. "Nah. Looked like a business deal. Guy was covered in a cloak so we didn't get a good look at him, but he looked unarmed so Kadhi took a shot."

"Fucker is fast though. Perfect shot and the bastard ruined it." the wet Crow grumbled.

Zevran thought. "Heard it perhaps? Maybe an elf?" Zevran himself could hear a bowstring creak as it was pulled taunt if he listened closely enough.

Faust shrugged again. "Told ya already. Didn't get a good look. Pushed Sandeep out of the way and then pulled mage-boy behind the stack of crates over there," he said and jerked his thumb at the arrow-riddled boxes. "Hoped to flush 'em out of their hiding place so we walked closer while still firin'. Nothin' happened for a bit until the guy pops out exactly when we was reloadin' and fuckin' flings a board hard enough to knock Kadhi off the pier. Actually really funny."

"Least I can walk, dirtbag," Kadhi spat.

Zevran glanced at Faust's wrapped thigh. Their mystery elf had sliced through his hamstrings? That was a quick way to cripple someone and put them out of the fight. This elf had definitely seen battle to know that trick let alone use it effectively. It was difficult to only hinder the opponent and not slice through an artery. The blonde elf motioned for Faust to continue.

"Well not much to say after that. I was half-blind from pain, but I do remember the guy tellin' me to keep pressure on the wound. Oh…" Faust suddenly trailed off.

"A dirty thought, perhaps? Please share."

"The guy had an accent. He ain't from here, Zevran."

The elf wasn't a native then. Not like that narrowed it down, but interesting nonetheless. He played hero in a land that wasn't his own and had business with an illegal mage. "What happened with Rishi?"

Faust mumbled, "Couldn't see a damn thing. Besides I was more concerned about my bleedin' leg."

Kadhi spoke up. "Elf took him down quick with nothing but a dinky little knife after Rishi slit the mage's throat."

"Quick?"

"Less than a minute. Also," Kadhi added with more excitement, "he took that necklace Rishi had and that's when I got him. Stuck that little son of a whore like a pig when he wasn't lookin'!"

Zevran crossed his tanned arms over his chest and smirked. He cocked a blonde eyebrow. "He's wounded, yes? Well, this should be fun. Shall we go hunting?" Zevran looked over the injured men. "Perhaps not for you two, though."

End Chapter. Don't forget to review if you'd like to share your thoughts with me :)