After a few moments had passed and no knives were volunteered, Zevran carefully unsheathed a smallish dagger that was strapped to his inner thigh and held the pommel out to Rhodri.

All eyes were on him by this point, which was to be expected. It was rather more surprising, though, that the thus-far unflappable Warden had now frozen except for the tiny motions of her fingers rubbing against her thumbs. Her face was suspiciously neutral as she stared at the proffered knife.

Zevran shrugged. "It is the only one of my daggers not dipped in poison. For obvious reasons, I would hope."

Part of the Warden's lower lip disappeared under her upper lip before they separated with a small smack.

"Thank you for offering, Zevran," she said slowly. "But I don't want my food to be prepared with a knife that's been near your crotch." She turned away from him and looked at the others. "Does anyone have a non-poison, non-crotch knife?"

Silence fell, punctuated only by a poorly-stifled giggle from Leliana.

"Oh, very well," the witch snapped, stepping forward with a dagger in hand. Without another word to anyone, she knelt by one of the beasts, unsheathed the blade, and began slicing into the cow's ribs with neat, precise motions. A warm 'thank you, Morrigan,' from Rhodri went unacknowledged, and barely a moment had passed before the Warden faced Zevran again, all teeth as she smiled at him and indicated the knife that should long have been re-sheathed.

"Don't worry, yours will still come in handy. While Morrigan handles the steaks, the rest of us should be able to work quickly enough to skin one of the cows, yes?" She pointed at a white one with a series of brown flecks on its back. "Perhaps this one? Those patches are delightful."

Between the shock of the 'crotch knife' remark and watching her register open sullenness with bright cheerfulness, the chance to stash away clever, noncommittal remarks for moments like this had been lost. To his relief, his head nodded without being asked to, and she had barely returned the gesture before she bustled away.

He was meant to follow after her. He knew he was, but when his body failed to follow the implicit order to get moving, Zevran managed little more than staring after her as she made a beeline to the desired cow. The snap-to dislike Alistair's eyes all but broadcast as he glared at Zevran was surprisingly welcome after that; unfriendly though it was, at least it was familiar and offered several predictable outcomes. A degree of movement returned to his muscles, and, flashing a sultry smile in the Templar's direction, he swanned past him and over to Rhodri, taking a spot beside her at the carcass.

"Right," she said, not looking up as she extracted a knife from at her hip. "We get a quarter each. Strip away as much fat as you can, and don't worry too much if you accidentally cut the hide in the process. Healing magic can work as well on dead flesh as it does living flesh."

Zevran glanced up in time to see the colour drain from Leliana's face, her hands hovering in mid-air over her section of the beast as she stared at the Warden. Said Warden, however, was already whistling a jaunty tune as she drew her knife up the cow's belly and around the legs and neck. Leliana caught Zevran's eye, and then they both looked to Alistair, whose nose was wrinkled as he hacked away on his own part.

"Wish you hadn't reminded me of that, Rhodri," he groaned. "Maker's breath. Talk about mages being a demon asleep…"

"Demons don't sleep," she said calmly, not looking up from her work. "Not even sloth demons sleep. They lie dormant to replenish themselves, but unlike us when we sleep, they're fully conscious the whole time. Besides, mages usually aren't possessed."

Alistair cleared his throat. "That, ah… was a figure of speech. You know the phrase, surely. 'A mage is fire made flesh, and a demon asleep.'"

"Ha! This part here around the abdomen is much easier to cut! Look, the fat is almost separate from the muscle." The Warden tugged on the flesh demonstratively, beaming as the gentlest cut easily stripped large parts of hide away. After a moment, she looked up at Alistair. "Yes, I know the phrase. The Templars said it to us all the time, and they didn't like it when I pointed out that the premise of us being fire incarnate is entirely flawed, but really. For one thing, even the weakest crude fire damages living things. No body can sustain temperatures significantly higher than its normal temperature without death or injury. Think how unwell we are even with a fever! And!" Her head bobbed a little from the emphasis, "Even if a mage body were to adapt and house such a high temperature, that would mean that we would either burn other things just by touching them, or, if we were properly insulated, if we were suddenly injured or we vomited, the heat would escape. An outbreak of food poisoning would see a Circle tower burn to the ground in minutes. It's an absurd premise."

Zevran kept his eyes on his work and his mouth firmly shut. In all fairness to the mage, her arguments were perfectly credible. How called-for they were, though, was rather more debatable. On his visit to the Antivan Circle, he had overheard exchanges of wry remarks between mages and Templars alike, none of them being answered with a lecture on physiology or magic. Perhaps they had no sense of humour here in Ferelden? Ah, but Alistair had made the joke.

… Was Alistair not from Ferelden, then?

No, if there was a foreigner between them, it had to be the mage.

His thoughts were abruptly scattered upon hearing his name, and he looked up in the direction from which it had come to find Rhodri smiling at him.

"Such neat work! Look, not a single cut through the hide!" She gestured proudly at his quarter.

"And see the way Zevran took a risk and slashed up the artery and not along it? How quickly it collapsed from the blood loss? Very neat work."

Teacher Giuliana pointed a finger at Zevran's target, a monkey that lay in a lake's worth of blood before her face twisted into a scowl.

"The rest of you were pathetic. Multiple stabs, slow bleeds, and I've never heard so much screaming in my life. If these were marks, their guards would have turned you into pincushions."

Zevran shifted a little as Giuliana drew near him and the boy beside him.

"Put out your hands, you two."

They obeyed– of course they did– and she made a show of giving them a silver coin each. His eyes darted to the right, where the other children stood, and his stomach dropped. The unscrupulous, predatory envy writ large on their gaunt faces was enough to know what awaited when they were all locked away together in their shared bedroom that evening.

Giuliana gave him a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Do well and we supply you well." She looked at the other children, whose faces collectively snapped into neutrality. "Do poorly, and you clean up after the good ones- if you're lucky." She clicked her fingers and pointed at the mess of corpses and writhing stragglers strewn over the warehouse floor. "I want this place spotless when I get back. Get to it. Zevran, Taliesen, come with me."

Zevran cringed inwardly as he glanced up and caught a flash of displeasure in Alistair's eyes, and forced a slow smile.

He shrugged with a flourish as he turned to the friendlier Warden. "Ah, what is knifework if not an art, hmm?" A ridiculous remark, but it was the only thing that came to him.

Rhodri acknowledged it with a nod, and surprisingly, the smile stayed on her face as she turned to Alistair and Leliana.

"Don't worry, I made a lot of cuts in my part as well. See, though? A simple fusion spell mends the flesh nicely." The incisions healed before his eyes as she made small, pinching motions that knitted the openings back together. A stolen glance at the two of them showed a calm slackness to their bodies that was hard to feign in the face of true concern; apparently, they were sure they had nothing to worry about.

The Crows would have eaten you alive.

"Right. Well, Alistair, I think we're strong enough together. If you and I lift, Leliana and Zevran can take the hide, and then we can be on our way, yes?" The Warden was on her feet and waved at Morrigan, who stood a few paces away with her arms folded, a large pile of steaks at her side. "We'll be there in a moment, Morrigan! Now, my friend, you take the front legs and I'll take the back, yes? Right. Three-two-one- hup!"

The two Wardens both let out loud grunts as they hauled the beast a short way off the ground. Zevran and Leliana quickly dragged the hide away, and the carcass hit the earth a moment later with a thud.

He eyed the gasping pair as they propped themselves up with hands on their knees, their faces bright pink and already misting with sweat.

"Ah… hah, a better job to do in the winter, I think," Rhodri panted at the man through a grin.

Leliana, who had already picked up the hide and folded it to sit neatly in her arms, went and stood near them.

"You looked very strong, there, you two," she crooned in a velvety voice, apparently not surprised by any of this.

It took substantial effort not to snort as Alistair muttered, "I look like I've been boiled alive now, I bet…"

And Rhodri, she certainly knew how to take a flirtatious compliment, not an inch of modesty to her as she straightened up and nodded.

"Yes, we did," she agreed, and put her arms out. "Shall I carry the hide? It might get heavy for you after a while."

If Leliana was anything but pleased by that, she didn't show it, nodding and passing the hide to her. Rhodri took it with a grin and she, along with everyone else, started to drift over toward the road.

Ah, and here came the difficult part. Flattering though it was, the problem with being called an equal was that there was no such thing. The Warden had called him, Zevran, an equal. She had used that exact word. And perhaps he was to her- for an elf. Or for a supposedly formerly enslaved assassin.

Still, even if these people genuinely believed there was no hierarchy among them, the truth of the matter would be revealed by where he walked in the group.

But where precisely was that spot meant to be? Certainly, the Crow masters had taught him about the proper place to be when seducing marks. Walking a step behind the human men to massage their ego; almost but not quite matching the pace of human women, who preferred a warm body closer by. The dwarves, rare targets as they were, liked it the same way, and naturally, remaining side-by-side was essential with another elf.

But what about for a mark one had tried and failed to kill, and whom he was now an associate? Not even an educated guess came to mind, and a misstep here could prove fatal.

And it was so like him, wasn't it, to dive into these things without a plan. Throw all his energy into the present moment with the unshakeable belief that if that went well, the rest would work itself out. After all, planning was Rinna's job-

No.

He ignored the muscles itching to raise his hand and smack his face, and made his way to the very back of the group. That placed him a few paces behind the luscious witch, off to the side enough that she easily saw him in her periphery. When her gaze went onto him, however, and he gave his most charming smile, she curled her lip.

"No," she said firmly, waving a pointed finger ahead of her. "I have no desire to constantly check my right hand side. Further up with you."

He bowed with a flourish. "As you wish."

That earned him a disgusted scoff, and his long strides brought him up near Alistair and Leliana, who walked side by side behind the Magewarden.

The Templar took his presence with even worse humour, his nose wrinkling into a snarl as he turned around to face Zevran.

"Oh, no you don't," he growled. "As if I'm going to give you the chance to backstab us!" With one hand forming an utterly useless barrier between Zevran and a rather nonchalant-looking Leliana, Alistair reached his other hand out and had started to shove Zevran toward the front–

"Alistair!"

The barked name made the man jump a little, and Rhodri was between them in an instant, using an overcrowded hand to hook four fingers under Alistair's palm and lever it off Zevran.

"We do not manhandle or threaten group members unless there's an urgent situation," she said, watching the human gravely. "You know this is a rule of ours, because I told Morrigan the same thing when she pointed her staff at you. If you're concerned for your safety, I expect you to tell me, and I will handle the matter personally." She turned to Zevran, and his stomach lurched despite the relative calm that was ebbing her frown away.

"I'd like you to walk beside me, if you please, Zevran." Her tone was even and polite, but did not seem one that encouraged any arguments from his part.

"I- Rhodri!" Alistair protested. "He could cut your throat when he's that close! You think I'm moving him away just to be unfriendly?"

"He's had ample opportunity to cut my throat already," she replied, shifting the collar of her robes to reveal a sinewy neck and a sturdy gold chain that must have cost a fortune (ooh, and Leliana! That sphinxlike expression was gone, the blue in her eyes all but swallowed by huge, greedy pupils as she watched the mage stroke a hand up and down her throat).

"Still intact, as you see," Rhodri continued before straightening up and readjusting her robes. "I presume it's because he's a group member and has no desire to throw away a chance at a new life, but if it's because the three of you," she waved a hand between the other humans, "will take action if he offs me, then walking side-by-side will pose no more risk than when we sat in the grass together."

Zevran bit his lip as he watched Alistair's dissatisfied expression, now tinged with a blush. There wasn't an Antivan in existence who didn't love watching a good bicker, especially when it made handsome men go bright red, but bickering over him? It was delicious and awkward in equal measure.

The Templar let out a groan and nodded his head, which Rhodri accepted with a smile.

"Zevran," she used an open palm to gesture at the place she had been occupying. "Please go to the front, and I will join you shortly."

He nodded quickly, pacing ahead where he waited with his back almost turned to them. Feigning fascination with a nearby bush allowed him to keep the corner of one eye on the edge of the group.

He pretended not to hear the conversation as it continued behind him. "Always tell me, Alistair, yes?" The Warden spoke gently now. "You wished me to lead, and I do, but you must talk to me if you have an issue." Skin patted metal; the shallow clinks suggested the back of a gauntleted hand. "Have I given you reason to think I would ever dismiss your concerns?"

The 'no' Alistair gave was mumbled.

"You are being honest with me? I can trust you to tell me?"

His 'yes' was soft, but much clearer.

Rhodri chuckled warmly. "Ah, good. Then we're fine?"

"Yeah. Yeah, we're fine."

Another pat, and the mage drew up beside Zevran a moment later. The team fell into a walk, and awkward as this all had been, at least he knew where to be now.

"I never had the pleasure of your own introduction, my Grey Warden," Zevran purred. He had heard Alistair say her name, but Fereldans even butchered words in their own tongue, and if she was the leader, there was no room for mispronunciation.

Her eyes widened. "Oh! My goodness, how rude of me. I apologise. I am Severin Rhodri Amell Callistus of Minrathous, Kirkwall, and for the last twelve years, Ferelden's Circle of Magi."

Ah, that explained the odd accent; the rounded, nasal vowels and tiny trill to her Rs were suddenly much more noticeable. Nobility, too, no doubt. Only the very powerful had the gall to introduce themselves with 'I am,' as though no other means of addressing them could possibly exist.

Severin Rhodri Amell Callistus gave him a benign smile, jostled the hide into one arm, and touched the freed hand to her chest, her head inclining a little as she said, "Placetum."

And now she was mocking him. She had to be. No Tevinter mage spoke so politely with an elf, even if they had been living in the South.

And yet nobody laughed, and her hand stayed on her chest until he cleared his throat and answered her with the hesitant chuckle he summoned.

"Oho, a Tevinter this far south! Ah, but you must forgive me. I am… not familiar with the proper honorifics. How shall I address you?"

She frowned and waved a hand. "Oh, no need for any of that. Most people here call me Rhodri, so you can use that if you'd like."

If he'd like. So there was, in fact, no point at all to that long introduction.

"Rrrrodzh-ee?" he echoed carefully, struggling to get his tongue around the foreign sound combinations.

"Oh, you're close! Hrrrod-dree," she repeated, slowing enough for him to clearly hear the rolled breathiness of the first syllable and the hard affricate that created the second one.

"Rhodri?" he tried again.

"Yes! Perfect!" She gave an encouraging nod. "And what about you, then? Am I saying your name correctly? Zevran, is that right?"

It took all his effort not to raise an eyebrow at her. People like him weren't asked about their own names, and she knew it. No, this was definitely derision, but the blithe, menacing cheerfulness cloaking it made it hard to know what sort of an answer she actually wanted to fuel her jokes.

Give her something before she kills you.

"Ah, there is no need to worry, my Grey Warden. I can answer to anything you like."

The Warden squinted at him. "Say your name for me, please?" she requested, tilting her ear toward him as he drawled it for her. "Ah, so it's Zev- rahn , not Zev- rahn. Does that sound right? Be honest with me, please. Always be honest with me."

"... That was correct, yes," he confirmed cautiously.

She nodded, looking pleased. "Good, good. It would be terrible to mispronounce your name when I'll be using it often. That would be frustrating for you."

Zevran chuckled in an attempt to settle his twisting guts. It was the not knowing what she intended to do with him that made it so awful. Was she trying to lull him into a false sense of security so she could kill him in his sleep and feast on his innards? To use him as Darkspawn bait? Or, if he was lucky, perhaps she was on the lookout for a handsome slave when she eventually went home to Tevinter? He absently touched a hand to the shoulder she had healed; serving someone who was ready to keep him in good physical condition was a vast improvement in circumstances, when all was said and done.

His thoughts were scattered as the mage spoke to him again.

"Now, Zevran, I imagine you have some questions for us," she said, keeping her eyes on the road ahead as she spoke. "But for efficiency's sake, perhaps you could tell me what you already know about us. Loghain must have given you a few details, yes?"

Zevran chortled as he cast his mind back to his very short, very abrupt meeting with the Teyrn, a man made of snarls and disgusted sighs.

"Teyrn Loghain didn't tell me anything, I'm afraid," he said with a shrug. "Not to my face, anyway. But I was given a description of whom to slaughter, which I presume he supplied. Young and well-looking human adults, I believe were the words-"

He was forced to pause as a loud, rattling laugh burst out of Rhodri.

"Forgive me, Zevran, but did you hear that, Alistair?" She looked over her shoulder with a broad grin, and out of the corner of his eye, Zevran saw her free hand tapping furiously on her leg. "Even the man who wants us dead has to admit we're good-looking!" Another laugh pealed out of her.

Zevran glanced back in time to see Alistair snort and roll his eyes.

"Well, that makes it all better, doesn't it…" he mumbled, the wry bitterness almost dripping off his lips.

The sunny look on the Magewarden's face didn't falter. "Ah, come now, amicus! It would've been like drinking poison for the surly brute, admitting that much on paper." She held up two pinched fingers. "It's a tiny victory, but a victory all the same!"

A relenting but genuine smile came to the Templar. "Yeah, I guess so."

The matter apparently settled, Rhodri turned back to Zevran.

"Apologies again, my friend. Please do go on. I won't interrupt you to make foolish jokes with Alistair this time around."

A skewed grin tugged at one corner of his mouth. "To be truthful, my Grey Warden, I was given little information beyond your whereabouts and a few physical descriptors."

"So you don't know anything about the Wardens at all?"

He wavered one hand a little. "Oh, small things, but none of it came from this mission. Your order is known in Antiva for their prowess in battle against the fearsome Darkspawn."

And against assassins, I was assured.

Rhodri nodded. "I see. Well, that means you need to be brought up to speed on some safety regulations." She held up her index finger as Zevran raised an eyebrow. "The most important thing you need to know is that Warden and Darkspawn blood are both very dangerous. If you get any in an open wound or your mouth or eyes, you need to wash it off immediately and come to either Alistair or me for treatment so that Blight sickness doesn't kill you."

His eyes widened. "Hm. That was not relayed to me when I was discussing the contract."

The Warden tsked, frowning and shaking her head. "Very slack of them. It's a painful way to go. Well, I imagine you see now why Alistair and I don't handle food, as a rule. Not unless we've washed and made sure there are no open cuts."

He nodded. What else was there to say to that?

But she seemed not to mind. In fact, the last few times he hadn't been as eloquent as planned, she was as jolly as ever.

The minutes dragged on in a stifling silence that he regretted not appreciating more when it was shattered by the Warden pointing ahead.

"There's a fellow standing by the side of the road up there," she announced. "Do you see him?"

His eyes followed her finger and, once he had managed to ignore the jolts going through his guts (Nagale! They would not know you failed so soon.), he reluctantly joined the others in giving a murmur of assent.

"Do you know anything about him, Zevran?" Leliana enquired. He turned around and saw her watching him with a polite scrutiny that matched the tone of her voice. After letting his gaze dart onto a deeply mistrustful Alistair, and then onto Rhodri, who was frowning (or neutral?) at something just beyond his face, he looked back to Leliana and smiled.

"Not I, my dear, no. He is a surprise to us all."

"And how do we know you're telling the truth, then?" Alistair demanded of him. He turned to Rhodri. "What if this is part of his plan, a set-up to catch us off our guard after the first fight?"

Zevran shrugged. "A fair point. You Grey Wardens are famed for your strength and stamina, after all. Tiring you out enough to be sure I could land a killer blow would be quite a sound approach."

It was a trial not to chuckle as Alistair gaped at him before schooling his features into something more formidable.

"You see, Rhodri? He even admits it would be a good plan!"

"Oh, it certainly would," he nodded. "I could station a few archers up behind that pile of stones there, and in the cluster of bushes, I think I could fit two or three rogues. Where I would hide the muscle is debatable, but perhaps the man is just that."
He permitted himself the tiniest smile. "Though really, I would have done myself a huge disservice revealing all that to you. Besides which, I was given a set sum of money for hirelings and traps and the like, and I spent all of it on the masterful lure back where we met."

"Good thing we skinned that cow and got tonight's dinner from it, then," Rhodri said brightly. "Getting some of your money's worth."

Alistair squinted at her. "Are you not even vaguely worried about this? There is a man up ahead who is a stone's throw away from the one who just tried to kill us!"

Rhodri shrugged. "I suppose there is a small chance that Zevran is lying to us and would rather die an enslaved assassin than live free with us,"

Oh, and he nearly didn't conceal the heaved breath that all but burst his lungs when she said that!

"But what happened to all that 'fire made flesh' business you were talking about? One moment Morrigan and I are a terrifying force of nature, and the next we're sitting ducks on the off-chance of a two-part assassination scheme with very advanced warning. I think you need to make your mind up which it is that we are, Alistair, because the inconsistency is doing you no favours."

He groaned. "You don't understand what I'm saying at all."

Rhodri's frown deepened. "You don't think so? I only had to cast a sleep spell and an ice spell before everyone but Zevran was immobilised, and we had no warning of that. I have the energy to do such demanding spellwork four times over before I feel tired. Even if everyone but me were helpless civilians, your safety would be assured. But you are a Grey Warden and Templar. Leliana is an exceptional archer, and Morrigan is another powerful mage. What's the problem?"

Alistair threw up his hands. "He's right beside us! Right under our noses. He could stab any of us and let the others move in for the kill."

Zevran shrugged again. "I could, yes. It is a reasonable concern. Though it would mean I broke my oath of loyalty to you, and that would be unwise for many reasons."

The Templar tsked irritably. "I don't trust him, Rhodri. I didn't before, and I especially don't trust him now."

"If you do decide to make any attempts on the Wardens, Zevran," Morrigan spoke up from behind, "I would consider it a personal favour if you started with Alistair."

"Morrigan," Rhodri held a hand up, shaking her head. "Don't joke about other party members getting killed, please."

The witch sniffed. "'Twas only half in jest."

"Enough, Morrigan!" The Warden's voice was sharp now, and the first hints of true irritation were showing on her drawn brows. "I expect all party members to be respectful of each other. We are at constant risk of attack, and heavily rely on one another for safety. There is no room for fractured relations because of uncivil behaviour." She took a deep breath and looked at Zevran, and his muscles tensed.

"Alistair has safety concerns with you, Zevran," she said to him plainly, and the alarm quickly redirected itself into a violent struggle to keep a snort from tearing out.

Truly? I hadn't noticed.

"I take these matters very seriously," she continued, "so if I may, I would like to put a shield on you, another on me, and then another on Alistair, Leliana, and Morrigan, as we pass the gentleman on the side of the road."

"Huh?" Alistair frowned.

"Arcane shield," Rhodri said calmly. "Repels knives, arrows, and fists and the like. Powerful stuff. And, of course, as one of us, Zevran is protected by his own shield as well. What do you think?"

A small blush was creeping into the Templar's cheeks, and Zevran almost felt embarrassed on the man's behalf. It really was a very uncomfortable situation, and pragmatic as it was to have everything out in the open, the lack of subtlety lent the sort of feeling he imagined some people experience when naked.

After a moment, Alistair nodded. "All right. Let's try it."

Rhodri nodded and turned to Zevran. "Are you willing to do this, Zevran?"

Ah. More magic. Delightful. Still, the first spell she did had been perfectly fine– welcome, even, in hindsight. He nodded, and with three flicks of the mage's wrist, all of them stood inside what looked like dim but vaguely iridescent bubbles. He strained his ears to check if any sound accompanied this spell, but nothing. Not even a low hum.

"Right. Well, shall we carry on and see what the gentleman has to say for himself, if anything?" Rhodri jerked her head in the direction of the road ahead. The suggestion was met with nods of varying enthusiasm.

As they continued down the road, Zevran's mind reeled with questions he had no business entertaining at a time like this. This was the perfect time to finally consider plans. After all, what was this if not a new lease on life, assuming the Warden wasn't about to feed him to a Darkspawn?

But thinking about plans and futures took energy, and as the reality of the situation finally began to sink in, his reserves dissipated. The reason he had even taken the damned mission to begin with still had its teeth in him, the bite as angry as ever, and the pain was only starting to register again now.

No, at this point, energy replenishment was the order of the day, and pondering whether two people encased in an arcane shield would simply bounce off each other were they to collide– well, it was at least amusing, if not energising, and certainly was within his mental budget.

By the time they were within talking distance of the man, the theory that yes, they would bounce off each other if at least one moved with sufficient speed, was the most favourable. Had Rhodri ever tried that? She seemed odd enough to at least entertain the notion, if only in theory.

A 'good afternoon, ser,' from said odd mage dragged him into the present moment, and Zevran fought another smirk as the man eyed them inside their bubbles.

"Oh. Er… hello." For being as well-dressed as he was, the man was travelling with remarkably little. A small satchel and a bedroll were all the items he could see. A good start; he could practically smell the smoke of singed clothes from Alistair's eyes burning into his back.

The fellow took a deep breath and pressed on. "I don't suppose you could help me, could you? Not many people travelling on this road right now…"

Help? Oh, no. Zevran could hear Alistair shifting from foot to foot behind him. He studiously kept his sweating hands where they could be seen, chewing on the inside of his cheek all the while.

"We could certainly try to assist," Rhodri said with a nod. "What do you need?"

Having his request indulged did little to shift the glum look on the man's face, but he pressed on. "Ah, where are my manners? Allow me to introduce myself. Felix de Grosbois is my name, merchant and entrepreneur at your service."

A merchant with no goods. Zevran began mentally reciting the Canticle of Trials. With any luck, the Templar would make Zevran's death a quick, if rather violent one. Two bashes with that shield, and that would be it.

"You… don't really have much in the way of a shop," Rhodri remarked with a raised eyebrow. "Would you like us to find you some things to sell?"

Felix glanced at the other companions with a vaguely disbelieving look before he turned back to her.

"I had things I was going to sell," he said with strained politeness, "Not like I'm new to this. I was trying to get away from the war, see. Took a route I don't usually take through the mountains in the hope of good weather. Didn't get it, though, did I, and now I'm finally out of there, I've ended up losing my goods when my mule got spooked by a wisp and ran off with the cart still attached."

Rhodri acknowledged this with a nod, and as her mouth opened again, the merchant quickly cut her off.

"Look, all's I want you to do for me, if you want, is to take this." He rummaged in a satchel beside him and produced a long, slightly uneven stick.

An amused sound issuing from both Rhodri and Morrigan suddenly made the rather unprepossessing thing much more interesting.

"A control rod for a golem," Rhodri breathed as she peered at it with wide eyes. She plunged her hands into her pockets and shuffled back a step. "If it's genuine, of course. Where did you get it?"

The man looked pleased by the magic users' reaction, though his tone remained lethargic as he spoke again, "That's right. Bought it from some bloke in Jader. He promised it's real, but I'll never get to use it myself, and it's too good to just throw away."

"And why might you never use it yourself?" Morrigan enquired pointedly from the back. "A golem has great utility, particularly for a merchant travelling in uncertain times."

Felix laughed darkly. "Hah. Yeah, there's the catch. Well, as you can see from around us," he waved a hand demonstratively, "the golem ain't here. It's to the southwest of us in a little village called Honnleath, and after this bloody disaster, all's I want to do is go home, and I don't want to keep the control rod on me in case some bandit reckons it's a gem. So if you want the golem, you've gotta pick it up yourselves, I'm afraid."

Ah. Marvellous. The moment was fast approaching where Alistair leapt into action and accused him and Zevran both of being party to a more lengthy and elaborate murder setup than Prince Azrin's had been.

"Look, here, I'll mark it on your map, if you've got one?"

Zevran's stomach dropped as Rhodri, the only one who had seemed convinced of his innocence in all this, frowned a little and said, "I don't know about this."

The merchant's face fell a little. "Oh?"

"We don't know for certain if golems are properly sentient. Much of their production is kept secret. If it's simply an enchanted machine like any other, there's little issue, but their capacity to follow complex instructions would suggest consciousness." She scuffed her foot on the ground and sighed. "I'm not sure this is an ethical choice. If we saw the golem and gave it the control rod to self-govern, though, that could be very dangerous as well…"

"And leaving it trapped in a tiny village as nothing more than an ornament during a Blight, Warden, to be destroyed by the Darkspawn?" Morrigan pressed. "I think amid the other cast-offs we have collected, a golem would be one of the more welcome additions."

"Morrigan," Rhodri warned over her shoulder before looking back at Felix. "We're quite an interesting collection of people, and we are in need of help. Well, we can at least go and look at the golem and see what we can do, yes? What does everyone else think?"

Zevran forced his jaw to unclench. Wasn't the point of a leader to make decisions on everyone's behalf? He could already feel everyone's eyes on him as they awaited his answer, and none of them would be the right one. Eagerness meant he wanted to kill them, indifference meant he was playing it cool but wanted to kill them, and expressing unsureness meant both lying (what fugitive assassin would deny the protection of two Grey Wardens and a golem?) and that he had lured them into this and was turning back because of guilt and had thus wanted to kill them after all.

He had to say something, though. They were looking at him and why did he not pay attention when the others had been giving their remarks?

"If what the Warden said about Blight sickness is true, I do not imagine a golem would be susceptible to it," he said with a shrug.

This was received with a thoughtful hum from the others– and a begrudging mumble on Alistair's part.

"Mmm. All right, then." Rhodri nodded. "We'll take it. Alistair, if you wouldn't mind; the rod is enchanted."

The mage wanted the Templar to take the enchanted thing. Was she allergic to magic? … Was he drunk? Whatever the reason, Alistair seemed to think nothing of it and immediately stepped forward to take the rod while she pulled a map out of her pack.

"When you get to the village, just hold it up and say 'dulef gar' to activate it," the merchant said, pulling a pencil out of his pocket and scribbling the words onto the map underneath where he marked the little village. "Thank you for taking that bloody thing off my hands. Now, I suppose I'd better get looking for that mule…"

"Would you like some help?" Rhodri asked, giving a nod of thanks as she took the map back.

Felix waved a hand. "Oh, no, no, you don't have to do that. I s-" his eyes fell on Zevran and he cleared his throat. "'Scuse me, had a frog in my throat, there. I sent my assistant to check the area, and I should be able to find him without any trouble. Thank you, though."

Oh, you sent the elf to do it, no?

Zevran raised an eyebrow at him as subtly as he could, smirking inwardly and praying for no trouble. Mercifully, it seemed nobody else had picked up on it– or, at least, no protests had issued by the time Felix jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

"Well, best be off. If you see a mule where you are, just send it my way, would you?"

Rhodri nodded. "Certainly. Best of luck to you, then."

The man huffed a woeful laugh. "I'll bloody need it."

And then they were moving again. Slowly, and with much caution from Alistair, but they were in motion.

"You think this thing's a real control rod, Rhod?" he mumbled to her.

Leliana snickered. "A control rod-rod?"

He snorted. "I make up for any awkward silences by doubling up on words wherever I can."

The Warden waggled her brows, spinning around and walking backwards as she faced the two of them. "Well, if it's a fake, it's a very good one. I could feel the lyrium on it from a few paces away." She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I suppose if we go to this Honnleath place and actually see a golem there, we can probably assume it's genuine. You seemed to think it looked quite convincing, too, didn't you, Morrigan?"

Zevran glanced back in time to see the witch's vaguely sour expression soften as her brows rose.

"I think it may merit the walk to this little backwater of a place to be sure that it is not," she said with a shrug. "Take that as you will."

Rhodri nodded. "I thought as much. That's enough for me. You're very knowledgeable on magical matters."

Oh, and the witch wasn't immune to flattery, it seemed. A smile threatened at the corners of her mouth, and she appeared to think she had everyone fooled as she trained it into a smirk.

"I learned things that your Circle did not cover, yes," she purred before turning her attention to the countryside on her left.

The Warden beamed (again) at Alistair and Leliana, and when she was facing ahead again, Zevran got his own dose of the wrinkle-nosed, sharklike grin.

She leaned a little toward him, her eyes going back to the road. "Interesting times, these, aren't they?"

Her hands were where he could see them– she would start a fire if she kept rubbing her fingers like that, but so long as the fire wasn't going to be used on him, safety for the time being seemed assured.

"That is certainly one way of putting it," he conceded with a weak chuckle.

She nodded, still smiling, and that was that.

-
Language notes

Placetum- 'A pleasure to meet you.' (lit. 'it pleases me')
Amicus- (my) friend.