Chapter One

If there was one thing Aeron didn't like it was this. Being forced to sit in the Chantry and listen to the Revered Mother blabber on about things he didn't care about. The worst part about being in the Chantry was that he got forced to leave his faithful Teybor with the Templars. He just didn't feel right without that Greatsword strapped to his back or in his hands.

Keeping his hands hidden so that no one would notice the way he was working them to try and distract himself from the boredom and the urge to storm out and take his sword back from those religious idiots standing by the door.

As inconspicuously as he could Aeron glanced over at a sandy haired man, a few years past his prime. This man was the only reason that Aeron was even in the blasted Chantry in the first place. Work had been slow recently and this had been the best-paying job on offer. Work far better suited to the subtle expertise of a rogue than the pure brute force Aeron favoured. But he needed to eat and as such Aeron would take whatever jobs he could. Until he started getting too recognisable anyway – then he'd move on again.

Part of Aeron wished he'd taken on that job to hunt down a few men who had murdered a high-standing Arl, but the offered payment had been less than decent. And the client had made it very clear it was non-negotiable.

In response Aeron had made it clear that he could shove the job where the sun would never shine. To put it nicely.

This was why he was stuck in here listening to a preachy old bat of a woman who probably joined the Chantry when she realised no man would want her. No sane man at any rate. And that voice … she sounded like the dying spawn of a Genlock and a damned Hyena!

How anyone believed in any of this load of dragon dung Aeron had absolutely no idea. And yet here they were, listening intently to that hag standing before them. Aeron had to start imagining her turning into some kind of demon every few minutes just to keep himself from going mad! Honestly... as unlikely as it was to happen – if a job came up where Aeron got the chance to kill this woman he would probably take it without question, even if it didn't pay well.

Aeron's less than good-natured musings were interrupted by the sermon ending and the prospect of freedom beckoned like one of the women who worked at the Pearl. Unfortunately he couldn't be seen to be in any rush so he held back a bit until his mark went first before heading towards the exit himself.

He could practically taste the fresh air as he reached the Templar guards. "You took good care of her, right?" he eyed the younger one warningly. Aeron couldn't believe he'd had to leave his beloved Teybor in the hands of this squirrelly runt. He didn't trust this boy to treat his sword well enough so when she was finally back in his hands Aeron looked over her with a scrutinising gaze.

If there was so much as a scratch on it that hadn't been there before then there would be hell to pay. Luckily for the Templar though Teybor seemed in good enough condition to pass this particular inspection.

Once satisfied Aeron strapped Teybor to her rightful place upon his back and readjusted his cloak before beginning his pursuit of the Mark. He had to keep a lot of distance between the two of them – it wasn't exactly difficult to recognise Aeron and if it was too obvious he was following this man then he wouldn't be able to complete the job. This meant no payment.

I'll be damned if this runt ends up making me starve just 'cause I got too close too quick. Aeron snarled mentally, he despised having to be cautious.

Then again it helped Aeron to know it was at least slightly reminiscent of his following those adventurers who led him to his prized dragon blood. Yes that helped keep him calm and stop Aeron from making a stupid mistake. Thinking like this for the moment stopped his hands from twitching impatiently.

Aeron owed that man a great debt, they had yet to cross paths again but when they did he would know it. His was the one face Aeron forced himself to engrave completely into his mind; he would not allow himself to forget it until that debt had been repaid.

Forcing himself to keep staying as far back as possible while keeping the Mark within eye-shot, Aeron followed him into a side alley. After a quick look around it was obviously empty apart from the two of them. Perfect.

The man had stopped in his tracks now. It wouldn't surprise Aeron if he'd realised a while ago he was being trailed, it wasn't like his pursuer was the most subtle or patient of men.

"Nathaniel Rogan, right?" Aeron questioned with a casual smile upon his face. It felt good to finally drop the forced subtlety – much more natural. He could relax now, actually let himself free. And honestly he really needed to after sitting in that infernal Chantry for as long as he'd been forced to. He kept up the smile as his mark turned to face him, there was nothing forced about the expression though. It was just what Aeron did; there was nothing personal between the two of them so why shouldn't he make an attempt at niceties first?

Nathaniel just nodded curtly. "Aye that's me."

Eyes so brown they may as well have been black narrowed towards Aeron, Nathaniel's weathered face set in a constant grim expression. Aeron glanced over the man casually; the description his employer had given him was spot on. The missing right arm, gaze of steel and stern face – it was all there, despite the missing arm Aeron had no doubts that this man truly was the seasoned soldier he'd been told about. Aeron had only to look into Nathaniel's eyes to know that.

"What do you want, boy? Surely you haven't been stalking me since I left the Chantry just to exchange pleasantries." Nathaniel growled. He possessed a naturally rough voice, Aeron noted. One very much suited to barking out orders. Or perhaps it became that way as a result?

It was much nicer to listen to than that gargoyle of a Revered Mother at any rate.

Aeron just chuckled good-naturedly. "Me? I'm just here to do my job. Apparently you rubbed someone too much the wrong way and I been sent to sort it out." He replied, still smiling casually. The fingers on his hands were itching to curl around the pommel of his Teybor, his grey eyes harbouring an underlying desire for the battle to begin. "I got nothin' against you myself, but a man's gotta eat and, well, I just happened to be the one who took the job. No hard feelings right?"

Nathaniel sighed and shook his head. "Why so many of you strong lads settle for this sort of work is beyond me." He started despairingly as his only remaining hand grasped the longsword at his hip. "You should be making a name for yourself on the battlefield, serving your country and your king." He growled yet again, eyes fixed upon Aeron who took Teybor into his hands, fingers flexing around the pommel as if welcoming an old friend back. "It's a waste, if you ask me... but come. Let's see if you have the skill to back up the sword you wield, boy!"

The veteran yelled as he charged forward, making for the first strike. Aeron smirked broadly; his eyes practically alight with anticipation now. "I thought you'd never ask!" he barked out a laugh as he swung Teybor in a sideways arch, narrowly missing his opponent's thigh. Using the momentum from the movement Aeron brought the blade upwards and made to hack down upon Nathaniel's body.

However, for an old man with only one arm, Nathaniel was a quick little bastard. He'd used Aeron's lack of swiftness to his advantage and managed to move forwards enough to slash the younger man's arm.

Aeron hissed slightly from pain and instinctively brought one hand away from Teybor to strike at Nathaniel's face. Without the sheer weight of the sword his fist flew, smashing into the veteran's cheek and sending him stumbling backwards. "Know what, old man?" Aeron said musingly, the grin upon his face turning practically deranged as he spoke. "I think you and me are gonna have fun today!"

Aeron roared a challenge to his opponent, swinging Teybor with all the strength he held in his body. Nathaniel was forced to keep his distance for a time, weaving his way to avoid those, sure to be fatal, blows. The larger, younger, male forsook all ideas of self defence to concentrate of an all out offensive.

It was a foolish strategy, betraying Aeron's youthful arrogance. Soon enough Nathaniel had manoeuvred himself close enough to slice into Aeron's side, making him howl. But it wasn't a howl of pain, more one of chagrin.

Nathaniel frowned but ducked to avoid another punch to his head and struck Aeron's shoulder with his sword's pommel.

This was the way their dance continued: Nathaniel expertly dodging Aeron's obvious and laboured attacks while striking multiple times when he was in close enough proximity. Yet the younger man persisted, his grin only growing all the more maniacal.

In spite of the excruciating pain Aeron was thriving. He barked out more of his unnerving laughter and continued his assault with ever increasing vigour. Aeron could feel his blows growing all the more dangerous as Nathaniel continued wounding him. It didn't matter to him that he had yet to actually cause much damage to the other man, especially in comparison to the wounds he was receiving. No ... that was all part of the fun!

Aeron could see his opponent growing cautious now, he truly had no idea what he was up against and age was catching up with him. Nathaniel was not a young man anymore, that was obvious enough to anyone who cared to look, and it was starting to show.

Still he kept his face set in those grim lines Aeron had almost memorised now and refused to relent.

Perfect! Just the way Aeron liked it. The battle continued on, both men clashing with steel and flesh and the raw animal instinct to survive. Neither allowed themselves to falter more than the briefest of seconds. Blood seeped from various gashes on their bodies as they eyed each other up again. Aeron could see it there now, in the old man's eyes: doubt and the tiniest hint of fear. He was starting to realise that Aeron wasn't just a typical warrior. Though his face and voice remained neutral – Nathaniel's eyes betrayed the reality of things.

"What in Andraste's name are you, boy?"

Aeron just let out another harsh bark of a laugh. "Just another man, really, difference is that I thrive on what I do. Wanna know what that is?"

Nathaniel's eyes narrowed visibly, jaw tensing ever so slightly as he waited for Aeron to give him the answer. He evidently wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of actually asking for it. Fair enough, Aeron had come to expect no less from the man in front of him. "Dancing with death itself. She's a moody partner, for sure, but that makes it all the more rewarding when she concedes." Aeron smiled wistfully. "You have no idea just how good that feels, my friend."