A/N: Okay, I know I always ask for reviews but it's more important now than ever because I have no idea how to write an action scene so any feedback on what I'm doing right or wrong would for that part would be very helpful. Of course anything else you'd like to mention is also more than welcome.

M rating starts now. At the moment it's just for violence and sex but other warnings will surely follow in later chapters. You've been warned.

Crow's Feast

A lone figure stood guard outside a heavy, wooden door; though perhaps the description 'standing' gives far too much credit to the way the figure lounged in the corner where wood door met stone wall. And, if that is the case, then 'guarding' is certainly shameless hyperbole regarding the figure's state of alert.

Shifting slightly as one of the many locks that secured the door dug uncomfortably into his arm Fiedh gave a resigned sigh as the quite anatomically detailed dream he had been happily ensconced in fled his eager teenage imagination leaving in its wake only a wistful smile and the sense of undirected arousal that is the usual state of boys his age. Reluctantly cracking an eyelid open Fiedh glanced up and down the hallway before settling himself back into his corner determined to catch up to his scantily clad dream.

The increasingly loud sounds of people walking having managed to pierce the entwined limbs that otherwise occupied his drowsing mind Fiedh automatically snapped to attention, the fear his captain had instilled in him of being executed for sleeping on duty having ingrained in his mind a remarkable attentiveness to the sound of approaching footsteps. Unfortunately for Fiedh that instinctive movement resulted in the hallway echoing like a cathedral's bell tower as his knee knocked into the metal kite shield that had leaned against him just as he had leaned against the wall. Reflexively jerking back from the startling sound the shield made as it crashed to the floor the boy found the metal ringing noise in his ears only increase as his iron helmet banged against one of the metal reinforcing bands that ran across the door he had been guarded all day.

"Maker's arse." Fiedh groaned as he heard the approaching footsteps break into a run. Quickly bending over the retrieve his incriminating shield Fiedh's vision suddenly went black as his ill-fitting helmet slid down over his eyes. "Andraste's tits!" the unfortunate guard shouted as he continued to unleash the wonderfully blasphemous curses he had learned over the last several weeks since joining his bann's guards. The sacrilege having a surprisingly calming effect Fiedh managed to pull his almost comically over-sized helmet back on the top of his head and out of his eyes. Only to be greeted by the sight of his captain's red, choleric face and bared sword.

"Oh, shit."

"Shit 's right, lass, and you're up to your neck in it." the captain growled quietly at Fiedh before turning and shouting back down the hall he had come from. "My lord, just a false alarm…all is secure."

His previously happy state of dreamy satisfaction having been shattered by the captain's arrival the appearance from around the hallway's corner of his liege Bann Jaerand swept up the shards of happiness and threw them into the trash heap of despair.

Approaching the captain Jaerand looked inquiringly towards Fiedh who now stood frozen, except for his nervously bobbing larynx, before the two men, "Fell asleep and dropped your shield, lad?"

"N,no, my lord. J,j-just dropped it, my lord."

"Indeed?" Jaerand commended dryly, "Ser Eir, do you remember your predecessor?"

"Yes, lord." the suddenly wary captain answered.

"Do you remember why I dismissed him without his service pension?"

"Yes, lord."

"Please explain…for the edification of our young soldier here, of course."

His normally florid face paling Ser Eir did as ordered, "He was dismissed for failing to adequately perform his duty of training recruits."

"Exactly. The failing of a recruit is, in fact, the failing of his instructor." Jaerand said in a congratulatory voice to the captain before once again addressing the mortified young Feidh, "Now, soldier, once again…did you fall asleep?"

"No, my lord. Dropped my shield, my lord."

"I see."

Grasping at the lifeline Fiedh had thrown Ser Eir jumped, "My fault, lord, shouldn't ever have issued him this shield." confidence in his excuse growing the captain continued, "I just gave him the usual guard shield not thinking that at his age the weight of it would be too much to hold all day."

Turning away from his bann Ser Eir's voice assumed its usual commanding tone as he addressed Feidh, "Son, report to the armory after your shift and exchange that kite shield for a buckler. Wood or steel; doesn't matter, just make sure its light enough to carry all day and use in a battle all night."

"Yes, Ser."

Nodding in satisfaction at a job well done Eir reached into a pouch that hung from his belt. Pulling out a ring from which several large, iron keys hung the captain looked at his bann for permission. Seeing Jaerand's nodded approval Ser Eir shoved the hapless Feidh away from the door and proceeded to begin opening the many locks on the door.

As his captain slowly figured out what key went with which lock Jaerand continued studying Fiedh who was soon shifting nervously under the scrutiny. Not taking his eyes off the young soldier Jaerand spoke, "Captain, is this…man…typical of our new recruits?"

"Actually he's a little better than most."

"Really? But he's so young. How old are you, lad?"

"Fourteen, my lord." Feidh answered shakily, his peasant instincts screaming about the dangers of attracting noble attention.

"Hmm, and you say he's better than most, Ser Eir?" Jaerand asked.

"Unfortunately, so. All of the newest recruits are either under fifteen or over sixty and don't want to be here away from their mothers or wives." motioning to Feidh the captain continued, "This lad, at least, volunteered once he turned fourteen rather than wait for us to press him into service. That's why I assigned him to your guard."

"Indeed? So, lad, why did you volunteer when none of my other subjects have since the last call-up during the civil war?"

Seeing the captain nodding for him to continue Feidh swallowed his nerves and managed to croak out, "My family died in the Blight and this is the only way I can get food and clothing."

"As good a reason as any, I suppose." Jaerand answered charitably, "So captain, this boy is the best we have to replace our losses from the Blight and he can't hold a shield for an entire duty shift."

"I'm afraid so, my lord." Ser Eir answered as he finally finished unlocking the door.

"I knew manpower was low but this…" shaking his head Jaerand cracked the now unlocked door open and slipped inside in such a way as to prevent both Eir and Feidh from seeing into the room.

As the bann closed the door Ser Eir leaned towards Feidh, his voice dropping conspiratorially, "Lass, you made me look bad in front of the bann. Dropped your shield…bullshit. I wasn't born yesterday and neither was the bann. If we didn't need bodies in uniform so badly right now I'd see you hang. As it is I'll settle for making your life a living nightmare."

"Yes, Ser." Feidh answered miserably, careful to hide his joy at having accomplished the feat of falling asleep on duty and then speaking with his social betters without meeting a hangman's noose.

Entering the candlelit room Bann Jaerand bolted the door behind him and surveyed the scene before him. Clustered around the lone table that stood in the middle of the bare, stone walled room five shadowy shapes watched him closely, the fear and excitement radiating from their body language revealing far more about them than the dim, flickering candlelight concealed.

"Sers, a pleasure, as always, to meet with you." Jaerand called out loudly, smirking inwardly at the startled jumps of several of his guests.

"Likewise Bann Jaerand. You will understand, I hope, if we forego further pleasantries today in favor of getting down to business." the apparent leader of the shadowy figures responded.

"But of course, my friend...after all one should always endeavor to make efficient use of time when plotting treason." Jaerand said as he took a seat, this time unable to conceal his smile at the sudden agitation his words caused most of his visitors. "For that is indeed what you are proposing. Am I correct, Bann Franderel?"

"No, Jaerand, for how can it be treason to destroy a usurper and safeguard the rightful ruler's throne?"

"I admit such a task sounds quite worthy and is as far from treasonous as possible. I wonder, however, whether a rebellion that deposes one sovereign might not be threatening enough towards the remaining ruler to force compliance."

"We are not Orlais or Tevinter, Jaerand. Would such an outcome really be much different from the Landsmeet?"

"Perhaps not. But tell me, Franderel, since your fellow conspirators are seemingly mute, exactly which sovereign have you decided does not have a proper claim to the throne?"

"Aedan Cousland."

"Why him?"

"He clearly has no dynastic right and…" Franderel started.

"The truth, if you don't mind. I do not need the lines you'll feed the peasants."

"He is simply the easier to be rid of not having been monarch for several years as Anora has." Bann Franderel said, any irritation at Jaerand's interruption well hidden.

Nodding sagely Jaerand winked at the banns assembled before him knowing this would even further unnerve them, a tactic he was finding very entertaining, "And perhaps, given Cousland's proven military prowess, he is less likely to be a puppet king after the coup and more likely to use his fame and abilities to raise a force from among those that followed him during the Blight."

"Perhaps." Franderel responded smoothly, silently cursing the telltale mutterings of his compatriots.

"I agree with your choice, my good sers. As much as I appreciate Anora's strength and intelligence I believe you correct in assuming that in the event of her being forced to listen to a privy council, whose members might just be strikingly similar to those assembled here, she would not respond with outright force. Rather, I think she would keep the conflict safely within the confines of the political arena and off the field of battle. No, Cousland is altogether too unpredictable and violent to reach such a…civilized understanding…with."

"So you stand with us, Jaerand?" squeaked on of the banns that had held her silence until this point, her voice crowded with excitement and nervousness.

Glancing sidelong at the young man, whose shield actually did look a little big for him, Ser Eir felt a pang of unfamiliar emotion. After a moment of reflection Eir decided it was compassion he felt for the orphan who had joined his command out of desperation. Awkwardly clearing his throat the captain began, "So…Feidh?" seeing the boy respond to the name Eir continued, pleased to have crossed the formidable obstacle that remembering a subordinate's name was, "Lost your family in the Blight, did you."

Surprised at the captain's attempt at humanity and on guard for a typically sadistic trick Feidh replied cautiously, "Yes, ser."

"Fled here to Denerim from our bannorn?"

"Yes, ser."

"Joined up for the steady pay and rations, did you." Eir continued, floundering helplessly in the depths of polite conversation.

"Yes, ser."

Silence fell between the two until, after much consideration, Eir managed to think of something else to say, "Why not join a mercenary outfit then. Better pay, more off-duty days…I've often thought of doing it myself."

"Well, ser, I wanted to stay in Denerim and with our bannorn devastated by the Blight I figured Bann Jaerand would live here for a time while mercenary companies would be wandering the country looking for work."

"Good thinking, son. But why Denerim? Life as a soldier is the same everywhere."

"I wanted to be here to help my sister."

"I though your family was dead."

"All except her."

"You didn't tell the bann that." Eir said reproachfully, though his voice quickly lightened, "And why should you? He'll never find out and you needed the sympathy to not get in trouble for falling asleep. Smart, lad."

"Thank you, ser."

"What's your sister do here?"

"Works, ser." Feidh replied as curtly as possible to a superior officer.

"Doing…"

"She's at the Pearl, ser."

"Oh."

"She's not a bad woman!" Feidh protested, "She didn't have a choice. We couldn't walk here alone from the south so a merchant caravan guarded by some mercenaries let us ride on their wagons as long as my sister..."

"I understand, boy, and I meant no disrespect to her. These are hard times and getting by is all that really matters. She did what she could to help her family and who can possibly do more than that, right."

"Right! It's the only way she's been able to make money. But now it's my turn and I'm going to earn enough money so she doesn't have to work there."

"Earn money as a guard?" Eir asked, unable to keep skepticism from his voice.

"Yes. I know it's not much money but I don't need a lot since room and board are taken care of for me so my sister gets the rest of it."

"You do know those expenses are deducted from our pay, right?"

"Well, yes…but there will still be enough left over for Ailanne, that's my sister, so that she can stop working at the Pearl and maybe be a washerwoman or something else and still get by. Once I finish paying off the bann for my new equipment in a few months that is."

"Good for you, lad."

"Thank you, ser."

Satisfied that his attempt at amiably interacting with a subordinate was successful the captain settled comfortably against the wall pleased with the companionable silence that now enveloped the mismatched pair of guardsmen. Soon, however, and much to Eir's displeasure the silence was ruined as the sound of singing reached his ears. The terrible, slurred singing that seemed to echo in the bottle that it was born from before being inflicted on any hapless listener. Straightening from his relaxed posture Eir was pleased to note that Feidh had similarly become alert, and this time without dropping his shield or hitting his head on anything.

Finally the distant singer rounded the hall's corner and came stumbling into the captain's sight. The momentary companionable spirit which had been brought about by Feidh's earnest determination disappearing in the face of dealing with the approaching drunken lout Eir's face resumed its typical glower.

"Soddin' great…not just any drunk servant but an elf." the captain grumbled to Feidh, his voice dripping disdain as the interloper neared.

His glare apparently failing to pierce the elf's blurred view of the world Eir drew his sword menacingly as the elf stopped in front of the two guards. "Hold, elf. The basements are off limits today. Best you be getting back to wherever you belong before I have to put you in irons."

"Well, how'sh I shupposhed to know? Should 'ave put up shingns or shomething, mate."

"We don't need to because there are guards at every staircase. How'd you get past them, knife-ears?"

"Didn't shee no guards, sher. Maybe they left early."

"Likely story, elf." Eir grumbled, though recalling the poor quality of the men and women, more properly boys and girls, under his command Eir knew the elf's statement was not implausible. Ignoring that moderating though the captain continued, "Why in the Maker's name are you down here, and dead drunk too. Are you dodging your job? Knife-ears are always doing that…can't trust you lot to do a good day's work."

"But Sher," the elf protested before taking a long pull from the bottle he had been waving about, "T,today'sh the bann'sh birffday."

"No it isn't. Now, get out of here lest I decide to teach you a lesson about lying to your betters."

"Then itsh the bann'sh shon'sh birffday."

"He only has daughters. Damn it, elf. I'm warning you…" Eir began, though quite what the warning was would remain a mystery forever as the swaying elf stumbled into the captain.

Rebounding from the armored figure he had run into and bouncing against the wall, which he then clung to in an attempt to stay upright despite the apparently tilting floor, the elf swore loudly as his bottle smashed against the stone and shattered just below where he held it in a stranglehold by the neck. Startled by the unexpected collision Ser Eir soon recovered and sheathed his sword, which the servant had luckily avoided impaling himself on. Motioning for Feidh to stay out of the way, though the young man had not yet moved, Eir stalked threateningly towards the unsteady elf flexing his gauntleted fists.

"Right then, that's it knife-ears. Let's teach you a lesson in respect."

Grabbing the elf's disheveled shirt in one hand to steady his swaying target Eir pulled the other back as a grin split his unpleasantly flushed face. Before his blow could fall, however, something caught the captain's eye. Blinking in confusion Eir delayed his strike as he noticed that the elf's eyes. Eyes that had previously possessed an unfocused, watery gaze now glinted with an amused, predatory look that Eir recognized from when the estate's cats caught a rat.

Before he had a chance to consider this abrupt transformation Eir saw what could only be called a blur of motion as the elf brought the broken bottle slicing against the arm that held the elf's shirt with. The jagged edges easily pierced the worn padding that covered the inside of his elbow where Ser Eir, like many long-serving soldiers, had removed his armor thinking that it hindered mobility. Mind working at unusual speed, though his body did not deign to follow, Eir watched in disbelief as his left arm released the elf and refused to follow any of his mind's commands as a quickly expanding patch of blood marred his uniform sleeve.

Looking questioningly at the elf Eir's surprised body had no time to react and could only watch as his smaller assailant kicked out with a booted foot that caught him in the knee. Body finally catching up with its wounds Eir immediately toppled to the side as his twisted knee gave out under the elf's expertly aimed blow to the accompanying sounds of snapping ligaments and bone grating on bone as the ruined joint failed under the large man's bulk. Opening his mouth to scream, not in an attempt to sound the alarm but simply from pain, Eir saw the bottom of a boot descend rapidly towards his head.

Seeing Eir fall to the ground, clearly no longer about to thrash the helpless elf, Feidh realized that something was terribly amiss. This realization soon found confirmation as he saw the elf's boot stomp on the captain's head in such a way that Eir's head twisted with a nauseating cracking sound and came to rest at an even more nauseatingly unnatural angle. Looking wide eyed at the elf who had now turned to face him Feidh's hand scrambled to draw his sword with a clumsiness induced by the numbing fear that coursed through his body vying with surging adrenaline for dominance. The captain's training failed its ultimate test as fear won and Feidh turned to run from the approaching killer.

Shrugging his shoulders at the second guardsman's flight the elf reached under his shirt and pulled free a short knife which he hefted for a moment before twirling it expertly. Confident in its weight the murderer sent it spinning from his hand as it flashed towards the boy's retreating back. Finding its mark below Feidh's helmet and above his back plate the knife buried itself in his neck as it sundered tissue and bone in its quest to reach the spinal column. Frantic flight instantly stopped Feidh fell to the ground with a resounding clatter as he dropped his shield for the second, and final, time that day.

Detached expression not flickering as he approached Feidh's still form the elf wrenched the knife free and wiped it clean on the guard's heraldic tabard before returning the blade to its concealed position underneath his clothing. Rolling the body over the killer squatted down to lift the deadweight by the armpits. Having maneuvered Feidh so that he lay facing upwards the elf began dragging him towards a nearby empty room. Watching disinterestedly as the paralyzed boy's eyes rolled about frantically as his mind slowly came to grasps with the death of its body the elf unceremoniously deposited the soon-to-be corpse into an empty wardrobe.

Eyes darting about as if attempting to make up for the rest of his body's sudden immobility Feidh knew he was dying. Dying, his still operational nose reported, in a pool of his own filth as his body's failure apparently included the bladder and bowels. Surprisingly accepting of the distinctly unheroic manner of his death Feidh simply sat where he had been dropped looking out the wardrobe's open doors as he waited. Soon, though time was now a tenuous concept at best for Feidh's numbed mind, the boy saw the murderous elf drag Ser Eir's body into the room and toss it into the wardrobe next to him. Eyes rapidly dimming Feidh watched as the assassin rifled through the pouches on Eir's belt until he had found the key ring. Darkness descending upon him, which was confusing because he couldn't remember closing his eyes, Feidh heard an almost forgotten voice call out to him, "Welcome, son, we've missed you. Now all we wait for is Ailanne."

Tucking the pilfered keys into his own belt the elf looked at the two corpses puzzled by the faint smile that seemed to tug at the dead boy's lips. Shaking off that useless speculation Zevran turned to leave the room.

Looking at the assembled banns who awaited his response Jaerand fixed the questioning woman with a cold stare, "Bann Fionn, I'm afraid I will not join in your little revolt."

"But you have to! I've talked to your eldest daughter and even she can see that we're right! Surely you don't…"

"Bann Jaerand," Franderel interrupted smoothly, throwing Fionn a silencing glance, "You must realize that this is a perfect opportunity to increase the banns' powers. As it stands Anora seems intent on concentrating power in the Crown and, therefore, away from the Landsmeet; a project she was quite adept at during Cailan's rule. Meanwhile, Aedan's position on royal precedence is undefined, though from what I've gathered by inquiring into his past and recent activities he behaves like a battlefield commander and expects to be obeyed as such. Based on this characteristic I do not feel optimistic concerning our ability to work with him as equals in the future.

Both monarchs are enemies of the Landsmeet, as history teaches us all strong rulers have been in the past. Ever since Calenhad first subjected the banns power has streamed from us into the Crown like a river into the sea. Moving sluggishly during times when the Crown was held by a weak personality, moving quickly during the reign of a strong one, and racing as if through rapids when our land is under threat from the outside. Now, I fear, the river approaches a waterfall. Under Anora's initial reign I felt the current pick up, though the ineptitude of Cailan slowed the waters. Then we hit the rapids as Ferelden's banns rushed to unite behind first the Crown and later the Warden in desperate want of a strong leader to face the darkspawn invasion. Only the confusion of Loghain's treachery stemmed that flood of centralizing power. Jaerand, I can hear the roaring from just around the bend as we approach a waterfall from which there will be no way to reverse, or even slow, the river's course.

Either of these monarchs, unchecked by fear of a united bannorn's power, will steer us over that precipice. We will become little more than impoverished families grasping desperately onto faded titles while memories of our once great and free forefathers weigh down our shoulders as we dance to the monarch's tune. Now, while the land is disarrayed by the Blight and the monarchy is riven between Mac Tir and Cousland, we are presented with a final chance to divert the river's course before it reaches the looming waterfall. Jaerand, we must seize this chance."

Nodding slowly in agreement with Franderel's impassioned speech Jaerand allowed the gathered banns a glimpse of hope before slamming that window firmly shut, "You are right in your estimation of the situation, Franderel. Where you err is to think that of the possible outcomes it is best to risk all to avoid being a relic of the past. I, for one, would rather be such a powerless relic than I want to be dead."

"Coward!" the excitable Fionn once again shouted.

"Coward?" Jaerand responded, "Perhaps, but a living one. Good sers, when you requested this meeting with me I arranged it here in this damp, dark room for two reasons. First, that it is a good, secure location for such dangerous talks as these. Second, that it used to be the dungeon of this estate before my father, who had an unreasonable dislike for interrogation, turned it into a root cellar. My point is that by holding such talks here you have the opportunity to observe firsthand the sort of quarters your plotting will reward you with.

I do not know precisely what each of your household forces are capable of but I feel no shame in admitting that after the bloodletting of the Blight and civil war my guard is destroyed. Apparently the only recruits I have are young men with ill-fitting armor who fall asleep on duty. And, with my lands being destroyed by the darkspawn I have no money for mercenaries, even if I wanted to rely on them." motioning to several of the seated nobles Jaerand continued, "Banns Caedmon, Fionn, Monntair, I know you must be in similar distress as me. Franderel, how many of your supporters are actually capable of supporting anything, let alone an attack on the man who led Ferelden's soldiers to victory over an archdemon?

All you have said is true, my fellow banns; where you are wrong is in thinking you can succeed. I believe your rebellion to be hopeless. Either of these sovereigns alone are strong enough to destroy you and faced by a revolt their division will probably be put aside long enough to ensure your destruction. You ask me to think of the future of my house and I am. My future descendants will be much better off living, as you say, clinging to past wealth and glory than they will having never lived at all because my entire household was put to the sword for treason."

Getting up from the table Jaerand moved towards the door bowing solemnly to the silent banns, "You may leave the same way you arrived. Wait here, I shall send my captain to see that you reach the secret passage without being discovered. Farewell."

Stepping out of the old dungeon Bann Jaerand latched the various locks before turning to find an empty hallway where Ser Eir and the sleeping recruit should have been. Feeling a sense of foreboding Jaerand drew the stiletto he kept concealed on his person and carefully examined his surroundings. Almost forgotten lessons from his childhood spent as a squire to an Antivan merchant-prince surfacing Jaerand noticed a faint discoloration on the nearby flagstones. Crouching to examine the spot noble found that it was not the blood he feared but rather a patch on the stone that looked as if someone had recently cleaned that particular area while leaving the rest untouched. The words of his old master reverberating in his memory adrenaline coursed through Jaerand as he recognized the thoroughness that marked a professional assassin's work. Heightened senses noticing further discolorations leading down the hallway towards the nearest staircase Jaerand edged the opposite way knowing that his unseen foe expected him to head for the upper floors immediately rather than risk more time spent in the depths of the estate's labyrinthine basements.

Trotting nearly silently as his old rogue instincts shook off their rust Jaerand found himself actually enjoying the immediacy of danger this game with the assassin presented in contrast to the amorphous, distant threats of politics. Moving past a dark alcove, the hallway's flickering torchlight unable to pierce its shadows, Jaerand froze as he felt a slight stirring of air on the back of his neck. Spinning around the bann dropped into a perfectly balanced dueling stance as he scanned the threatening darkness for what had disturbed the air.

Watching his prey whirl about, stiletto blade at the ready in a capable looking grip, Zevran remained in the concealing shadows of the recess he had found when scouting the basement halls earlier that day. Enjoying the tense standoff Zevran was loath to break it but knew such was necessary if he was to complete the mission. Speaking in a sibilant whisper that bounced off the stone walls concealing his exact location Zevran broke the silence, "Bann Jaerand, you have far more skill at this game than most Fereldens I have met. That is, unfortunately, not to your advantage."

Eyes darting about as his ears tried to pin down the speaker's position Jaerand answered, attempting to draw the conversation out until he discovered exactly where the invisible speaker was, "And just how is skill not helpful, assassin?"

"A professional, and you must know I am one, fears amateurs because they are stupid enough to make unexpected moves. You, however, have had just enough training to be predictable without being skilled."

"Then perhaps you'd care to enlighten me. How, pray tell, did you get me into this disadvantageous position?"

"I knew you lived in Antiva as a child and so figured you would be acquainted with the basics. Knowing this I simply set you a false trail."

"The smudges."

"Exactly. Well done, ser." Zevran said, sounding like a teacher proud of his pupil's progress, "I cleaned up your guard's blood expecting that you'd note their absence and find the smudges. Then, knowing from that technique that you were up against a Crow, you would run in the opposite direction having recognized what seemed to be a trap."

"Perhaps, assassin, though it still sounds like you had a fifty percent chance of which way I'd go and simply guessed right."

"You're right, of course." Zevran laughed, "But I am a Crow and so didn't take chances. I extinguished all the torches in the hallway going the other direction and planted poisoned caltrops all over the floor. Had you gone that way you'd be in just as much danger as now."

"So what do you want, assassin. I see that if it was my death you would have already accomplished that."

"Right once again, lord. I have not decided on your fate yet; you must answer a few questions first."

"I don't seem to have much choice."

"No, you don't. Now, shall we begin start? How have you arranged for the other banns in the root-cellar to leave the estate undetected?"

"Through a secret passage."

"The one that leads into the bakery next door?"

"…yes." Jaerand responded, sounding truly shaken for the first time.

"And did you agree to join their conspiracy? Think carefully for this is the question that decides if you live or die."

Seeing a glimmer of hope Jaerand hurriedly explained, "So you're here hunting traitors! I promise I did not join their plot. Ask them yourselves after you capture them and they'll say I refused to betray our rightful rulers."

"Commendable stance, ser. Unfortunately not the right one."

Frowning in confusion at that statement Jaerand didn't even have time to flinch before the steel of Zevran's thrown dagger slammed into his cheek bone shattering teeth on its way to stabbing into the back of his mouth. Sinking to his hands and knees Jaerand desperately spat out bright, crimson blood as he struggled to keep his lungs clear of the suffocating fluid. Losing that battle the bann soon collapsed onto his side as coughs wracked his body, each painful assault on his damaged mouth sending a froth of blood flying from his lips as both lifeblood and air escaped Jaerand's dying body.

Confident that his target was no longer the slightest threat Zevran emerged from the safety of the shadows and walked up to where the man lay convulsing. Casually going through Jaerand's clothing Zevran pocketed the gold he found there before moving on to prying the rings from the bann's fingers. Frowning at a particularly ornate ring that refused to budge from its finger Zevran picked up the fallen bann's stiletto and inserted its thin blade into the second knuckle of Jaerand's finger. Sliding the blade about in a practiced maneuver any butcher would be envious of the elf soon severed the ligaments and muscles that held the joint together. Ignoring the increasingly loud gurgling sounds Jaerand was making Zevran gave the loosened finger a sharp twist and pulled it off the bann's hand; scooping up the ring that now slid easily off the digit's bloody stump. As he pulled the last bejeweled ring from the man's hand Zevran heard Jaerand's gasping breath stop after a final, choking exhalation.

"What do we do now? Will Jaerand inform on us? Franderel, what do you plan to do without Jaerand's support?"

Feeling the onset of the headache that so frequently accompanied Bann Fionn's incessant, shrill worrying Franderel interrupted her nagging, "Calm yourself Fionn. Jaerand will not tell the Crown for the simple reason that to do so would mark him forever as an informer and no informer has ever been respected…even by those he helps."

Though settling down somewhat Fionn was still somewhat frantic, "But can this coup continue without Jaerand's support?"

"It is unfortunate he has chosen not to side with us as his influence would ensure that several other banns would also give their support but this is a setback that, though severe, we can recover from. Who knows, perhaps Jaerand will even change his mind."

Hearing a cold voice slither over the group, its tone dripping menace, Franderel looked with barely concealed distaste at the emotionless eyes of Bann Caedmon, "You are too optimistic, friend, we all know Jaerand's support would align several of the other small bannorns behind us. Without him, who knows? Perhaps, Franderel, we should simply kill Jaerand. His heir, after all, has told Fionn he supports our aims."

"Your zeal is commendable, Caedmon, but I think such…drastic…methods are best avoided. We want to present ourselves as guardians of the Landsmeet's traditional power and killing banns who disagree with us will make us appear tyrants if proof, or even suspicion, of the deed were ever found."

"Your nobility does you credit, Franderel, but I hope it doesn't turn out to hurt this endeavor."

"We shall see." Franderel responded before holding up a hand to silence the other banns, "But let us discuss this later. Quiet now, I hear the door being unlocked. Our escort must have finally arrived."

Standing from the table they had clustered around the five conspirators saw the door open and a figure silhouetted by the hallway's torches beckon them to follow. Emerging from the old dungeon Franderel looked at the guide in surprise, suspicion coloring his voice, "Are you the guard captain…Ser?"

"Temporarily."

"But the captain that led us here this morning was, well, human."

"I'm captain of the night guard, Ser Eir's off duty now."

"Oh, well in that case, my good elf, lead on." Franderel said politely, unsettled by the way the elf's glinting eyes flicked from his face to those of his companions as if memorizing every detail.

Smiling at the breathless mewling sounds coming from the woman underneath him Aedan dipped his head down catching her lips with his and drinking in the arousing sound of his bard's pleasure. Her hands leaving the sheets they had been gripping Leliana reached around Aedan's neck pulling him further down as she returned his kiss; unconsciously matching the pace of Aedan's slow thrusts with her questing tongue. Pulling away from her mouth Aedan's movements picked up speed as he stared into Leliana's light, blue eyes the desire there reflected in his own green ones. Feeling her hips roll against him in response Aedan adjusted his angle in her slightly wringing a louder moan from the bard as he stretched her in a new way. Spurred on by Leilana's hands which had now entwined themselves in his hair, tugging in a painful way that served only to enhance the pleasure he felt, Aedan's thrusts lost their regular pace as man's primal instinct took over. Breathing becoming heavier he felt Leliana tighten around him in response prompting Aedan to give several quick, erratic thrusts before burying himself completely in the bard's heat as he reached climax.

Slowly rolling off her Aedan lay next to Leliana playfully grumbling between gasps for breath, "You'll…be…the…death…of me…woman. I'm not a…golem…I do need rest sometimes."

"But what…a way to go, no?" Leliana responded, equally deprived of air.

Rolling atop the prostrate man Leliana rubbed herself against his chest; enjoying the feeling of their sweat dampened skin alternately sliding and sticking against each other as her sensitive nipples dragged over his muscled chest. Staring into Aedan's eyes Leliana enjoyed watching as they widened briefly before closing in bliss as her wandering hand trailed down his side and across his hip before finally reaching his softening manhood. Stroking him encouragingly the bard whispered, careful to keep her voice carefree, "And with your impending marriage you must train now if you are to keep both your wife and me satisfied in the future."

Squealing as Aedan's arms circled her back crushing her against his chest as he rolled over pinning her once again to the mattress Leliana's stomach clenched as she saw her lover's bright, green eyes darken with promise. Licking her lips expectantly Leliana's breath quickened as Aedan spoke, voice growling with desire, "I will train to please only you. Anora's bed will be cold as spinsterhood overtakes her and she will forever look at you with envy."

"A jealousy I share; you lucky, Orlesian minx." a voice leered from the nearby balcony.

Sighing in resignation Aedan released Leliana and slid off her as he left the bed and quickly threw on a thick robe, "Zevran, your sense of timing is, as always, impeccable."

"True, Warden, though I can't help but notice your reaction is far less…exercised…than it used to be in such situations."

"Zev, you've interrupted us so many times I'm almost surprised when I don't hear your lecherous applause upon finishing."

Nodding acceptance of this statement the assassin turned to face Leliana who sat glaring at him from the bed, sheets drawn up over her chest, "And you, Leliana, you call yourself a bard? Why, I've been standing on the balcony for several minutes and you didn't even notice me. You're getting rusty."

"I am not, you miserable boor. I was just…distracted."

"And quite understandably so. But enough small talk, I can tell by your lover's impatient foot-tapping that he awaits my report." Zevran said with a dramatic, put-upon sigh, "To business. As Leliana's informant reported Franderel's coterie of traitors visited Jaerands' estate to convince him to join their endeavor."

"And did he?"

"Regrettably not. So, as you instructed I eliminated him leaving, of course, no trace."

"Perfect, now his foolish daughter will join the plot and they might actually become emboldened enough to begin an armed revolt."

Still glaring at the intruding elf Leliana interrupted Aedan's exulting, "And did you discover who else besides Franderel visited Jaerand?"

"Of course, my dear. Banns Fionn, Monntair, Caedmon, and Annwell were with him."

"Thank you, Zevran, a completely successful mission. I told you I'd not let you get bored if you stayed here in Denerim with me!" turning to the bard Aedan continued, "It is just as you suspected, Leliana, these are all Ceorlic's men."

Finally getting up from the bed, carefully keeping the sheets draped about her as concealment from Zevran's hungry gaze, Leliana stepped quickly behind a nearby privacy screen. Resigned to the fact that her fun was over for the moment as Aedan's mind left love for plotting the bard began strapping on her light armor as she called out to Aedan, "Mon cheri, I'm going to take a look about the palace tonight to see if I can't discover how unwanted guests keep penetrating our supposedly tight security."