A/N: This came to me in the middle of watching a movie. I needed to write it down. Personally, I think it's quite likely this would happen, mostly with a character made after me. Ha! Get ready for some smut filled, violence covered and profanity sprinkled story about the re-connection between Alistair and Cousland, with many returning Characters and a few new ones!

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~*CN

Any place but here, and he would have been fine. Any other shit-hole and he's be fine. But alas, the one he followed had to go to the bottom of the barrel, and only stop moving during the dead of winter. The elf wrapped the cloak tighter about himself, shivers running up and down his spine. "Braska!" The Antivan swore as a gust of wind blew the hood of his cloak to snap his cheek.

Any other shit hole, he reminded himself, as he found the window he was… told about. His lithe fingers jarred the window open enough for the tiny elf to slip into the warmth of the room.

If only it had been warm. Instead, his leather covered feet touched down in a room no warmer than it had been outside. Then the stench hit him, oh dear Maker, the smell. It was a mix of piss, wet dog, the sorts of Alcohol that only Oghren would have drank and body odour.

He found the source of the smell almost immediately, well, it found him. It propelled the Elf to the side in a diving dodge. Around two-hundred pounds of muscle lunged for him sloppily, nearly throwing himself out the window. "Who the—Why are you here?"

The elf laughed, it was hilarious to see this man drunk. "I come on behalf of the Ferelden Grey Wardens, I seek an audience with you.

"I dun' care what the… the bitch wants…" He was slurring so bad, Zevran almost wanted to knock the man out for his own sake.

"Now, my dear Alistair, you are being unreasonable—"

"Me?! I'm being unreasonable?! She accepted the man who got Duncan and the King killed into the Wardens! And I'm unreasonable?"

Zevran ran a tanned hand through his long tresses of hair, holding back the sigh forming behind his lips. Taking a seat, cross-legged on the bed of a whore-house where he was arguing with a Bastard prince. The room was filthy, as was the man who had rented it, and been living in it. Alistair was dressed in a loose tunic that must have fitted him once; his face was dishevelled with hair and dirt, his eyes bloodshot from drinking, the tip of his structured nose a bright pink from the alcohol. "I beg you Alistair, merely listen to me."

His huff and the cross of his arms led the elf to believe he was free to speak. The fact he stopped stumbling about and looking as if he were about to knock poor Zevran's face off helped too.

Breathing in deeply, Zevran began: "You know what happened directly after you left, Loghain became a Warden, together with the pretty Warden they defeated the Arch-Demon – I was there –, Loghain died, she became Commander of the Ferelden Grey Wardens and all was happy, no?" Zevran was gouging his reaction, a wrinkle of relief seemed to lift off of Alistair's face at the mention of the only other Warden from the time during the blight being alive.

"Why are you here, Zevran?"

The grin that had been playing on his features died into something more serious, his eyes stopped their glittering and his hands folded on his thighs as he gathered himself to his feet.

"Because, Alistair, Emily Cousland is dying."

A/N: I realize it's short, but I'm just getting the ball rolling. ;)