I know anyone who's got this story on alert is probably like, "Oh, wait, it wasn't over? That's weird..." Yeah, I know. I had a really hard time writing this ending. I felt like a had one or two pieces of information I wanted to convey, and I was having just the worst time trying to get it out. So, apologies.

This will be my last fic for probably a really long time. I'm going to try to focus on my original story that I have in the works *fingers crossed*. So thanks for all your love/support. You guys have really made me believe that my writing is something that people will enjoy :). That is confidence that can't be bought. You're all the greatest!

~*~four months later~*~

Zevran crouched below the window ledge, the wind trying to gently pull him off the way the current of a stream gently tries to push you along. It was no bother to him; he wouldn't have chosen this way to get in if he were uncomfortable hanging about in high places and negotiating the breezes that came with that.

He heard murmured voices coming from above his head, drifting out of the window. They chatted for a few moments, their words indistinguishable. That was no bother either; he was not here for eavesdropping.

The voices ceased, and he felt more than heard the door slide shut, an infinitesimal change in the pressure of the air passing over him. The glow of what was most likely a candle shifted about. Now he had a delicious choice to make. Wait until the candle had gone out, and the bearer of the light had settled themselves for sleep, or make himself known now?

As the light meandered around the room a little more, he nodded to himself. Now would be better. After all, he had promised Aideen to make it back to Denerim before the sun rose. And if there was one thing he enjoyed more than what he was doing at this very moment, it was making his lover happy. The idea of her in their bed back at Vigil's Keep was…distracting. Best to curtail that line of thought. There was work to be done.

With a push from his legs and arms, he landed on the window ledge in an elegant leap. As luck would have it, a particularly determined push of wind drafted in, snuffing out the candle's flame. His entrance couldn't have been more dramatic.

The strangled gasp and the clatter as the unlit candle dropped to the floor were like long-forgotten music.

"Do not scream," he advised, as the slender figure drew in a harsh breath. "It would be a shame for me to have to slaughter your guards." His statement had the desired effect, for the moment. He dropped gracefully into the room, and held his hands up. "I mean you no harm, Lady Anora."

She managed a snort, but her voice shook when she answered. "Somehow I don't believe you."

"If I were here to kill you, do you not think I would've waited until your lovely blonde head lay defenselessly against your pillows, and your undoubtedly sweet dreams left you vulnerable?" He chuckled quietly. "I am an assassin, dear lady. We do not play fair."

Her disconcerted swallow was audible. In the faint moonlight, he saw her shadowed form grope for the chair near the dressing table. Its legs scraped against the floor as she dragged it forward, and fell more than sat into its empty arms. "What do you want?"

"I come seeking answers. I ask that you provide them for me in a truthful manner. If I think you are being dishonest with me, it will prove most unhealthy for you."

She let out a bitter laugh. "I thought you meant me no harm."

"Oh, I don't," he assured her, as if horrified that she thought such a thing. "Whether harm comes to you is entirely in your hands. I am merely the sword; a tool at the mercy of who wields it. You are wielding me, my lady."

Straightening in the chair, she folded hands that, even in the pale light, Zevran could see shaking. "What do you want to know?"

"Do you know of a man named Grady Tremore?"

There was a silence for a moment. "Yes. Yes, of course. He was captain of the household guard when I grew up. I don't know what became of him."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Of course I'm sure," she snapped. "Why should I lie about that?"

"Oh, I can think of lots of reasons."

Her hands came up to grip the arms of the chair, but more as if she were holding herself back, not as if she needed comfort. "What does Captain Tremore have to do with anything? I haven't seen him since I left home to marry Cailan! I demand-"

"You will demand nothing from me," Zevran said, filling his voice with malice. Oh, if she were not a woman… A well-placed blow would not go amiss in dealing with her attitude. But alas, he would not. Unless she forced his hand.

Not that he hadn't done whatever the Crows had instructed him to do once upon a time. To men and women both. But he was no longer a Crow. Now, he made his own choices.

"Captain Tremore is dead, for treason," he added bluntly. "He attempted to overthrow the Crown. He claimed he did this to give you back the throne." Zevran closed the distance between himself and the seated former Queen slowly, allowing the menace to flood the decreasing space between them. "Do you know anything about that?"

He could pick out her features in the darkness as he drew closer. So it was with pleasure that he watched her mind race, and watched her eyes fill with dread at the precariousness of her position. "Are…are the King and Queen all right?"

Zevran grabbed her arms, pressing them against the wooden arms of the chair. He snarled, leaning down into her face. "You care? How sweet."

"Of course I care," she whispered breathlessly, flinching back from his proximity. "I bear them no ill will-"

"Spare me your gilded lies," Zevran hissed. "She removed you from the throne, after she promised to back you in the Landsmeet. She let her lover kill your father in front of your eyes, and then she made that man King. Do not tell me that you bear them no ill will."

She pressed her lips together tightly, eyes filling with tears even as she stared back at him steadily. "Captain Tremore deserved his death, as all traitors do."

"What a pretty bird, listen to it sing all the right notes," he said, pressing down on her arms until she let out a small whimper. He didn't let her go, just maintained the pressure steadily. "Grady claimed he did this without your knowledge, that you are completely blameless in his plot. Seeing how his motives were…questionable, I am here to ask you." The elf bent his head, gently touching his lips to her ear. "Did you know of Grady's plans?"

"No. No, not at all," she blurted out. "I told you, I haven't seen him since I was married. Please, let me go. You're hurting me." He did as she begged. She rubbed at her arms, staring up at him reproachfully. Her eyes glinted, and she spat, "What does it matter what I say? I have no proof."

"It matters," he responded. "It matters because I wish to see your face while you speak the words."

"It doesn't matter!" she countered. "You are here because you didn't believe Captain Tremore, which means you suspect me. But what use are my words? It's not as if I would admit to you if I were involved. When all that would await me would be a traitor's death."

"A traitor's death would be a mercy compared to what I shall do to you if you are lying," Zevran said quietly, his blood simmering. Maker, it would be so easy just to kill her. Lorelai, and Alistair, would be much safer with her dead. It was bad enough that the Cousland Queen had made Grady's son a Grey Warden. Bad enough he had to watch the man train under his very nose at Vigil's Keep.

Zevran kept his eye on him, regardless of what Lorelai said. He knew Leliana did the same. Grey Warden or not, Grady's son would never breathe an unmarked breath.

But this errand he was on was without Lorelai's knowledge. This was a task set upon him by her husband. He had been given the freedom to do whatever he deemed necessary. And necessary was so wonderfully open to interpretation.

"Believe me, my lady. If I leave here assured of your honesty, and innocence, in this matter and I find out later that you are lying," he said slowly, "there will be no end to the agony I will rain down on you."

There was silence for a few moments. "What did you mean? About Captain Tremore's…motives being questionable?"

"What?" Zevran blurted out, her question taking him off guard.

"You said his motives were questionable, that's why you're here. Asking me these questions to my face," she explained sharply. "What did you mean?"

"Ah." He waved his arms dismissively, even as he sneered. "The man was in love with you; it was his driving reasoning to give you back the throne. At least that was the Queen's deduction. When she accused him of it, he became very upset but did not deny it. Obviously, if you were involved, he would lie to spare his love-"

"I beg your pardon?" she interrupted. "He what? His what?"

Forgiving her impertinence, Zevran stared at her for a moment. The incredulousness on her face. The shock and almost…betrayal, presumably from a father figure behaving so unexpectedly and unforgivably like a man. Those were the first emotions from her this evening that he actually believed.

"He loved you," he said. "Though I was not there to witness the interaction, I have faith in the Queen's judgment."

She blinked up at him, her expression now dazed. "I speak the truth. I had no knowledge of Captain Tremore's plot. All I have to offer is my word. Do with it what you will."

And what to do. It would be the easiest of lies to tell Alistair he had found her guilty, and that he thought her death warranted. They had already discussed how unnecessary and damaging a public execution would be. After all, no one knew of the last almost-year of struggle. To have Anora denounced for all the land to see would seem strange.

An "accident" would be so much easier.

Zevran didn't know whether to celebrate or lament the King's new bloodthirstiness. Perhaps both. It was to be encouraged, for now. Everyone would be safer without Alistair's soft heart. Although Lorelai seemed to have grown one to subconsciously make up for her husband's lack. The elf nearly snorted disgust, and repressed a grimace at the thought of Grady's son.

A problem for another time. Right now, he had this she-demon to deal with.

"You have charmed me, my lady," Zevran said to the seated woman, bowing low. "For now," he added, raising his head to give her a meaningful glare. "But do not think I will forget about you." He turned, headed back to his window ledge.

"And don't think I will forget about you, Signore Arainai."

He paused, then cast a look at her over his shoulder, and her blonde hair seemed to catch what little light there was to be had. "Perhaps you should keep this visit just between us. I would hate to have to pay you another visit such as this one." He didn't wait for her reply, and tossed himself casually out of the window. With ease, he caught the ledge and began his descent.

Leaving the grounds of the manor house proved to be just as easy as entering them had been. Her guards were not the most skilled; they wouldn't have been allowed to guard the pantry in Denerim. Lorelai had wanted Anora kept safe from bandits and thieves, not guarded by actual career soldiers. A stroke of ruthlessness that Zevran was most gracious for tonight.

Slinking through the shadows, he arrived at the copse where he'd hidden his horse. The same devil-eyed beast that had carried him to Lothering, and then to Gwaren when he'd been searching for Lorelai. It snorted as he approached it, tossing its mane disdainfully.

"Yes, yes, I took quite too long and you have been standing here bored witless," Zevran agreed, untying the reins from a low-hanging tree branch. "But my business is done. If you'd be so kind…" He trailed off, gesturing toward the saddle.

The horse glared at him, then looked away with a sniff.

Zevran took this as the permission it was and swung himself into the saddle. The horse turned with hardly any help from the elf on its back and set off for Denerim at a smooth, distance-eating gallop.

Anora's quiet manor house was not all that far from the capital. If she had become a threat, Lorelai hadn't wanted to have to travel a great distance to put her down. Another fail-safe put into place to counter her husband's cumbersome mercy.

Done with his task, and with the horse completely capable of finding its way home without any guidance from Zevran, the Antivan let his mind wander to a sneaking suspicion that had been nagging him of late. He'd been trying to ignore it, simply hoping it couldn't possibly be true, but evidence was mounting.

He'd begun to get the distinct impression that Howe was grooming Grady's son to be Warden Commander.

Which would be absurd.

At first, he'd simply overhead small comments, or watched Howe specifically ask Grady's son for his opinion. Those things hadn't meant much. Zevran had just filed them away in his mind under the title of "information". But it had begun to pile up, and now there were even more signs. Howe meeting in private with Grady's son. Howe allowing Grady's son to lead drills, or plan excursions to purge pockets of darkspawn.

And then Grady's son had returned from one of those excursions with a recruit, which Howe had accepted. The girl would be a full-fledged Grey Warden by tomorrow morning.

The idea of Grady's son in charge of the Grey Wardens was intolerable. And peculiar, considering Howe was in no danger of needing to be tucked into a rocking chair with a blanket any time soon. It made no sense to be training a successor already. Preparedness for the worst aside, it was a bit extreme.

The strangeness and the abhorrence of the notion were on the verge of driving Zevran mad.

The sound beneath the horse's hooves changed, and snapped the elf out of his angry thoughts. A proper road sounded against the beast's feet, and Denerim greeted Zevran's eyes as he raised his head. A glance to the east saw that the sun wasn't even a hint in the sky, not even the telltale lightening of darkest black to deep blue to indicate it was even thinking about rising. Perfect. He had honored his promise to his lady warrior and then some.

Avoiding the main gate completely, he dismounted and snuck in to the city through a much smaller, barely known entrance. It wouldn't do to let the city guard know the infamous Antivan assassin was returning to the palace at this hour.

Using the back alleys and other unsavory routes, the elf managed the palace in no time and without detection. He slid the horse into the stable himself, removed the animal's gear and saw that its needs were taken care of. He found the creature much more agreeable since he'd started doing that. Even though his occasions to ride it were rare, it had a long memory. And held a grudge like no living being Zevran had ever seen.

Once the horse was taken care of, it was child's play to duck through the palace without any of the guards being the wiser. Normally, it would have bothered him, that someone could so easily infiltrate his friends' home. But since it was him, he wasn't all that concerned. After all, there were few that could match him.

Arriving at his destination, he knocked on the door quietly. The door swung inward after a few seconds.

"You're back soon," Alistair commented. He gestured for the elf to step inside.

Zevran obeyed and the King shut the door behind him. "I did not want to keep you from your beauty sleep. Though I am not certain that all the sleep in the world would manage to allow you to approach me in that regard."

Alistair rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes, I'm hideous. You can't imagine why Lorelai married me, and so on."

"It is childish to deprive a friend of their good-natured insults," Zevran said, sticking out his lower lip. "You are a cruel man."

"Apparently," Alistair agreed, sitting at the desk in the far corner of the room. Papers liberally covered its surface. There seemed to be some attempt at organization, but it looked to have failed for the most part. "So, does she live?" he asked coolly, his eyes fixed on the elf intensely.

"She does," answered Zevran. "I found myself convinced. She definitely had no idea about Grady's feelings for her."

"That doesn't mean she had nothing to do with the plot," Alistair countered, a frown forming between his eyebrows.

"No," Zevran allowed. "It does not. But we can slip some people into her household. I know you had originally disliked the idea, but-"

"Do it," Alistair interrupted. "A woman, her maid or something. Do you know anyone suitable for that?"

Zevran blinked, but recovered swiftly. "Of course. I shall write some letters, make the inquiries. If all of my contacts fail, I could train someone. It would take a little longer but," he shrugged elegantly, "I don't think the threat from Anora is immediate, if at all."

Alistair nodded. "Do what you think is best."

Zevran nodded. "As you wish." He hesitated for an instant. "There is a matter I wished to ask you about."

"There's something I wanted to ask you, too."

The elf blinked in surprise again. "By all means, the King should go first," he said with a little bow.

Snorting, Alistair nonetheless started speaking. "I was wondering if you would consider moving here, to the palace. To handle all of the…assassin-y stuff. You'd have your own quarters, your own people, whatever you needed. I trust you."

"Am I not already handling the…'assassin-y stuff' to your satisfaction?" the elf asked, trying not to look as completely off guard as he felt. He wanted to stay at Vigil's Keep to keep an eye on Grady's son. He also was not sure Aideen would leave Aednat, or the Silver Order. Or, for that matter, if she was invited. Alistair had not mentioned her.

"You are," the other man assured him. "I would just feel better if you were here."

"Is Grady's son to be Howe's successor?" Zevran countered. It made sense. To remove him from Vigil's Keep, since he would obviously oppose the appointment.

It was the Grey Warden's turn to blink for a few seconds, but other than that, his face revealed nothing. Too good. The man had learned too much from his scheming wife. "You'd have to talk to Nathaniel about that," he answered.

"But I am asking you."

"If you really don't want to ask Nathaniel, you can ask Lorelai, if you'd like," Alistair responded, his voice filled with a bit more steel. "Though I'm not sure it's any of your business what the Grey Wardens do."

Perhaps Alistair truly knew nothing. But the thought didn't stem Zevran's anger. He sneered, "You task me with protecting you and your Queen from subterfuge, and then tell me the promotion of a traitor is none of my business?"

"Lorelai would be dead without his help!" Alistair hissed, rising to his feet. "I think we can get over the whole 'traitor' thing, can't we? He's a Warden now; it's time to put it all behind us."

"Oh yes, his elevation to a noble order clearly settled the matter of his loyalties!" the elf spat.

Alistair's fist slammed into the desk with such force the stone floor let out a grating protest. "Being made a Warden was his punishment!"

The former Crow froze, the rage washing away under a torrent of confusion. "What?"

Looking disgusted with himself, the taller man sank back down into his chair. "I shouldn't have said that."

"What did you mean?"

"I can't," Alistair said, rubbing his face. "The secrets of the Wardens are-" He raised his eyes. "I don't regret being a Warden, not at all. But there is a price to pay, and it is steep."

Zevran opened his mouth, then closed it again. "And you? You have paid this price?"

"I pay it every day," Alistair replied with a short laugh. "And I'll continue to pay it every day until I die."

"And Lorelai-"

"She pays it too," he answered quietly. "Every day."

The elf felt every muscle in his body tighten, ratcheting down against his bones until he imagined he could hear them grinding under the strain. Forget his qualms about Grady's son. That was a distant and unimportant thought. But this revelation, this was another matter entirely. "You cannot expect me to be satisfied with that."

"Here, I can tell you one thing, Maker help me." Alistair leaned forward, as if sharing a juicy bit of gossip, his eyes gone a bit wild. "One of us was supposed to die on the top of Fort Drakon, killing the Archdemon. Whoever slays the beast goes with it. It has to be a Grey Warden."

If possible, Zevran's whole body tensed even more. His mind replayed watching Lorelai slit the Archdemon's throat, the gleaming sword she'd snatched off the ground awash in blood. Remembered her driving it into its skull. "Then why is she still here?"

"Morrigan," Alistair growled. "And that had its price, too." He pushed against the table, sliding the chair back and getting to his feet again. "That's it. I won't tell you anymore."

"I didn't know," Zevran said lamely into the quiet.

"You're not supposed to," Alistair said, waving his hand dismissively.

There was barely a warning creak before the door swung inward. Zevran spun around as his hands slid to his daggers, and immediately softened at the sight before him.

"Zevran?" Lorelai blurted out in shock. "What are you doing here?"

"My beautiful Queen," he said with a deep bow.

"Oh, get up, you fool," she scolded, her slippered feet whispering across the floor.

"If you won't allow me to pay you the obsequiousness you deserve," he said, straightening up, "at least allow me to take that burden off your hands." He held out his arms and beckoned. "Come, come. I know I am his favorite."

Lorelai smiled, half with exasperation and half with fondness, before obediently passing over the precious cargo in her arms.

Zevran looked down into clear, blinking eyes. "Ah, my noble Prince. How excellent to see you again." A tiny hand untangled itself from its blankets and reached up. The elf ducked his face closer obligingly. The chubby fingers probed insistently at his tattoo. "You like it? We shall get one for you very soon, somewhere your mother will not see it."

Lorelai snorted as she crossed the room to be at her husband's side. "Try it, Antivan."

He raised his head, looking at her in shock. "My Queen, of course not. I would never endeavor to keep anything from you." He turned back to the bundle in his arms and gave an exaggerated wink.

The daughter of Highever laughed, a bright noise Zevran had been cherishing these four months of peace and quiet and…uneventfulness. "So, did you ask him yet?" she asked Alistair.

"I did," her husband replied. "He hasn't answered yet."

Lorelai looked at the elf in surprise. "Really? Did you tell him the part about his own people, his own rooms?"

"Yes."

"Did you tell him the part about whatever he wants?"

"That, too."

"Did you tell him the part about Aideen being head of Bryce's bodyguards?"

Alistair snapped his fingers. "Forgot that part."

"Well, that's obviously why he's still thinking about it." She narrowed her eyes slightly as she stared at the elf. "Isn't it?"

Zevran swallowed hard, suddenly feeling as if he had been transported several years into the past. A past where her word was law; unquestionable and beyond reproach. At least, in his opinion. Though they were far from those days of struggle and fear, and those nights huddled around the camp's fire, he still found his arguments wilting under Lorelai's pointed gaze. "Forgive me, but do you not already have a quite capable bodyguard in the form of a considerable-sized golem?"

"Of course, Shale will still protect him." Lorelai tilted her head to the side. "Think of Shale as his shield. I want Aideen to be his sword."

Zevran looked down at the child in his arms again. A quiet baby, not prone to fits of crying or screaming. He seemed so serious, as if already thinking heavy thoughts. "It will be my honor to accept the position, Prince Bryce Duncan Theirin. As I am sure it will be my lady's honor to accept the position offered to her."

"Are you sure?" chirruped Lorelai, sounding entirely too pleased with herself. "I know her and Aednat are still as thick as thieves."

"I am quite certain she will not object. It is, after all, a substantial promotion."

"Yes," Lorelai agreed. "So it's settled then." She rose up on her toes, giving her husband a peck on the lips. "Don't stay up plotting too long." Walking briskly to the door, she looked over her shoulder at the last minute. "And don't let the assassin whisk the baby off on an adventure."

"Promise," Alistair nodded. The door shut behind her, and he backed up until he hit the wall, then leaned his full weight against it. He closed his eyes. "Now, wouldn't it have been nicer to just say yes when I asked?"

"Motherhood has not exactly calmed her," Zevran said as an answer. "And I do not know that 'nicer' is the word I would choose. I would feel less emasculated…that is certain."

Alistair barked out a surprised laugh. "'Less emasculated'. I wonder what that feels like."

"Truly, I have no idea." Stepping forward, the assassin passed the thoughtful child back to his father. "I expect you to swear on Andraste's sword the next time you see Aideen that I was here before sun rise."

"You have my word," the King laughed, tucking his son against his chest expertly.

Zevran headed for the door. He was almost there before a prickling crept up the back of his neck and made him freeze. Turning slowly, he faced his old companion and his child.

"Um, Zevran?" Alistair prompted into the lengthy silence.

"It seems it took quite a long time to complete your husbandly task of getting your wife with child," the elf said quietly. "Not to mention your Kingly task."

Alistair's face darkened, and his fingers clenched against the tiny body cradled in his arms.

Zevran held up his arms in surrender quickly. "Peace, my friend. I was not trying to insult you."

"Then what exactly was that statement for?"

"I was just thinking about prices," Zevran answered, "and how they must be paid."

The anger drained out of Alistair's face, but he didn't loosen his hold on his son. "I notice you didn't ask Lorelai about Liam."

"I suddenly find myself not so concerned about him."