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"His life is forfeit!" Loghain thundered, stomping from one end of the room to the other, after Zevran and Anders accounted for Lucy's disappearance. "I should've put down that mad dog in Amaranthine. I can marshal my forces and lay siege to his teyrn within a week. That lunatic rat bastard will pay!"

Zevran rubbed his thumb along his chin, considering. "Ser, if I can be so bold as to counsel another course. Such an action is expensive and could lead to a long siege. If the Teyrn still has enough favor with other nobles, it could lead to a bloody civil war. Allow me to handle the problem. It is, after all, my specialty. Discrete removal of annoyances." He bowed with a courtly flourish.

Loghain stopped pacing and frowned at the elf. "Yes, I remember the last time I hired you to remove an annoyance. You failed. Miserably."

"True, that," the elf admitted. "Though even you must admit my failure worked to everyone's advantage."

"Especially your own," Loghain muttered darkly.

The assassin contained a chuckle. The generalissimo harbored some jealousy it would seem. It wouldn't do to provoke him too much.

"My lord," Anders said. "Zevran is right. It would be a simple matter for me to infiltrate the castle in Highever and give him access. I've learned to transform into a bird, like Lucy."

Loghain stopped his pacing suddenly and seated himself. He turned his iron gaze on the elf. "You're right… Zevran." He said the elf's name like it would choke him. "But I still don't trust you. I'm going as well. Besides, I personally want to strangle him with his own intestines."

"Oh?" Zevran said, picking at a piece of imaginary dirt under his fingernails. "You wish to give him a quick death then? I was planning something far more painful."

"I thought boiling the blood in his veins might do," Anders said. "Very painful, judging by how the darkspawn respond to it."

The older man going with them would be a complication. Even Anders might have been more of a hindrance than a help if it weren't for his ability to transform. But Loghain? The thought irritated Zevran. "Ser, the need for stealth…"

Loghain rose from his chair and stared down at the assassin. Zevran felt several feet shorter than he truly was as the man's weighty presence seemed to press him into the floor.

"I was sneaking through woods shooting Orlesians while you were still suckling at your mother's teat, elf," Loghain said.

Zevran doubted that. Oh, not that the general had stalked Orlesians, but that he had still been a babe. There was probably only a decade of difference between their ages. Still, it was apparent that Loghain couldn't be dissuaded, at least not by him.

"Lucy and Danny will move into the palace where Alistair can keep an eye on them. I'll have my own personal guard watching her. She'll be safe," Loghain said. He strode to the door and opened it for the two men. "We leave at dawn. Be ready."

"You tell her," Anders said as they walked back to the Warden compound.

"Why me? Do you think that just because I'm a cold-blooded killer I have no feelings?" Zevran protested.

Anders chuckled. "No, I think she likes you better than me. Besides I caused all this."

"Nonsense, my friend. You didn't cause this, Fergus did."

They walked along together, neither speaking, but the gravel crunched under their boots. With one hand on the handle to the compound's entrance, Anders relented. "We'll both tell her. She will understand, won't she?"

Zevran shrugged. "You never know."

~o~o~o~

It couldn't have been worse. Not if she'd gotten mad and hurled bolts of lightning at them. She simply sat on the floor, holding Danny, and looked between them with sad, dark eyes. Saying nothing, she looked away with a sigh and hugged her son closely.

"Say something, my love," Anders said. "I need a reaction."

"Cara, please. We don't want to go, of course, but something has to be done."

"I know," she said, her voice small. "Danny will never be safe as long as he lives."

Zevran sat down on the floor on one side of her, Anders on the other, and they both encircled her and Danny with their arms.

Her voice sounded even smaller coming from within the huddle. "Will you at least make sure it hurts a lot?"

"Of that you can rest assured," Zevran said.

"Oh yes, my sweet," Anders said. "Sex magic has a darker side I never discussed with you. Yet another reason why it is banned. A Fineger's bolt, amplified many times over, is a sort of pain that rides the nerve yet doesn't cause harm."

"I don't want to hear about it," Lucy said. "I trust you both. Don't—for Maker's sake—get caught!"

"We'll be careful, but thorough, mia cara."

Dawn came and with one last backward glance, Zevran and Anders left a despondent Lucy standing in the doorway of the compound. She carried Danny, reluctant to let go of him ever since she came home.

"So, tell me about this sex magic, Twitch," Zevran said.

~o~o~o~

Alistair walked in without even knocking. Why not? He was still a Warden, at heart if not in practice. There was something about seeing his sweet boyish face that finally knocked me out of my depression.

"Maker, Lucy, you had us all terrified." He settled himself at the kitchen table, no differently than when he'd been a Warden. Only this time the kitchen staff was petrified. They suddenly became all thumbs and managed to break several dishes and even spill tea into his lap.

"I have that effect on people nowadays," he said, frowning. "Don't worry, I've got it." He took the cloth from the cook and mopped up the tea from his doublet.

"I'm sorry, Alistair." Whether for the spilled tea, or my disappearance, it didn't matter.

"It's all right, Lucy. But you need to come to the palace until this is sorted out."

I opened my mouth, ready to protest, but my sensibility kicked in. "Of course."

"Well, good! I was hoping you wouldn't be stubborn about it. Besides, Danny and Calenhad are best of friends. Well, until one takes a toy from the other then someone has to step in and stop the squalling."

"All right. I can pack up our things and be there this afternoon." I wasn't looking forward to all the work of packing my stuff up and getting it loaded into a cart.

"Ha!" Alistair laughed at me. "There are some advantages to our positions, Lucy. Let someone else do it. Just pick up Danny and walk back to the palace with me right now. Anora put someone in charge of moving you in. It'll get done."

So I did. But the moment we walked out the front door together, a squad of Alistair's personal guards formed around us and we walked in the center of the small parade. I'd been around Zevran too long to feel safe. A sniper on top of a building could pick me off. Or we could step on a cleverly hidden rune trap. As I mentally listed all the ways we could die on the short walk to the palace, I knew I would never feel safe again until Fergus was gone.

Brows furrowing, Alistair watched me. "I've never seen you like this, Lucy. You're scared, aren't you?"

I nodded. "I have too many secrets that can be used against me. Now that I've been inside a Circle as an inmate, I never want to be in one again."

"You won't be."

"You can't guarantee that. Anyone who knows my secret—and let's face it, there are more than a few people who do—can do what Fergus did. How can you and Anora protect me from a Chantry that will just wait until I'm alone, or unguarded, and then take me?"

"You won't be unguarded. I promise."

I followed Alistair compliantly, but a nugget of something had taken root in my brain. It was the belief that my secret abilities were my Achilles heel. Anyone who knew of them could control me. I did what I could to push it out of my mind and listened to Alistair's happy chatter about Calenhad.

He took me to the nursery, a place Danny had become familiar with. "Caldad!" he cried when he saw the royal heir. He turned into an eel in my arms and I couldn't set him down fast enough to suit him. He ran to his friend and they either embraced or grappled, I couldn't quite tell, and fell over in a pile of giggles.

The nugget of uncertainty quieted as Alistair and I watched the boys play with one another. We chatted, bragging about our children, and teased one another, just like old times.

Danny and I settled into palace life quickly while the royal couple kept me busy attending fancy luncheons and state dinners. When I wasn't doing that I took Calenhad and Danny for walks through the gardens, or out to see the horses and mabari, all with a guard detail following us. Each time I turned around and saw the metal glinting in the sunlight of my guard's armor, I thought of the secret that necessitated this. That damnable secret.

I was pleased to see how many of my composting toilets were installed in the palace and it was heaven to have one in my quarters. I decided that Orsino and Hawke would get toilets as rewards for helping me. I'd put Hawke in charge of ensuring that the mages got the toilet and not the templars.

My factory, which I visited daily, was bustling. Sandal had improved the magical bacteria even further. Now, not only did they break down waste material incredibly fast, but they gave off a pleasant smell, reminiscent of jasmine, too. An even odder development was that he had taken to saying "Composting!" in exactly the same manner he used to talk about enchantments. The dwarves were getting wealthy from their stake in the factory and when my elven accountant went over my own personal accounts, I nearly fainted. I was getting rich.

Toward the end of the week Anora took me aside.

"I have to show you something. It was going to be a surprise, but I think under the circumstances surprises might not be a good idea." She led me to an area screened off by a high fence, one I'd seen workmen disappearing into during my stay. We paused just outside the fence.

"The second anniversary of the ending of the Blight is coming," she said. "Last year we couldn't really celebrate since we were spending so much money recovering, but this year we are having a week of festivities. There will be archery contests, riding expositions, music—I'd even like to have your toilets on display as the technological and magical marvels that they are, and perhaps put some to good use as well."

"Of course. We can set them up in place of the standard privies. I'm sure that will be popular. Sandal's new magical bacterium can keep up with the output from many people. Just think! The fertilizer the event will produce will go a long ways toward increasing agricultural output." I went deep into the geek place, getting caught up in excitement over excrement.

"Yes, of course," Anora said, eyeing me warily. "Well, there's something else, too. Follow me."

I followed her around the tall fence and stopped to marvel at a pair of stone statues. I gasped as I recognized Riordan. His likeness was remarkable, especially for someone who had probably never even had a portrait painted. Tears sprung to my eyes and for a minute I wanted to climb up, reach out and trace his cheekbones with my hand.

"How did you manage to… That is him, Anora. That is truly him!" Granted his pose was ridiculously heroic, but it captured him.

"Alistair isn't bad at drawing. He was able to sketch drawings for the sculptor and you—well, everyone knows what you look like."

I looked at the second statue blankly. That was me? I was holding a giant sword in both hands, tip pointing to the ground as if I were about to plunge it into something. My hair was blown back in the wind and there was a fierce look on my stone face. My statue's ample bosom practically heaved its way out of splint mail corset, something I can swear I've never worn.

"I must never been seen standing next to this statue," I said. "The comparison will fail. She's a whole lot more… epic than I am. Don't get me wrong, I love it and I'm flattered. The statue of Riordan is amazing, but…"

Anora laughed. "It is done in the heroic style. Trust me, all those statues of Andraste probably look nothing like her."

"Well, it is a grand gesture and I'm extremely flattered, though my heart may break every time I see Riordan standing there."

"I'm glad you like them," Anora said. She put an arm around my shoulders and hugged me to her side. "You will be giving a speech at the unveiling."

My breath caught in my lungs. A speech? "What?" The way she said it, I knew there was no negotiating with her.

"A speech, of course. The people will want to hear from their hero. Don't worry, I will write it for you if you'd like."

Oh, Maker. I'd almost rather face the archdemon again than have to make some sort of speech. "I, uh, well. Of course. I guess there is plenty of time to prepare."

"Oh yes, you'll be wonderful," Anora assured me.

I devoted half my mind to attending to her chatter and answering her, but the other half was preoccupied with this speech. What sort of idiotic drivel would I regurgitate to make people happy? I guessed it was something that Loghain might instruct me on. I was beginning to share his dislike of the title hero.

I took quill to paper that very night and began working on the task, hating myself as I wrote the sort of thing that was expected: nationalistic fervor, reassuring platitudes, words about rebuilding stronger than ever. It made me queasy but helped me pass the time without worrying about the trio resolving my issue with Fergus.

~o~o~o~

Loghain watched the crow fly into an open window. The elf lounged against a tree, idly cleaning his fingernails with the edge of his dagger. The fool would undoubtedly cut himself and then Lucy would blame him when the assassin died of a blood infection. There was nothing to do now but wait for the mage to unlock the side door. Nothing to do, that is, but to ponder how the elf managed to survive a war of assassins. Bloody impossible, even if the elf was impressively stealthy and lethal, as the half dozen dead guards behind them could attest to, if they weren't so… dead.

He'd been wearing heavy armor for too long. Those skills of his youth he'd boasted about were long gone, but he had wisely recognized that and let the elf take the lead. Still, with the mage flitting about as one sort of crow, and the elf yet another kind, he had his part to play.

The door whisked open and Anders, the human, charged out. "Be ready," he hissed. "I picked up at least one." The mage feathered himself once again and flew into the trees.

"Left," Loghain said, claiming whatever was on the left that came through the door, his voice quiet but loud enough for the elf to hear.

Only one came. A guard. He peeked around the door cautiously, saw nothing, and then stepped out fully, scanning the area. Loghain, from within the shadows of the light woods, unloosed an arrow. It took him full in the throat. A second arrow came from a dozen yards away and impaled an eye. A quick, silent death, just as they'd all been.

Loghain emerged from the copse and dragged him back to the shadows. He began to strip off the guard's armor and replace his own with it.

"A perfect fit, no?" Zevran said. "Good eye, Twitch. Remind me to take you next time I need to get fitted for armor."

"It was the first guard I ran into. Just lucky, I guess," Anders said.

"Let's get on with it. Cousland is drawing on the same air I am and that has to change," Loghain growled. He strode confidently to the side door and held it open for the other two. The elf hung back in the shadows and the mage followed at a distance, cautiously creeping forward. He drew down the visor on the helm and strode confidently through the cast like a guard on his rounds. The family quarters were on the second floor. He had visited this castle before and knew it well.

"Hail," he said, his voice emerging as a mumble from within his helm as he passed another guard.

"Hail?" the other guard said as Loghain walked past. "Hey Seamus, what's with the helm? You're new and all, but we don't walk around with it down."

Loghain said nothing and continued walking. The guard, now on alert went after him.

"Seamus, I said…" He reached out to grab Loghain's shoulder and then creaked to a halt and crumbled to the floor. His splint mail armor rattled noisily as he dropped.

"Dead?" Loghain asked the mage as he approached.

"Sleeping. No need to cause any extra death here," Anders said.

"We can't just leave him out here. Someone is bound to notice," Zevran said, emerging from the shadows.

"Pull him in that room. I think it's a storage closet," Loghain said, pointing at a door.

Zevran and Anders each grabbed a leg and hauled the unconscious guard along the hall, his metal-clad back scraping the stone floor loudly.

"You should carry him, you're going to alert the entire castle," Loghain grumbled.

"A guard in full armor?" Anders sputtered. "You carry him!"

"That wouldn't look at all suspicious, would it?" Loghain retorted sarcastically.

"Perhaps it would be best if we just put him in this room and be done with it, yes? Ungh!" Zevran grunted as the finally got the inert guard to the door. Loghain opened the door and was suddenly reminded that, in fact, this was the kitchen. The two elven servants dropped their cleaning buckets and froze, eyes wide with fright.

"We come in peace," Anders said. "Well, for you, anyway."

"Oh for the Maker's sake, mage, handle it." Loghain's order was gruff, as usual.

Anders's sleep spell put them out and they crumpled to the floor.

"We're going to have half the castle in a sleep spell, if we keep this up," Anders muttered.

"Just as well. It is midnight and the other half is sleeping. Let's hope they stay that way," Loghain said.

Zevran hoped so too. This definitely wasn't his preferred way to work. He could've entered the second floor by a window and the Cousland would already be in the fifth stage of lanthrax poisoning. But death was a complicated business. Sometimes murder was the easy part, the harder mission was satisfying the secondary requirements: a humiliating death, a slow death, or a death with an audience—all needless complications, really, but part of the package. As a Crow, he had cultivated the patience needed to deal with such requirements, but as a man, his patience knew limits. His feigned deference to Loghain was wearing thin.

Two more guards were dispatched to dreamland and then at last they were at the Teyrn's bedroom door.

Locked bedroom door.

"I trust you can—" Logain began to say.

"Of course," Zevran said, cutting in before the great lord could add the thinly veiled insult to the sentence. If he heard that sneering tone of voice one more time, he might just add another target to his kill list this night.

Zevran pulled a pick out of a pocket and crouched before the door. "I am a Crow," he muttered. "Trained to walk through walls as if they didn't exist. This dog lord is a trifle. His lock is…pfft! It is smoke I blow away."

Crack! The pick broke in the lock and a piece tinkled to the ground.

No one moved or spoke. Not even Loghain made mockery of the error. The noise had been loud in the quiet of the castle, would Fergus hear it? Perhaps it was simply so quiet that the relatively small noise was loud by comparison. There was an answering groan from inside the room.

The trio waited for several minutes and no more noises issued from the Teyrn's bedroom.

Carefully picking the broken pick out of the lock, Zevran began working on it again. He could see the expression on Loghain's face, a suspicious look. Sweat sprung up on the back of his neck. Loghain thinks I'm a fraud. Of course. A famed Crow who fails, then supposedly fights the entire Crow establishment in Antiva and remarkably returns. Now this.

For the life of him he couldn't figure out why it mattered. He shoved it to the back of his mind and concentrated on the lock. All right, locks didn't open that easily for him. He usually delegated the lock picking to a junior Crow. Still…

The lock finally opened with a loud click and they all held their breath and waited to hear if Cousland stirred inside. Nothing. He pushed the door open slowly, holding his breath against creaking. It was well-oiled. A lord's door generally was so when servants entered they wouldn't wake him.

Zevran's first sense was the overwhelming smell of brandy and unwashed human. He shot glances at his companions and saw the same look of repugnance he was sure he wore. Gesturing at Loghain to close the door, he silently padded to the bed and saw the Teyrn passed out there with an empty bottle of Antivan brandy still in his hand.

Zevran moved quickly, tying a gag around his mouth and then lacing his hands together behind Fergus's back. The unconscious man never even woke up.

"He's dead drunk. Soon to be just dead," Zevran said.

"This won't be very satisfying if he isn't awake for his own slow, painful death," Loghain said.

"Not to worry, lanthrax would wake the dead to die all over again," Zevran said. He got out a small ornate bottle and looked at the other two men.

"Whoa there, Antiva," Anders said putting a hand on his wrist. "We haven't decided how he's going to die yet."

"I told you I was going to strangle him with his intestines," Loghain growled.

"Too messy," Zevran protested. "They'll rupture and the smell will kill us as well. It is one of those deaths that sounds better than it really is."

The unconscious man stirred and his eyes opened. He blinked hard, holding his lids closed for a long moment and then opened them again. He stared first at Zevran, then Loghain. At that a muffled yell erupted from behind the gag.

"Good morning, Fergus," Loghain said, dryly. "We were just discussing how to kill you."

"The choices on the table are death by strangulation with your own bowels," Zevran said, ticking it off his fingers.

The teyrn's eyes opened wide in terror, and he shrieked behind the gag while trying to squirm off the bed.

"I know," Zevran said. "I tried telling him how messy it is. My magical associate prefers to boil your blood right in your veins." He ticked the second option off his fingers. "Personally, I'm partial to lanthrax. It is a messy death too, but decidedly slow, painful, and humiliating. A shame we'll have to keep you gagged. I'd enjoy hearing you plead for death to release you."

"You're not giving him a choice, are you?" Loghain asked.

"No, of course not. We are the aggrieved parties. It is for us to decide. Perhaps we should've had Lucy decide it for us…"

Fergus gave a startled jerk on the bed at the mention of her name.

Loghain leaned in to him, his face inches from his fellow teyrn's. He gripped Fergus by the hair and met his eyes with a fierce expression. "What? You didn't know she escaped and returned to Denerim? Maybe if you put down the drink and attended to your affairs you would've known."

"We can't spend the rest of the night arguing over how to kill him," Anders said. "Why don't we play rock-parchment-knife? First person to win two games gets to decide."

Loghain glowered, but let go of Fergus and nodded. Zevran acquiesced as well.

After winning two games of rock-parchment-knife, Zevran uncorked his ornate bottle of lanthrax and made two long cuts down the arms of the soon-to-be late Teryn Fergus Cousland.

"Now observe, gentlemen, the seven stages of lanthrax poisoning. Draw up chairs. This will take quite some time." He carefully poured the poison over the cuts, and they all watched as Fergus began to sweat copiously.

Justice. Sweet, sweet justice. Not one of the three men were disappointed with what they had accomplished that night as the blistered, suppurating, convulsing body of the last true Cousland took one last agonized breath and then breathed no more.

~o~o~o~

Three abreast and trotting down Calenhad Way toward the palace was how I first saw them. A medieval Mod Squad. My eyes were glued to them as they dismounted and jogged up the stairs to the entrance. My avenging angels were home, and I felt a giant weight lift. This was over, behind us. We could go on now, putting this episode far behind us, and I would heal from the cankers it had left on my psyche.

I ran down the stairs like the girl left behind always did in the movies. A crazy panoply of emotions seized me and I laughed while I boo-hoo'd. Hugging and squeezing them, I almost thought that once again the desire demons were tormenting me. No, this is real, I reminded myself.

Not once during the celebratory dinner that night did any mention of their mission pass the trio's lips. Only the returning men, Anora, Alistair and I knew of their task. I never knew what became of my "brother" until much later when rumors of a crazy, murderous blood-mage made their way to Denerim. The gruesome details eventually found my ears and I couldn't help but feel sorrow for the man and his sister. Flemeth's meddling had done this, put me here on this world and ruined the lives of those two people so completely. I suppose some of the blame could be given to Rendon Howe. What he had done to the Cousland family might have been the catalyst, but then my possession of his sister had finally taken the last of the Cousland scion's mind. So I felt pity, until I thought of his threats against my son.

I got over it.

~o~o~o~

Notes: My humble apologies to those who love Fergus. I do too, actually. But I had a lot of fun bending him to my evil whims.

My thanks to Biff McLaughlin for beta-reading! Well here we are another chapter closer to the end. Let me take another opportunity to thank you for reading it, especially those of you have left me reviews. It is such a cheerful thing to find those reviews in my inbox. So, please press that review button.