Authors Note: Sorry about the delays, just trying to get all the ducks in a row. A huge thank you to my beta readers. Now the fun stuff starts, right? As always, let me know you like it, please? Read and Review! It make me happy. It makes Zevran happy! It makes everyone happy!

Chapter 2

In another part of the world, weeks later, Zevran Aranai would prop his hands behind his head, inhaling the sharp sweet air of Antiva City. It was the late afternoon, and he had just spent most of his late night and early morning with a bewitching creature-a woman by the name of Sheyanna. She had eyes like coal and wicked red lips. She had been a dancer in the tavern he had business in, and he could not resist the allure of her swaying hips underneath layers of gauze. After his dealings had been finished, he figured that he deserved a little something, a someone who he could unwind with. It was only after she had been straddling him upon a divan that she had put the knife to his throat, demanding him empty his pockets or else she would empty his veins was he truly sold on her. He had reminded her that the wine he had so freely plied her with had been poisoned, and in the end they came up with a rather pleasant arrangement. He'd give her the antidote and she would drop the blade. Of course after all that cloak and dagger, he had realized they both needed a rather thorough bath...

But that begged the question, in the thin layers of skirt and top he had enjoyed feeling before the intrigue, where had she hidden such a large knife? Ah, probably not best to think about it. They had quite an evening, really and she must have been pleased, because there had been a bit of bloodletting after all....Heh. She had definitely been an interesting night's amusement. Maybe he could stretch out that fun for a few more evenings. He smirked softly to himself as he walked out the balcony, observing the busy marketplace in the afternoon sun, looking out over the towers and estate-like fortresses that dotted the city's skyline. There was a job tonight, from someone that had requested his services by name. Zevran idly wondered who was trying to trap him or kill him this time. It surely was not anyone behind the Emperor, for he had led the assault against his enemies himself at the behest of the man's mother. He loved concubines-they were more devious than he was, and always mixed their business with pleasure. That was what made them so deadly. And fun.

But before setting out, he took out a silver bar, thin and pure, from the pouch at his side. It had been a gift from her so many years ago. When boots had and gloves had long worn out, it was these few permanent, shiny things that were left of her. He had once commented on her eyes, he thought. 'Lovely Warden..." he murmured to her one passing evening. 'If I could somehow mine silver in your eyes, ' What had he done? Oh, he had sneaked a kiss on the nape of her neck, purring into her other ear. 'Such a pure silver could be fashioned into a necklace that would make all the stars in the sky weep with shame...' She had bolted from him before he could steal another kiss, laughing and threatening him with a smile on her face. But he had felt her tremble slightly when their skin touched, he knew what images she had conjured in her mind. A week later he had found the bar in his tent, though she never said a word about it. Now it was his luck charm, and like he had done for twelve years, he pressed it to his lips for a moment..

Later on as he rappelled down the spire of one particularly tall tower, he mused on the circumstances of this job. It was an Orlesian woman, some adviser to their gaudy Empress. Apparently she had the ear of the Empress but little else at the court in Orlais And since dealing with royalty and their advisers had become a specialty of his, all the way back with the Teryn Loghain....If silence had not been of the utmost import he would have laughed. The turn of events at *that* instance had been entirely accidental, but rumors swirled about how he had played the various figures at the Ferelden court at the behest of the bastard prince Theirin. It was not an easy feat to murder one of Ferelden's most admired heroes and make it look legitimate without protests and riots. Few knew that his paranoia almost damned the entire country, and fewer still that Loghain had been guilty of regicide himself. Shame about that Queen, though. There was a rose condemned to wither in her tower. A tower much like the one he was about to storm. Half-hoping that he would indeed find a damsel in distress with whom he could share an evening's entertainment with, he fastened a claw into the base of the spiraled top of the building, and in three...two...one...jumped and swung into one of thin windows on the tower's surface-

With his feet flying into the face of a guard that had been patrolling the stairs. Just as he calculated, the man was slammed against the wall, cushioning the impact the lithe elf made. There had been guards at the base of the tower, and a guard at the balcony at the top. He had seen the regular shadow pass up and down, so his timing was essential. Neither groups at either end would hear him in the middle, and they would think the lone guard talking to either groups. Cutting himself free of the rope, he began to bound up the stairs, soft leather boots barely making a sound, he was so quick. Zevran figured he had maybe half an hour to do the deed and get out. Soon the door came into view, but he could sense something...heavy in the air. His speed brought him right up to the closed door, steeping down to take a look at it. There was no lock, and there was no keyhole. These doors were not made to be barred, but....

He lifted up his mask and leaned in so that his nose was less than an inch away from the wooden surface of the door. Slowly he inhaled, then breathed softly. A light violet shield shimmered in front of the door, crackling with energy. Magic. Nice.
But he was prepared for this. While he only ever used two daggers when engaged in combat, he kept a third, twisted blade on his belt. This weapon never saw actual combat. "Candor Illumina Libere" he whispered, drawing a circle with the tip on the door. The shield fizzled again before dissipating, leaving the door open to him. The room was luxuriously appointed if not very well lit. In the middle there was a canopied bed with a formless lump of a body buried beneath sheets and blankets, an oil lamp flickering and casting long shadows over everything. "Far be it for me..." Zev whispered, "To disturb the lady's rest." With his eyes to the figured of the guard looking out over the balcony, he made his way to the center of the room. Drawing a long, curved blade, he began to part to the veils of the canopy, better to look at his target and make sure his blade struck true. The woman stirred in her sleep, turning and rolling to face Zevran. Always the gentleman, he bowed his head to her, before drawing back the blanket and beginning the downward arc that would bury the dagger in her heart-strange instructions, he thought in that second...

Only to have the dagger clatter to the floor as he saw her face. What trick, what devilry was this? He caught the motion of the guard turning toward them, the door to the balcony opening when the light from the lamp sputtered out. In that second everything vanished, everything changed. The guard flickered out of existence, the luxurious interiors vanished, the bed-the bed changed from a elaborate canopy to a thin wooden frame, but she, she remained. She was supposed to be dead. In twelve years she had not aged a day, the same pale skin, the raven hair, and the lines formed at the corners of her mouth. He had teased her about those lines, that a beautiful woman as she should only be laughing and smiling, that such frowns would leave marks more permanent and uglier than any scar. Several minutes passed before he could find his voice. "Sylrien," he whispered hoarsely, afraid to blink, afraid look away lest she disappeared. "Sylrien, is that you?" The Warden he had tried to banish from his mind for years, the woman that none could ever compare to...She was laying right here in front of him, and most importantly, she was alive.