Thank you to my comma wrangler, WellspringCD, for another fine job. Thanks also to all who have reviewed , faved and/or alerted.

The table was groaning with food; Alistair and Fearghal fell on it like men who hadn't eaten in a month. Morrigan, Wynne, Leliana and Sten grabbed as much as they needed, quickly. They were learning that if they didn't, the two Wardens would quickly demolish everything within reach. The accommodations offered by The Spoiled Princess were basic but it was clean and well kept and, more importantly, the food was excellent.

The Innkeeper had been able to offer them two large rooms, one for the women and one for the men. He'd also informed them about the small bathhouse at the rear of the Inn. It had been decided that the women would bathe in their room and the men would use the bath house. The Innkeeper had been nervous when Morrigan had informed him that cold water could be brought up for their baths, that she would heat it, then relief had taken over.

"So, Alistair," purred Morrigan, "the templar, Cullen. You knew him well?"

Alistair almost choked, turning bright red. "No, I didn't," he mumbled.

Morrigan's eyebrows rose. "Really? I got quite a different impression. What were his words again? 'You! Always they show me you!' He appeared to know you."

"I knew him well enough to put a name to the face. I didn't think he knew I was alive," snapped Alistair.

"Ah, so sad," sighed Morrigan. "Unrequited love..."

Alistair just gaped at her, his eyes wide.

"Leave it, Morrigan," growled Fearghal.

Morrigan ignored him and continued, "He said they called you 'Lord Alistair'. Why was that, I wonder?"

Alistair flinched at the nickname, then almost jumped out of his skin as Fearghal's fist smashed down on the table.

"Enough, Morrigan!" he roared. "What happened in the tower, stays in the tower."

Morrigan opened her mouth to protest, only to be interrupted by the nervous Innkeeper, who hovered nearby. "Ser, the water is ready in the bath house."

Fearghal nodded and Alistair fled gratefully, heading upstairs to shed his armour and collect a change of clothes.

Alistair paused at the top of the stairs as he heard Morrigan say, "... defending the templar. You like him no more than I."

"I don't like cats much either, but I won't stand by and watch someone tormenting one," retorted Fearghal.

"Oh, so Alistair's a defenceless kitten?" scoffed Morrigan.

"That's not what I meant and you know it, Morrigan. You belittle Alistair at every turn and it's neither witty nor entertaining; in fact, it's getting downright tedious."

Morrigan snorted and Alistair heard a chair scrape across the floor.

Alistair continued to his room and started to strip off his armour. He wasn't sure what to make of Fearghal's defence. Part of him was relieved; he found Morrigan difficult to deal with. Part of him burned with humiliation that Fearghal had felt it necessary to defend him; he knew that if he'd told Morrigan to shut up she would merely have laughed at him. The comparison to a tormented cat wasn't flattering either. He sighed and rummaged in his pack for clean clothes, then headed downstairs, brightening at the thought of a hot bath.

Alistair sank back into the hot water with a sigh of relief. He lazed for a minute, then sat up and started to wash his hair. A blast of cold air blew over him as the door opened. He turned his head and saw Fearghal, arms full of clean clothes and washing gear. Alistair felt himself flush. This is just like when Cullen... He shook his head and started to rinse the soap out of his hair. Cullen was the last person he needed to think about now.

Alistair screwed his eyes up tight as he sluiced water over his head, hoping that by the time he was done Fearghal would be in the bath. He opened his eyes to see that Fearghal, having stripped off his shirt, was shaving, frowning in concentration at the small, cracked mirror hanging on the wall.

As he finished, Fearghal half-turned to Alistair and waved the razor. "I'll leave that there for you. I assume you don't have... ?"

"No," confirmed Alistair. "Thanks."

As Fearghal sat on the rickety wooden bench and started to pull of his boots, Alistair lay back in the hot water, closing his eyes, suddenly embarrassed at the thought of watching Fearghal strip his clothes off.

"You shouldn't let her get to you, you know."

Alistair's eyes flew open. "Who? Morrigan?" He swallowed nervously as Fearghal stripped off his breeches, leaving them in a pile on the floor.

Fearghal nodded. "She needles you because she knows she can get a rise out of you." Clad in just his small clothes, Fearghal reached up and pulled the little leather thong from the braid he normally wore tucked behind his ear, dropping it next to the discarded razor.

Alistair snorted. "What do you suggest I do? I suspect that if I banged the table and yelled her, she'd wet herself laughing."

Fearghal shrugged, fingers working the hair in his braid free. "Just ignore her. If she wants a reaction, it'll drive her mad if she doesn't get one." The longer, shoulder-length hank of hair fell forward, softening his face.

Alistair's mouth went dry as he watched Fearghal just standing there in his small clothes. His hands itched to brush over the dark hair covering the other man's chest. He tried to keep his breathing steady as Fearghal pulled off his small clothes and dropped them on top of his breeches. His eyes widened as he realised that Fearghal was circumcised. He's a noble? Who... ? A Bann's son, sent to squire at Highever?

Fearghal stepped into the bath and lay back with a groan of pleasure that made the hair on the back Alistair's neck stand on end. Fearghal let himself slip down the bath and until his head was under the water; he stayed under for so long, Alistair was starting to get worried, when he pushed himself back up and looked across at Alistair. Fearghal flushed slightly at the bemused look on Alistair's face.

"Stupid habit," he mumbled. "We used to do it as kids... see who could stay under the longest."

"I see," said Alistair, biting his cheek in an effort not to laugh. The image of a young Fearghal holding his breath in his bathwater was both absurd and endearing; that the adult Fearghal still did it was downright amusing.

Fearghal frowned. "You grew up in a monastery full of boys; you didn't do things like that?" he demanded.

The laughter died within Alistair. "No. Nothing like that." He stood up and got out of the bath, reaching for his towel. Whatever mischief the young initiates had got up to in the monastery had never included him; he was 'Lord Alistair', ever the outsider. Alistair dried himself briskly and chanced a look at Fearghal. Fearghal's eyes were on his groin. Fearghal's eyes lifted and met Alistair's; Alistair could see that he now understood the nickname Cullen had revealed and he waited for the inevitable jibe. When it didn't come, for a brief moment he considered telling Fearghal the truth, but then Fearghal turned away, reaching for his soap, and the moment was gone.

~o~O~o~

The morning was cold but bright as they set off from the Spoiled Princess. The group was in good spirits following a good night's sleep and a hearty breakfast. Alistair walked tall in the set of templar armour, gifted to him by Greagoir. The Knight-Commander had also given them a tent from the templar stores, in addition to the equipment he'd provided for Wynne; Fearghal had pounced on it with glee, leaving Alistair unsure how he felt about that. That Fearghal had agreed to travel to Redcliffe now that they had a healer with them, had cheered Alistair up no end.

Fearghal led alongside Sten, while Bane explored the way ahead of them, occasionally running back to his master; Wynne, Morrigan and Leliana were at the centre with Alistair bringing up the rear. Alistair watched them curiously. Fearghal seemed content to travel in silence with the stoic Sten, although he occasionally turned his head to speak to the taciturn giant. Leliana and Wynne chatted while Morrigan scoffed and glared at them both; the elder mage and the lay sister seemed immune to her taunts, answering them with smiles or ignoring them completely. Alistair smiled as the witch grew more petulant. Maybe Fearghal's right, ignoring Morrigan will get right up her nose.

They'd walked for several hours, the sun now high in the sky, when a woman came running up the road. Alistair felt the tingle of magic, quite distinct from Morrigan and Wynne.

"Help! Bandits! Please, come quickly!" the woman shrieked, then turned and fled back down the road.

Fearghal and Sten started down the road after her, drawing their weapons.

"Stop!" yelled Alistair, running after them.

Fearghal turned, a look of irritation flashing across his face.

"She's a mage," explained Alistair. "It's a... "

"Trap," finished Fearghal, understanding. He grinned wickedly. "Then let's spring it! Morrigan, Leliana... take down any archers they may have; Alistair, handle the mage."

Fearghal started along the road again, the group close behind him. As they rounded the bend they could see overturned wagons and dead oxen blocking the way. There were a few bandits, just standing, waiting. The woman hurried up to one of them and nodded. Their leader, a an exotic-looking, slender man gestured with his hand and more armed figures emerged from behind the wagons, while others ran up the steep banks at the side of the road. There was a creak and a groan and Fearghal's group turned to see a large tree sway; they leaped forwards as it gave a loud crack and toppled across the road behind them, effectively cutting off any retreat.

"The Grey Warden dies here!" yelled the leader as Fearghal charged forward toward him.

Alistair ran for the mage and discharged a white flash of power at her that left her staggering; he knocked her back with his shield then ran her through. Alistair looked up and saw Fearghal battling with the bandit leader while Sten swung his sword in a huge arc, cleaving lumps out of anyone else who tried to get near. Fearghal swung his shield, but the leader, an elf, was so quick, that hardly any of the blows connected. The elf's blades flashed, forcing Fearghal into a more defensive style of fighting. Alistair started to move towards them when Fearghal punched forward with his shield, catching the elf in the chest, the force of the blow knocking him off balance. As the elf lurched backwards, Alistair swung his shield at the back of the elf's head; the elf sank to the ground.

Thankfully, the rest of the bandits weren't nearly as able as their leader. Once he was down they seemed to lose their nerve and much of the fight went out of them. They were certainly no match for the Wardens and their group, who dispatched them methodically.

Fearghal crouched down by the fallen bandit leader and started to search him. He was certain that this was no bandit; the ambush had been too well organised for common outlaws, plus the man's accent had been familiar. He realised with a start that the man was not dead, just out cold. The man carried nothing except his weapons, which only made Fearghal more suspicious.

Fearghal called Wynne over. "Can you heal him?"

Wynne nodded, frowning.

"Heal him?" burst out Alistair. "Why would you want to do that?"

"Because I want to question him," replied Fearghal, his eyes cold. "He's no ordinary bandit. Get some rope; I want him tied up before Wynne wakes him."

Leliana cut some lengths of rope from the wagon and stepped forward, holding them out to Fearghal.

Fearghal threw the elf's weapons aside, then bound his hands and feet tightly. He nodded at Wynne. "Wake him up."

The elf groaned as his eyelids fluttered. Fearghal leaned down and dragged him over to one of the upturned wagons and sat him leaning against his side.

"Wake up!" Fearghal prodded the elf with his foot.

The elf's eyelids fluttered open, revealing brown eyes. He gazed up at Fearghal showing no sign of fear or anxiety at his predicament.

"I rather thought I would wake up dead, but I see you haven't killed me yet."

"That could easily be rectified," growled Fearghal.

The elf smirked at him. "Of that I have no doubt. You are most skilled; however, you must have kept me alive for some purpose, yes?"

"I'll ask the questions," snapped Fearghal.

"Ah, so I'm to be interrogated? Let me save you some time." The elf flashed a broad smile at Fearghal. "My name is Zevran; Zev to my friends. I am a member of the Antivan Crows."

Zevran stifled his surprise at Fearghal's nod, realising he was confirming the Warden's suspicion; the crows were not widely know in Ferelden, and he hadn't expected the Warden to know of them.

"I was brought here for the sole purpose of slaying any surviving Grey Wardens." Zevran pulled a face. "Which I have failed at, sadly."

"Who hired you to kill us?"

Zevran smiled. So blunt, this curt Warden. "A rather taciturn fellow in the capital. Loghain, his name was."

"Does that mean you're loyal to Loghain?" demanded Fearghal.

Zevran masked his anxiety with nonchalance, aware that his answer could mean the difference between life or death. He shook his head, smiling. "I have no idea what his issues are with you. The usual, I imagine. You threaten his power, yes?"

Fearghal made no reply, just crossed his arms and regarded the elf steadily. Zevran forced himself to relax. His voice was steady as he explained, indifferently, "I was contracted to perform a service. Beyond that, no, I'm not loyal to him."

Fearghal squatted down, never taking his eyes off the elf. "But you have not yet completed that service... " he pointed out softly.

Zevran didn't blink. "I have failed that service," he corrected, hoping that this Warden knew enough about the Crows to understand the difference. He shrugged again, smiling ruefully. "But that is between Loghain and the Crows; and between the crows and myself."

Fearghal grinned wolfishly. "And between you and me."

"Isn't that what we're establishing now," asked Zevran, grinning back at him.

Fearghal stood abruptly. "Why are you telling me all this?"

Zevran chuckled. "I wasn't paid for silence." He smiled slyly at Fearghal, adding, "Not that I offered it for sale, precisely."

Fearghal snorted. "Were you paid to talk my ear off then?"

"Consider it something I'm throwing in for free." Zevran looked at Fearghal carefully; the blue eyes were less hard than they had been. "I've a proposal for you... if you're of a mind."

Fearghal's eyebrows shot up in surprise. The blue eyes were wary again as they bored into the elf's brown eyes. "I'm listening."

"I failed to kill you. If you don't kill me, the crows will." Zevran noted Fearghal's head nodding; this wasn't news to him.

"The thing is," continued Zevran, "I like living. You are obviously the sort to give the Crows pause, so... let me serve you instead."

Fearghal burst out laughing. "You must think I'm royally stupid," he chuckled.

"I think you're royally tough to kill," shot back Zevran.

Fearghal straightened his face. "You might not be loyal to Loghain, but what about the Crows?"

"I was bought by the Crows from the slave market when I was a child. They've had more than their money's worth out of me." Zevran saw the look of scowl that flashed across Fearghal's face at the mention of the slave market. "The only way out of the Crows is to sign up with someone they can't touch."

"We can't pay you," warned Fearghal and it took all Zevran's self-control to keep the smile of triumph from showing on his face.

"I'd rather take my chances with you. Even if I were to kill you now, the Crows would probably kill me on principle for failing the first time."

"Why should I want your service?" asked Fearghal, stalling for time. In truth, he thought the Crow would be an excellent addition to their group... if they could trust him. He remembered the hushed awe of Oriana's voice as she'd told stories of the Crows. In Antiva, their prowess and skill as assassins was legendary.

"Why? Because I am skilled at many things, from fighting to stealth and picking locks. I could warn you if the Crows attempt something more... sophisticated, although it will take them a while to learn that my attempt has failed." Zevran sensed the Warden's indecision and decided to take a chance. He smiled broadly at Fearghal. "I also know a great many jokes, twelve massage techniques and six different card games."

Fearghal's lips twitched. If nothing else, he admired the Antivan's brazen cheek. "What do you want in return?"

"Being allowed to live would be nice, and would make me marginally more useful to you," quipped Zevran, grinning. "If, somewhere down the line, you should decide that you no longer have need of me, then I will go on my way. Until then, I am yours. Is that fair?"

"Will you swear your loyalty?" asked Fearghal, watching the assassin.

"I will swear it," agreed Zevran, meeting Fearghal's gaze unflinchingly.

"Very well, I will accept your offer."

Fearghal stooped and pulled Zevran to his feet as Alistair burst out, "What? You're taking the assassin with us now? Is that really a good idea?"

Fearghal glared at Alistair. "If you want him dead, then you kill him."

"I... well, no. I suppose we can use whatever help we can get," he conceded grudgingly, flushing.

Zevran watch the exchange between the two men with interest, noting the friction between them.

Fearghal swung back to him, expectantly.

"I pledge my loyalty to you, until such time as you choose to release me from it. I am your man, without reservation. This I swear," said Zevran.

Fearghal nodded approvingly and pulled a small knife from his belt, cutting the assassin's bonds.

Leliana handed the assassin his weapons and turned to follow Fearghal, who had already started up the road.

Fearghal stopped suddenly and looked back at Zevran. "I don't suppose you have your own tent?" he asked.

It was the last question Zevran had expected. "Alas, no," he told the Warden apologetically. He watched, baffled, as Fearghal cursed and stomped away up the road with his hound.