A bit of an explanatory chapter, but these things needed to be said, they will be important later, so bear with me. :)

Also, they are finally out of Denerim! They were supposed to stay there for one chapter, not three and a half! :D

Thanks to Brelaina for beta-reading this.

And thanks to amazing Bitenomnom (ShiningMoon) for her amazing fanart of Zev and Air. Warning! Extremely adorable. :) http:/ shiningmoon. deviantart. com/art/For-Klidi-Stargazing-262595491

As the Nightingale Flies

He was nervous. Which was ridiculous. He was never nervous. Of course, he would rather die some gruesome death at the hands of a smelly darkspawn than let anyone know. Once again, his Crow training came in handy. Most of the others didn't notice anything, except Leliana, who was giving him suspicious glances. But he didn't care about Leliana right now. He threw another sidelong glance at the door. Where was that crazy kid? Surely it couldn't take that long to –

He doesn't like it. That's why he's not here yet, he just doesn't know how to face me, maybe he's afraid I'll be angry…

Leliana was watching him carefully and Erwin had that knowing smirk plastered on his face. The man somehow knew about everything that happened in the mansion… then again, he wasn't really difficult to spot, hovering in front of Airam's room for a good ten minutes before he found the courage to finally knock.

When Airam opened the door… well. Good thing none of his former colleagues saw it or his image would be ruined forever. After all the hours he spent planning what to say and how to act, he just stood there, until Airam asked him if something was wrong. One more moment and the boy would probably start healing him, or worse, run for Wynne. What was it about that crazy kid that he always lost his ability to speak? At last he managed to mutter 'This is for you,' and pressed the package into Airam's arms. Ignoring Airam's surprised thanks and questions, he then walked away as quickly as his shaking legs could move.

And now Airam was late for dinner. Perhaps he shouldn't have –

"Oooh, Airam, you look wonderful!"

Trying to look calm and nonchalant, he turned to the door. He inhaled. Leliana was right, Airam did look wonderful – more than wonderful. The dark grey tunic contrasted nicely with his skin, without making him look like an incarnation of death, and the rich green vest softened the strict look. And it fitted him perfectly, just as the tailor at the Wonders of Thedas promised.

"Get over here, I need to have a closer look at it."

Airam complied and Leliana spent the next quarter of an hour checking and commenting and gasping in awe over every single detail. Morrigan did her best to be her cynical counterpart as usual, but she was smiling. But the most satisfied was obviously Sten, who always disliked Airam's robes. Men should wear clothes fit for warriors, not women's dresses. Airam was obviously enjoying the attention, parading in front of them like a peacock. That itself was worth it.

"Such extravagances are not necessary, Erwin. It must have cost a fortune. That money could have been put to better use. Really, I thought you had more sense."

"Ah, still your good old spoil-sport self, Wynne. My money is my own, may I remind you. The Chantry and the Circle checked that several times already. If I want to spend it on my friends, it's none of your business. Besides, you have the wrong man. I was not the one who bought this." Erwin was calm and polite as always, enjoying Wynne's growing irritation and disapproval just as much as Airam enjoyed his robes.

"Who else would have spent that much money on them?"

Airam stopped, looking worried. He would bet the boy didn't even think of the cost before now – he still didn't know much about money. Dealing with the merchants was usually his or Leliana's task. The only financial decision made by their leader was that half of the money they earned in any way should be distributed in equal part to each of them, and half kept for 'common goods'. And almost everywhere they went they got a lot of free equipment, so none of them had to touch their personal part yet.

The same with these robes – the moment the tailor found out it was for 'The Warden', he got a huge discount. 'As long as you get rid of that bastard Loghain and his disgusting lackeys, I consider this an investment,' he said. And besides, Erwin was right. It really wasn't Wynne's place to decide what they did with their money.

But Airam looked worried. "Zevran… you didn't spend all your money just on this? I mean – don't think I'm not grateful, it is really a dream come true, I've never had anything – but I can't let you – "

"Tsk, tsk. You underestimate my bartering skills, my friend. If our dear Wynne used her magnificent… assets more, she could get the better price too. Really, do not worry about me."

"Zevran? You mean Zevran gave you that? Why would Zevran give you clothes? Or were all your robes at such a pitiful state that there was no other way?" Alistair chuckled, earning himself one of the infamous Airam's glares.

"Ha, ha. I will have you know that Zevran was impressed by the order in my things. Shall we ask Sten how your inspection went?"

"No need to. And it doesn't answer my question why Zevran would give you clothes, of all things? It seems so… girlish."

Before Airam could think of an answer, the only girl in their group – because only a person wishing a quick and painful death would call Morrigan 'a girl' – cut in. "Because it's both practical and lovely. You're such a typical soldier, Alistair. It was an absolutely marvellous idea and Airam looks gorgeous in it and… and I think it deserves a kiss!"

There was a ringing silence after those words. Everyone looked at Leliana, then at him and then at Airam. He felt as if Airam had cast one of his ice spells on him. Now was the time to say something witty and funny, but once again his words failed him. Or perhaps it was because he wanted – hoped – but, no, of course –

And then the crazy kid laughed and walked over to him. "You're right, Leli. It does."

Their eyes met, for a moment. He was still unable to move, to say or do anything. He could only look into those eyes, completely lost, numb with the anticipation of what was going to happen, while Airam pulled him in for a brief hug and then kissed him – mwah, mwah, mwah – on the right cheek, on the left and then the right again.

"Thank you, Zevran." Airam's voice was soft and warm and his fingers twitched, so hard he wanted to cup the boy's face in his hands and give him a proper kiss, passionate and breathtaking. But that probably wouldn't be a good idea, not yet. There were better ways to spend the day than standing in the dining room, frozen to the bone.

There was at least a dozen smart replies that he could say, but he felt this moment was way too precious to destroy it by cheap jokes and sarcasm.

"You are very welcome, my friend," he said softly.

Erwin coughed. "Hate to interrupt this romantic moment, but as you're leaving tomorrow, we should have a little talk about what we should do next. Or at least Airam and Alistair, the rest of you can of course do whatever you wish."

Airam sighed. "You always ruin all the fun," he said accusingly. "But allow me to eat something first, you slave driver."

"Five minutes. It's your own fault for coming late."

oOo

He stayed, and so did Leliana and, unfortunately, Wynne. It was a boring meeting, basically only summarisations of agreements they made with the nobles, numbers of men and amounts of money promised. Erwin also liked his idea of urchins serving as a network of informants; he could almost hear the little wheels turning in the mage's head and he was sure that when they returned from Orzammar, it would be elaborated and perfected beyond anything he himself could do.

They decided that the men should be gathered at Redcliffe, where they will be trained and equipped, and sent to help nearby towns and villages. But they will not send big companies. No need to attract the attention of the Archdemon before they were quite ready, as Erwin explained.

"I spent the last months gathering all available information about previous Blights, official and unofficial, and our main advantage is that the Archdemons are lazy brutes incapable of any strategic thinking," he informed them merrily. "They rely on sheer number of their minions, and prefer not to stick their noses out of their holes unless a) their minions are doing so well it seems the surfacers will be overwhelmed soon, or b) if the surfacers get too strong and become a threat to the darkspawn. So if we manage to make it difficult for those bastards without revealing how strong we really are, it should get us enough time to prepare ourselves properly."

It was impossible to say to what extent Erwin really meant it and to what extent it was a joke. But it was irritating Wynne, and that alone was enough for him. The last few days she was really getting on his nerves. She finally gave up trying to make him see the erroneousness of his ways, but now, for a change, she was giving him long scrutinizing looks, not caring if he noticed or not.

"We should not take these things lightly," she said in that cold, disapproving voice he hated so much. "The whole country depends on us. We should not rely on false hope and act as quickly as possible."

"You can hurry all you wish, my dear Wynne, but it won't make the days longer. Smiths will still need the same time to finish armour and weapons, and men will still need the same time to train. And you all need training, as well – that was a brilliant idea, by the way, and it proves you're a more than capable leader, Air. So take it easy, ignore the main highway and go along the coast, through all the villages. You won the nobles, now you have to win ordinary people. Kill the darkspawn, defend their crops and cattle, save every single stranded kitty. Make yourself a hero in their eyes. It will be a great help."

Wynne looked as if she wanted to say something, but thought better of it. The moment they ended the discussion about next steps and the talk diverted to more pleasant topics, she excused herself and left.

"You should try to be nicer to her, Erwin. Gran means good."

Erwin snorted and poured them all a glass of brandy. "Perhaps she means good for you, but she can't stand me. I refused to give up half of my money, see."

"Why would you want to do that? You'd have to be a fool," blurted Alistair.

"Well… you know that it's possible for a mage to get out of the Tower, yes? If they submit a proposal of a research, or if another mage already doing one asks for their assistance. Many young mages believe that anything would be approved, but it's not that easy. The only projects that get the approval and the blessing of the Circle are those that would bring back some profit. The mage has three years to make his project profitable, then he has to either return to the Tower or give one quarter of their earnings to the Chantry and one quarter directly to the Circle."

"Profitable? How are the mages supposed to do that? They don't teach us anything about money and finance in the Tower! Maker knows I would be completely lost if I didn't have Zev and Leli with me."

Erwin sighed. "Trust me, during the last five years I have appealed to Irving many times to include bit of finance and accounting in the education of mages. But the Chantry is against it. I think they're afraid it would make mages more independent and thus more dangerous."

That was understandable, he thought, but very short-sighted. "But they have to learn it anyway, no?"

"Over time, yes. They usually try to find some rich sponsor that would fund their research, but of course it's not for free. They become pawns in their political games, much like Jowan. Sometimes they abandon their 'projects' completely and just keep working for their sponsors. That's why it's not so easy to say that all mages will support you, even if the First Enchanter orders it."

Alistair was frowning, more and more annoyed. "I still don't understand. Why does Irving allow this? This situation must cause problems also to him, no?"

"It does, but it's not so simple. It's about money, Your Highness – everything is always about money. The Circle needs this money. What we receive from the state budget is hardly enough to keep the mages in the Tower from starving."

"I don't believe that. We were in the Tower, it didn't look as if they missed anything," Alistair sounded half angry half defensive. Erwin laughed bitterly at that.

"And how long did you stay there, if I may ask? Go and try spend one month there during the winter, and then we'll see if you'll say the same thing. Do you have any idea how much it costs to heat a building like the Tower, built of thick cold stones? Just don't tell me we should use magic for it – would you like to be a living stove? Besides, it would require at least a dozen of mages that wouldn't do anything else, day and night, other than producing heat. Or the clothes – do you think the mages wear those hideous nightgowns because they like them? No, it's because the Tower has a long-term contract with the supplier of that fabric with a fifteen percent discount."

Leliana was sincerely horrified. "Oh, is that the only reason? And who is that supplier? Perhaps he could be… convinced to choose new colours and patterns. Zev and I will gladly see to that, yes?"

But Erwin didn't react to her interruption. "Mages are considered public enemies, Your Highness. Children of demons, some call us. And some say we are cursed by the Maker as a punishment for bringing corruption into the Golden City. Why waste money on such creatures? Those who promise to serve obediently, that's something different. But there's no real need for that many of us. The fewer apprentices who actually make it through the Harrowing, the better."

It reminded him of something that Airam said, something that suddenly made much more sense. "Is that why apprentices have to fight summoned demons without any weapons?"

Alistair stared at him, then at Airam and Erwin. It must have been hard, he realized, for someone raised by the Chantry to suddenly discover the other side of the coin. He had no doubt Erwin was telling the truth. It made too much sense.

"That will change. I will change it. I won't allow anyone treated like this in my kingdom, mage or not."

He chuckled. His kingdom? It seemed their Chantry boy really got used to the idea of becoming king. Hilarious. But Airam was looking at Alistair with a proud smile, and Erwin even got up and bowed.

"Thank you, Your Highness. Please allow me to say that I am very happy that you think this way. It gives me hope that things might start changing."

"I have no doubt what you said is true, but how is it then possible that you are this rich?" He pointed out, before it turned into sentimental farce.

"My parents. They set a nice sum aside for me, plus regular rent. So it's not my earnings, it's not the result of any job, and the Chantry couldn't take it from me. My parents found the loophole in the law, it seems. Good thing as well. It enabled me to help the Collective. We try to help the mages fresh from the Tower to stay out of the trouble and teach them how to become independent from sponsors."

"Your parents?" Airam looked up at him with renewed interest. "So you were able to meet them?"

"No. Now, enough of this chit-chat. I'm sure you have better plans for your last day in Denerim. Don't forget you should go to bed early, I'm waking you up before sunrise."

oOo

The day was uneventful after that, spent mostly in last preparations, checking if they had everything necessary, packing the last things. Especially Shale seemed to be very happy that they were finally leaving – a few more days closed in the mansion, she said, and she would really turn into a mindless statue.

They woke up two hours before sunrise and then went back through the underground passage to the Silent Lady. Outside everything was just as busy as when they arrived. It almost seemed as if the last two weeks didn't happen. But it was enough to look at Airam, walking as proud as a peacock in his new robes to realize how much had changed. They said their goodbyes and were ready to go when Erwin pulled him aside. "May I have a word with you? Thanks. I just want to say… Airam is one of the few good things that happened to me in the Circle. If he'd get hurt in any way…"

"I will not let anyone hurt him," he said warily.

"Good. I'm glad we understand each other." Erwin patted him on the shoulder. "Take care, my friend."

He watched the leaving guy with confused amusement. "What did he want from you?" Airam nudged him in the elbow.

"I believe he just gave me a father's talk."

"He did what? But you're both equally old."

"Old?" Asked Leliana. "Erwin is not old. And he is very attractive man, if I say so."

"He'll be twenty-nine in Firstfall. Almost thirty! And Zevran is not much younger."

"Alistair, I'm afraid I will assassinate your fellow Warden after all. I hope you won't mind."

"Wait till we deal with dwarves first. Hey!" Alistair's gloves were suddenly frozen solid to his hands.

"Be glad I didn't freeze you completely, you traitor. I would if we didn't have to hurry to get out of here before Loghain's spies notice we're gone," snapped Airam indignantly.

He laughed with the others, but it was half-hearted. Did Airam really think he was old? The whole world shrunk to this one question. He wasn't even twenty five yet. But that was seven more than Airam. Was he too old? Was that why Airam always asked him for stories, did he see him like an old guy? And why did it bother him so much?

oOo

The next few days were rather uneventful. From Denerim they headed north-west, following the branch of the Hafter river, then headed west through the Coastlands. Unfortunately they couldn't go all the way to the coast, it would take them too far north – and too near Highever, now controlled by the rat guy, Howe. But it was still a reasonably pleasant journey, considering the country was in war. As their route went through the villages, they were travelling during the daytime again and spent nights in local inns. There weren't that many darkspawn as down in south, and the Blight seemed less terrifying than the civil war and the slaughter at Highever.

In every inn they heard a new version, each a bit worse than the previous one. In one of the latest, Howe's men were riding on drakes and there was also a full battalion of maleficars. It was impossible to say what really happened, except the basic fact – that Howe betrayed the Teyrn Cousland, attacked the castle during the night and slaughtered everyone from the Teyrn to the last servant, including the little children.

Except for the heir, Fergus Cousland. That was another detail that occurred in all versions. Fergus had already left, leading the army to the Ostagar. He survived and one day he would return and avenge his family, the rumours said.

Based on what he heard about Ostagar he really doubted that Fergus Cousland survived, but he decided to remember that name, just in case. It might be useful, one day.

It seemed that was not going to be any different, pleasant to the point of boring. And yet something felt out of place. A few miles after the village he was certain – they were being followed. He went to Leliana, who was already aware of it and together they discussed their options. The bandits would not risk attacking them here in the open plains – unless they were totally stupid. But they would reach the West Hills by evening; they planned to set camp there and head south to the nearest ford at the River Dane tomorrow. The bandits would try to attack them either at camp, or at the ford. But they will be ready.

The men attacked the moment they started to pull up their tents. Not bad. Normally only the guards would be armed, while the others set up camp as quickly as possible. During this brief moment, they would be more vulnerable, and a swift and efficient attack could cause a lot of problems. Of course, none of them were surprised, so it didn't really work. Besides, mages didn't need to hold their staff to fight. The staff makes spells more powerful and focused, but the mage can fight well without it as well. Some mages do not need it at all. Shape-shifters, for example. That was how Airam explained it to him.

And that was what the poor sods learnt now in a painful way.

After a surprising counter-attack, it didn't take long and the bandits were defeated, half of them dead, the other half badly injured and literally shaking and sobbing in terror every time they looked at Morrigan in her lovely spider form, or Sten, who was towering above them like an embodiment of the Maker's wrath.

Their leader was kneeling in front of Airam and Alistair, trying to buy his life. Fool. If the Wardens wanted to kill him, he would already be dead. The fact that he lived yet meant they were going to let him live. On the other side, Airam was giving the man one of his most impressive glares – and he knew from his own experience how terrifying it could be."

"Please, spare our lives! We are not your real enemies-"

"Oh? You seem pretty real to me," snapped Airam.

"We're just mercenaries, we're not the one who wants you dead. Spare our lives, and we will tell you everything."

"Let me guess. It was Loghain. Or Howe." Alistair was trying hard to be as impressive as Airam, and he wasn't too bad at it.

"No! We were not hired to kill you, Wardens," the man looked up at Alistair, sensing his chance.

"Then talk. If your information is useful, we might reconsider and let you live." Once again, Airam was as cold and menacing as the Crow Masters.

The man licked his lips. "Give me your word first, that you won't kill me –"

"I have another proposal. You start speaking now and tell us everything you know – or I will let my Crow have his fun with you."

Airam folded his arms, ignoring the alarmed looks from Alistair. Ah well. The Chantry boy still had a lot to learn.

"Mmm yes," he purred before Alistair had a chance to ruin the whole game. "Please don't say anything, my dear. I haven't had any fun since I came to this dog-reeking country. We would start with some appetizers… hmmm… what do you say about lanthrax? I promise you, you won't be bored for one minute…"

"No." All the colour was drained from the man's face. "Please, Warden."

"Talk, then."

"We were sent to kill the girl, Leliana, the former lay sister of the Chantry in Lothering. The person who hired us claimed she was an Orlesian spy."

"Who hired you?"

"Marjolaine. It was Marjolaine, yes?" Leliana carefully avoided looking at Airam and Alistair.

"Why would this Marjolaine want you dead? What's going on, Leliana?" Alistair sounded positively hurt. Leliana blushed, clearly embarrassed. Oh, this should be good.

"Wait. Morri, please, can you put these fools to rest, first?"

The man's eyes widened in fear. "No, please! I did as you wan-" The rest of the word died on his lips, as he was hit by Morrigan's strongest sleeping spell.

They carried all the mercenaries to one place at the end of the camp, leaving them under Shale's supervision. During that time Airam didn't even look at Leliana, who was more and more anxious.

"So," said Airam calmly when they returned to the fire. "I believe this is where you tell me that you are an Orlesian bard, right?"

"You knew? Am I the only fool who had no idea?" There weren't many times that Alistair was this angry. The last time was probably in Redcliffe, when they had the now legendary argument over Jowan.

"No, I didn't, so please stop fuming now. But I suspected. Honestly, Al – you never wondered where she learnt to fight like that?"

"I did. But I believed her explanation, that she learned it during her travels as a minstrel."

"It wasn't that far from the truth, you know," said Leliana, reaching for Alistair's hand, but he stepped aside as if she had some terrible catching disease. She winced. "Everything I said was true. I went to the Chantry because I wanted to end my previous life. And then the Maker told me –"

"Do you have me for a fool? You can drop your pretence now!"

"I am not pretending anything!"

"I think we should leave her in some village." Alistair turned to Airam, determinedly. "We can't trust her any more."

"No! You can't do this! You can't just send me away! I did not wrong you in any way!"

"You lied to us, Leliana! For all we know, you could be an Orlesian spy!"

"You lied as well! You didn't tell us you were the heir to the throne!"

"That was different!"

"I don't see why!"

"Enough."

And this, he thought, grinning widely, was why Airam, not Alistair was their leader. It was truly incredible how much authority the crazy kid could put into one calm, quiet word, when he wanted. Both Leliana and Alistair stopped shouting immediately and looked at Airam, their faces red by both anger and embarrassment.

"We will all calm down now. We will finally pull up those tents and light up a fire and get the stew cooking. Then Leliana will tell us everything and this time she won't lie. We will listen, quietly and without interruptions, and then we can decide what to do. Do you agree?"

Alistair was still furious, but nodded anyway.

It was hard to say how much of the heartbreaking story Leliana told them was really true. An innocent, young bard, – was such thing even possible? – absolutely devoted to her femmedepatron, only to be betrayed in the most cruel way possible, framed and left to die in torture chambers, and then of course a miraculous escape at the last moment. That would be already difficult to believe, but her claim that even though her original purpose of going to the Chantry was to hide from Marjolaine, she really did find the Maker there and that her vision was true was too much.

Then again, it wasn't much more improbable than an Antivan Crow becoming really loyal – a friend – to his former mark. And there seemed to be no contradictions in her story, no matter how many questions they asked. Especially Wynne. Of course, that didn't mean much, as Leliana could have the story thought over and ready ages ago, exactly for the case of discovery.

No, he would have to keep an eye on her. Just in case.

"Oh, brilliant. So now it's not just a mad regent and the Crows we have to worry about, but also a top-class spy who apparently knows much more about our movements than the first two combined. Just what we needed." Airam sighed and rubbed his face.

"I am sorry for that. Trust me, I never intended to cause any trouble to you or your mission. I wanted to help, I still do, if you'll let me."

Alistair pursed his lips, but didn't say anything.

"I trust you," said Airam after a while. "You lied about who you are, but you've always been a good friend to us. But we will have to deal with Marjolaine once we're back. We should also warn Erwin about her."

"Oh, Air, thank you!" Leliana threw herself at Airam, hugging him tightly and kissing him on the cheek. Airam blushed and chuckled.

Perhaps Alistair was right. They should get rid of her as soon as possible.

Morrigan chuckled viciously. "Is something wrong, assassin? You don't look yourself."

"Oh? And who do I look like, hmmm? A Chantry boy? "

"Morrigan's right, you know." Airam and Leliana finally untangled themselves. "You weren't hurt during the fight, were you?"

"Tch. Of course not. I am perfectly fine, I assure you."

"Still, I want to be sure. Let Gran check you up, all right? And then go have some rest."

"Stop treating me like some crippled old guy –" He stopped, realizing he said more than he wanted. Morrigan and Leliana were both giggling madly, but Airam stared at him, totally nonplussed. As if he never said – as if he didn't remember – brasca, he probably didn't remember.

"What about silly little kid, then? Be a good boy, Zevvie, and go wash your face, and don't forget your ears and neck. Then go to sleep like a good boy. I promise I'll bring you dinner and tell you a bedtime story. All right?"

"Will I also get a goodnight kiss?" He pouted.

"Two."

Laughing, he threw up his hand in air, and obediently followed Wynne to her tent, even though it was utterly ridiculous. He hadn't feel this great for… many, many years.