No, I'm not dead. And I didn't abandon this story. Zevran would never allow me to do that. It's his story and he insist to have it finished. :D But I have some real life issues, and can't write as much as I'd love to. So big thanks to all my readers who still have patience with me. :)

And huge hug to my dear friend Seika, for her help! :D

Appearances

"Your eyes are... like shimmering azure orbs of hope in the grey sky of my life," said the young Bann Maelon, which made Lady Habren seductively wink with said orbs several times.

At least Zevran assumed it was supposed to be a seductive wink. Ah, these two were too adorable together. He almost hoped Loghain's men would be late; this was too much fun to watch.

All of the things they had to do in Denerim were finished; the ship was already loaded and waiting in the port. They could leave at any moment. But, Leliana wanted to be sure that Marjolaine would really be captured. They had made sure Loghain found out who Lady Tremoille really was; their informant had sent them a message stating that she would be arrested today, after she left the Chantry. Loghain suspected that Bann Bryland had cooperated with her and wanted to arrest them separately.

Zevran didn't think it was such a clever idea; it would give Marjolaine plenty of opportunities for escape. They all saw how incompetent Loghain's men were. So, when Leliana suggested that they should help a bit with Marjolaine's arrest, in secret, of course, he supported her. The bard was too cunning and dangerous, and she had already managed to track them down and sent her mercenaries to attack them. With the Crows, Loghain's men, and darkspawn all trying to get them, it would be nice to remove at least this danger once and for all.

They had all of the possible escape routes under control; Morrigan was supervising the whole situation from the roof, transformed into a pigeon. That was the easy part. The bigger problem was how to remove Lady Habren from Marjolaine; Leliana had warned them that her former boss wouldn't hesitate to use the girl as a hostage, or even a meat shield. Habren always had a guard following her, but that wouldn't help much against Marjolaine. From what little they found out about Habren, she was an annoying, spoiled brat who enjoyed humiliating her elven servants and tormenting puppies… but who bought all new Orlesian romances the moment they were published.

And so the young Bann Maelon was born. At first, Leliana had suggested Alistair, but the Chantry boy blushed at the very idea of flirting with a young girl and stuttered so badly that it was quickly rejected as a very bad idea. Airam wasn't exactly happy about it either–until Leliana pointed out that he would have to be masked.

It took three and half hours to mask him properly, but the result was stunning. With his skin slightly darker, black curls cleverly covering the tips of his ears, and dressed in rich and extravagant style of his grandpa, he looked like a princeling cut straight from one of the romances Habren loved so much. The only thing that couldn't be masked were his purple eyes; but Leliana wasn't too worried. It would require someone who knew Airam well, or someone really clever, to recognise Airam. Fifteen year old Habren was neither. Why would she care about the eye colour of a dirty knife-ear who was her father's enemy?

And, she was right. When Airam appeared in the Chantry, Habren stopped caring about the ceremony and openly stared at him. When the ceremony ended, and the Revered Mother pulled Marjolaine away for a talk–Zevran suspected it was part of Loghain's plan–Airam did the same with Habren. A few poetic compliments later, and they were out of the Chantry, walking around the stands at the market. Leliana had also prepared a detailed back story, with all the names and dates and details; but as far as Zevran could see, Habren was still too much of a child to care for that. A few anecdotes from his "travels", sweet compliments and a roll of cotton candy, and she would let Airam to take her wherever he wanted. The guard was trotting behind them, but didn't seem worried at all. If Airam had been an assassin, she would be dead before that fool could even pull his sword out. Zevran felt almost sorry for the girl.

But now Loghain was coming, with Bann Bryland, the Orlesian Ambassador and several guards. The Bann looked shocked and embarrassed, but walked freely. It seemed he was somehow able to prove his innocence to Loghain. They were just entering the yard of the Chantry, when the Bann noticed Habren with Airam.

"Habren!" he shouted strictly, and it seemed he wanted to go to her, but Loghain grabbed his arm.

She turned. Zevran heard her gasping. "Papa? Why would he come to the Chantry, when the ceremony is over already? I should go see what is happening."

"Please wait, my lady," Airam said, holding her hand. "Teyrn Loghain is there as well, and the Orlesian Ambassador. It must be an official business with the Chantry. I do not think they would be glad if we interrupted now."

"I was introduced to Teyrn Loghain," she snapped haughtily. "I doubt he would object to my presence."

"Nobody would object your presence, my lady. It would be like objecting the presence of sun on the sky," Airam quickly assured her. "But, they would be angry with me. I am sure your father would forbid you to meet me ever again. Please, do not condemn me to such a cruel fate. It would be more merciful to kill me right here!"

Zevran barely suppressed the chuckle at the tragic look on Airam's face. Habren, however, was one step from melting into a pink puddle.

"I do not wish that," she assured him, blushing.

Airam kissed her hand–oh, this was getting better and better–and steered her away from the Chantry. Their cooing didn't escape the attention of several noble ladies on the market. If their indignant glares were any sign, the next few days would be quite interesting for the Brylands. Perhaps Habren's papa would finally get some sense and start guarding her properly.

A few minutes later, the Chantry gate opened, and Marjolaine, Loghain and others filed out. At first sight it seemed the Teyrn was taking her for a walk, offering her an arm; Loghain apparently didn't want a public scandal. Zevran was impressed. Perhaps Loghain wasn't as incompetent as they had suspected–perhaps it was them who were too awesome for Loghain. In any way, it seemed the danger was over.

In the nearest empty alley, he dissolved into the shadows, hid his weapons, and strode back to the two love birds. He wasn't dressed as a servant, he was wearing his old leathers, but Habren still looked down her nose at him.

"Who is this elf, Maelon? He's disgraceful! Send him away."

"He is my bodyguard," Airam said coldly and turned to him. "What do you want?"

"I beg your pardon, young Master, but your grandfather has sent me for you," he said, as agreed. "He insists that you return with me without delay."

Airam was so crestfallen, so desperate, that Habren had to swear this was not the last time they met, and that tomorrow she would definitely introduce him to her papa, who would undoubtedly be as charmed with him as she was. Bit longer, and she'd probably announce their engagement. After a long good-bye, which left the girl teary-eyed, Zevran finally dragged Airam away.

"Thank Maker you came," Airam said as they hurried to the Erwin's house. "I don't think I could have stood it much longer."

"Truly? I thought her shimmering azure orbs-" Airam moaned, but he mercilessly continued, "were the only hope on the grey sky of your life?"

"Something tells me you're not going to drop it any time soon." Airam sighed. "At least don't mention it to the others. Please?"

"Ah, but it would be a crime, to keep such a discovery to myself! Your talent for comedy dell' arte is marvellous. If you ever get tired of the life of a Grey Warden–now that those shimmering orbs are out of it again–I could arrange a place in one of the compagnia for you. Travelling around the country, performing your art in public; it would be a wonderful life, no?"

"Zevran. Mention those shimmering orbs again, and you'll spend our last day in Denerim as a work of art. Shimmering and cold."

"Such cruel threats! Surely you wouldn't freeze your humble admirer, maestro?"

Airam huffed and quickened his step, muttering something under his breath.

oOo

They were the first to return to the mansion. Airam hurried to their room, determined to take off the mask before the others returned, hoping that it would help him avoid all the teasing. It was a useless effort, if he asked Zevran. But he didn't, and Zevran didn't have heart to tell him.

But, all the urgency to return to his normal self evaporated the moment the door of their room closed behind them. Airam stopped in front of the mirror, silently scowling at his reflection for a moment, before he put off the wig and tossed it on the bed. His hair was sweaty and flattened to his head, which didn't do much to improve his mood. He irritably ran his hand through it.

Zevran couldn't watch it any more. "You look much better without that thing, bello mio."

"Of course I do. How silly of me to want to have normal hair," Airam snapped, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Normal and perfectly forgettable. There are thousands of such young men around Thedas. " He stood next to Airam, wrapping his arm around Airam's shoulders. "You are unique."

"Other people call it freak," Airam muttered.

Zevran snorted. "Other Fereldans," he corrected him. "I am sorry to say so, but your country folk are crude and blind to beauty. Do not listen to them. If you want a true assessment of your looks, listen only to me. Yes?"

Finally, that scowl disappeared from Airam's face. "I see! I look great, it's just that the others are too stupid and blind to get it!"

"With a few clever exceptions that have eyes to see, such as me, yes."

Their eyes met in the mirror and they laughed. "Zev, I wanted to ask you-" Airam began, but then a pointed cough interrupted them.

It was Airam's grandfather, leaning against the door frame with a stiff smile. "Erwin would like to have a word with you, Air," he said, glaring at Zevran.

Zevran watched as Airam muttered a slightly disappointed excuse and walked out as quickly as possible without looking too guilty. His grandfather was still leaning on the door frame.

"You wished something from me, ser?" Zevran asked.

Airam's grandfather regarded him for a moment, then stepped forward and extended his arm. "Call me Shwara, please."

"Zevran," he replied politely, noticing that the old man had rather firm grip, for his age.

"I'd like to ask you a personal question, if you don't mind," Shwara said in a business like voice.

"Oh? This should be good. Ask away. What would you like to know?" he replied with a chuckle, the way he would reply to a nosy brat.

Usually, other people would get a clue and mutter an apology or ask something banal. But it had no effect on this man.

"I've been curious, you know. During my life, I met many Crows. Some were fools, some were monsters, and some were almost bearable. But I've never met one that would drop their mission after the first failure. They would sometimes pretend they dropped it, and then strike when their mark least expected it. I want to know why should I believe you're different."

All of it was true, no point to argue with it. And yet... to hear it from someone who looked so much like Air... He forced laugh. "Well, perhaps I'm one of those fools, no? Too inept to kill the famous Grey Wardens; just a little bit better than a grandmother attacking them with her stick, I was told."

"Do not play fool with me, assassin."

Ah. Erwin may have been the one who taught Airam to glare, but that scary voice that sent chills all the way to the toes was apparently inherited.

"I don't doubt you could have killed my grandson a hundred times by now. Yet, you did not. I want to know why. I want to know what you want from him. What is your game?"

Zevran shrugged. "Airam saved my life. I am merely repaying my debt. Or should I kill my benefactor just because that's expected behaviour for a Crow?"

"I know I'm being rude," the old man said, still scowling, "and I don't care. The only thing I care about is my grandson. I already lost him once; I will not risk it again. Do you understand, assassin? If I get the slightest suspicion that you want to hurt him..."

Yes... yes, he did understand. In truth, it would have been much more suspicious if grandpa Rashwash wasn't worried that one of the companions of his only grandson was a Crow. This man wasn't his enemy. He was only worried for Airam. It endeared the man to Zevran again.

"Airam saved my life and set me on a new path. I cannot change my past, but I do not wish to return to it. Airam is in no danger from me."

"For your own sake, I hope you're not lying," the old guy muttered. "And don't forget. I'm always watching you."

A wide, lecherous smile spread on his face. "Truly? And do you like what you see? Then next time, do not hide. I will bare my deepest secrets for you yes?"

Before the old guy could reply there was an amused chuckle from the door. "Zevran. I can't unhear that. But... should I leave you two alone a bit longer, then?"

Exasperated, Zevran turned to Airam. "You know, bello mio, I think you and your grandpa both really need to learn to knock."

oOo

Airam's grandpa brought the message from his contacts in the court. Nothing Marjolaine said could convince Loghain that she wasn't a spy sent by the Orlesians. She was declared guilty and executed. Leliana received the message with a calm smile at her face, but Zevran wasn't fooled. She mourned a woman who had never loved her. Marjolaine had betrayed her, wanted to kill her, made her suffer; it was a wise decision, to use the help of the Wardens to get rid of her. And yet she regretted it. He sighed and shook his head. It was too confusing.

oOo

When he first heard that Airam's grandpa had insisted on hiring the ship for Redcliffe, arguing that he was too old to skitter around the country with a bunch of kids, Zevran was thrilled. He hadn't been on a boat since the short trip from Redcliffe to the Tower back in... Cloudreach? It seemed unbelievable that it was only eight months ago. It seemed a lifetime ago.

Back then, it was also cold and wet, but you would get this feeling... of life, waiting to begin. Now it was just cold and wet, the endless streams of rain washing away the last bits of the most persistent colour in Ferelden–the muddy brown, changing it into dull, depressing grey. Soon the winter would start, and the river would be unnavigable; Zevran would not miss it in slightest.

It was impossible to stay at the board and, after few day of crouching in those tiny, smelly cabins, he had to admit to himself that he missed walking. And camping. Only their little group, without all these nosy grandpas, genius friends and other fools that were constantly making demands on the time of the Warden Commander. Their time together was once again reduced to one hour of training and sparring; the annoying old guy had asked him if he wouldn't mind to share a cabin with Alistair and Sten. He had a lot of catching up to do, he said. How could Zevran reject that? He could not.

A door creaked, the handle moving down, but it did not open. Crows? He pulled out his daggers. Maybe they had disguised themselves as the crew. Oh well, at least he would have the opportunity to test his new poisons, yes? It was the only entertainment he had, during these last few days.

The next moment, Airam stumbled in, carrying a suit of armour. "Zev–be so kind?"

He quickly sheathed the daggers again and hurried to help Airam.

"Still afraid of the Crows? Don't worry Zev, I won't let them have you," the boy said with a chuckle.

"Ah, now that's something different. If you keep watching over me, I have nothing to fear, yes?"

"Precisely. Especially once you wear this." He nodded to the armour.

Glorious; that was the only word that came to his mind, as he checked and admired it. Silverite and obsidian, made with great skill and precision, and an almost poetic eye for detail. And with the Warden crest on the chest plate. He looked at Airam. "For me?"

"Yes. From my grandpa. He had ordered new armour for all of us–all looking the same like this one, except mine has a bit different crest, and Alistair's has Theirin coat of arms. I'm sorry for that crest, I didn't know about this... Grandpa did it, because he says people think you're all Wardens and that it would be better to keep it that way."

"No need to be sorry. I agree, it's a good idea," Zevran agreed.

"You know, Zev, I've been thinking–not that I want to force you, of course, you're a free man and you know I'd never make you do anything you don't want, you can go whenever you like-"

Watching Airam squirm in embarrassment was fun, but he didn't like this talk about leaving. "Air. What are you talking about?"

Airam sighed. "I… you said the Crows would never stop hunting you… and I, well, I think you'd be safer if you stayed with the Wardens. If you'd want to, we'd be happy to have you–as an associate, of course, I don't want, nor would I ever let you, to take the Joining."

Zevran's fingers closed on the armour so strongly his knuckles turned white. How long he had wanted to ask Airam if he could stay, even after the Blight is over… but he had never found the courage.

"But–but of course you don't have to," Airam hurried to add. "You're a free man, Zev and can, and should, do whatever you think is best; please don't think you have to stay because of me. I–I'll manage. But, if–I mean, you know, if you'd want to, then you'll be more than welcome..." His voice trailed off; the most adorable blush spread over his ears and face, and he quickly averted his eyes.

Zevran smiled. "I'd like that. Very much so," he said lightly.

Airam looked at him, as if he wanted to add something–or perhaps he was waiting for Zev to add something. After a moment he smiled, and got up. "That's good, then," he said awkwardly. "I–I need to go, I'll see you later..."

And he fled. Zevran had the unpleasant, irritating feeling that he missed something important.

oOo

The sun was already setting down, when the ship entered Eamon's private port at the castle. As they filed out, all grey-black, they looked quite impressive: badass and bit mystic, Zevran noted with satisfaction. All the inns in Redcliffe would be bursting with people hungry for gossip about the return of their heroes; their arrival could not be anything less than spectacular.

Arl Eamon and his grumpy gang were already waiting on the mole, looking very formal.

"Your Highness," said Eamon with a bow.

"Arl Eamon," Alistair replied just as formally.

Zevran grinned inwardly at Alistair's expression, half dignified–half apologetic. Being a king, however, had its perks. If Alistair decided to dance a remigold, everyone would have to smile and applaud–well, at least in front of him. What would be told behind his back was another thing.

Airam and the rest of them received much colder greetings, though Connor dared to shoot a shy, admiring gaze at Airam, who winked at him in return. Eamon pretended not to notice it.

In the castle, it was the same. Alistair got the royal suite, and Erwin got the suite with his wife, but the rest of them had to settle with ordinary rooms; Farren got a little and dark cubicle. Only after Alistair's intervention was he moved to a proper room, with a rather insincere apology.

The dinner that evening was tense and awkward. Finally, dessert was served–a rather horrid chickpea tart that could only pass a as a desert in this crude, dog stinking country.

"If I may ask, Warden–I was informed your grandfather would honour us with his visit, as well," Eamon asked.

"That can't be," Farren cut in before Airam could reply, "both guys died long before I was born."

Ah, the look on Eamon's face! Priceless. But Zevran was surprised and pleased, to see the smirk on the face of Bann Teagan. Hmm... did they perhaps have a disagreement regarding the Wardens? Intriguing, that.

"I meant ser Surana," Eamon said stiffly.

Farren bowed his head in embarrassment. "Oh! I'm sorry! I didn't realize you were talking to the Commander."

Zevran was both amused and annoyed. Farren's loyalty to their fearless leader was certainly admirable, but this cheekiness could cause problems that weren't worth it. Especially if Airam would add his own cheeky comment now.

Fortunately, it seemed he didn't have to worry.

"My grandfather went ashore in Clogwyn. He sends his apologies; he had to attend to an urgent business in South first, but will join us in a few days."

"Will he? I am glad to hear that," Eamon said, though he looked more disappointed than glad.

Ah, the stay at this castle would be fun.

oOo

The next day, Erwin took over the initiative–one that Alistair wasn't much happy about: an oath of loyalty. All of the nobles supporting Alistair as a king would express their commitment officially. That would make their position in the Landsmeet more certain. It could have been done in Denerim, Erwin explained, but he thought it would be better if it was organised by the esteemed house of Guerrins, instead of a random guy like him. It was difficult to argue against that, and even Eamon and Teagan agreed that it was a good idea.

To organize an event like that was not an easy task. It would take at least one month till everything is ready. It meant a whole month in this damned place. Zevran expected to become insane by boredom long before that.

But, of course, he forgot about their little fearless leader. Who was to become an official Captain General of the whole army–the army he haven't even seen yet, as he complained. And so, while everyone was busy discussing politics and business, he put on his new fancy Commander armour and sneaked out of the castle. Or, tried to sneak out. Zevran caught up with him as he was crossing the bridge.

"Truly? You thought I'd let you walk out into the danger all alone? What kind of a bodyguard you think I am?"

Airam laughed. "Oh, I'm sure Redcliffe is full of mortal perils and heartless enemies, all waiting just for me. Besides, I'm not a helpless baby. I can take care of myself."

"Who says I'm worried about you? I merely do not wish the atmosphere–both indoor and outdoor even more freezing as it is."

"No need to worry. I have an awesome trainer who taught me to fight even without magic," Airam pointed out with a smile.

"Oh? You seem to be a lucky man, to have so many awesome people around you."

"I am," Airam said. "Now let's go, before someone decides they urgently need me to discuss what kind of soup we should serve to convince the Banns to give us more money."

oOo

Redcliffe was much different than the last time. The soldiers camp was a few miles to the south, and the soldiers would come to the town whenever they could, to have some fun. Naturally, that attracted many merchants from nearby towns and villages. The town, especially the market, was overcrowded, the ground trampled into thick oozy mud, and air was smelling so bad it made his stomach turn.

"Dirty knife-ear! I'll gut you like a frog, you little thief!"

"I paid for it. Get lost before I lose my patience."

Zevran didn't even bother to try stopping Airam, as he elbowed through the crowd to see what was going on.

One of them was a human brute; he could be a soldier, or a common thug. It was hard to tell, from the dirty old leathers he was wearing. The other one was Dalish, with wild tattoo covering most of his face.

"I bet on the elf," he said merrily.

All heads turned to them.

"You called your friends, did you? It won't help. I can kill ten little pigs like you with my fart."

"Please don't," Airam said. "Fart, I mean. This place smells badly as it is."

The crowd snickered. The tug started to curse, but Airam ignored him and turned to the elf. "I'm glad to see that the Dalish have already arrived. Are you from Lanaya's clan?"

"And who are you to care?" the elf snapped, looking Airam up and down.

"I guess that means you're not from Lanaya's clan, then," Airam smiled. "Elves in her clan know me already. I'm Airam Surana, the Warden Commander. Pleasure to meet you."

"Humans would never put an elf in command."

Airam chuckled. "They didn't have much chance. I–"

The thug launched himself at Airam with a knife. But Airam was too fast. He avoided the blow, and the next moment he had his own daggers out. Zevran knew he didn't have to worry; but it would be better if Airam wasn't involved in fights like this. Scum like this were not the business of the Captain General. People needed to learn to respect him.

The man didn't even know what hit him. One second, he was lunging into another attack, the next he was splayed in the mud, to the great amusement of audience. Pathetic.

Before he could get up, Zevran sat on his chest and pressed a dagger to his neck. "I strongly advise against attacking the Warden Commander," he said. "The next person who tries, dies gruesomely. Do you understand?"

If looks could kill... but then he would have been dead years ago. He pressed his dagger harder, until a thin red line appeared on the man's neck. That always had a sobering effect. And it didn't fail this time, either.

"I understand," the man grumbled.

Zevran got off him, watching to make sure he wouldn't change his mind and do anything stupid. But there was no need to worry. Too aware of the sneering and mockery from the crowd, the man was eager to disappear as soon as he could.

With the fun over, the crowd slowly dispersed as well.

"Can I invite you for a drink?" Airam offered. The elf didn't reply at first, but then he nodded. They took him to the Lloyd's tavern, which was now merely one of many. But it seemed Lloyd couldn't complain about business–the place was fuller than ever before. And, as Zevran noted with great pleasure, there was a big poster at the entrance door, which informed the guests that this was the one and only true tavern that hosted the Heroes of Redcliffe.

"Hey, Lloyd!" he called. "What can you offer to old friends?"

Lloyd wasn't exactly jumping with joy when he saw them, but he didn't dare to protest; the consequences of his last attempt were still fresh in his memory, it seemed. Good.

They were taken into Lloyd's private room–everything else was full–and brought the best beer in Redcliffe, as he assured him.

"What do you want from me, Warden Commander?" the elf asked when they were left alone again.

"Nothing," Airam assured him. "I just want to know about the situation here. If things like today happen often, if there are any problems you and other Dalish have, if there is anything you need. I can't fix it if I don't know about it; and the shemlens at the castle won't tell me the ugly truth."

The elf smiled. "That's true. Let me introduce myself first. I'm Rilan Faladel, of the Nardirrin clan. We arrived only a week ago, but we were not first. Some clans were already here before us. The shemlen lord guaranteed that we would be treated with respect, but we didn't really expect him to keep his promise. Shemlens have no sense of honour. "

"You have problems in camp?"

"Not in camp. We have our own camp, and shemlens know better than to come to annoy us. They are only brave when they can outnumber us one to twenty." Rilan smirked derisively. "They're not soldiers, Commander. They are drunkards and brutes. Things like today occur every time one of us needs to come to the town."

"Then why do you come alone? Why don't you come in a bigger group?"

"You speak like a flat- like one of those city elves. To assign a work that can be done by one person to several people is a waste of resources. Dalish don't do that."

"Besides, it wouldn't solve anything," Zevran added. "Humans could feel threatened, and attack them even more."

"Our Keeper said the same thing. I think you should better talk to the Keepers, Commander. They'll be able to tell you much more."

"Yes... I think I should check the situation first-hand," Airam muttered.

Zevran glanced at him. What crazy plan did he have this time? "We should invite the Keepers and commanders of all other units to the castle and talk about it," he suggested.

"Hm... yes, that, too. But I don't think it will be enough. It seems we have a lot of work ahead of us. Well, at least it won't be boring!" Airam said, earning a surprised and bit scornful look from Rilan.

"It seems the Blight is fun, for you," he said.

"Compared to the nobles and their politics? Trust me, it is. Isn't it right, Zev?"

"Naturally," he said.

He was sure Airam already had one of his crazy ideas about what they should do. And in that case, boredom was the last thing to worry about. Oh well. Whatever it was that Airam wanted to do, at least there would be no gruesome monsters involved, like the Broodmother, or the New Andraste. That had to be an improvement... no?