Well, what do you know - I finished the new chapter and I'm only 2 months later than I originally planned. I'm getting better at this. .

Huge thanks to my wonderful beta and friend Dawn, for her patience and encouragement that keeps me going on. Big thanks also to Bloodsong for her prodding, and to all who faved me, follow me, and/or reviewed the story. You make my days brighter.

Beneath the Surface

No, Zevran decided grimly, as he waded through the gooey brown stream, he couldn't let Airam kill Loghain. Knowing his crazy mage, he would make it just and quick. That simply wouldn't do. No, he would do it himself. He would drag the Teyrn here and do it properly – taking his time and carefully choosing only the most painful methods. And afterward, he'd feed the Teyrn's carcass to the rats. But first he would make him pay the damages for Zevran's ruined boots and armour! No cleaning and polishing would remove this stench. The Deep Roads smelled like roses and lavender compared to this.

Ah, why wasn't he born a woman? Then he could wrap a scarf with a few drops of an essential oil around his mouth and nose, like Leliana and Wynne. She had offered it to all of them, but this was humiliating enough already without looking like a sissy in front of the street kids Erwin had sent with them as guides.

When Erwin had said 'underground', Zevran had expected they'd go through the tunnels like when they'd first arrived at the mage's estate. Of course, that would've been suspiciously easy, as Airam had muttered bitterly after his friend had corrected their misunderstanding. Those tunnels had been created and were used by the Mages' Collective, and only connected a few selected spots across the city. One of them was in the alienage, but too far from where they needed to go. If the Tevinters were truly shipping off the elves, they would have guards and spies all over the alienage.

"A group like yours couldn't be more conspicuous if you had a huge placard with, 'Here we are, attack us' in big red letters on it," Erwin had said. "You'll be spotted within two minutes. I have no doubts you're strong enough to defeat any fool who would try to attack you, but by the time you'd be done, their leaders would be warned. They'd escape, taking all the elves they've enslaved so far with them, and warning their Fereldan allies. If this mission is to have any chance of success, you need to get onto the ship without being noticed."

Fortunately for them, as Erwin brightly informed them, the Mages' Collective's tunnels were connected to a much bigger system that would safely bring them right where they needed to be. The Orlesians and Antivans could look down their noses at Fereldans as much as they wanted, and talk about the dog stench and the mud - but at least it was only mud, and even that only in short periods, in spring and autumn. But in Denerim, you could walk down the streets without fear that someone would dump the contents of a chamber pot on your head. Because Denerim had something the other capitals didn't - the underground sewers! And they would have a chance to see it with their own eyes. They should be grateful for this unique opportunity and experience!

Guess who was chosen as having the best chance to sneak on the ship undercover, due to his race and skills? Skills that he'd acquired thanks to all the years of harsh training he'd endured to avoid the fate of those lost souls rotting away their lives in an alienage. Only to pad through the calf-deep excrement of said lost souls. He was actually looking forward to changing into their rags once they were out of this cesspit.

Maybe Erwin was relying on his friendship with Airam a bit too much, no? Besides, there was nothing unique about these tunnels. Dwarven craft, direct from Orzammar! Denerim's private copy of the Deep Roads, full of their own – shit! Something unseen brushed against his ankle and he shuddered in disgust.

Just how much longer could it be? If the streets underground copied those on the surface, they should've been in the alienage long ago. When he'd pointed that out to their guides, however, they'd rolled their eyes. "Here's a bit of advice – for free, 'cause I kinda like Ser McLam," the bigger one had said dryly. "You see a flicker of fire, you turn back and run before the rats see you. They'd swoop down on you and pick you apart before you can say, 'I was an idiot'."

And so they'd zigzagged through the darkest, stinkiest tunnels, creeping through the shadows and keeping their voices down; Zevran had no idea how much time had passed, but judging by his rumbling stomach, it had to be near lunchtime.

"We're here," the bigger brat suddenly said, stopping and pointing up to the big barred door at the end. "I'll go first. Don't follow until I give you a sign, and only come one by one."

Zevran stared at the kid. Who did he think he was? Look at him – fourteen at most, all spindly legs and arms, with so many angry boils on his face you could barely see his eyes, in clothes that could've been made by Avernus – and he dared to give lessons to the Wardens, not to mention the infamous Antivan Crow?

The kid stared right back at him. "Don't do anything until I tell you," he repeated sternly. "We're right at the docks. Ser McLam said you mustn't be seen. If you screw it up and there's trouble, we won't get the rest of the money."

"Erwin said that?" Airam asked incredulously. "Don't worry. Your task ends with getting us out of this place. If Erwin won't pay you, I will."

The boy ignored him. He pulled out a lockpick, unlocked the door, and with one last stern glance at Zevran, sneaked out. He was away for two minutes at most, when he peeked in and waved to them to follow. "Careful. Don't slip," he warned them.

Good thing he did, too, because the tunnel opened out onto the narrow edge of a slope, a stream of shit cascading down to the icy waves breaking on the stones below. That was one ride Zevran was happy to pass up. Fifty yards to the left were the docks, if a few wooden piers with a handful of ships could be called that. Most of them were doggers, the sturdy one-masted fishing ships, but there were also two merchant brigs. They didn't have time to admire the view, however, as the boy nervously led them to a group of old wine barrels, laid on their side, and big cargo boxes. The moment they came closer, a group of kids quickly scrambled out of them and scattered around, watching them from afar like a pack of hungry kittens.

"You can change here," the boy said, waving to the barrels; now they could see that the inside was nested with rags and clothes, to keep it warm.

"Right." Airam pulled out their spare clothes – chantry robes for Wynne and Leliana, servant clothes with the sigil of Erwin's house for the rest of them. Erwin hoped it would give them a little more protection from the slavers – surely they wouldn't bother with elves who clearly had a noble patron who would ask uncomfortable questions should they disappear. "Gran, could you please draw a heat glyph? We can't have Alistair catch cold. Eamon would have my head. And please, kids, come back, err, inside. We don't bite. But we might have something to bite, if you're interested. "

The kids didn't react at first, but when Wynne's glyph ignited with a warm glow, and Airam pulled out food, their resolve started to melt and they took a few steps forward. "Come on, don't be shy," the crazy kid continued. "We have enough for everyone."

The moment Airam had learned who their guides would be and where they'd be going, he packed as much food as they could carry. Ah, it were moments like that when he missed Morrigan. Not that he needed to be convinced to help the brats, but it was too boring, when everyone agreed.

With the kids inside the warm barrels, gobbling down the sandwiches, the crazy kid returned to their mission. "Are you sure we're in the right place?" he asked their guide, while he fixed his wig – dark brown and wavy, this time. "Maybe there's another dock?"

The boy shrugged. "None that I know of."

"All docks in alienages are this slow," Zevran explained. "I'm surprised that there are any merchant ships docked here at all. Usually it's only the fishing ships. But where's the slave ship?"

"Those ain't no merchants, those are Tevinters, both of them," the boy said. "There was one more, but it sailed out yesterday morning."

These were the slave ships? Zevran turned to look at them again. Two-masted, square-rigged, and rather small – about eighty feet long, he'd guess, and thirty feet wide – there was nothing remarkable about them.

"They can't fit many slaves in that, can they?" Alistair asked, pulling a plain, worn-out tunic over his leather armour.

"Doesn't matter. If they only took one person, they took one too many," Airam muttered. "But which one is the main one? We need to know where Zev should sneak in."

The boy shrugged again. "Don't look at me. Told you, I can't speak Tevinterian."

"Tevene," Wynne corrected him. "I more or less understand it – it's based on the old Arcane, after all, but I can't speak it very well. Still, it should be enough to ask the ships' guards where their leader is. I could pretend to be on an errand for the Grand Cleric, and if they want details, I will, unfortunately, be unable to explain it in my broken Tevene."

"You think the Grand Cleric is involved?" Airam's face darkened.

Leliana shook her head. "Not with the Seekers already investigating her. At least not directly; she'd have made sure that there was no evidence pointing in her direction, or even suggesting she knew about it and didn't intervene."

"But how can she not know?" Alistair asked. "If the slavers have been here for days, wouldn't the Chantry sisters have alerted her?"

"Maybe they weren't allowed to leave the alienage. They're Chantry sisters, not spies; I don't think they'd brave the Underground," Leliana pointed out.

Airam mused about it for a moment. "Alright, change of plans. Leliana and I will go check on the Chantry sisters. They might know something that could help us. Wynne, you do as you suggested. If you know which ship is the leader's, Zev can sneak on board and find the documents. The rest of you, stay nearby. If he's not back in – how much time would you need? Fifteen minutes? Half an hour?"

"Half an hour," Zevran agreed.

"Okay. If he's not back in half an hour, do whatever you have to – fight them, kill them, burn the ships, if necessary – just get him out of there."

"Hopefully before they burn the ship I'm on, yes?" Zevran arched his brow. "That would make me unbearably hot."

Airam laughed. "That shouldn't be a problem, Zev. You already are."

oOo

Crouching in the shadows, Zevran watched the guards slowly melt under Wynne's calm, patient relentlessness. One of these days he must ask her to teach him this 'humbly authoritative' trick of hers. She followed Zevran's instructions, and spoke only in Fereldan – if they thought she couldn't understand them, there was a bigger chance they'd let their tongue slip. He was worried if such a trick wouldn't be beyond her lying skills, but she didn't even blink an eye. Full of surprises, this old mage.

The guards must have realised the only way to get rid of her - besides killing her - was to answer her questions. Finally, one of them boarded the brig on the left and soon returned with a man; judging by the design and quality of his clothes, he had to be one of the leaders. He looked at Wynne with a mixture of annoyance and curiosity while the guards explained the situation to him, and in broken Fereldan informed her that their leader was not on the ship. He was busy helping the healers, the man said, and later he would have a meeting in the city. Perhaps if she came back this time tomorrow? The leader would add it to his schedule.

They bowed to each other politely, and Wynne left, following one of the kid guides in a wide roundabout back to their hiding place.

"They want to sail out tomorrow morning!" she burst out angrily the moment she saw them. "Finding the documents will not be enough – we need to stop them!"

"We will," Alistair said with grim determination. "But we still need those documents as evidence against Loghain. We should follow the plan for now, and discuss the rest when Air and Leliana return. At least we know which ship to search – it must be the one this guy was on."

"I think it is the other ship," Zevran said thoughtfully. "If this is their leader's Second, he would supervise the other ship. I'll check that one first. If I'm not back in half an hour, improvise."

He checked his leather bag one last time to make sure he had everything he needed – daggers coated in a quick-acting poison, smoke bombs, a pack of lockpicks – then turned to the pimply brat. "Think you can distract the guards for a moment? Something loud – but nothing that would put you in danger," he added hastily, when he saw the look on Wynne's face.

"Yeah, sure," the brat said with an indifferent shrug. "But it'll cost you extra."

Weren't their lunches enough?! Before he could say it aloud, though, Wynne nodded. "Of course."

"Okay. Give me five minutes. Be ready. If you screw it up, we won't be able to do it again, I don't think." The boy waved to the kids to follow him, and they quickly disappeared into the shadows.

"Meh. This is all too much trouble," Oghren mumbled. "We creep through shit, and I bet the Tevinters are having a good time in a whorehouse! If what Wynne said is true, we'll have to fight anyway. Let's do it the old-fashioned way – kill the fools on the ship, take what we need – and we can spend the extra half an hour in the Pearl."

"We're not here for your fun," Wynne said, frowning. "This is a serious matter. Just for once, can't you act responsibly?"

The dwarf took a long swig of his ale and belched. "Work and fun don't need to be separate, you know."

Zevran didn't listen; if everything went smoothly, he would be back much sooner, anyway. Half an hour meant complications, most likely gruesome and painful. He covered himself in shadows and sneaked as close to the ship as he dared, waiting for the signal.

A high-pitched scream pierced the air, and the next moment, one of the little rats came running right to the guards. She was hobbling, her left foot in awkward angle as if it didn't really belong there. Smart kid; no one would bother to take such a disabled slave.

"Help!" she wailed, and almost threw herself on a guard. "There's a monster! It came out from the sewers!"

The guard crudely pushed her away, but she kept wailing. "The monster! From the sewers – it's huge and made of rock! Please, ser – you have to help us! It throws stones-"

The rest of the sentence was drowned in the terrible racket of falling stones. The girl screamed and started hobbling away.

The guards ignored her. They exchanged a few hasty words, then one of them ran to the ship – probably to warn the Second about a monster heading their way. The other pulled out his weapon, staring in the direction of the noise. Zevran chuckled under his breath. He wondered if they had been warned about the Warden and his companions, and thought he had unleashed his golem on them. Ah, wouldn't it be fun – so wrong, and yet so right.

He sneaked past the guard and along the ship to its stern. With a last backward glance to check that no one had noticed him, he flung himself at the anchor rope and climbed up. Oghren was right; the deck was abandoned. The only living thing was a big tabby, lying in a patch of sun. As he tiptoed closer, its whiskers twitched slightly, and it shot a mildly disgusted glance in his direction, before it haughtily got up and strolled to the next patch of sun. Ah, this was why he was a cat man – you would never see such royal indifference in a mabari. Were this Rask… Zevran shuddered. Were this Rask, he would be already dying. Each of his parts separately.

The hatch creaked softly as he opened it, and he stiffened for a moment, listening. All was silent. Good; if everything went this smoothly, he could be back in a few minutes. Unless this Tevinter guy was unusually humble and modest – and Zevran highly doubted it – the great cabin should be right below, spanning the width of the stern. Carefully closing the hatch behind him, he pulled out his daggers and sneaked through the darkness. Brasca, what was with all this creeping through dark and smelly places? It was getting boring. Some variety was needed, no? He should have a word with Airam about it.

The door was locked. Ah well. If it was too easy, it wouldn't be worthy of his genius. Fortunately, one didn't need light to pick a lock. Not if you were a master of his level. After half a year of daily practice with Leliana and Faren, no lock in Thedas could resist him.

This one just didn't get the memo, yes?

Or he could simply kick out the door. The ship was empty anyway –

Aha! The lock clicked and the door slowly opened. Zevran quickly slid inside and looked around. The cabin was 'great' indeed; the Tevinter had spared no expense on the furnishings. Even Crow ships didn't have such big windows, carpets on the floor, or carved furniture, and even a painting on the wall. For the Crows, ships were a necessary liability; there was always a high risk of losing them to pirates, storms, giant squids or demons. These Tevinterians had to be very certain of their power and the ship's strength.

Now where would the documents be… His first guess proved wrong – the cabinet contained only a collection of liqueurs. Ah, but what a splendid collection it was! Resisting the temptation to taste them right there and then, he finally settled on Sun Blonde, Vint 1. If the dwarves wanted the Abyssal Peach, they could sneak on the ship themselves.

Back to the mission. The chest? A full five minutes of fumbling with the lock and all it had was a pile of clothes that were at least two seasons out of style. No wonder the guy kept them under lock and key; such abominations shouldn't be on public display. The desk, then. Four drawers, including one hidden, all of them locked, with a lot of what appeared to be love letters full of poetry – undoubtedly horrible – but nothing that looked like a contract or official document of any sort.

Brasca! How long had he been here? He couldn't have much more time. If the others launched an all-out attack, only because he couldn't find a single paper, Faren would tease him for the rest of his days. Think, Zevran. Where else could… The painting.

He pulled it off, throwing it unceremoniously on the floor. There had to be a secret – wall! How could there be a wall?! Cursing like a sailor, he ran his hand through his hair. As impossible as it sounded, he'd failed. He, the most infamous of Crows, had been outwitted by a Tevinter slaver. Furious, he grabbed the painting, ready to shred it to pieces. Glued to the back of the frame, was a thick envelope.

With the royal coat of arms of Ferelden.

oOo

Everything was back in its place; there was no trace left to betray his presence. Besides the missing envelope and the bottle, that was, now both carefully wrapped inside his leather bag. Time to leave; the others must be growing impatient. He slid out of the room and hurried back to the stairs. A few more moments, and he'd be safely bragging to Airam about how magnificent he was to have found the documents right away, because if you thought about it, it was obvious – where else could they be? He had taken so long because he was choosing the best bottle to celebrate their victory.

Someone was coming: a very angry someone, talking in rapid Tevene, and a very scared someone, occasionally adding what Zevran guessed was the Tevene equivalent of 'yes, ser'. Zevran plastered himself to the wall, thinking about his options. He could attack them, but he'd have to hit them both at the same time, then retreat until the poison started working. On a rolling ship, in the dark. Or he could return to the great cabin, which they would reach a moment later, and fight there but with light.

He sprang forward and dashed down the corridor. Both voices yelled in surprise, and there was the distinctive sound of a sword being pulled out of its sheath. Something flew beside him, hitting the wall. A mage then. Hopefully not a blood mage. He shut the door behind him, grabbed the chair, and flung it at the window. It bounced right back; the window cracked, but it didn't shatter. Curse Tevinters and their magic! He should've known it would be enchanted. He picked up the chair again. Perhaps a few more hits-

Too late! The door started opening in a slow, unhurried way, as if whoever was on the other side wasn't worried about the intruder at all. Zevran gritted his teeth and slammed the chair into the window again. The cracks deepened and spread like a spiderweb, but it still held.

A cruelly amused laugh came from the door. The man who stood there wasn't the Second; the man who stood there was the evil Tevene magister. The black and red robe, ominous staff made of some weird black metal in one hand, and a small dagger with red rubies on the pommel in the other, made that much obvious.

"I assume you are with the Wardens?" he asked in fluent, though heavily accented common.

"With whom?"

"Please. First the mage, then the golem, and now you. I assume you found the contract? Very clever."

This was why Zevran hated amateurs – they always insisted on blabbering. "I get that a lot," he said, gripping the chair's leg tighter.

"Unfortunately, you will not-"

With a scream, Zevran smashed the chair into the window again.

Crash! The windows burst into hundreds of shards. With a relieved laugh, Zevran leaped for the windowsill. He made it!

The magister yelled again and cut his forearm.

Every drop of blood in Zevran's body boiled and swelled, demanding to burst out. He desperately tried to move, but his legs wouldn't budge. The man was talking again, but Zevran didn't listen. I won't die I'm a Crow I passed I endured I survived!

He must have said the last words aloud, because the magister chuckled. "Yes," he said smugly. "That's because it wasn't meant to kill you just yet. But I am surprised that you can speak. You are tougher than I expected, I'll give you that."

Zevran ignored him. Focus – move forward – focus! Slowly, painfully, he shifted the weight of his body, leaning over the edge of the window. Just a bit more…

"Get him down from there!" The magister sounded mildly alarmed now. Zevran would smirk, if he could. Since that was beyond his abilities at the moment, he put all his effort into leaning that one remaining inch forward.

Fingers brushed against his arm just as he tipped over and fell down in the most ungraceful way ever. Another detail he wouldn't share with others.

Splash! The water was as refreshing as one would expect it to be in the middle of a Fereldan winter. His arms and legs shook violently from the pain and cold, moving in jerky, slow motions. Too slow. The blood pounded in his temples as he tried to hold his breath and push himself up.

And then the world moved. The seabed trembled, deep cracks bursting out towards the ocean. The water shifted, heaved up, dragging him along, up and to the surface, and then higher, until it finally slammed against the beach and retreated, leaving him behind.

oOo

After a few seconds, he dared to open his eyes again. He was alive - a surprising, but most welcome fact. And judging by how much they hurt, he still had all his body parts attached – and willing to obey him once again. There was a horrible ruckus nearby, as if a fight was going on. But he could figure that out later. He should move to somewhere safer first, to lick his wounds and check the damage. At least the wave didn't leave him on the pier – that seemed to be the center of all the chaos. He pulled himself on his forearms and crawled behind the nearest bush. Not a perfect hiding place, but he couldn't be picky right now. For a moment he just sat there, breathing heavily and holding the dripping leather bag in his lap. So much trouble, and all for nothing. He still failed. The envelope couldn't possibly survive this. He cursed.

"There you are!" a high-pitched voice said behind him accusingly. Sweet Maker, what now? Couldn't he get even the slightest break? He turned around painfully, but it was just one of the kids.

"Everyone's been looking for you! Stay right there, I'll bring help." The boy bolted away before he had time to stop him.

With a sigh, he opened the bag and winced at the stench. Disgusted, he turned it upside down and spilled everything on the ground. All the bottles and vials were smashed into fine pieces, the poison mixing with the brandy and healing potions, giving his sandwich a brand new flavour. The bombs were unusable as well. And the envelope… He sighed again as he unwrapped it, ready for the worst.

It was untouched. Amazed, he turned it around in his hands, then he laughed out loud. Bless the Tevinters and their magic! Ridiculously awesome! When it didn't kill you.

Hurrying steps were approaching him, but there was no need for worry this time, although they did not belong to the one he wanted to see most now.

"Hello Leliana. Where's Air?"

She wasn't in the Chantry robe anymore, he noted, and she didn't try to hide her bow. "Drink this first. You look more dead than alive." She took one of the healing potions attached to her belt and knelt next to him. "Any broken bones?"

Scowling at her, he grabbed the bottle and drained it. "Where is Air, Leliana?" he repeated.

"He let himself be taken as a slave."

oOo

Maker, how could he have been so stupid? He should've known, he should've expected that his crazy kid would come up with something like this. Why did he agree to let him go to the Chantry with Leliana alone? Of course she couldn't stop him.

"That's not fair," she said, sounding offended. "You wouldn't be able to stop him, either. No one can stop him when he gets like this."

The Tevinterians didn't take just anyone. Why should they, when they had all the time they needed to choose the best merchandise? No one was allowed in or out of the alienage until they were done there. The official reason was 'the plague' that was spreading among the elves, but even the most naïve soon realised what a strange plague it was: only the young, strong and beautiful got infected, and had to be 'quarantined' while the old and weak were all in perfect condition. And despite all the medical care the Tevinterian healers were providing to the sick, no one had ever seen them again.

When Airam found out how many people they had taken away, he was furious. "I knew he was up to something, I tried to warn him not to be reckless, but…"

But Airam had walked right into the 'clinic' the Tevinterians had opened. There had been a big crowd around it - people demanding to see their sick relatives, palace guards, Chantry sisters – so when Airam had started to complain loudly about a persistent cough and pain in his chest, the Tevinterian 'healer' couldn't ignore him. They had quickly led him away, the healer using it to prove his case.

"As they were taking him away, he turned to me. 'Sister, I'm sure I'll be fine in no time, but in the meantime, could you please take care of my little brothers?' You should've seen him, it was perfect. After that, I hurried back to discuss what to do next with the rest of you, and I ran right into the fight. Wynne cast her spell – you know, the one she uses to knock down enemies? One of the guards did something, I think he wanted to dispel it, but it made it stronger. I thought the whole alienage would collapse like a house of cards."

"All right." Zevran scrambled to his feet and took a deep breath. "Let's go kill them all."

"You think you can fight?" she asked.

"They have Air, Leliana."

oOo

The earthquake had scared most of the elves away – but it had also dragged the Tevinter sailors from nearby pubs. At least twenty of them were now surrounding Alistair's team. The evil magister wasn't one of them. Zevran frowned. What was the man waiting for? This couldn't be good.

Alistair was doing fine, and Oghren was clearly enjoying himself, taunting the sailors and calling them 'asschabs' and 'cute nugs'. Wynne, however, would soon be overwhelmed – two sailors were attacking her, while a third tried to sneak up on her from behind. Tsk, such poor manners. And very bad sneaking, too. He should teach him how to do it properly, no?

He wrapped himself in shadows and followed the guy; the fool never noticed until the moment he slit his throat. Ah, how invigorating that was!

At the same moment, one of the other two groaned in pain and collapsed to the ground, an arrow sticking out of his right eye.

"Zevran," Wynne greeted him. "Excuse me for a moment." And she punched the last sailor, her fist encrusted in rock, right in the nose.

"Mmmm I love badass ladies. Makes my blood boil – in a good way, you understand."

She sighed. "Yes, I am glad you made it back safely. Now please go find and kill someone else before I start to regret it."

He wanted to follow her advice when a big fat snowflake landed on his glove. He looked up. The sky, clear just a moment ago, was now covered in a thick, grey cloud. Could it be? Airam? His heart leaped with hope. Of course, it could just as easily be the Fereldan weather. He couldn't let himself get distracted-

"That is enough!" a familiar, cruel voice shouted over the noise of the fight. "Warden Commander, do you hear me? Come forward, or I'll kill them all!"

Kill us all? When he couldn't kill me while I was alone and at a disadvantage? He sure has some nerve. Zevran turned to the ship. The smirk died on his lips. The magister didn't mean them. He meant the slaves. A dozen of them or so, kneeling on the deck in front of him, their hands chained behind their backs, guarded by two sailors. The magister grabbed one of them by the hair and roughly yanked him up. In his other hand, he held a dagger. The slave's eyes widened in realisation, but before he could do anything, before he could as much as sob, the magister plunged the dagger into his chest.

A stream of blood flew out, but it didn't spill onto the deck – it turned into a grey mist that surrounded the magister and seeped into him.

"Do you understand now, Warden Commander? You don't stand a chance!"

The air darkened. A strong wind was picking up, and loud thunder pierced the sky. Ah. Not the standard snowfall after all.

The magister must have realised it too. "Yes, impressive! But how long can you fight? How many those silly lyrium potions do you have? Because I have a full ship of slaves, just dying to be my supply-"

The rest of his words died in another roar of thunder. A lightning bolt hit the Second, and the air was full of sizzling noise and agonised screams. And the smell of burned flesh. Zevran wrinkled his nose. This was why he preferred Airam's blizzard – and there it was now! The wind howled, bringing with it heaps of snow and ice that collapsed on the sailors, freezing them in place. The remaining few were quickly losing their nerve.

The magister didn't seem troubled. There he was, still screaming the chant, his arms lifted towards the sky. Whatever the spell he was casting, Zevran was sure it would be much more unpleasant than the thunderstorm, and definitely something he didn't want to see.

"By the ancestors!" Oghren called. "The Warden roused the alienage!"

From all sides, the elves were pouring onto the docks, at least a hundred of them, armed with clubs, knives, and seething fury. Leading them were two young, brown-haired elves – one of whom was still mildly reeking of the sewers. The moment the sailors saw them, they threw down their weapons and surrendered, but the elves didn't care. If it weren't for Leliana and Wynne, they would have torn them apart.

"Fools!" the magister yelled. "You shall not-"

What they shouldn't remained a mystery, though, as a thick layer of ice encased him. The Second immediately started to unlock the slaves, screaming that he surrendered.

"Fool indeed," Airam said, as he joined Zevran. "Did he think that I'd wait for him to cast? I had plenty of time to prepare my spell after the Blizzard. Where's Morri?"

Zevran blinked. "How should I know?"

"That looked like her Tempest. I thought she had come back…" Airam sighed in disappointment. "Let's free those poor people. Tabris! Everything under control?"

The other brown-haired elf waved to him. "Nothing to worry about, Warden."

"Great guy," Airam said, as he headed toward the ship. "Great lockpick too. Says he needs it for his job, if you believe it. I don't."

"What job?"

"A carpenter."

oOo

Zevran thought he had seen all sorts of misery: the poor deformed by endless starvation and illnesses; mutilated victims of torture or poison; freaks of nature who were kept in cages and exhibited to the masses. Nothing could surprise him. Or so he believed.

Until he entered this ship.

The first level, the one he had visited before, was quite standard – cabins, kitchen, mess hall. But the level below that… if there truly was a hell, it started there. How naïve they were, thinking the slavers couldn't fit many people into the ship this small! They badly underestimated their ingenuousness and greed.

The first thing that hit him was the horrible, unbreathable air reeking of human waste. Suddenly he was very grateful he hadn't eaten that sandwich.

The space between decks was divided by shelves so that each part was only about three feet high. On these shelves were the elves, packed so close they could barely move. One deck had only men and boys, manacled by threes and chained to the deck, presumably to prevent them from starting a revolt. How they would have ever achieved that, Zevran couldn't imagine; by the time one of them could have scrambled out, the guards would've killed him ten times over. The women and children were packed just as tightly, but they were bound by ropes, and not chained to the deck. One hundred and fifty. And the packing wasn't finished yet, as one of the officers nervously admitted. Another one hundred would be crammed into the third deck that evening – the very same ones Airam had freed and brought with him.

When the slaves realised they weren't with the Tevinters, that the Wardens had come to rescue them, the poor wretches started to weep with joy, praising Airam as if he was the Maker himself. They unchained them and opened all the hatches; they streamed out like ants, taking deep breaths. If they were in this condition after one day and night, by the time they would have reached Tevinter, there wouldn't have been many left.

"No, no, it's nowhere that bad," the officer quickly assured him, "usually it's ten percent, twenty at most."

"That's fifty dead people," Airam said through clenched teeth, "and two hundred more doomed to live as slaves, or used as a blood supply. And that's only this ship. I will not forgive this." His eyes were black once again, and an icy aura was whirling around him.

The Tevinterian swallowed. "I – I only did what I had to…"

"Silence," Airam ordered, and the man wisely obeyed. "Don't think you can get out of this. You, your leader, Loghain – anyone involved in this, I'll make you pay for each drop of their blood. Tenfold. Tie him up," he said to Zevran. "Make it so tight he can't move at all. Let's see how he likes it."

Then he turned to the others. "Tabris! Could you please bring the – the mayor, or whoever is normally in charge here? We have a lot to discuss. Alistair, Leliana, you should be there too. Oghren, Zevran, you hunt down any remaining Tevinter bastards in the alienage. None of them must escape! Take as many people as you need to. Gran – ah. No need to tell you what to do," he said with a smile. The old lady was already healing the slaves.

"I did not rouse the alienage," Airam said to Zevran, as they headed to the docks. "I only unlocked the elves in the warehouse the slavers used. The rest of it sort of happened. This time, I'll do it properly."