Summary: The Crows tried to capture Zevran, but were defeated and Taliesen was killed. Zevran felt guilty for failing his friend, who, he realised, cared for him much more than Zevran cared for him. He came to conclusion he doesn't deserve to be loved and that he's a threat for those who love him, and that he should leave Airam. While he was depressed, he refused all Airam's attempts for talk. Hurt and confused, Airam decided to take a dangerous mission - to rescue Queen Anora, who was supposedly captured by Arl Howe - all alone. He didn't come back. While Zevran and others were planning to go and rescue him from Arl Howe, Morrigan returned, bringing Anora with her and revealing that the 'save the queen' mission was in fact a trap to capture the Warden, who was taken to the worst possible place... Fort Drakon.

Thanks to my dear friend and beta ShebasDawn for helping me to solve all the plotholes and making it readable. :)

Operation Rescue

Zevran paced around the room. Fort Drakon. When he'd been preparing himself for his last mission, he hadn't given it much thought - after all, it was the final destination for his targets, should he decide to keep them alive after his attack and deliver them to the Teyrn, not for him. It all turned out differently, but the end was the same, no? Airam was in there and it was his fault.

He paused and took a deep breath. There would be time for regrets later. Now he had to focus and find a way to do the impossible - to get inside and save his Warden.

All he knew was that the fort was ancient, built centuries before the Chantry's calendar, back when the Imperium was so great it covered almost all Thedas. Fort Drakon was one of its outposts, built to show off the power of the magisters. The world had changed, the Imperium had shrunk, but the fort still loomed over the plains and the city that had grown up around it, proud and undefeated. Big enough that all the people in Denerim might hide inside, if needed, or so it was said. And yet, no citizen would voluntarily set foot in that cursed place. Judging by its reputation, it could be the twin sister of the Crows' Velabanchel, the infamous house of graves. And just as impenetrable, it seemed.

"There are underground passages, but no one is quite sure where they lead," Erwin was explaining. "The Mage Collective looked into it a few years back in case we ever needed to get out one of our own. But the only usable tunnel leads to the palace. The other ones were blocked long ago, probably to stop the darkspawn during the previous Blights - they seemed to lead into the Deep Roads and further to the north. For all we know, they may lead to Brandel's Reach, or even further."

"Then we'll have to get in there in plain sight," Leliana said. "Use disguises. Perhaps I could get in as a Chantry sister - and Wynne could go with me. We'll need a good healer."

"That won't be enough," Shwara said darkly. "Loghain isn't a fool. He knows I'll be coming. The place will be swarming with guards. Besides, it would take a lot of time to plan it - the disguises, the routines of the guards… By the time we're ready, Air will be long dead."

"True, it takes time, but what other options do we have? We can't just storm the place," Leliana said.

"Perhaps you can't," Shwara snapped.

Zevran sighed inwardly. Wasn't this guy supposed to be the most experienced of them all? The badass court mage who performed secret missions for the King - even cooperated with the Crows? Hm… That could help, in fact. If he could make the old fool listen.

"You are right. We need to act quickly," he said, ignoring the others' surprised protests. "Tomorrow, latest. Loghain is counting on that. He thinks Fort Drakon is unreachable, and that making proper plans takes too long - they will be desperate, he thinks, they will rush in here headlong, what a great chance to capture them! He will not expect us to come up with a clever plan so fast. But look at the four of us - a Bard, a Crow, the leader of the Mage Collective - and you. Do you truly doubt we can outsmart this crazy old regent?"

He saw that Leliana wanted to react, but he didn't give her the chance. "To get inside, we need floor plans, guards' schedules, any weak points we can exploit. Normally, that would take a couple of days at best - but there is someone in Denerim who most likely already has them." Zevran gave Shwara a pointed look. "Someone who respects you so much he was willing to ignore the contract on the Wardens and offer them an alliance instead. Even though Airam did what he could to test his patience."

"Ignacio." Shwara almost jumped out of his chair. "Well done, assassin. I might still forgive you for letting my boy go alone," he said, heading for the door.

"Wait!" Leliana called. "We still need to-"

"Then do it," the frustrating old man snapped before letting the door bang shut behind him. Leliana threw up her hands.

Zevran blinked. That had gone much better than he'd hoped for. Ah, Suranas - always going from one extreme to the other and jumping into action without question. That's why he loved them. Well, one of them. Zevran turned to Leliana next. "We should also see if there are Mothers here willing to help the Wardens, now that the Divine supports their case. See if they can get you and Wynne inside. Jowan, too. A blood mage might be handy. I hope he used all this time to improve his skills."

Leliana winced. "Tell me I misheard, and you didn't say 'Divine's support' and 'blood mage' in the same breath."

"Come on, Leliana. We are talking about people who are-" torturing Airam breaking his bones burning his flesh "-hurting Airam. What does it matter if they die by my dagger or Jowan's curse?"

She rubbed her brow. "All right," she murmured. "But I promise nothing. Even my influence has its limits."

"Then use it to the utmost," he said.

With a defeated sigh, she left the room as well, although she, at least, didn't bang the door.

"Are you certain about this?" Erwin asked. "Not that I mind the blood magic," he said, lifting his hands defensively. "But when two people do the same thing, it's not the same. Airam is a blood mage, but he's also exceptionally clever and one of the most responsible guys I know. Jowan - as much as it pains me to say so about a friend - is… not. As I understand it, the last time he tried to be of assistance, he almost got all of Redcliffe wiped off the map."

All good points, Zevran couldn't deny that. "But this time, he'll follow my plan, not act on his own," he argued. "Also, there will be Wynne and Leliana to keep an eye on him… and that Templar friend of his - you know, the Queen of Antiva- "

"Carroll."

"Whatever. I would prefer it if we didn't use Jowan's magic at all - he will be there just as a last resort, in case things go horribly wrong, yes?"

The mage studied his face for a moment. "If you say so," he said finally. "Anything specific you need from me and the Mage Collective?"

"Poultices, potions, poisons, glyphs, supplies - anything that could help. Also, are there any magic rituals or spells that would help us get inside the fort without suspicion?"

"Maybe… Some sort of an illusion spell, make them look like someone else… I'd have to look into it." The mage's eyes lit up with excitement. "Yes… I think I could do it. It won't last for long, though. A couple of hours at most, maybe a little longer, that's all I can promise."

"That will be enough," Zevran assured him. With all the force he'd have - assuming they all got safely inside - a couple of hours would be enough to tear down the whole of Ferelden.

But they also needed a tailor… and perhaps a smith? What was the name of the smith Shwara had hired… Wade? Something like that. Or someone who could provide them with the fort guards' armour. Keylon, the sergeant from the city guards might help with that. And he should send a message to Isabela - this house would be the first place Loghain would look for Air…

Not a minute to waste.

oOo

Zevran blinked and shook himself, but the words on the list remained an unintelligible blur. With a deep sigh he put it down and reached for the pot of coffee, but it was empty. Already? He should've asked for a bigger pot. He had just finished ringing the bell for a maid to do so when the door opened. Impressed, he looked up to praise her for her swiftness - and cursed inwardly as he saw Alistair marching to the desk with a determined frown. Brasca. Not again.

Alistair had been deeply unhappy with his plan. To put it mildly. The first time he'd heard it, his protests had been so vocal, Wynne had stormed in and scolded them all like brats for interrupting the healing and rest of the 'poor tortured soul', aka Riordan. That decreased the volume of Alistair's complaints, but not their vigour. Or frequency.

This time, he had apparently chosen a different method. "Finally," he beamed, "we can talk just the two of us. Look, I mean to say - I understand you can't say you want me to go in front of Arl Eamon - I'm the soon-to-be king, I need to be protected, I'm the only other Warden, it would jeopardize everything we've done so far, blah, blah, blah…" Alistair rolled his eyes. "But I am the only one besides Carroll with any Templar abilities - and we haven't seen him in action, yet. What if they have mages? You cannot risk it, Zevran. Besides, I could take Rask with me. He'd sniff out Air in no time! And there's no one who can do that - the Chantry sister or a dwarf would have no reason to have a dog with them - but a Fereldan knight, that's something else. So you see, you can't leave me out."

Zevran motioned to him to sit down. "There seems to be a misunderstanding," he said as Alistair did so. "You seem to think I want you to stay behind because of Eamon. In truth, I don't give a mabari's fart about what the man wants."

"Oh." Alistair blinked. "But then why? It's not - you don't doubt my loyalty to Air, do you? I know we had some issues, but-"

"Nonsense," Zevran cut in with an impatient wave of his hand. "No, Alistair. The reason I want you to stay is because I know you are loyal. The truth is, it is your uncle I don't trust. Erwin might think he's been reformed, but I am not convinced yet."

"Uncle Eamon would never betray Airam," Alistair said fiercely. "Think of him what you want, but he's an honest man."

Zevran raised his hands. "I don't doubt that. But he's also a politician. You should be aware by now that things are never black and white in politics, yes? Support in one thing does not mean unquestionable support in everything. We are now in a difficult situation. We could lose the support of the nobles at any moment. I would be much calmer knowing there's someone reliable covering our backs."

"Leliana or Erwin would be better for that."

"Leliana is an Orlesian, and Erwin is a mage," Zevran reminded him. "Besides, Erwin has his hands full evacuating his household and coordinating our little street spies - I don't need to remind you that without them, this mission would be impossible. No, Alistair. You are the only one who can do this."

"But what can I do? I hardly know the basics!" Alistair looked more alarmed than encouraged.

"Half a year ago, I would have agreed," Zevran admitted. "But I watched you during the last mission, especially in Lerwich, how you dealt with the mayor and the Revered Mother. I know you can do it."

Alistair mused about it for a moment, but apparently couldn't find any counter-arguments to that. Good. There was still so much to do and they were running out of time.

The door opened again. The maid with the coffee! He'd almost forgotten about - oh.

Standing in the door, holding a coffee pot and a tray of cookies was Aadishwara. "I need to talk to Zevran."

oOo

"Yes? What is it that you need?" Zevran asked once Alistair had left, trying hard to keep his voice neutral.

"Nothing at all," the old man said with a shrug, sprawling in a chair and munching on a cookie. "I was told Alistair was here again and I thought you might be tired of all the, ah, difficult talks today."

Zevran stared at him, speechless. The most "difficult talk" he'd had today - and one that he'd lost - was with this annoying old fool. After all the strong reactions he had witnessed, Zevran wasn't convinced Aadishwara should be a part of the rescue team. Even though he had calmed down considerably after his visit to the Crows, having such an emotional and unpredictable person around would be a liability.

Naturally, he'd tried to put it more diplomatically - but he needn't have bothered. Whether they agreed or not, he was going, was the old man's stubborn reply to everything. In the end there was nothing else to do but to agree.

"You look barely alive," Aadishwara continued, unconcerned. "You should go to sleep."

As if he could sleep now! Besides, there was still so much to do-

"There's nothing left for you to do now," the old man said as if he could read his mind. "Leliana's team is already at the Chantry; they should be leaving for the fort with the other Sisters and Brothers at any moment. The others are getting ready. Mages from the Collective assured me all the poultices, poisons, charms and glyphs will be ready in three hours - they're drawing glyphs on our clothes as we speak."

"Yes, but the others-"

"Who? Oghren and Faren? Last time I checked, Oghren was getting his hair and beard dyed strawberry blond, and Faren was practicing his role of a Dwarven merchant selling fine dwarven goods, direct from Orzammar! Shale and Sten are moving us to Isabela's ship, Erwin is packing his stuff, and the old half-possessed hag is working on extra strong healing potions and poultices."

For Airam. Zevran swallowed, forcing himself not to think about what was happening in the fort right now. "We still haven't planned our act," he pointed out. Originally, he'd planned to go with Oghren, but since Shwara insisted on coming, it was best to pair with him. Easier to control the damage, yes? The problem was, he couldn't think of anything to do to get them in.

"Don't worry about that," the mage said. "All you need to do is look sexy tomorrow. My grandson is convinced that's always easy for you. I can't say I share his opinion - but for his sake, I hope you manage it tomorrow. However, you won't be convincing if you look like you stayed up the whole night suffering from diarrhoea."

He couldn't help laughing. And immediately felt guilty. How could he be laughing when Airam was being - when he was in danger? His emotions must have shown on his face, because the old man got up and walked over to him.

"Listen, son," he said, putting his hands on Zevran's shoulders and looking him in the eye. "You need to be detached and calm now. Cold and professional. No emotions, no worries. Believe me, I know how difficult it is. But I need you - Air needs you - to be a Crow now. More than ever before."

What the old man said was all true, naturally. But how could he not worry, how could he be cold and detached, when it was Airam? How could anyone expect him to sleep now?

"If you can't do it, Airam will die," Aadishwara added softly. "You must have learned some mind-calming techniques as a Crow - meditation, relaxation, emptying your mind, whatever. Use them now and take a proper rest. You must be at your best tomorrow."

Zevran took a deep breath. "I will. I swear."

oOo

Twenty eight hours since Airam had been captured.

Zevran fastened a leather harness to his torso, then attached his weapons to it. Airam had once asked him if he were a walking armory for having a mere six daggers on him. Eight, he had corrected him, two were also in his boots. Today he had twelve, and as many vials with his strongest poison – no matter how shallow the cut, once it was in the bloodstream, the victim would die within two minutes.

There was a brief knock on the door, and a maid peeked in. "Ser… ah." She swallowed, but quickly shook herself. "The witch has arrived, ser. She's in Master's study."

"Thank you, Sally." Zevran grinned as he pulled a thin shirt over his torso. In front of the mirror, he carefully arranged it to outline the harness and the vials.

As a mage, Shwara didn't need a weapon; with a bit of makeup, he could pose as anything he wished, and pass by the guards without raising any suspicion. Zevran was not so lucky. He couldn't hope to enter the fortress carrying his weapons – and he couldn't hope to save Airam without them. His best option was to hide them in plain sight. The harness was of a polished wine-red leather, the same as his pants; the vials and daggers were all black, as were his boots, fingerless gloves, and a belt with a whip and a pair of shackles.

He put on a wig – the same golden colour as his own, but longer and wavier – and carefully arranged the locks around his face. Taking a step back, he assessed the results. Not bad, if he said so himself. Without the tattoo, now hidden under several layers of makeup, the long curls, and lip gloss, even he wouldn't recognize himself.

Satisfied, he headed to Erwin's study. Morrigan's report was the last thing they were waiting for; if she confirmed everyone was in place and ready, he and Shwara would leave for the fort immediately.

When he entered the room, the old man was not there, however. Erwin was animatedly explaining something to Eamon, who looked like a cat that got a bowl of candied mice served with the purest cream, and Alistair, who was frowning at the documents in his hands. Interesting. The fact that he did not know about the documents yet meant Morrigan had brought them with her just now. Where was she?

Ah, there she was, standing next to the open window, talking to… Zevran paused, frowning. He had never seen this man, of that he was certain – he wouldn't have forgotten someone this astonishing. Tall and slender but well-toned, with long hair so pale it was almost white reaching down to his waist, dressed in a silk robe and adorned with a multitude of earrings, necklaces, and bracelets, he looked like a prince posing as a whore. Or vice versa.

He strolled over to the pair, bowing his head. "Hello, Morrigan. Would you mind introducing me to your young friend?"

The others stopped what they were doing and turned to stare. Alistair snickered and muttered something that sounded like, 'not the only fool'.

The young man laughed. "I think that means we're ready to go, Erwin," he said. "If it lasts for only three hours, we should not waste a single minute."

Zevran's jaw dropped. Grandpa Rashwash?

The man snorted. "At least try to look intelligent, please. You are in the house of one of the most brilliant mages – second only to me, in fact – who also happens to be an illusion mage."

A pity the illusion lasts only until he speaks. But it wouldn't be wise to say that aloud. "I hope you can move without clinking," he said instead. "Everything going according to plan?" he asked Morrigan without waiting for a reply.

"Yes," she said. "I have to say that sending Dagna was a brilliant move-"

"Dagna?" Zevran turned to Erwin. "I thought she was already on Isabela's ship?"

The mage shrugged. "I thought so as well. What is she doing there?"

"Saving the day," Morrigan said. "The two fools' act as merchants wasn't very convincing. They would have been out of the fortress within half an hour. With Dagna, I wouldn't be surprised if they offered her a job as their master smith."

Zevran nodded. What was done, was done. No time to fret about it now. "Just make sure she doesn't get too distracted and forget where she's supposed to be."

"Of course. If that is all, I will meet you there." She turned into a raven and flew out.

"We should go as well," Zevran said.

"All right. I have already sent messengers to Arls Bryland and Wulffe to come in an hour – half an hour now, in fact – about these documents Leliana found in the fortress."

"He always claimed the Blight was just Duncan's plot to control the king!" Alistair burst out. "Now we have proof he knew it was real all along! They even sent help! Before Riordan, Orlais sent a whole contingent of Wardens, and Loghain turned them back!"

"I see," Zevran said, trying to remember who Wulffe was. The political aspects of the Wardens' campaign were never his priority – he was happy to be the bodyguard and mentor of his little Warden. Who was waiting for him now. "I leave it in your capable hands, my friend. But now we need to go before the spell wears off."

"Right." Alistair swallowed anxiously. "I… Good luck."

There was nothing to say to that and with a curt nod, he left the room, followed by Shwara.

oOo

They emerged from the Mage Collective tunnels in a dirty little back alley about a quarter of a mile from the fortress. Zevran shivered. They had put on fur coats and shawls, but if their act was to convince anyone, they had to keep them open and as revealing as possible.

"Do you remember your role?" he asked as they headed to the main road, careful not to slip on the treacherous ice under the frozen snow. "Your name is…"

"Dunham," the mage replied, with an exasperated little sigh. "You're Febo, the captain's name is Ser Gordon, and we were hired by one of his noble friends."

Zevran nodded. "And you memorized the plans?"

"I'm not a clueless rookie, Zevran. I worked for the Ferelden Crown as a sort of magical spy," Shwara replied. "Now come on."

Zevran frowned. First Dagna's improvisation, now this. As if this whole attempt wasn't desperate already. There was no time to argue, however as they had just stepped out onto the main road. Fortunately, it was mostly empty; not many civilians had business this close to the infamous prison. He fixed Shwara's shawl, which had fallen askew. "Very well," he said. "Leave the talking to me."

The mage just nodded.

They sashayed down the road, flashing smiles and sending air kisses to the few people who paused to gawk at them – mostly off-duty guards and servants, from the looks of it. By the time they had reached the gate to the fortress, the four guards standing there had had enough time to ogle them.

"Nothing for you here, girls!" one of the guards said, and the others laughed as if he'd said something funny. "Turn around, now."

Zevran laughed, too. "Not here, no," he said with a wink. "But I believe we have one bed reserved for tonight in the room of Ser Gordon."

The guards exchanged looks.

"Again?" one of them muttered. "I thought the Post Commander had forbidden bringing whores here."

"He did," the other one muttered. "And were it you or me, we'd be riding a wooden mule for a week. But old Gordon…" He spat in the snow.

But 'old Gordon' was the second cousin once removed of Bann Curwen, one of Loghain's supporters – which was the very reason why Zevran had chosen him from a list of candidates provided by Sanga. It was a most interesting list, truly – with the names, positions, relations and extravagant tastes of practically all of Fort Drakon's officers. And it took her less than an hour to make it. Ah, poor foolish men and their illusions of strength and power! Whores, bards and assassins knew the truth – what ruled the world were not armies, but information, distributed or withheld from the shadows.

"Perhaps it is a new rule that is not generally known yet?" he offered innocently. "We were hired by the lord- ah… by one of Ser Gordon's… friends. To express his most sincere gratitude for the other night-"

"Spare us the details," the first man growled. "All right. You may go in. But I need to check you for any weapons."

"Of course." Zevran took the whip and the shackles off his belt and promptly handed them to the guards. "I might have more," he said with a wink, "but for that you would need at least three hours – one for the performance, and two to explain to Ser Gordon why his present arrived unpacked. And five sovereigns."

"Five sovereigns?! That's more than I earn in a month!" The guard looked him over again. "What do you do for that kind of money?"

"We make your blood boil. Literally," Shwara said with a little wink.

It took all of Zevran's training not to glare at Shwara. Was he trying to get them killed? This is what you get when you cooperated with non-Crows! He gave a throaty laugh. "I only get to keep one sovereign, if that makes you feel better. You know how it is… you do the job, but the profit and glory goes to the higher ups… But, maybe it is different in the army?"

The guard spat on the ground again. "Nah, it's the same… But, uh, look, I really need to check-"

"What a shame! A brave soldier risking his life for the safety of the rest of us deserves better, no? You should come to The Silken Flute sometimes. Ask for Febo. I'll give you a ten percent discount. Assuming, of course, my delicate physique survives this interrogation in the middle of the frost and snow and the resulting displeasure of the client. Who happens to be your superior."

The guards exchanged another look, shifting their weight. "I guess…"

"Just let them in," the other guard grumbled. "It's Gordon's call, not ours."

"All right." The guard finally lowered his weapon. "But be warned," he added, as he opened the gate and stepped aside to let them pass, "if you peep a word about us not being happy with Ser Gordon, this'll be your last job."

Finally! A moment longer and he would've assassinated them, consequences be damned. "Ah, thank you, my friend." He brushed against the guard as he passed by.

The guard swallowed heavily. He opened his mouth, but his mind was apparently a bit too preoccupied to come up with a reply, and he shut it again. Zevran chuckled. Job well done.

The courtyard was full of people. Servants, mostly, tending to the horses and livestock. And a few merchant carts and wagons – including one offering fine dwarven craft, to Zevran's great relief. All heads turned as they sashayed to the gatehouse. If they truly were whores – and were willing to lower their prices - they would have gotten enough clients for the next six months, at least. The guards were the worst, whistling and catcalling as they approached. More than checking them for weapons, they tried to get into their pants.

As expected, that – it was a well-known yet surprisingly often overlooked fault of several lines of defense. Once you were let in by one line, the other guards assumed you had been checked properly and had a reason to be there, and weren't as suspicious as they should be. This was hardly the first time it had helped Zevran with a mission. Hm… He would have to warn Alistair about it once he became a king. Especially if his Air would want to stay at court for a while.

And they were in. Zevran made a point of looking around with wide eyes as if he'd never been in a fort like this before, surveying the layout as he did so. It fit the Crows' maps perfectly. Which meant there was a waiting room to the left. If all had gone according to plan, someone from Leliana's team should be meeting them here.

But when they entered, there was nothing but a desk with a carafe of water, a few tin cups, and a bench. No servants, no guards, and unfortunately, no Leliana.

"Now what?" asked Shwara. He tried his best to sound and look calm, but he couldn't fool a Crow.

"Now we wait," Zevran said. "We are in the waiting room, no? Please. Sit down." He pointed to the bench. "I am sure our client will appear shortly." He hoped the old man understood and would have enough sense to maintain his act. Just because there was no one in the room, it didn't mean they were not being observed. Sure, these were only Fereldan guards, not Crows or bards, but it would still be foolish to underestimate them.

Shwara obediently sat down, but he didn't look any calmer. "And if they don't come?"

"If they don't come, we will… ask around. I am sure someone-" Zevran stiffened as the door opened and a guard wearing a full helmet marched in.

"Follow me," he said. His voice sounded familiar, but the damned helmet muffled the sound too much to be sure.

"And may we know where you are taking us?" Zevran asked.

"To where you are expected," the man said. He warily looked around, then flipped open his visor. "It's me," he hissed.

Zevran sighed in relief as he recognized Carroll. The plan had worked after all. So far. The easy part had just ended.

oOo

Carroll led them straight to the prison door. He knocked two times. "Password?" a voice from behind the door asked.

"Rabbit," Carroll replied. The door opened. Four grim-faced and heavily armed guards glared at them.

"What are these two doing here?" one of them asked.

"Ser Gordon ordered them here," Carroll said without the slightest hesitation. Well now. Who would have thought he would be this good? What were those missions he and Jowan were doing for the Mages Collective, anyway? Perhaps he should've spent more time with them.

The guards let them in, shutting and bolting the gates behind them. That meant they would have to kill them on the way back. He should assign Leliana to that while he found Airam. Carroll led them to a little side corridor on the left. There was one door at the end.

"In there," he muttered. Change into the uniforms. I'll guard."

The room used to be a cell once; there were still shackles attached to the north wall. Now, however, it was only a storeroom, empty except for a few barrels and crates – and two guards, dead or unconscious, he couldn't tell. Rather short and skinny for humans, which must be why Leliana had chosen them – no one would believe they were guards if they looked like kids playing with their father's armour. The guards were stripped to their breeches, their uniforms stacked neatly on a crate.

Zevran took off his shirt and leather pants and put on the armour; after a moment of hesitation, he took off his wig as well. The helmet would be enough. He looked around and picked up an empty satchel where he stuffed his previous disguise - they would need it for Air. Shwara simply pulled the armour over his outfit, as taking it off would ruin the illusion spell. It didn't take more than a few minutes, but it still wasn't quick enough for Carroll. The annoying man peeked at least three times to ask if they were finally done.

"Where are the others?" he asked once they joined Carroll outside.

"Around," he replied nervously. "Leliana went to check the commander's office, and Jowan and Lady Wynne are looking for the Warden's equipment."

"His equipment?" Shwara burst out impatiently. "Who cares about the equipment! Why aren't you looking for him?"

Carroll nodded, as if he'd expected the question. "We knew where he was – he was being interrogated. Leliana said it wasn't wise to try to interfere because there were too many guards. But now that the interrogation is over, she hopes to find out which cell he's been taken to."

"It's a smart plan," Zevran said before Shwara could protest again. He knew too damn well what 'interrogation' meant, but Leliana had made the right decision. Going against all of the guards with just a four-man team would be suicidal and raise an alarm, making the rescue that much more difficult. They could only hope that one day wasn't enough to inflict any lasting damage.

oOo

"You came just in time. Let's go."

Zevran looked from the corpse – the post commander, he guessed – crumpled in a chair to Leliana's pale face. Whatever the man had said or done, it had to be beyond horrible to upset her this much. Zevran couldn't remember when – if ever – he had seen Leliana this enraged. Now was not the time to talk about it, however. "You know where Air is?"

"Yes. Follow me. We need to hurry. It might start again at any moment."

"What might start?" Shwara asked, but she had already stormed out the room.

They had barely passed a few yards when Leliana signaled them to wait. She did not try to hide in shadows however, as if she wasn't concerned if the guards saw them at all. Zevran frowned. It was unlike Leliana to be this reckless. What had happened in that office? Why was she in such a hurry? The door of a nearby room opened. Four guards strolled out, clutching pints of ale in their hands and laughing. Off-duty, then.

"I hope they didn't ruin that pretty face of his during the interrogation," one of them said.

"Nah, they want him to be recognizable when they hang him. You know, so no one can claim it wasn't really him," another said.

"They want to hang him?"

"Yeah, on the day of the Landsmeet. I overheard the post commander say so to the second."

"Great! I hope they let us have fun with him every night until then."

Zevran's breath drew in sharply as he realized who and what they were talking about. Shwara understood too, for an icy draught started to whoosh through the corridor. The guards stopped. "What the – did you guys forget to close the window?" one of them asked.

They never got a chance to find out the answer to the mystery. Airam's blizzard was incredibly powerful, but it always took some time to start properly. This one was viciously sudden and strong, over almost before it began. When the wind calmed down again a moment later, the guards were covered in a thick ice crust. Without waiting for the command, Carroll pulled out his sword and shattered them.

Shwara's chest heaved. "Was it that dead guy who was responsible for this?"

"No," Leliana replied. "Loghain's second, Ser Cauthrien, ordered it. At least that's what he claimed. It was supposed to break him."

"Do we know if she's in the Tower now?"

Zevran sensed something had shifted in Shwara – not the voice or expression, it went deeper than that - and it made the man scarier than ever before, scarier than any other mage or Crow Zevran had ever met.

"Unfortunately, no. She's at the palace. So is Loghain."

Shwara didn't say anything, he just slowly nodded and continued down the corridor, the snow crunching under his feet. Zevran and Leliana exchanged an alarmed look. They better keep an eye on the old man for the next few days, lest he decided to blow up the whole palace.

oOo

On their way to Airam's cell, they met three more guard patrols. If Airam and Alistair had been here, they would've joked about all the pretty ice statues lending noblesse to the prison. This time, however, no one felt like joking. Wynne and Jowan joined them during the second fight, if it could even be called that.

Zevran walked over the shattered remnants of the last two guards who had stood in front of Airam's cell. They probably had a key on them, but it was faster to pick the lock. You never know when it might come in handy. That was Airam's reply whenever Zevran whined about lock picking training. And here he was now.

The lock fell to the ground.

For a split second, Zevran stood there, unable to move or speak, unable to breathe, staring at Airam's battered, naked body in the far corner of the cell. When he heard the door open, he curled into a ball, with his arms over his head. A soft whimper escaped his lips.

Zevran crossed the distance between them and crouched. "Amore," he whispered. He desperately wanted to scoop him into his arms, but didn't dare – his chest and back were covered in bloody welts, bruises, and burns - by the Maker, they burned him! "Wynne!" he called, but she was already there, casting her spell.

The cold pale-blue light covered Airam's body and he sighed in relief, finally looking up at them. "Zevran…" he whispered, surprised. "A desire demon, then… not pride…"

"A desire demon? Now that's a new one. You may call me that, if you want," Zevran forced himself to smile. He wanted to take Airam by the hand – but it was bloody and swollen. All his nails had been torn off. Zevran swallowed. Never in his life had he felt this helpless. And useless.

"This is bad," Wynne muttered. "He can't recognize reality from the Fade anymore. I intended to put him to sleep while we went back – the strongest healing spells work best in sleep. But it's too dangerous. In the state he is in now, he'd be easy prey for demons."

"But you can fix it, yes?" Leliana asked, alarmed.

"Yes. However, it will take time. Half an hour at least. We don't-"

"We do." Zevran got up. "Take as long as necessary. Shwara, Jowan, you're with me. We'll make sure no one interrupts the healing."

oOo

Half an hour later, there was not a single living person in the dungeon besides their small group. All together, the guards might have been a challenge. But they were scattered all over the place, two tending the mabaris, three working in workshops, others cleaning the cells – the bodies of their former occupants piled on a cart, waiting to be burned. Against a Crow, a bloodmage and the embodiment of a natural disaster, the guards did not stand a chance. Zevran wished Shwara had a fire spell, too. Burning the whole place would feel so much more satisfying.

When they returned to the cell, they found Airam cleaned up and dressed in Zevran's disguise, sleeping peacefully in Wynne's lap.

"We're ready to go," she said the moment she saw him.

Shwara took off the guard armour again; two whores entered the fort, and two whores had to leave. The illusion still worked, but his skin was paler and his hair had a slightly lilac undertone. High time to go.

Zevran carefully took the boy into his arms and they headed out; Leliana locked the dungeon door behind them. Hopefully it would give them a little more time before other guards noticed something was wrong.

Now for the worst part. He hoped Morrigan and the dwarves were ready.

oOo

The sun had already set when they walked out of the gates. The guards – new ones, the shift had changed fifteen minutes ago – looked at Airam with shocked confusion.

"By the Maker! Who's that? What happened?"

"Gordon's whores," Carroll said through gritted teeth. "Things went wrong. We need to get them back to the Silken Flute. If anyone asks, you never saw them. They weren't here. Understood?"

The guards frowned, looking from Carroll to Wynne, Leliana and Jowan in their Chantry robes, carrying sacks with Airam's stuff and weapons. "Yeah… And these? You go to the whorehouse too, sisters?"

Wynne pressed her lips. "These poor souls are the Maker's children as well," she said in her most preachy tone, placing her hand on Zevran's shoulder protectively. "There is no doubt they made some poor life choices, but it is not up to us to judge them."

"That they are prostitutes does not mean they deserve to be treated this way," Leliana added, disgusted.

The guards still weren't quite convinced. "Yes, but-"

A blood-curdling scream cut him short. "Spider! Spider!" More people screamed and yelled for help, dropping whatever they were holding to run away.

The guards turned towards the noise. "What the – by the Maker!" They drew their swords and ran off, forgetting all about the unfortunate whores.

Zevran rushed to the wagon. Morrigan was more than capable of dealing with a few guards. Faren and Dagna helped him place Airam on a makeshift bed hidden inside, then they all climbed in. Oghren called to the oxen and they slowly moved on to the gate.

The guards ran to help their comrades slay the monstrous spider, leaving the gate unguarded. Faren and Oghren jumped down to open it, listening for the alarm that a prisoner was escaping, but everyone ignored them. Morrigan's distraction worked well - too well, in fact. More and more guards were pouring out of the fort now, some with bows or torches.

"We need to help her!" Dagna squeaked, peeking through the canvas. "They'll kill her!"

Everyone except Wynne turned to Zevran, waiting for his decision; she remained focused on Airam. He bit his lip, racking his brain for a safe option that would save the witch without endangering the mission.

"We need to buy her some time," he muttered under his breath. He looked at the three mages. "Can you paralyze them somehow?"

Wynne shook her head, not even lifting her eyes. Jowan looked around with wide eyes, but then nodded and rolled up his sleeve. "I'll do it." He tried to sound determined, but his fingers trembled as he pulled out a knife and slashed his forearm. A thin red line bordered with droplets of blood appeared, and he started to chant.

"It will only last for a couple of minutes," he said apologetically when he was done.

Zevran watched, fascinated, as all the guards stopped in their tracks, their bodies twitching in silent agony. He swallowed, remembering the sensation of his blood boiling in his veins. But he had no time to pity their enemies now.

"Let's go!" he called to the dwarves. They jumped back on and they were finally leaving the fort.

The wagon rattled through the streets. Zevran clutched his daggers, certain that their ruse was too obvious. Any moment now, someone would raise an alarm and the guards would come running after them. But nothing happened except Morrigan arriving in her raven form when they were about two miles away from the gate. She looked exhausted, but otherwise unharmed.

They reached the agreed upon spot in one of the back alleys without any trouble. A group of men - Erwin's allies from the Mage Collective - were waiting for them. Some of them took the wagon away as the rest ushered them through a hidden entrance into the tunnels. They were led through what seemed like endless passages until they finally reached the docks and Isabela's ship.

Only after he had watched Denerim's shore dissolve into darkness did Zevran allow himself to breath again. Airam was alive and safe. He was hurt, yes. But he was alive. That was all that mattered.