The first thing Zevran heard upon passing through the now-barrierless entryway was a warning from Wynne that unknown beasts lurked the floors. He would have taken it in his stride if she hadn't made it expressly clear that the beasts were unknown to her. No wonder Rhodri had waylaid them a moment to say a quick goodbye to the children.

The second thing he heard was shrieks, suspiciously similar to the fire blob from before. And then, because life never could allow him to suffer one thing at a time, a chorus of growls started up.

He glanced around. The vaulted stone ceiling was dizzyingly high above them, and tall rows of handsome darkwood bookshelves surrounded them on all sides but one. If the half the tomes weren't plastered with mage entrails, Zevran might have availed himself of a few to sell on the outside for a goodly sum.

Assuming he made it out at all, of course.

The party, following the sound, hastened past row after row of bookshelves until the bastard creatures were in view. The fire blob, he recognised well enough, but Wynne's impassioned, 'Maker's mercy!' suggested its four companions, black and toothsome and very large, were unfamiliar.

Well, it was either that, or the way they were crowded around a greying Templar corpse and making it stretch and swell and…

Zevran squinted, drawing his knives. "Are they making that body into… one of them?"

He got no answer from the mages, who were already at work magicking the creatures into oblivion. Between the two, Wynne cast more steadily. Some of the spell invariably leaked into the environment before it could reach the target, but between that and the Warden's everything-nothing swings, it was eminently superior.

Wynne also had an absolutely magnificent bosom. If the truth was known, so far as he could see, she had an absolutely magnificent everything, and those eye-catching red robes of hers drew the eye to all of it.

Oh, and Alistair. For all his mercurial moods, the man was food for the eyes, and an absolute wonder with that sword. The speed with which he darted behind the fire blob and sliced its head off belied his immense bulk, and the burst of electricity that came with the act made a delighted 'ooh!' fall out of Zevran before he could stop himself. Not least because the sword came out intact; Zevran had been concerned the heat might melt the blades.

After seeing the ravishing Templar-Warden in action, everything seemed eminently more doable now. Alistair was slower than he, the Warden nowhere near as cunning, Wynne was busy with spellcasting and Leliana had a clear preference for archery. That made the perfect niche for an assassin.

Zevran chuckled delightedly and slipped into stealth, passing the rest of the party unseen. Rhodri had her back to him, seemingly oblivious to another of the fire blobs approaching from behind the shelves. With a grin, he zipped behind it and– carefully– swiped his blades across its neck. The radiating heat made his leathers burn sweetly, just a mite hotter than the Antivan sun at its worst. He almost regretted not dragging it out as it melted into nothingness at his feet.

And that ended it. The other things died (the semi-Templar included), and the mages sagged a little, both red-faced and gasping.

"You need lyrium," Alistair said to them pointedly.

Wynne nodded, panting. "We do," she said. "I have none, though. Please, if you see any, give it to us."

"We will need to scour the rooms," Rhodri huffed. "Open all chests and wardrobes. Anything that looks private is fair game now."

Leliana approached, holding out a small piece of paper. "I found this on one of the bodies."

Wynne took it, looked over it, and closed her eyes. "I was worried this might be the case," she sighed.

When the paper went to Rhodri, she read it aloud: "'Uldred will show us the way. Finally, recognition within the Circle and freedom from the scornful eye of the Templars. We will not be shunned. Be ready.'" She threw it on the ground and spat on it.

"Rhodri." Wynne shook her head at her. "Save your anger for later."

The Warden straightened, nodding once. "Onward, then."

'Onward,' as it happened, meant taking a flight of stairs up and passing through a room of the same beasts as before, only these ones exploded on impact. A burst of fire bathed everything, mercifully brief enough that nothing was properly damaged. Zevran touched a hand to his face, sighing with relief to find that nothing came away with his fingers.

Up another flight of stairs, they passed into a large, empty space. A small antechamber was built into the middle, all stone and decorative wrought iron except for the opening in the front. Something was lurking. Its footsteps were barely audible, even to Zevran. Not trusting his human companions to have heard it, he hummed and touched the Warden's arm.

"Be careful," he said in a hush. "We are not alone here."

"Where are they, Zev?" Rhodri asked quietly.

He pointed with his nose in the direction of the hub. "In there, I think."

Weapons were fidgeted with as the party drew closer.

"We will need to go into the stockroom either way," Wynne murmured. "There should at least be some lyrium dust in there, if not potions proper."

From Zevran's right, Rhodri shuddered softly. He pretended not to hear it.

When they had a clear view inside the stockroom, a pale human with a red Andrastian sunburst on his forehead stood in the middle of the room. His arms hung listlessly at his sides; if Zevran didn't know better, he'd have guessed the fellow had been staring at the wall the entire time.

The mages both gasped. "Owain!"

The man turned and regarded them expressionlessly, even as Rhodri hurried over and stood directly in front of him.

The Warden appeared unperturbed by the complete lack of emotion in him. How, Zevran couldn't imagine; it was all he could do not to put a league of space between him and the man. But she– both mages, in fact, looked relieved to see him.

"Hello," he said blankly.

Rhodri gave him a weak smile. "Hello, Owain. Are you injured anywhere?"

"No." He gestured mechanically at the interior, which was a mess of papers and shattered glass. "Please do not come in any further into the stockroom. I was trying to tidy up, but I still have not been able to get it into a state fit to be seen."

"I… don't think cleaning is important right now," Leliana said worriedly. "Aren't you frightened, Owain?"

Owain gazed at Leliana, who took a step backward. "I am one of the Tranquil," he said calmly. "My emotions were taken from me a long time ago, but I know my situation is not ideal. I am defenceless, and if an abomination found me, I would surely perish."

The Sister's mouth fell open. Zevran found himself resisting the urge to do the same. Guilt squirmed in his guts for the revulsion he couldn't pinpoint, and it somehow re-emerged as pity. The Crows had often drilled in the virtues of emotionlessness, of maintaining a cerebral outlook in all circumstances, and he couldn't help wondering what they would think if they saw this man who embodied the ideal to the letter.

Rhodri raised her hand a little to get Owain's attention again. "We need to get you somewhere safe," she urged. "Do you know if anyone else is alive right now?"

"Yes." Owain pointed a finger further inside. "Pharamond is behind those shelves. Nobody else."

Her eyes widened. "Pharamond," she whispered, and bolted past him.

Owain, repeating his request that they not venture further in, trailed after the party as they followed after her. Inside, a tall elven man surveyed the shelves with an empty face, pen and clipboard in hand. A moment passed before he turned in the direction of the noise they had made, revealing the same adornment on his forehead; Rhodri stopped dead.

"Oh, Pharamond," she breathed.

Pharamond regarded her with the same permanently blank look Owain had, and nodded. "Yes," he said serenely. "I am Pharamond. I did not think you would forget me, Rhodri."

Her mouth pulled down at the corners ever-so-briefly. "Never. You're one of my best friends."

Pharamond said nothing; she drew in a deep breath and let it out again. "We need to get you and Owain to safety right now. The other survivors are in the library annexe, waiting for us to clear the abominations out."

"We tried to go to that door," Owain said from behind, "but upon seeing a barrier, we returned to the stockroom to continue working."

"Owain!" Wynne looked horrified. "You should have said something! I would have opened the door for you."

Zevran chewed his lip as the Tranquil took this telling-off with a calm blink.

"The stockroom is familiar," he replied. "I would prefer to stay here. I would prefer the Tower returned to the way it was."

"Perhaps Niall will succeed," Pharamond said, seemingly to no-one in particular.

Wynne frowned. "Niall? Succeed with what?"

"We do not know. He came into the stockroom with some others and took the Litany of Adralla." Pharamond pointed at the top of the bookshelf slightly to his left. "It is normally kept there."

The senior mage pinched her brow between her fingers. "As I feared then. The Litany is used to prevent mind control from blood magic. Oh, dear…"

Rhodri put a hand on Wynne's elbow. "Come, then. Let's take these two back and look for some supplies."

It took cajoling from both mages before Owain and Pharamond agreed to be escorted to the library annexe. The Warden insisted they be accompanied the entire way in case something nasty was loitering unseen between the shelves.

"When," Rhodri hissed to Wynne as the party made their way back to the stockroom, "was he made Tranquil?"

Wynne sighed. "Not long after you left, I believe. I didn't know Pharamond well, but he did have a temper on him…"

"So does Marie!" she protested. "Worse than Pharamond's! Did they make her Tranquil?"

"I do not know the story, Rhodri," the woman replied wearily. "And I believe Marie is dead, but at the time of her death, no, she was not Tranquil. Now come, help me find some concentration and distillation agents…"

Wynne paused and pointed at Alistair, Leliana, and Zevran. "You three, please look for lyrium dust. Dark red powder, kept in a glass vial the size of your hand." She raised an eyebrow. "I am not sure if it needs to be said, but do not open or touch the contents of any of the vials. They can be incredibly dangerous."

Alistair chuckled. "I don't think we'd be game to."

"Mmm," Zevran smirked. "I, for one, am happy not to be turned into a toad from touching some mysterious ingredient."

She took the remarks with a wry smile and left them to it.

The Templar let out a sigh as they scanned the shelves. "Just when I thought I was shot of ever having to touch the stuff…"

"You never handled it it?" Leliana asked, taking a vial and holding it closer to the weak sunlight to inspect the contents.

"Mm-mm. Chantry doesn't even let you see it 'til you've finished training. Duncan conscripted me right before they were going to make me take my first swig of it."

Zevran hummed thoughtfully. "Did they ever say what it tastes like?"

"Tastes like it smells, apparently. Lightning-struck earth is the descriptor everyone used." Alistair watched him beadily from the corner of his eye. "Don't drink it. Or steal it."

"Me?" he touched a hand to his chest. "I would not dream of it."

If the Templar had planned to snip something back, it was lost as Rhodri drew up near him and rested her hands on his shoulders. He turned and gave her a small smile.

"'Ello," he murmured affectionately. "Any luck?"

The Warden nodded. "Found both agents. I was coming to check on your progress here. No sign of the lyrium dust?"

Leliana squinted at the vial in her hand. "I… can't read the writing on this," she said.

"Mmm? May I look at…? Ah. Yes, this is it." Rhodri's face hardened. With a quiet issue of thanks, she took the dust to Wynne, who was already preparing several flasks with the other liquids. Wynne swirled the lyrium dust vial and inspected the small, red cloud climbing its way up to the stopper. Appearing satisfied, she waited until it had settled to remove the stopper, and began tipping a little down the neck of a flask.

When the dust hit the liquid, a burst of white light passed through the stockroom like a flash of lightning. In the returning dimness, the bottle's contents now glowed a far deeper blue than the aquamarine of the lyrium Rhodri had kept in her tent.

"You're afflicted, Rhodri," Wynne said after the third flask was ready. "Isn't that so?"

"I am."

"Mid-concentration, then?"

Rhodri's grip tightened on her staff. "If you please."

Wynne looked over her shoulder. "If you would rather avoid drinking it, I could try to cast a mana regeneration spell–"

"Thank you, no." the Warden shook her head. "This could be the last of the lyrium, and we can't waste it on inefficient spells. Much better to drink it and do a small healing spell or two after."

Alistair winced. His mouth opened, and as Rhodri's eyes fell on him, he closed it again. With a nod, Wynne handed her two of the paler flasks and took a darker one for herself.

"Your very good health, then," she said, clinking the bottles gently and necking her own serve in a few gulps. Zevran, unable to resist himself, watched on in fascination as she took a deep sigh and stood straighter. A revitalised glow crept into her cheeks; she smacked her lips with a gentle frown.

"Tasty?" Zevran asked with a grin.

Wynne raised an eyebrow and gently wafted the flask an arm's length away from his face.

He sneezed.

"Oh," he groaned, regretting his cheek as a metallic taste crept into the back of his throat. "Lightning-struck earth. Alistair was right."

"He was," she said. Her crispness belied the small curve in her mouth.

Wynne turned to Rhodri. "I can cast as needed. Start when you wish."

With a nod, Rhodri turned to the others. "Please go and wait on the other side of the shelves," she indicated the area where they had found Owain. "Come back if you hear or see anything approaching."

The three of them traipsed away; Zevran wondered the point of asking them to do that, as though a stock-shelf afforded any real privacy. Rhodri's instructions that Wynne cast only after the entire bottle was gone was as audible as it would have been had they been in plain view.

"I will cast if I think you need it," Wynne said firmly.

"Only if I lose more than a cup of blood."

Wynne tsked softly. "Drink, Rhodri, if you must."

Zevran counted three gulps, each one slower coming than the next, before she descended into fitful, stifled coughing.

"Keep calm, and take a deep breath. If it's only a little blood, swallow it if you can."

A gasp was attempted. Blood–he knew it was blood– purled in her throat like she was drowning in it, and Zevran was a wretched, teary-eyed fool for thinking of her.

Taliesen grinned at Zevran from his sprawl on top of the crates. He spun the dagger in his hand with a keen flick of the wrist.

"Not a bad idea, was it, getting her to meet us here?"

Zevran flicked his eyebrows once in agreement. "I suppose I will be buying the drinks tonight, no?"

"Too right you will be." Taliesen's eyes, rich and dark, glimmered wildly. "You ready?"

He hummed in the affirmative; the apparently lacklustre response evoking a frown in his partner. Taliesen eyed him beadily.

Zevran shrugged, surprising himself as he failed to manage a more vigorous addition. "In my defence," he said, "I will be spending a fortune on prostitutes from now on."

Taliesen scoffed. "And what am I, hmm? A decoration?" His nose wrinkled a little. "I know she's your favourite–"

"Ooh, Taliesen!" Zevran chuckled, swallowing his climbing stomach back into place. "So territorial you are!" He smoothed a hand over his chest. "Don't tell me you're in love with me."

Taliesen reached down where Zevran stood and cuffed him on the shoulder with surprising hardness. "Don't be fucking stupid," he spat. "If anything, I should be the one asking you, about her."

Zevran raised an eyebrow, resisting the urge to rub the aching spot, and forced another chuckle. "It was a joke, my friend. We both know there is only room for pleasure and death." He sighed. "Perhaps if you would get a little softer in the belly, I might not need to go to the brothel after all."

The knots in his guts untangled a little as Taliesen barked out a laugh, and then twisted back with double the tension as the door opened and Rinna sauntered in. He refused to find any familiarity in her smile or the wink she shot him. A mask was all it was, and he'd been a fool to think otherwise.

"What's so funny, then, boys?" She swept a loose lock of hair out of her face– she never did try to tie back errant strands, even when she had to fight–

Stop.

Zevran smirked and looked to Taliesen to answer. Rinna drew up beside them, pulling Zevran into a kiss.

His gorge rose as their mouths met. Tricky bitch, nearly played him for a fool, and for how long? Like a lamb to the bloody slaughter. Her tongue brushed over his lips, and he could have screamed with relief as she suddenly pulled away again with an alarmed squeak.

Her arms left him; Zevran stepped back. Taliesen's knife was already at her throat, and Rinna stood stock-still.

Taliesen bent down so his mouth was near her ear. "We know, darling," he whispered. "Poison, Zevran."

She gaped at him. "Zev–?"

With a quick sweep, Zevran made a light cut up Rinna's calf. The poison on his dagger was only a mild thing-- he couldn't bring himself to dip it in anything stronger-- but she'd be immobilised in under a minute.

Her eyes welled with tears. "Know what?" she asked. "Why are you doing this?"

It was the continued acting that made Zevran angry. Admitting to it, fighting them– Maker, even the traditional Crow tactic of smiling smugly and saying nothing would have been less infuriating.

"Don't play stupid, Rinnala," he said coldly. "Did you truly think you would sell us out to that merchant without consequence? That we would not find out?"

"As though we don't have eyes everywhere," Taliesen hissed.

"Sell–?" she choked. "Sell the Crows out to our mark? Sell you out? Why would I do that?"

Zevran shrugged. "It is not for us to create an alibi for you. You did what you did, and now you pay the price."

"N-no! Wait!"

Taliesen growled in frustration. "What?"

Her knees buckled until they touched the ground. "Look at me," she pleaded. "Zev. Amor, look at me!"

He sighed and looked down at her. Impossibly brown eyes swam with tears, pinning him where he stood.

"I love you," she creaked. "I love you so much. You know me, Zev. I would never!"

Zevran gave a loud, bitter laugh that made her flinch. He squatted down until they were eye level. "Even if that were true," he sneered, "I do not care." He waved a hand. "Do it, Taliesen, before she makes me vomit."

Taliesen's fingers fastened around her hair, and with one swift move, Rinna's throat was opened. It was nowhere near his usual neatness, Zevran noticed: the blade had sliced too deeply, passing through her windpipe as well.

Rinna wailed, much to Taliesen's delight, blowing blood all over the fucking place. He almost looked disappointed when she started to quieten. Her skin was going the shade of white Zevran had only seen on a fish's belly, and the screams had died down to voiceless gurgles. Sweat beaded on her brow, and even as her breathing slowed, slowed, stopped, her eyes were trained on him. She didn't look away for a second, and when Zevran realised his eyes hadn't left hers either, he spat on her to atone.

A fresh bout of coughing almost made Zevran jump. He took the opportunity to turn away from Alistair and Leliana and carefully wiped under his eyes.

Wynne's voice took on an encouraging lilt."Last mouthful… and done. Hold still while I-- there."

When her third bout of coughing finished, Rhodri's gasps were, for the first time in minutes, unobstructed. There was a cheerful sort of clinking before the two mages emerged from their enclave, their hands full of lyrium flasks. The Warden's face, though bright enough, was beaded with sweat, and the flash of teeth in her open, panting mouth was black with blood. She glanced at them, gestured forward, and walked on without a word.