BioWare is the creator of 99% of the Characters, Concepts, Places, Names and Mild Swears that are featured in this tale. I thank them for their wonderful universe and their willingness to let hacks like me poke at it with knives or, rather, my own clumsy fingers.

It was Satinalia.

The public house overflowed with inebriated revelers, so much so that the front door could not be closed and the guest rooms on the lower level were in use as extensions of the main bar. Sailors and mercenaries sprawled alongside one another on beds stripped of quilts and linens while vanity tops sagged under the weight of empty tankards and tipsy lasses set on display.

They were just another couple enjoying the festivities. They stumbled against walls and over pavers, they stood too close together and laughed too loudly. When an amply bosomed, under-garbed wench approached them, cerulean eyes full of carnal promise, the man was inclined to set aside their evening plans and see what might unfold here. Only his partner, tugging his hand with faux playfulness, could dissuade such prurient interest.

"Oww! My shoulder. You didn't have to pull it out of the socket, you know."

"Oh, go heal yourself."

"Do I detect a hint of jealousy? You would have been included, I promise."

They pushed through the crowd, clinging to one another like lovers afraid to part. As the drunken crowd was more inclined towards belligerence than grace, their progress was slow. The woman took to throwing a few well-placed elbows. She knew exactly where to strike and how to make the movement deft to the point of invisibility. The strategy helped and soon they were climbing a narrow flight of stairs that would lead them to the back rooms.

They found the door that was the final obstacle between them and their ultimate goal. She quietly tested the handle while he leaned in to block any view one might have of her hands. He wore furs, leathers and glorified rags all cinched and connected by a complicated system of belts and clasps. A golden helm, complete with two dangerously pointed horns, finished his barbarian king look. She was in head to toe purple, glittering plates affixed to her shins and stomach. Her face was obscured by an elaborate dragon mask.

"My lady! You look good enough to slay."

"That's Commander my lady."

"And here I was hoping we could give up the pretense, just for one night."

A suspicious sailor, ale dribbling down his flowered dress, lurched towards them and the man leaned in to nuzzle the woman's neck; just an amorous couple of drunks taking advantage of a free flat surface. He's taking this too far.She thought about it a few seconds longer than necessary before shaking him off.His hazel eyes glinted with mischief, a crooked smile playing on his lips.

"I look forward to my dressing down."

After the sailor moved on the woman tried at the handle again, matching her partner's smile as they fell into the larder. Their victory was quite temporary. Greeting them was the sight of two…the pair cocked their heads simultaneously…

"Do you think they're actually dressed as nugs, or are we just inferring that because a chubby, naked…"

"Please stop. I really don't want to think about it."

"Suit yourself. Hmm. I guess there really is someone out there for everyone."

There was no way to distract the couple writhing, enthusiastic and oblivious, on the trap door that lead to the smuggler's tunnel beneath the city. The pair exchanged harried looks.

"It seems our spot is taken."

"We can always join them, might be fun. I mean, you never know. They're obviously having a good time."

"I'm going to pass. I think there's an abandoned house that would provide a bit more privacy."

Grabbing his hand again, the woman pulled her barbarian king through the bar one last time. If we're lucky, we'll beat the guards on rounds.She looked back and saw that he was enjoying being hauled through a crowd with such purpose, a smug smile plastered on his face as if to announce their intentions to everyone in the room.

They spilled onto the street, the air damp and cool compared to the overstuffed tavern they'd just vacated. The evening was lit by weak lamplight and the handheld lanterns carried by the passing night guard.

"We have to get well ahead of the city's men. They have a tendency to dawdle by the gate."

"Are you saying we should run? That wouldn't look suspicious at all."

"Such cheek! If you want me to do that, you'll have to catch me first...if you can."

With that, the woman in the dragon mask set off into the night. Her companion remained rooted, momentarily stunned by her parting words.

"What are ya waitin' for? Catch her, boy, or one of us will." A mustachioed guardsman urged the man with an explicit gesture. Right, of course.

"Of course!" He took off after his prey, blood roaring in his ears. He lacked her speed and dexterity, but he had other ways to cut the distance. Hands tingling, he pushed through a group congregated near the Chantry. It parted easily, those closest to him jumping with widened eyes. The shock he administered was mild at best, definitely nothing to get excited about, but to a person compromised by a goodly amount of alcohol and other debauched behaviors it was enough to repulse them and give him a clear shot through.

If his partner sensed her companion's unfair advantage, she gave no indication. Almost to the gate, she slid into a shadowed recess in the city wall to evade the notice of the soldier on guard. It would be best if they passed him together rather than just careening by one after another with the hope that he'd be fooled by their forced merriment. Not so forced. The woman was taking deep breaths, less for the air and more for control. It had been a while since she had done anything this brazen. She'd forgotten what it felt like to be on this side of the law- the heady rush of...

"Caught you."

He came from behind how in the Maker's name?and grabbed her waist. She pulled from his hold and spun to face him, unnerved by the way his hands felt so familiar.

"So, what exactly does this cheeky young man get for his troubles?"

"A swift kick to the..."

"My lady! You know I can't give in so easily. Fair turnabout and all that."

It was his turn to bolt. Far quicker on the uptake, she sprinted after him and practically tackled him just outside the city gates. She glimpsed the soldier from the corner of her eye as he shook his head in amusement at their game. Emboldened, she vaulted onto her companion's back. Even caught by surprise, he was able to hold his stride with the extra weight bearing on him.

"Do you remember where to go?"

"Only too well. Hopefully they haven't sealed the door."

"They haven't. The Arlessa has somehow managed to divert those funds for the past four years."

It was a hovel on the edge of town, a burnt out shell amongst burnt out shells. Anyone, anything, could be within its crumbling walls, so it was best to be on guard. The woman slid from her perch and reached behind to the small of her back. Two daggers were sheathed there, and Maker save the soul of any who forced her to use them.

The couple crept through a fractured doorway, entering a tiny room that was empty save for a large crate of straw and a pile of iron scraps. The woman poked at them with the toe of her boot. It looked like darkspawn craft. She bit back a wave of revulsion. Best not to think about that. The quarry this evening was nothing if not human.

Their prize was in the corner of the tiny shack, a door obscured under more straw. The man kneeled to grasp the handle, but paused before lifting it.

"Are you sure you can still trust him? Even I know not to meddle in the affairs of the Crows..."

The woman closed her eyes, transported to a month earlier, although it seemed much more time than that had passed since she had seen her Zevran.

"Always with the "my Zevran." It makes me guilty to be with others, the way you claim me so." His eyes danced when he said this. "Only youcould get away with making me feel such a tiresome emotion."

They were having lunch on the northern balcony of Vigil's Keep. It afforded her a rare amount of privacy- the sole entrance was a heavy wooden door and no windows overlooked it. As Warden-Commander, Brand Cousland was very much the center of life at the Keep and, to her eternal chagrin, her affairs were over-attended and much discussed amongst the staff. She was under even closer scrutiny now; those who knew of Zevran's associations regarded his arrival warily. It had been nearly three years since he had suddenly resigned as Brand's second, with the open intent of dealing with his former employers.

"I have been in Ferelden for several months, attending to, ah, personal business," the way his face slid towards worry bothered Brand. He corrected his expression and continued, "I came to you with news of a most interesting request."

"Request?" Brand did not trust his choice of word. He laughed at her suspicion.

"I forget how well you know me. It is a rare luxury to be amongst trusted friends and I have become used to caution first and self-preservation foremost." Zevran said this with practiced glibness, but Brand detected bitterness beneath the surface. She wanted to hug him, to ask why he'd really left. Had he not been happy helping her, helping the Wardens? The Crows should not have held any hold over him and yet...

"I was personally requested for this contract. I know the lay of the land, as you say, and was chosen for both my familiarity with local custom and my sway with certain important persons in the area." Zevran spun the details as he knew them, painstakingly laying out the trap he would set for the mark and finishing with a shrug. "So I turned it down."

"You what? Do you have that authority?"

"I...did not wish to speak to you of this, but I feel I owe you an explanation, at the very least." The way his voice faltered put her on edge.

"I've told you this before, Zevran, whatever you owed me, if you ever owed me anything, was more than repaid during the Blight. To say nothing of your contributions to this," Brand gestured to the Vigil. Zevran frowned gravely and shook his head.

"It was not fair to leave you so suddenly, not after…but it was necessary. The Crows had tracked me to Amaranthine. There was no guarantee they would not attack me here and perhaps, in the process, fulfill some older contracts along the way. Two birds, you know...hmm. That turn of phrase works exceptionally well, considering we have both worked for the order..." He blinked, realizing that he was rambling. The next part came out quickly, "I did not want you to come to harm, so I left to do what I thought needed to be done."

Brand sat in silence. I did not want you to come to harm. For Zev, that was an incredible admission and her heart ached for her friend. In that moment she had wanted so badly to go back in time, to make him tell her the truth before he left...they could have taken on the Crows together. How difficult could it have been, really? Maybe then he could have stayed with her in Amaranthine and not become yet another companion moved on without her. Instead of saying this, knowing it would only twist the knife and to no benefit, she nodded. "And? You're obviously still involved with them, since you're getting contracts."

Zev smiled a cruel little smile; his eyes glittered coldly. "I went to Antiva thinking I would take out one cell, maybe two. Make my point and die doing so. Instead, I ended up far more successful than I dared to dream."

"Oh, Zevran. Please tell me that they surrendered." Brand could not conjure a fate for her Zevran worse than what he was admitting. After what they had done to him, after what he had become with her. "Please tell me it's finally over and you are free of them for good. Please."

"I am sorry, my dear Brandelyn. You are looking at the newest leader of the Antivan Crows," his golden eyes darkened, the edges of his mouth turning down sharply as his voice lowered. "And how proud he is to be it."

In the present, Brand was crushed anew by Zevran's admission.

"Commander? Did you hear what I asked?"

"Of course…of course I trust him. And it's not the Crows who we should be worried about, but those who tried to hire them."

The man hesitated one last time before pulling the door up with a practiced jerk. Standing aside, he threw his arm out in an inviting gesture.

"Since you're so certain, then by all means. Ladies first."

They descended.