Ataashi stood on a dark street, leaning against a rough wooden wall, in a particularly rundown corner of Minrathous. It seemed his contact had a penchant for the dramatics of his trade – which was basically a lit beacon stating the consumer had never done this before. Most of his contractors preferred to meet in private rooms in some tavern. Generally, the chosen locale was well and away from their manors, as if they thought that would be enough to disguise their identities. Too bad for them Ataashi was a man with rules. He never took a job until he knew with whom he was dealing. Not that they knew he knew, most of the time. It was better to have information than reputation. Though, he supposed, preferably one would have both.

A cloaked figure turned the corner and approached him. "A nug in summer," he said, leaving the ending open for response. It was the first half of the call phrase Ataashi had given to his handler for this meeting. The process was ridiculous and entirely too dramatic, like something out of a cheap play. It was meant to confirm his identity. There were easier ways, better ways, but the Vintish did like their theatrics. He, like many of his colleagues, enjoyed crafting the calls and responses to be as ridiculous as possible.

Ataashi leaned, casually tipping himself forward to stand before the cloaked man. "Tans his own hide," he said, book-ending the call. "What can I do for you?"

The figure cleared his throat uneasily. "Sulla Cervidus," he said in a tight voice. "Do you know him?"

"I know of him, "Ataashi replied with a shrug.

The consumer shifted from foot to foot. He played with the well-manicured fingernails which tipped his soft, pale hands. Those were the hands of a man who had never done a day of work in his life. Judging from how restless he was, Ataashi guessed that life had been short as well. Most of the seasoned magisters were old hands at contracting assassinations – very business-like, casual even. Just another transaction. The boy, on the other hand, was pitching his voice low, trying to sound older, or maybe disguise his identity. The assassin couldn't quite tell which. Regardless, those traits alone put the boy on a short list. Only seven magisters had been newly appointed by the Archon, having recently come of age, their fathers stepping down in spirit, at least, if not in actuality. If Ataashi coupled that information with the gold-trimmed navy cloak the kid wore? That list was cut down to two – Vel Vestinus or Herius Iulianus – whose house colors fit the bill.

"I'd like him … taken care of…" His voice went up on the end, making a question of the request.

Ataashi let out a menacing chuckle, let it roll low and opaque like fog from the sea. The boy jumped slightly. It was terribly satisfying. "Forgive me," he said gruffly, "but you don't sound sure that my services are what you require."

"Ah," the boy stammered, "I-I'm sure."

"You know my reputation, yes?" Ataashi asked. He began circling the boy, like predator and prey. The boy swallowed audibly and managed a nod. His guard was going up, trying to convince himself he was in control. Sooner or later they all fell back on that. "Then you'll know," he said, continuing his prowl, "I don't take just any contract. You'll need to make your case."

The boy nodded again (Maker, could he do anything else?) and reached under his cloak. Ataashi stopped at the boy's back and, before the child had even completed his gesture, pressed the tip of one of his blades to his back, just left of his spine and three fingers above the curve of his backside. The boy froze.

"I am operating," Ataashi said smoothly, "under the impression that you are retrieving some sort of evidence with which you might make your case and not reaching for a weapon. This assumption is the only reason you continue to have no more holes in your body than when you came into this world. Are we clear?"

"You-you're threatening me?" he asked in a voice gone high and loud with panic. It cracked at the end, providing the assassin with the final bit of information he required to complete the puzzle. Only Vel Vestinus was still youth enough for his voice to break – the pubescent give away. The other option, Herius Iulianus, had blossomed into manhood early, and had thusly developed a deep, even baritone.

"Just being cautious," Ataashi replied in a voice that dripped indifference. "In my line of work you're either cautious, or you're dead."

He could feel the boy shaking with anger now, the small tremors vibrating the blade. "My father could have your head if I so much as asked," he spat. The assassin shook his head. Poor boy, more balls than brains.

Ataashi laughed huskily in the boy's ear, as if that attempt at intimidation was the most amusing thing he had heard all night. "He wouldn't even know which head to cut off," he said smugly. He heard the boy draw another deep breath, ready to argue further. Ataashi twisted the dagger slightly and he could see the subtle shift in the boy's stance. His body was flooding with adrenaline, making ready to fight or run. Both of which would likely get the boy dead. Ataashi sighed and sheathed the dagger, sliding it home with the calming, familiar sound of steel on suede. "Calm yourself, Vel of house Vestinus. I am a reasonable man. I know that threat was born of the foolishness of youthful pride. I shall not hold it against you." He returned to stand facing the boy and waited, hand out, for the forgotten evidence.

Vel's free hand lifted and pulled back the hood revealing a young face with generous stubble and an expression of awe. "Who told you," he asked.

Ataashi smirked. "You did, my lord. A dozen different ways." He waggled his fingers. "The evidence?"

Vel looked away, confusion coloring his features, but his hand emerged from the cloak and handed the man a sheaf of papers. Ataashi moved to a nearby window and read them in the dim light which fell from it. He'd give the boy this, he'd done his due diligence. Contained within were a handful of lesser charges, things which would never be brought to bear against a magister, and a single list of names without heading or explanation. He held it out to Vel. "What's this?"

The boy's face went pale, the pink rushing out of his olive skin leaving him looking positively green. "It's a ledger," he said in a wobbling tenor. "A-an accounting."

"Of?" Ataashi asked leadingly. It was a question designed to see how the boy would react more than for information about the paper – he knew what this was. He'd seen his share of Sanguine Slates. They were relics of a time when human lives had been just one more item on a quartermaster's inventory. Largely, the official stance of the Tevinter Imperium was that such lists no longer existed. And of course that was their stance, because even though the entirety of Thedas knew the Vintish indulged in blood magic, the Magisterium still openly condemned and denied it except for uses they deemed "moderate."

In the brevity of the one season he had been taking contracts Ataashi had seen six Slates. The mere sight of this one filled him with righteous anger. It was only thanks to his training that he was able to focus that anger and keep a calm mask of indifference. The minute someone connected the lists to his decisions, with which jobs he accepted, was the minute he'd start seeing forgeries. Low-life members of the Altus would begin presenting him with false Slates looking to buy his expertise for the sole purpose of advancing their own political agenda and standing. Thus far he'd turned down every assignment which had been posed to him in that manner. Tevinter liked to kill people as a means to an end. Ataashi was merely fighting back.

"Is this a confirmed list?" The assassin asked in an unruffled, even timber as he replaced the paper in the sheaf.

Vel nodded. "I only listed the names I could confirm," he assured. "There's a trail for each one. Money paid for silence or trade. You can check for yourself."

"Oh," Ataashi assured, "I will." He tucked the papers under his arm. "Now, why don't you tell me why you want the fourth most influential magister in the capital dead?"

Vel sputtered. "You have the papers!" He floundered. "You know why!"

"Ha," Ataashi huffed, amused. "You can't really think I'm going to believe that? I know you're young kid, but you're not a nug-head." He shook his head at the boy. "No, you have your own agenda or someone is rewarding you for promoting theirs. So…" he trailed off, waiting.

"My first bill is up for a vote," he sighed, confessing. "It's a good one: aqueduct expansion to the Lower Ring. It will reduce disease, offer new work, dispose of refuse, basically all the things we take for granted in the Upper and High rings. Of course, by necessity this will also improve the aqueduct systems in the middle ring. I-it's gained some traction, but the vote is looking like a tie. Sulla Cervidus is the loudest of my opposition. He's bought at least half the votes against me."

Ataashia was familiar with the bill and he had to admit it was a good one. Usually when one of the magisters put forth a bill like this one it was riddled with secret agendas. Things no one wanted to pass, but would for fear of the bad reputation voting against a humanities bill would gain them. This bill was straight forward with no secret clauses which made Magister Cervidus' opposition even more confusing. "Why would anyone oppose a running water bill?" He mused aloud.

"Some of the members of the old guard," Vel said disdainfully, "seem to think if we don't keep the Liberati in squalor they will rise up and put us down."

"Well," Ataashi considered, scratching at the stubble of his jaw, "they do wildly outnumber you."

"So do our plow animals," Vel argued. The assassin hoped the boy was going somewhere pleasant. Comparing people to animals didn't sit well with him. "But we feed and water them, get them care when they are ill or injured, shelter them from the heat… And as such they do their work efficiently and without complaint."

Ataashi hid a smirk behind his hand and feigned deep thinking. The analogy was a tad insulting but at least it was well-intentioned. Most of the Alta wouldn't care about insulting the lower classes without the good intent. Oh, Ataashi thought with wry amusement, I like this kid. "When's the vote," he asked finally.

"Three day's time," Vel replied.

Ataashi let out a soft whistle. "That's short notice. Wrestled with the hard decision of my services did you?" The boy started to object but the assassin waved his hand dismissively. "You know, of course, word of his demise must get to the Court of Magisters with at least eight hours before the vote so his seat can be filled. And I can't guarantee how the new magister will vote. If word of Velius's death does not arrive in time the vote will be cancelled and, since it is fairly obvious you have the best motivation for taking him out, there will be consequences, should that happen."

He saw the boy's face as he spoke. He looked ready to deliver a retort somewhere along the lines of "I know how the Magisterium works!" That was, until Ataashi had mentioned consequences.

Vel gulped, eyes wide and worried. "They'll execute me?"

The assassin could not help the laugh that bubbled out of him, high and short-lived. "Venhedis," he swore. "No! If they executed every magister they suspected of contracting an assassin the Court would be utterly barren. They'll bury your bill, Vel. You won't see it again for a decade and only then if you've won enough favors."

"So, what do I do?" the boy asked. "About making sure news reaches the court in time, I mean. What's to stop his family from hiding the death until it's too late just to spite me?"

Ataashi grinned. "What do you do, Vel? You pay the extra fees and leave it to me. Sulla Cervidus will meet with a very messy, very public accident. His family will not have the opportunity to delay the information's spread."

Vel held out a hand, smiling. "Agreed."

Ataashi smirked. He really did like the boy. He took the offered hand and shook it, firmly, a single time and then dropped it. "You'll pay half to the handler now, half when the job is done." The boy nodded his understanding.

Ataashi turned his back on him and began walking away. He waited until he'd neared the corner and listened for the sound of Vel's feet shifting in the gravel to take their leave before he turned to look over his shoulder and called back, "Oh, and Vel. You're new to the court. I'd advise you to keep your nose as clean as possible. Trust me, you don't want to give someone a reason to bring me a file like this with your name on it." He heard Vel's footsteps stop abruptly, and knew his words had hit home. The boy took his meaning. The file he carried wasn't one of political alliances, or lineages, or money like the files so many assassins took. This file was a file of sins. This was the file that bought Ataashi's interest.

He let it sit in the air between them for a moment. Then he nodded, and resumed his walk. One corner turned and he was gone, little more than another shadow on a poorly-lit street.

AN: That's it, it's up! Come read with us! There's politics, magic falling apart, relationship struggles, meeting the parents (Vanessah and Halward Pavus!), some really massive shifts in Fitz and Dorian's lives and so many more things. I'll be so so happy to see you:)

Also: sometimes I forget to update over here at FF. I'm more fastidious at Archive of Our Own, mostly because the system is easier to navigate, but also a little because the commenting system is better. So if you want to get consistently timely updates you might want to consider following me there instead.

~Love!