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Darrian Tabris

I stopped off in the common room when I returned to the Dinghy to see if Zevran had woken up yet. Leli waved to me from a corner table where she sat with Morrigan, Tam drowsing at her feet.

"No, he left an hour ago, saying something about, 'going fishing," Leli said. She smiled and patted Tam's head. "He also gave your mabari a bath."

"And you didn't object?" I said to Tam. He shook his head and the bard laughed. And I would have sworn I saw a ghost of a smile on Morrigan's face. I reached down and scratched him behind an ear.

"Well, I'll have to remember that," I murmured, and he butted my hand. I glanced around. "Have you seen the others yet?"

"Sten said something about looking for a blacksmith, and Wynne just left for the market. You didn't see her?" Leli said.

I shook my head. "There's half a dozen ways to get there from here. I'm not surprised we didn't run into one another. Do you know if Alistair's left to find his sister?"

Morrigan made a sound like a snort but said nothing.

"He's still sleeping," Leli said with a smile.

"If Zevran comes by this way, tell him I need to see him. I'll be in our room," I said before heading down the narrow hall that led to the back of the inn. Tam whuffed then settled down near Morrigan. She glanced at him, and I would have sworn I saw her smiling, but it disappeared too quickly for me to be certain.

I wondered if Zevran had found out anything beyond the rumors I'd heard circulating through the marketplace about how unhappy the banns were with Loghain. I shifted the pack strap higher on my shoulder as I made my way back to our room. In the market, I'd even heard a whisper or two of some of the banns renouncing their allegiance to the throne. Creators, we didn't need a civil war on top of an impending blight. If we started fighting each other, the darkspawn would rip through the country like a plague. And in the middle of it all were my kin, trapped in the alienage.

Maybe I should retrieve my armor and weapons, I thought. They were locked up with Zevran's in a chest in Alistair's room. Keep them close to hand in case things started to turn ugly in Denerim.

I pulled out my key, but the door swung open when I reached for the knob. Training and instinct sent my wrist twisting, and a dagger slid into my left hand. But the room was empty. Except for a neatly folded sheet of creamy paper propped against a pillow, nothing seemed to have been disturbed.

I glanced down the long hallway. With no one in sight, I crouched down and looked under the bed from outside the door. Our travel packs were exactly where we had stowed them. After slipping inside the room, I closed the door and leaned back, staring at my name penned in a neat, elegant hand I didn't recognize. Zevran couldn't read or write Fereldan, and except for a few curses I'd learned from working on the docks, I didn't speak Antivan. No one in our group had ever left me a note. Why would they start now?

My gut went cold. The Crows. It had to be.

How had they found him so quickly? Was he even still alive? My heart clenched at that thought. Ah, Creators, if anything had happened to him…

I folded my arms. This was probably a trap. But I couldn't leave him in it. 'What if you have to choose between your heart and your duty?' Wynne's words rattled in the empty space of possibilities. I let them for a moment, then shoved them aside. I'd made my choice. And would make the same one again, if confronted.

My hands tightened on my arms. I...cared for him. More than was probably wise. But then, my mother had been fond of saying that the heart also had its wisdom. I set my pouch on the floor, then crossed the short space to the bed.

"Andruil, let my arrows fly true. Let my feet find the right path," I whispered, then unfolded my arms and picked up the letter.

To the Grey Warden, Darrian Tabris, Greetings and Felicitations,

Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Stefan Sarmiento, soon-to-be former Master of the lone Crow house here in Denerim.

Be assured, Zevran Arainai is unharmed and currently in my sole custody.

I have a proposition I would like to discuss with you. I've rented a private room at the Drunken Dog at the edge of the warehouse district.

I will wait there till sundown. If you decline my invitation, Zevran will be released, unharmed, back into your keeping. If you accept, bring whatever weapons you wish, but I request that you come alone. Ask for me by my first name at the bar.

Whatever you decide concerning my offer, you and Zevran are free to leave. I will neither follow you nor tell any other Crow of our meeting or where you might be headed. I cannot, unfortunately, cancel the contract on you and your fellow Warden. Nor prevent any from seeking you out if they learn of your presence.

I sank down onto the bed and stared at the letter. He had signed only his first name at the end, and added the outline of a feather beneath it. I read it again, and then a third time. It could merely be a clever lure into a trap. Yet, he spoke of himself as 'soon-to-be former master.' And Zevran was 'in his sole custody.' Meaning what? That only he knew of Zevran's presence in Denerim?

My fingers tightened on the heavy paper. If this 'invitation' wasn't to discuss the contract Loghain had taken out with the Crows, then what did he want to talk about? There was only one way to find out.

I folded the letter up and tucked it into my pocket. It occurred to me I should find Alistair and, at the least, discuss this with him. If I did, though, he would insist on going with me. And as Wynne had rightly observed, 'skulking about' wasn't his strong point. He wouldn't exactly blend into the background at a place like the Drunken Dog, either, even if he was 'scruffy looking.' I knew the place from when I'd worked on the docks. Not the kind of tavern a chantry-bred man would visit, but the owner didn't care if an elf wanted to buy a drink or a companion for an hour's pleasure. As long as you had coin, you were welcome.

As I checked my throwing daggers and then tucked my purse inside my shirt, I went over the few things Zevran had told me. He'd said that the master who ruled the house in Denerim was 'unusual.' It seemed I would have the opportunity to find out just what he meant.

I'd never told my family I'd visited the Dog fairly often, not even Soris. Mostly because I'd never told them about Dylen, my second lover. A skilled thief and pick-pocket wasn't the kind of man my family would have approved of me associating with, let alone bedding. The Dog rented rooms by the hour, and didn't care what kind of business took place, as long as you didn't leave any blood behind.

Dylen shifted in the back of my mind as I pushed open the rough oak door to the Dog. He'd been clever and kind. A man who wanted to live on his own terms, not pass his life feeling grateful for any scraps the shem might think to toss his way. His leaving had been hard on both of us. But better a bruised heart than a dead lover. I pulled my focus back to the present. Letting down your guard in the Dog could be fatal.

A few cut-purses lounged at the small scarred tables, drinking up last-nights profits and probably thinking of their next marks. My hand rested on my belt near my dagger. I didn't meet anyone's gaze directly. I wasn't there for a challenge. Eyes tracked me as I strode over to the bar.

The human behind it nodded at me, one hand resting on the scarred black surface, his other on the end of a cudgel hanging from his belt. I didn't recognize him. But then, it had been almost two years since I'd last been there.

"I'm looking for a man named Stefan."

He motioned to the narrow stairs off to his left. "Second door from the right."

I felt eyes on me as I strode up the steps. When I turned the corner at the top and was out of sight of those below, I paused and loosed a breath. With so few patrons, I hadn't expected any kind of challenge, but you could never tell with the Dog.

I wasn't sure what to expect when I pushed open the door. Relief flooded through me when I saw Zevran leaning back in a chair, an ale mug in his hands, wearing that damnable half-smile that showed nothing.

"Warden Darrian Tabris, I presume?" said a dark-haired human, rising from his seat on Zevran's left. He smiled and motioned to the chair opposite his. "Please, join us. I've taken the liberty of ordering a light lunch." He glanced at Zevran and smiled. "I've been told the fried fish is safe enough."

Zevran smirked and pulled out the chair next to his. I closed the door behind me and took a moment to study Master Stefan. He wasn't tall for a human, but sleek and strong looking under the close-fitting black leather pants and black linen shirt. His voice had the same lilt Zevran's had, though his accent was not as pronounced.

"Master Stefan Sarmiento."

He nodded and motioned again to the chair. "Please. You're my guests. You and Zevran."

"Antivan etiquette, my Warden, requires certain…rituals to be gotten out of the way before business can be conducted."

"Rituals?"

"Oh, eating, drinking." Zevran glanced at Stefan. "Dying."

Instinct sent a dagger sliding into my right hand. I even had it poised for throwing before I stopped myself.

"Ah, sorry about that. Crow humor, you understand," Zevran said to me.

"Impressive," Stefan said. I noticed he held a similar dagger in his left hand, though his pointed down.

"I didn't do it to impress you." I slid my dagger back into its wrist sheath. He did likewise with his.

"You're not a man who's easily impressed, are you?"

"What do you want?"

He motioned to the chair again. "Please."

I frowned then slid into the seat across the table from him. He filled an empty mug and set it in front of me. My hand closed around it, but I didn't drink. Zevran glanced at me, then took a long slow sip of his.

"You know, for such a dismal looking place, the ale is quite decent," he commented.

The door opened, and the smell of fried fish and corn biscuits preceded the harried looking barmaid who slapped a tray down on the table, then set another jug of ale beside it.

"That be five silver," she said, holding out her hand to Stefan. He dropped six into her palm. She nodded curtly then scurried away, closing the door firmly behind her.

"Well, this place is never going to win any awards for friendly service," Zevran said. To my surprise, Stefan chuckled as he reached for one of the plates of fish and corn biscuits and held it out to me. He gave the next plate to Zevran, then pulled the last one in front of himself before leaning the tray against the wall near his chair.

I wasn't hungry, and I wasn't in the mood to exchange pleasantries. But I was deeply curious

Stefan gazed down at his fish, then up at me. His eyes were a deep, vibrant blue. "I wish to join the Wardens, if you'll have me."

I stared at him. Of everything he could have said, I hadn't expected that. Neither had Zevran it seemed, judging by the narrow-eyed look he gave his former master. Blessed Creators, if I agreed to this, I could just see Alistair's face and hear his voice. We're taking another one with us? You really have lost your mind this time, haven't you?

I started laughing, resting my forehead against my hands. Fortunately, it didn't last long.

I glanced at Zevran, then back at Stefan. Blessed Creators, what was I going to do with a Crow Master?