Author's Note: Written for the Zevran Thread's weekly prompt at the Bioware Social Network forum. Topic was to create something on the theme of Zevran's 'instrument of fate' comment with a one hour time limit. Enjoy. :)

When the beggar boy across the road changed the tune of his lilo flute from a jaunty tune to a haunting melody, Zevran's eyes opened. He stretched, glanced at the sky to mark how late the hour was, then checked his weapons: two spring-loaded bows that would be good for one shot each, and his ever dependable blades.

Ducking out of the alley he'd been resting in while waiting, he approached the Gilded Horn, one of Antiva's many cheap inns. Sitting beside the door with his back to the wall was a child, an elf with blond hair, not even ten years old. There was a rag before his folded legs with a few copper coins scattered across it, and cradled in his hand, pressed to his lips, was the curiously-curved instrument he used to make a living.

The lilo flute looked like a rounded oval shell of metal, with a small spout protruding from the middle of one side and a series of holes along the top that one covered or uncovered for notes and pitch. Otherwise it was simple, unadorned, made of a base metal and not even worth stealing.

"So my young friend," Zevran said when he was near. "What have you heard today?"

Tamir looked up with a laughing smile in his blind, white eyes. "Three men, Zevran. One is wearing chainmail, one is wearing leather, and the third has a loud voice and smelled like violets. He was nice. He gave me three silvers." The boy patted a pocket in his ragged shirt, which jingled.

Zevran dropped him five more. "Anything else?"

"I heard Barono say he wanted room number two, with his men to stay in the common room to look out for trouble. He said he is waiting for a friend, but sounded nervous."

He dropped two more, and Tamir started collecting the small bounty, feeling the patterns on the coins before pocketing them. He smiled up again and said, "Thank you, ser!" before returning to his previous song.

"That tune is almost a dirge," Zevran noted. "A pretty dirge, but a dirge all the same."

"So you like it?" The child beamed. "That's worth another silver, isn't it? I made it up myself. I call it Light in the Darkness."

"Very poetic. Now excuse me for a moment. When I return you can play the full thing for me and we will see about that extra silver, yes?"

Tamir nodded enthusiastically and lifted the flute to his lips again.

Zevran slipped around the back to look for alternate access to the second floor.

It wasn't over as quickly as he'd hoped. A misfire of the first spring-bow had sent his mark bawling for help and plunging out of the room and onto the landing beyond, forcing Zevran to chase or flee. By the time he'd made his way fully into the room Barono's henchmen had made it up the stairs and a fierce fight had ensued, but Zevran had used the close-quarters to his advantage with both adversaries wielding large weapons. One had been cut down quickly, the other fled after his master towards the common room.

The quarrel from the second bow missed as well, sinking through the wooden planks low by the front door, and he'd had to move very fast indeed to intercept Barono before he made it outside with several other fleeing patrons.

Cursing himself for the poor execution of a kill even if it had been successful, Zevran prudently went back upstairs and left the way he'd come rather than risk ambush at the front door.

He climbed nimbly out of a second-storey window and navigated the way to the ground with care, not wanting to injure himself with a foolish fall brought on by haste. Dusting himself off and muttering that he'd never waste his time on a one-shot crossbow again, he retrieved the cowled, nondescript cloak he'd stuffed into a barrel and slunk around a side-alley to the front of the inn to see if any sort of commotion would require that he make his way back to the nest via a different route.

He became quickly aware of a female voice quite close to the front door. The unseen speaker sounded both frightened and consoling, but the fear was hard to notice but for a tremble in tone, as though she was trying to conceal the emotion.

Zevran risked a peak around the corner and saw a Chantry Sister kneeling before the beggar boy. Tamir was still sitting up against the wall of the inn, but that was only because he was pinned to it - the steel head of Zevran's bolt protruded from his thin chest and blood-soaked shirt, keeping his posture erect even as his blond head sagged.

"My son," the woman was repeating gently to the bleeding child, "do not be afraid. For the innocent child there is no fear of death, only welcome in the arms of the Maker."

Zevran began to pull back, hesitated, then lowered his hood to cover pointed ears and distinguishing tattoos. He rounded the corner and knelt beside the Sister to get a closer look at the wound. If it had pierced nothing vital…

The woman looked at him with tear-moistened eyes. "Ser," she murmured. "Maker bless you for your concern, but…"

She trailed off, and Zevran knew she was correct in what she did not say. Tamir would not live, perhaps not even with the help of a mage's arts. He cupped the small elf's cheek and lifted his head gently. "Tamir? Can you hear me?"

"Zevran?" The white-filmed eyes blinked at him a couple of times and squinted. He smiled suddenly, a look of wonder on his face. "Your eyes shine like the Golden City…"

Then he was still.

Zevran didn't move for a moment, then carefully let Tamir's head sag once more.

"Did you know him, ser?" the Sister asked.

"No." Zevran shook his head. The boy had been one of many making a living on the streets, one of those people you saw around and maybe remembered if they lived long enough to be seen more than a few times.

He glanced down to the urchin's side, where the lilo flute had tumbled from lax fingers to the dirt. When the Sister lowered her head, closed her eyes and began a prayer to the Maker, he took the instrument in hand and slid it quickly into a pocket within the cloak before moving away, the last rites to another dead beggar following him as he left down the street:

"Though all before me is shadow,
"Yet shall the Maker be my guide.
"I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond,
"For there is no darkness in the Maker's Light
"And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost…"

The instrument was just small enough to fit into one of the larger crucibles stored in the Crow laboratory, most commonly used to render down certain ingredients for poisons. The flute was not made of an expensive metal, merely tin, and it would not require the heat of a forge to melt.

After several minutes of holding the tongs and crucible over a small fire in the hearth, Zevran tipped the molten remains into a round mould and let it set before breaking the wooden blank open with a careful blow.

The resultant ball he added to his belt, to the growing collection of what had once been a variety of instruments touched by fate or by death…then he raised his hood and stalked back out into the darkness.

End Notes: Since lilo flutes don't seem to exist, I modelled this one after an ocarina. You can find a short Youtube clip of 'Light in the Darkness', composed by Karl Ahrens, if you want to hear what I imagined Tamir to be playing.

The Chant of Light verse is quoted from the Dragon Age wiki: Trials 1:14

Mixed Metal Rounds: Zevran's unique belt - "A memento of an early conquest, mercenary or romantic. Incriminating items melted down into nondescript tokens. The contributing parts were likely worth more than the result, but that's not the point."

If the fight scene felt rushed, it's because it was. ;) It was the last part of the story I wrote with 13 minutes to spare.