Leliana knew who waited for her, could hear his laughter as she ascended the stairs to the aviary. It was a sound she had not expected to hear again, but she could not honestly say she was surprised. They had kept in touch, her letters sharing perhaps more than they should have. The memory of those words stole the smile from her lips. This was not simply a visit from an old friend.

She found Zevran sprawled behind her desk, one leg dangling over the arm of the chair, speaking with Josephine.

"...of course I know it. In the South Harbor."

"Truly? What occasion brought you there? The clientele is typically somewhat less... noble. And not nearly so beautiful."

Josephine smiled. "Night-tide Chowder."

"Ah, yes. Whatever the fishmongers could not sell in the light of day, poured into a pot and boiled. Certainly best consumed under cover of darkness."

"A riot of taste that has intrigued even the city's most discerning palettes."

Zevran threw back his head and laughed. When he saw Leliana mounting the stairs, he rose smoothly to his feet. "Ah, my dear Leliana. The years have been kind."

"Zevran." She looked to Josephine. "Josie, this is—"

"Your contact in the Free Marches. Formerly of the Antivan Crows."

He smirked. "Not a title many can claim. I do thank you for aiding in my escape."

"So you said in your letter." Leliana gave Josephine an apologetic smile. "Would you mind if I spoke to Zevran alone?"

"Of course. I was just dropping off the evening reports. I did not realize you had company." She inclined her head, with a sly smile for the assassin. "If you wish to speak further, Leliana knows where to find me. I do get homesick."

"Naturally." He watched her go, a slow grin spreading across his face.

Once she was out of earshot, Leliana rounded on him. "No."

"Hmm?" Zevran pursed his lips, the very picture of innocence. He was one of her oldest friends, a former comrade-in-arms, but Maker help her if she wasn't tempted to throw him over the railing and into the study far below.

"Zevran, you know you can't be here. You need to leave."

"But I have only just arrived! And this Inquisition of yours is truly a sight to see. Your letters failed to do it justice."

"My people confirmed that you received your payment. And you did not come all this way to say 'thank you.' Why are you here?"

Sinking back into the chair, he shrugged. "Curiosity. You, my dear, are infamous. Even more so than before. And after hearing such... interesting tales, how could I stay away?"

Leliana lifted the elf bodily, pressing him back against the wall, her arm against his throat. And still he only smirked, arching a wondering brow.

"Oh-ho, so vicious. I see some of the tales are true. You have changed, Leliana."

She leaned closer. "Whatever you think was in those letters..."

"Greetings from an old friend. Stories of a new hero. You do seem to have a knack for attaching yourself to those with power."

He pushed her gently away and she let him. Clasping her hands behind her, she paced back toward the table. "I never said—"

"I know what you said. Nothing explicit, of course, nothing that could be intercepted. But let us say that I now share your suspicions."

She sighed. "You shouldn't have come here."

"How could I not?" His smiled darkened. There was an edge to his voice, something deliberately cold. Whatever he truly felt at being here, he was working hard to hide it.

She turned to look at him. He had aged well, his pale hair long and streaked almost imperceptibly with silver, the lines around his eyes deeper than she remembered. But there was a weight on him that had aged him even further and, she expected, recently. A weight that she had put there.

"You should have told me you were coming." She sank into the chair, staring up at him. "How did you get in?"

"I had expected the Inquisition's spymaster to know. But you are not my only famous friend. I once met the Champion herself."

"Hawke."

"A striking, if troubled, woman. Varric was more willing to accommodate an old acquaintance. Though I may have implied that the surprise of finding me here would be a pleasant one."

Leliana shook her head. "It's not that I'm not glad to see you..."

"Of course not."

It was good to see a familiar face. As bad as the Blight had been, things had seemed... simpler then. But nostalgia was a luxury she could scarce afford. Not with so much at stake. "I understand. Really, I do. But you have to know that this is a terrible idea."

He turned away, resting his elbows on the railing and staring down into the library below. "It has been many years since I recalled my time with Clan Lavellan... and now I can think of nothing else. They say it is a new Blight, that an ancient Tevinter magister destroyed Haven from the back of an archdemon. Holes in the sky spilling out demons, the Chantry cowering with its head between its knees. Not to mention the perilous trek through freezing mountains to reach this inhospitable ruin. And yet here I am."

She leaned beside him. "You have never been one to run toward danger. We already saved the world once. You do not need to do this."

His chuckle was bitter. "Do you truly think so little of me?"

"I will keep writing, tell you everything I am able. And I promise you, he is well protected."

"By the great Sister Nightengale? By this merry band of misfits that you've gathered? Another talent of yours, it seems."

"I didn't gather them. He did. And they are good people, despite what you may have heard."

"Certainly. Though I suspect you have contingencies in place should events prove otherwise."

She sighed. "What is it you want, Zevran? I am not trying to be cruel, but how did you imagine this would end? You know what's at stake. We can't afford—"

"To have the Herald of Andraste distracted. Yes, I know."

"He hates that name."

Zevran smirked, but his voice was barely more than a whisper. "They say the world may be ending, dear Leliana. And if that is truly the case... tell me, where else do I have to be?"

She lay her hand over his. "There are parts of the fortress that are still being excavated. I have a place, somewhere I go when I need a moment away. Let us speak there. We will... figure something out."

Taking him by the arm, she steered him toward the stairs. There were always eyes to see and not all of them were in her employ, but the library had been quiet when she passed, the mages studying there lost in their work. If they moved quickly, they could slip unnoticed through the dustier sections, follow pathways behind the shelves known only to a few.

Luck, though, was not with them. Rounding a tight corner, they found Dorian blocking the way ahead. His back was to them, one hand stroking his chin as he studied the shelf above him. Leliana pushed Zevran backwards, but it was too late.

Dorian turned on them, arching a curious brow. "Skulking amongst the annals of forgotten knowledge, Spymistress? Or perhaps you've finally tired of all that dreadful squawking?" He squinted at the shelf behind them. "I was unaware of your passion for... fourth age Dwarven architecture."

"And I thought that you were researching Corypheus' true name."

"Which would take me across the library and well out of the way of… whatever this is." He waved a vague hand in their direction. "Though I'm not one to judge when it comes to secret trysts with pretty elves." He winked at Zevran. "There's a spot over by magical theory which is particularly comfortable."

Stepping forward, Zevran ran a finger along the shelf that Dorian had been examining. "And yet here you are studying… ah, poetry." He tsked. "So much dust. Has the Inquisition truly allowed such things to be forgotten?"

"There is little time for poetry in war, I'm afraid. Though I was hoping to… oh, never mind. It's not important." Leliana had never seen the mage ashamed of anything, but his cheeks colored ever so faintly. Turning away, he went back to studying the shelf, muttering beneath his breath. "Why don't the Dalish write anything down...?"

Zevran laughed.

"You seem to be an appreciator of the art." Dorian studied him from the corner of his eye. "And you're an elf..."

"So they tell me."

"Do you happen to know any Elven poetry?"

Chuckling, Zevran shook his head. "Alas, no. But perhaps some Antivan poetry—"

Dorian rolled his eyes. "I have heard what passes for poetry in Antiva."

"Then you know of its effectiveness, yes? Certain to suit the purposes of a handsome young man such as yourself. Allow me to prove my point." He smirked up at him, leaning close. "Now, if I were to say to you—"

Leliana pulled him back, putting herself between them. "Zevran, Dorian is the Inquisitor's paramour."

"Is that an official title now? I had thought we were trying to quash that little rumor." Dorian laughed. "Though I suppose it is rather a moot point after the Winter Palace. The evil Tevinter magister whispering in the ear of the savage Dalish apostate. And cutting quite the figure on the dance floor, I might add."

Zevran's demeanor had changed entirely. His shoulders stiffened, his salacious grin twisting into a tight-lipped grimace. When he spoke, his voice was cold. "You are a magister?"

"Ah, here it is. I know that look." Dorian sighed. "I am an Altus. My father is a Magister. But you will see that my father is not here. And I am not in Tevinter." Eyes narrowing, he tapped at his chin. "Misamahl'len used to look at me like that. In fact, his mouth has the same little crease at the corner, that perpetual little smirk that means nothing but trouble for the object of it. Perhaps it is an elf thing?"

Leliana stepped round him, pulling Zevran with her. "As entertaining as it would be to watch the two of you discuss politics, we really must be going."

"Yes, yes, places to go, people to kill." Dorian waved a dismissive hand, but she could feel his eyes on them as they made their way down the stairs. She didn't know what he might puzzle out, but the mage was clever. And not one to hold his tongue around the Inquisitor.

Solas' study was mercifully empty and they stopped there, taking a moment before stepping out into the great hall. Leliana peered through the door at the visitors and hangers-on who regularly gathered to catch a glimpse of Andraste's Herald. They stood clustered together in small groups, talking in hushed voices. Behind her, Zevran leaned against the wall and folded his arms.

"A Tevinter? Truly?"

"Yet you were more than happy to flirt with him yourself."

"You know I am long past standards, dear Leliana." Zevran sniffed. "Though I do feel suddenly guilty. And concerned. Do you recall the Tevinter slavers that we uncovered in Denerim?"

Leliana spotted Varric in the crowd. She caught his eye, gesturing him over. "Dorian's not a slaver. And he has left that life behind him." Glancing over her shoulder, she smiled back at Zevran. "They are actually quite cute together."

He didn't look convinced, but Varric was slipping through the door to join them in the study.

"I see you two found each other."

Leliana pursed her lips. "And I see you are circumventing Josephine's visitor protocol. Again."

"What can I say? I have a soft spot for weary travelers. Especially when they had my back in Kirkwall. And I did leave him in the aviary. You've got enough ravens up there, I figured no one would notice one Crow."

"Former Crow," Zevran corrected.

"Yeah, yeah. You gonna fill me in on why you two are hiding out in here?"

Leliana peered through the door again. "I need to get Zevran out of here. Preferably unseen."

Varric smirked up at him. "What'd you do?"

He sighed. "That, my friend, is quite the tale."

"Hush." Leliana shook her head. "I just need to get him outside. Do you think that you might... cause a distraction?"

"Me? Address a room full of nobles? Get them hanging on my every word?" The dwarf smiled. "I'm sure I can manage something. Have I ever told you about the time Hawke rescued a runaway assassin?"

Zevran arched a brow. "'Rescued?'"

"That's the way I remember it. I'm sure you could have handled it on your own, if we hadn't come along."

"Save it for them." Leliana nodded out into the hall. "But... do not mention this to the Inquisitor. As a favor to me."

"Whatever you say, Nightengale."

Varric stepped out of the study and attached himself to the nearest group of courtiers with a greeting that made two of the women fall to giggling. As he steered them gently away from the door, Leliana took one more look around the hall. No one seemed to be watching them and any wandering eyes were drawn to the dwarf, now gesturing wildly as he regaled his audience with a new tale of the Champion of Kirkwall.

Tugging off her hood, she slipped it around Zevran's shoulders, pulling the cowl down to hide his face in shadow.

He chuckled. "I suppose the formalities of subterfuge must be observed."

Taking him by the arm, Leliana hurried along the wall toward the exit. When they stepped out into the waning sunlight, she breathed a sigh of relief. Varric's distraction had worked. The court had been far too absorbed in their gossip to pay them any mind. But when she saw the woman ascending the stairs toward them, she froze.

Madame Vivienne had already spotted them, her lips pursing curiously. "Rising with the shadows, my dear? Not all of us practice a craft that affords us such luxury." She didn't address Zevran at all, but her eyes raked over him. "Are visitors not greeted by Lady Montilyet?"

"He is an old friend."

"A friend without a name, I see."

"A friend who values discretion."

Vivienne arched a delicate brow, smiling like a cat in a henhouse. Leliana was about to turn to threats, to play a card that she had been saving in case the enchanter became a problem, when Zevran wrapped his arms around her from behind and nuzzled at her neck.

Resting his chin on Leliana's shoulder, he smiled up at Vivienne. "Such trying times can wear on even the most beautiful of women. Perhaps when our Leliana is through with me, you too might find yourself in need of comfort, Lady...?"

Vivienne sneered. "There will never be a day so dark that I need comforting from an Antivan." She turned to Leliana, disregarding him entirely. "I expected more discretion, darling. Particularly from our spymistress. But if you wish to keep a lover, the gossip will not start with me." With that she brushed past them, disappearing inside.

Zevran still had his arms around her. Leliana cleared her throat.

Stepping back, he laughed. "An offer that I would make to you as well, of course. The best fictions are seasoned with fact, are they not?"

"No, thank you."

"Truly? The Pearl does not seem so very long ago. I seem to recall a girl who was particularly fond of—"

"Hush." She swatted at him playfully.

Leading him on, she skirted the walls of the courtyard, keeping well away from the evening bustle. Yet, as they reached the stairs to the fortress' lower levels, they collided with Cassandra. The Seeker flushed, reaching for the book that she had dropped, but Zevran got there first.

Turning it in his hands, he grinned. "Ah, Swords and Shields. And a thrilling chapter, as I recall. Tell me, have you reached the part where—?"

"No!" Cassandra snatched the book back, staring sheepishly at the ground. "I mean... I've only just started. You will spoil it."

"How rude of me. But you have read the rest, yes?"

Reluctantly, she nodded.

"I have always found the Guard Captain's secret lover to be a bit – shall we say – unimaginative. But the scene in the first installment, when they meet in the abandoned—"

Cassandra's head jerked up, her flush deepening. Leliana hid a grin behind her hand.

"Truly a masterful stroke of storytelling, no? One of my favorites."

Tucking the book beneath her arm, the Seeker took a careful step backward. "...Mine as well."

"You are a woman of rare taste."

Cassandra looked between them, her glare daring either of them to repeat a word of this. Then, turning on her heel, she bolted across the yard.

Zevran clapped a hand on Leliana's shoulder, steadying himself as he laughed.

"I know what you are doing." She lowered her voice to a whisper, steering him toward a quieter part of the keep.

"You always were observant."

"You think they will tell him you are here. You want them to tell him."

Zevran chuckled. "I gave you my oath, did I not? I shall not distract the Inquisitor from this tedious business of saving the world."

"You'll just distract everyone else. Zevran, you know this can't..."

She trailed off, glancing up as Blackwall crossed their path, carrying a fresh load of wood to his workbench.

Leliana inclined her head. "Warden."

Zevran turned on the man with a grin. "Truly, my friend? A Grey Warden, here? Leliana and I once shared a Warden. Surely you have heard the tale?"

The Warden scowled suspiciously and Leliana muttered an apology, dragging the elf away. Fortunately, they had nearly reached their destination. The walls in this part of the fortress had been hastily repaired, but the rooms were still empty, used only occasionally for storage. She shoved Zevran through a splintered door.

Once inside, she expected him to continue to argue, to make jokes, but he only sagged against the wall. The weight that she had seen before returned, his smile crumbling.

"Perhaps you are right. I should not have come here."

"Zevran..."

"We are not even certain, no? Clan Lavellan... perhaps it is only coincidence."

"It could be." She took a slow step toward him. "Tell me what you remember."

He smirked, but his eyes were distant. It was a long moment before he spoke. "My mother was Dalish, as you know. I will confess to a youthful fascination with the idea, a secret dream of running away to live amongst the clans. I had already served the Crows for many years when my chance finally came though, truly, I was little more than a child. But this was, of course, unknown to me at the time."

"What happened?"

"I snuck away, set off after a rumor. It did not take long to find them. And, at first, it seemed a tale worthy of the bards. A dashing rogue rescues a beautiful maiden from bandits and, in dispatching them, earns himself a place amongst her grateful clan. But gratitude sours quickly. In truth, I was barely tolerated. The girl I had rescued was First to their Keeper and, while I never doubted her affections, her people would never see me as more than an outsider. And I must admit that I was ill-suited to the life." He stared down at his boots. "Eventually... it became too much. And the Keeper knew what I was, knew what would happen if the Crows found me. She convinced me that if I truly cared, if I truly felt what I professed to feel, that I would leave. For the good of the clan."

Leliana was about to say more, to ask him to go on, but Zevran's head snapped up, his eyes fixing on something over her shoulder.

"Knows inside but doesn't want to. Knowing makes it hurt. Has nothing, no one, but knowing means losing more. Failed again... didn't know... too late..." Cole moved toward them on slow steps, his face hidden beneath his hat.

Zevran had gone rigid, his hand straying to the blades at his belt. Leliana put herself between them, but Cole wasn't through.

"Can't say the name. Tastes like confession. Misamahl'len. 'Child of the laughing blade.' Like regret and old hurt. She named him to remember. Misamahl'len. Mi—"

Zevran pushed past her, shouldering Cole roughly out of the way. Leliana gave the boy a level look, willing him to read her thoughts, to understand that helping would mean keeping their secret. Then she was running after Zevran.

She found him at the edge of the yard, leaning in the shade of a tree and watching the new recruits train. Cullen moved among them, providing instruction and encouragement.

Stopping beside him, Leliana sighed. "That was Cole. He is... not like other people."

Zevran didn't take his eyes from the men. "Your Commander Cullen was a Templar once, yes? He served in Kirkwall?"

"He did."

"And before that... was this the same Cullen who we encountered in the Ferelden Circle during the Blight?"

"Yes."

"The one whose solution was to cull the mages? How does he feel now, I wonder, serving beneath an apostate?" Ironic as the idea might have been, his brow was creased with concern.

"You worry."

"We have seen stranger things." Turning to face her, he folded his arms. "The boy – Cole, was it? He was not wrong. You were not wrong. I should not be here. Simply allow me to resupply and then I will be on my way."

"You have come this far. Perhaps you should at least see him."

"Shall I kneel, hm? Worship at the Herald's feet with the rest of the faithful masses? We still cannot be certain—"

"We can." Leliana tried a thin-lipped smile. "You say that the girl you rescued was First to her clan's Keeper, that you met when you saved her from bandits. It is a memorable tale, no? And one that I have heard before." She shook her head. "The Inquisitor, he is... a private person. But I know that his father was not Dalish, that he never knew him. And I know that his mother was First to their Keeper before him."

"'Was...?'"

Leliana sighed. "She died. Many years ago. I am sorry."

Zevran sagged. "And there it is."

She gave him a moment. Then she lay a hand on his arm. "What do you want to do?"

Slowly, he raised his eyes to hers, his lips twitching into a tired smile. "They say you have a tavern here, yes?"

Leliana chuckled. "I suppose it as good a place as any. And there are upper levels where we can avoid a crowd."

Taking him by the arm, she hurried across the yard. When they reached the tavern, though, the door was already swinging open, narrowly missing them. Zevran collided with the figure stepping through it and it was all Leliana could do to keep him on his feet.

"Hey!" The Iron Bull glowered down at them. But Zevran's hood had been knocked back and when the Qunari's gaze landed on his face, his eyes widened. "Hey... I know you."

Zevran couldn't help but smile. "The Iron Bull, was it not?"

"You're that Crow."

Leliana did her best not to gape. "You two know each other?"

The Bull grinned. "The merchant job, wasn't it? Treviso. I was still with the Bleeders then."

"And you still had two eyes."

"Yeah, I did." He laughed, looking to Leliana. "It was a hell of a fight. This merchant was dealing outside his guild, found out the Crows were after him. So he hired the Bleeders as extra protection."

"We slipped into his villa," Zevran added. "Imagine the sight. Darkened halls, the merchant nowhere to be found. And then we come upon an entire mercenary company, with a massive, bellowing Qunari at their center."

"Your people did all right."

"As did yours. But the point was moot." Zevran smirked. "The merchant had barricaded himself and his family deep within the compound. And by the time we found him, he was already dead."

"Stabbed by his wife."

"Who he apparently treated quite poorly. The commotion outside gave her the opportunity she had been waiting for." He chuckled. "These things do have a way of working themselves out."

Leliana looked between them. "So what happened?"

Bull shrugged. "No more merchant, no more job. But the Bleeders and the Crows had their reputations on the line. There were details that had to be worked out."

"Over drinks, as I recall."

"A lot of drinks." He clapped Zevran on the shoulder. "So how've ya been, Crow?"

"As it happens, I am a Crow no longer."

"Huh. Didn't think they let people quit."

"It is a long story, my friend."

Bull grinned. "Drinks later, then?"

Zevran smiled back. "Perhaps."

With that, the Iron Bull left them, shouting to Krem as he strode across the yard. Tugging the hood back over Zevran's face, Leliana hurried him inside.

The tavern was less empty than she had hoped, but the upper levels were nearly deserted. She found them a quiet table in the darkest corner, admonishing Zevran to stay put while she went to speak to the bartender. His primary trade was in the eye-watering swill that the soldiers drank, but Dorian and Vivienne were getting their wine from somewhere. An agreement with the Orlesian traders was more likely, but it could not hurt to ask.

Fortunately, her reputation as spymaster and advisor to the Inquisitor preceded her. The barkeep was able to produce a half-empty bottle, complaining all the while about the difficulties of supplying such a thirsty army. Leliana supposed she couldn't blame him for watering it down.

When she returned to the table, she saw that Zevran wasn't alone. Sera had taken the chair opposite him and was leaning forward, gesturing wildly.

"…An' then here comes Miss Prim and Proper, soaking wet with all her pretty ruffles dripping, but it's the Inquisitor so she can't say nothing." She burst into a fit of giggles.

Zevran chuckled. "I did not realize the Inquisitor was such a troublemaker."

"Oh, yeah. Ask anyone. Most of 'em will say the whole Inquisition's trouble. But those people are too busy fighting each other to actually do shite. That's why I'm here. To help people, the ones that get forgotten when the whole world goes ass-up."

Zevran looked up as Leliana approached. "Ah, Leliana. Sera here mistook me for the Inquisitor. Amusing, no?"

"Some elf all hooded up like he wishes he could disappear, sittin' alone in the dark all weight-of-the-world, blah, blah, blah…" Sera shook her head.

"Sullen, is he?"

"Yeah. You haven't met him yet, or you wouldn't be asking. Too elfy for his own good most of the time, too. But he's not so bad. Even smiles sometimes, especially since he and Dorian started having it off with each other."

"Ah, yes. The Tevinter."

Sera rolled her eyes. "Sure, he's from Tevinter. And the 'Herald of Andraste' is an elf. But it's not like any of us get a choice where we come from. It's nice to just see people being people."

Leliana smiled, catching Zevran's eye. "Sera, if you wouldn't mind, my friend and I have business to discuss."

"Right. Knifey-shiv-dark and all that." She bounded out of the chair, leaning over the railing to get a look at the door. Iron Bull was returning, followed by Josephine and Cullen. "Varric's got another game going. Wicked Grace. You coming?"

Leliana slid into the vacated chair. "You go on without us. And Sera…?"

"Yeah, right. You're not here. I never saw you."

As she left them, Zevran slid closer to the railing, craning his neck to see. Varric had managed to gather most of the inner circle, or at least those most likely to give up their coin. The dwarf himself was the last to arrive, with the Inquisitor in tow.

Zevran's breath caught. For a time, he said nothing, but he didn't take his eyes from the elf. "He is tall. Like his mother. And strikingly handsome."

Sitting back, Leliana smiled over her cup. "Told you."

"Why did you not contact me sooner?"

"Because the Herald of Andraste bore a passing resemblance to an old friend? Perhaps I was only seeing what I wanted to see. And I needed more information, particularly if I was going to commit my suspicions to a message."

Below them, the companions were settling around a long table, with the Inquisitor at their center. Misamahl'len was smiling, laughing at an exchange between Dorian and Josephine.

"He seems well liked."

Leliana nodded. "He is, even if he will not admit it himself. When I first met him, he wanted nothing to do with any of this. It is not a burden many could bear, but the progress that he has made is remarkable. You should be proud."

"It had nothing to do with me." When he turned to look at her, his expression was pained. "But I see now. It is a delicate balance, what you have achieved here. What he has achieved. I would only get in the way."

"Zevran…"

"What? He has not needed me so far."

"An excellent point." Solas stood beside them. Leliana had not heard him approach, nor had she ever seen the mage in the tavern before. He could be unnervingly quiet when he wished, which seemed to be most of the time.

Zevran stared up at him with narrowed eyes. "And who are you?"

"An irrelevant question. You are leaving, are you not?"

He glanced at Leliana. She knew that look. Solas often lacked for tact, but he was making assumptions, attempting to take the decision away from them. Telling Zevran he couldn't do something was the quickest way to make him want nothing else. It was a trait the Inquisitor shared.

She would have to broker a peace before things escalated. "Solas is an expert on the Fade. He saved the Inquisitor's life when we first found him."

"And has been whispering in his ear ever since, no doubt."

"Someone has to."

"You do know who I am, yes? How?"

"I possess eyes." Solas sniffed. "And there is much that I have seen in the Fade, enough to know that this visit will yield nothing of value. Quite the opposite, in fact."

"Oh? Have mages learned to see into the future? Do tell me my fortune."

He chuckled. "What fortune is that? The fortune of a slave? Of a killer? Of one who abandoned their child?"

Zevran thrust his chair back from the table, the sound drawing a few wondering glances from the tavern below. Varric looked up and caught Leliana's eye, loudly calling out for another round and drawing the party's attention back to their game. It was up to her to separate the two elves, now standing with barely a hairsbreadth between them.

Solas didn't flinch. "Would you deny him this chance to become something better?"

Leliana put a hand on Zevran's arm, drawing him away. It was the first time he had resisted her. She put her other hand on Solas' chest, urging him backward.

"Solas, it is late. Would you really have our guest brave the mountain passes in the dark?"

After a moment, he subsided. "I suppose you are right. But see that he is gone by morning."

Zevran smirked. "Or what? You will tell the Inquisitor?"

Solas only stared, his glare promising more than words ever could. As he left them, Leliana realized that she was still uncertain what the mage might be capable of. She hoped she was not on the wrong side of him when it came time to find out.

Zevran watched him go. "Charming."

"He means well."

"Don't we all."

He had turned away again, his eyes straying to the game below. The Inquisitor was on his feet, shrugging out of his tunic while the others hooted and applauded. It seemed the stakes had been raised and their leader was the first to fall.

Glancing back, Zevran gave her a sad smile. "Do you trust me?"

"Of course."

"Then I should like to be alone." Picking up the wine bottle, he turned it in his hands. "Out of sight, of course. Simply tell me where to go."

Leliana nodded to a nearby door, one that would take him out onto the ramparts unseen. Rising smoothly to his feet, Zevran drained his cup and tucked the bottle beneath his arm. Then he bent low, laying a fleeting kiss on her cheek.

"Thank you, Leliana. Truly." And with that, he was gone.