Sorry for the long wait, guys! Those of you who read ToTL know that one also suffered from my nasty writer's block. But, regardless, here you go!

Quick A/N: go forward with two assumptions - one, that I am an impatient shit, two, there may be mistakes with my Italian (Antivan) because I'm not a native speaker and I apologize for those, and three, that canon has gone extinct. ;P

Enjoy!

Birds of a Feather

Corvis woke up stiff-as-a-board, and not in the fun way.

Residual stress had tightened his muscles into unbreakable knots, making them feel more like metal than flesh. He sat up, ducked his head, and rubbed the back of his neck to try and ease away the stiffness.

It was still weird, he had to admit, waking up outside of the confines of Kinloch Hold. Even his time spent at Ostagar, Lothering, and now here, had not lessened the novelty of it. And in any other circumstance, finally spending time outside the tower might've eased the eighteen-year buildup of stress and knots and kinks in his muscles.

Not this one. Corvis partially blamed himself for not knowing exactly what he was getting into when he willingly joined the Wardens. Burning darkspawn? That had sounded like a blast. Getting complete sanction to walk around as a free mage without Templars bearing down on him anymore? Dream come true. Ingesting some toxic substance that would ultimately kill him a couple decades down the road…not so much.

A reckless decision of his, he knew now, joining the Wardens without grilling Duncan for information. He didn't make reckless decisions very often, but when he did, they usually circled back around to bite him in the ass.

Bah. The notion of spending who knew how long saving Ferelden, not even the country he was born in, wasn't quite his cup of tea, but someone had to bloody well do it—and it might as well be someone who wouldn't muck it up.

After all, if unchecked, the Blight wouldn't stop at Ferelden's borders. Antiva and his family were far enough away now, but in a year…?

He closed his eyes and scrubbed them with the heels of his hands.

Alistair might've been partially to blame for Corvis's mostly sleepless nights. The warrior was much more accustomed to Warden nightmares, having been a Warden for a bit longer than the rest of them, and thus slept soundly in between bouts of bad dreams. The problem was…when Alistair slept soundly, he snored about as loudly as an enraged bear.

When Corvis had still been an apprentice in Kinloch Hold, once of the other apprentices in the dormitory had snored just as loudly. He'd gotten annoyed by it and set the ends of the boy's sheets on fire, he remembered. Fond memory.

Alistair mumbled something unintelligible in his sleep and twisted to lie on his stomach, the blankets slipping off his broad shoulders. His honey-red hair was in utter disarray, sticking up haphazardly in some places and mashed to his skull in others. The snoring halted for a moment of bliss, then picked up again, barely muffled by the wadded-up shirt he was using as a pillow.

Unable to stand the noise any longer, Corvis grabbed the rolled-up map he'd been looking at yesterday and smacked Alistair's ass with it.

"Ack! I didn't do it!" Alistair yelped, startling awake.

Corvis shook his head, then dropped the map and snickered into a fist.

"What was…bloody mage," Alistair grumbled, maneuvering about to sit upright. His eyes were bleary and a bit puffy from sleep. "I was having a good dream this time, I'll have you know."

"And you were doing a spectacular rendition of a grizzly mating call," Corvis said. "Up. The roadside is hardly a safe place to linger about."

"I'm going, I'm going." Brows furrowed together, Alistair began the arduous task of hunting around for clean clothes to put beneath his armor. Corvis dreaded to think of what the unclean clothes smelled like.

"Anyone alive in there?" called a voice from outside the tent—Palla. "We're having a group talk in a little while."

"We're both awake," Corvis answered. "You can come in if you like."

"What? No!" Alistair squawked, caught in the middle of examining a dark green tunic. "I'm hardly dressed!"

Corvis had noted his shirtless and largely pantsless state, sure, but he hadn't expected the warrior to object to a woman seeing him like that. "Most people wouldn't consider that a problem."

Alistair eyed him briefly. "How many lovely, honorable women do you let into your tent when you're indecent?"

"It's cute that you think I'm honorable," Palla said from outside.

"One," Corvis said, "we didn't exactly have tents in Kinloch Hold, so if you're asking for a completely literal—"

"I'm not, and I'm sure you get my actual question," Alistair said.

Corvis shrugged one shoulder. "I don't have enough fingers to count that."

It seemed as though Alistair couldn't decide between faking disgust and showing intrigue for his current facial expression. Anyone with half a brain could've pegged the young man as a virgin—the way he blushed and stuttered when any sexual subject came up made it evident enough. But he wasn't one of those infamous Chantry virgins who defaulted to condemning others for their immoral acts; if anything, it seemed many of those immoral acts were curiosities to him, no matter how much he tried to hide that.

Vastly inexperienced, but not necessarily a prude.

"That's…well…that's lovely," Alistair was saying now, heavily rubbing the back of his neck. "Ahem. Anyway, I'll…get dressed now. Yes. Right. Getting dressed. Now."

Footsteps outside signaled that Palla had probably shuffled away to let Alistair make himself decent, so to speak; Corvis glanced at the younger man, watching him pull a tunic over his broad shoulders and muscled torso.

Might as well change shirts himself. Corvis tugged off his tunic and tossed it uncaringly to the side.

"Those tattoos," Alistair said, looking at him. "Are they common, where you're from?"

"Si," Corvis said, nodding, as he found a neatly folded tunic—deep red this time—and slipped it over his head. "Many Antivans have them. They're often a way of accentuating the lines of your body. Emphasizing beauty."

He only had a couple, himself—just the one around his left eye and a couple around his biceps. He'd gotten them as a young child, after all; more than that would've been disturbing at the time.

"Not a way of covering things, then?" Alistair asked. "Hiding flaws?"

"What flaws?" Corvis teased with a devious look.

"Cocky," Alistair said, twisting his mouth sourly.

"But, in answer…" Corvis smoothed his tunic with the flats of his hands, trying to avoid wrinkles. Vain, maybe, but he'd always been that way. "Antivans are not so predisposed to shame and concealing as, say, Fereldans might be."

Most Antivans.

"That explains ever so much," the warrior said, elaborating no further as he finished dressing and made his way—rather tiredly—out of the tent.

Corvis followed him, huffing in annoyance at the mist that had settled over the roadside woods; it tingled coldly against any exposed skin, obscuring the woods around them with a wispy white film. He spied the rest of his traveling companions clustered around a dim campfire—lit by Morrigan, this time—and munching in a rather blasé fashion on some strips of dried meat.

His gaze found the witch, sitting on a log a few feet away from Shesi, and he let it linger on her for a moment. He still wasn't certain what arrangement she'd made that forced her to accompany them on their doomed quest, but she didn't look terribly thrilled about it; the impassive frown on her face had likely been settling there for days. But she was strikingly beautiful despite the unpleasant glower of her expression, her skin nearly as pale as the mist around them, the heavy necklace glimmering golden against the graceful lines of her throat and collarbone.

She peered up at him with yellow eyes that reminded him of a wolf's, probably sensing he'd glanced her way. Then her lips curved in the slightest, most subtle and short-lived of smirks before she returned to gazing into the fire.

He sat next to her; by the way she didn't even acknowledge that, she seemed to have expected it.

"Are you not cold?" he asked her; he couldn't have imagined baring so much skin in cold morning mist without frost-sickness setting in.

She lifted an eyebrow. "I have lived in woods such as these my entire life, Warden, t'would be awfully frail of me if I could not stand such a thing."

The group, despite Palla's insistence on a meeting of sorts, had settled into nonchalant conversation at the moment; Palla, Alistair, and Leliana had picked up a conversation that he hadn't decided to listen in on, yet. Shesi was, as usual, staring somewhat lifelessly into the small flickering flames. Nearby, Bodahn and Sandal had enlisted Sten's help to replace a wheel on the cart that had been damaged by uneven forest terrain. Ellairia had hunkered at Palla's side, her wheat-colored hair a bit damp from the mist, and every time Corvis glanced in her direction she pretended not to be staring at him.

"Cold is not necessarily a synonym of frail, bellissima," he said, holding his palms out towards the fire.

"And I presume you say so to defend your own discomfort with the temperature?" she asked, looking pointedly at him.

Sharp-witted as well as beautiful, this one.

"If you are allowed the excuse of a childhood in the woods to accustom you to the cold," he said, "then surely I'm allowed the excuse of a childhood in Antiva and the Circle Tower to give me no proper exposure to it."

"Excuses are just that, Warden. Were we in the heat of your own Antiva, I suspect this conversation would have taken a different turn, and I might be the one whinging about the current weather."

"Whinging, you say." He turned to look at her; she kept her gaze on the fire, allowing him a view of the pretty lines of her profile, but he saw her lips curve deviously all the same. "Wicked tongue you have."

"Oh?" she said, her voice lowering somewhat. "Do you intend to do something about this wicked tongue of mine?"

He chuckled. "With it, perhaps."

Her eyes hooded a bit in intrigue before she covered up the expression with a scoff and looked away.

"You left your Korcari Wilds to join us," he said, studying her curiously. "Why was that?"

"Other than the fact that I was given very little choice or free will in the matter?" she said somewhat acidly. "I was assured by my mother that my particular talents would be indispensable to your cause, and thus I joined the noblewoman and the dullard and ventured forth from my mother's hut. Truly a fascinating tale, but alas, I will not be relating it to any minstrels."

The noblewoman and the dullard—Palla and Alistair, no doubt. They must've somehow escaped the Tower of Ishal and the disaster that was Ostagar and found their way into the Wilds. How they'd come across Flemeth and Morrigan a second time, Corvis didn't rightly know.

"You speak as though you're trapped," he noted. Sometimes he felt the same.

"Am I not?" she countered.

"You bear no bonds of Wardenhood," he told her. "Hypothetically speaking, you could massacre the lot of us and be on your way."

"The thought has tempted me before."

He laughed, very lightly, and shook his head; in amusement more than anything else.

"Have you left anything behind?" she asked him, surprising him. "Do you perhaps miss the confines of your Circle as they expect you to?"

"I have never once missed the Circle an iota and I never plan to," he said, scrubbing a hand through his hair. "My mother, certainly, but I was separated from her eighteen years ago and have not seen her in person since. Where she resides at the moment, I do not know."

Morrigan opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off.

"Alright, folks." Palla clapped her hands together to get everyone's attention. "Time for a meeting."

Ellie, ever the eager listener, immediately straightened her spine and folded her hands primly in her lap.

"As some of you know," Palla continued, drawing her fiery hair up into a messy bun at the nape of her neck as she spoke, "we Fereldan Wardens pretty much have no one to turn to except a few allies mentioned in the treaty Duncan had us retrieve before our Joining. Those being the Dalish elves, the Circle of Magi, and Orzammar—and, as Alistair thinks, potentially Arl Eamon's knights in Redcliffe." She cleared her throat. "So we need to map out how we're doing this, because otherwise it'll take time we just don't have."

"Parshaara," grunted Sten. "Why not face your foe in combat?"

"We will," Palla said. "With aid. Trying to face an entire horde of darkspawn with eight people is a death wish and it's non-negotiable."

His lavender gaze simmered under the surface.

"Dalish first," Corvis said.

All eyes turned to him.

"But we're extremely close to Redcliffe," Palla said. "It's only—"

"That may be," Corvis said, "but Redcliffe is also west of us. As is Kinloch Hold, as is Orzammar. Shesi mentioned the Dalish would likely be in the Brecilian Forest, which is east. If we swing east first, and then travel west," he motioned with his hands as if drawing on an invisible map in the air, "we can catch the remaining Dalish clans before they inevitably escape Ferelden, then head east to Redcliffe, then north to Kinloch Hold, then further northwest to Orzammar."

"Reasonable enough," Shesi agreed. "Dalish, we're—they're focused on self-preservation. They won't remain in Ferelden unless compelled to. I can just about guarantee that."

Palla exhaled.

"Alright, then," she said, nodding once. "Let's catch them."

A good day's trek saw them closer to the Brecilian Forest, likely on the outermost edges of it if the taller, looming trees were any indication, and Shesi wasn't completely certain what to think.

She'd come to terms with leaving her Dalish roots, sure. Still—if they succeeded in finding a clan out here, one that hadn't yet run away from the Blight, she'd have to step foot in a Dalish camp again. Listen to the familiar sounds of halla bleating and hunters sharpening knives. Smell the unforgettable scents of oaken aravels and minty elfroot juices and the sharp odor of vallaslin ink.

Her own clan would not have bothered to send a runner to any clans here while in the process of fleeing northwards. Any Dalish in these parts would no doubt welcome her as their own, even if in her mind she stepped into camp a stranger.

The reminders would hurt, though, she knew. Hurt in a dull way, the kind of numb sensation that you knew was supposed to be pain but felt more like the world just turning into an ugly mire of grey around you.

Tamlen might've encouraged her to get herself into a little trouble, take her mind off things.

Tamlen wasn't here.

Lost in thought and reluctant to socialize—yet again—Shesi had carted a bedroll away from camp and set it up beneath the sheltering arms of an oak. Weather and time had dug away some of the ground around the roots, leaving a couple of them exposed, gnarled and rough and deep brown. She'd spread out her bedroll next to the largest one, as if the exposed root would give her some security.

"Shesi?" It was Palla, stepping gingerly through the forest scrub to reach her, red hair visible even in the darkness. "You're going to be the death of me, woman."

"You don't have to worry," Shesi said gently, sitting cross-legged on top of the bedroll.

"Then you don't know me very well," Palla said, reaching her and plopping down on her knees in the thick turf. "You shouldn't be alone out here."

"I'd rather be," she said, then inwardly cringed, hoping that hadn't been too blunt. "Palla, it's fine. I've been doing this since I was a baby."

"What, brooding?"

Shesi almost laughed. "No, sleeping out here like this. I grew up in these forests, remember? I know them well and they don't scare me. Besides—the darkspawn haven't spread east yet. And I'd sense them coming."

Palla pursed her lips. "Even if you were sleeping?"

"I sleep light," Shesi promised. If I sleep at all.

Sighing, Palla patted her palms on her thighs a couple times, then stood. "I just care, that's all."

"Why?" Shesi asked. "I know we're technically sisters-in-arms now, but…you don't have to care about everyone you fight beside. And we barely know each other yet."

"I made a promise to myself that I wouldn't let you get hurt," Palla said, startlingly frank. "Duncan, Maker rest his soul, didn't give me a chance to defend my parents when bloody Arl Howe had his men attack my family's home. I had to sneak out of the castle like a coward while my father bled to death and my mother covered my arse. I still have no clue where my brother is, if he's alive at all. So you'll forgive me if I utterly refuse to let anything happen to you. Or any of the other Wardens."

"You…" Shesi muttered, trailing off.

The warrior bared her heart on her sleeve so readily. It was admirable, Shesi thought…and it made her heart squeeze tight in her chest.

"Me," Palla said.

"Hey." In an uncharacteristic display of childishness, Shesi stuck out her tongue. "You know I was—"

Palla chuckled. "Yeah, yeah. I know. You're just surprised, and it's very cute." She stood, brushing stray bits of dead leaves off her breeches. "I'm not going to force you to do anything you don't want, though. Holler if you need me, alright? Or if you get sick of being alone and just want some company."

"I will," Shesi promised.

The woman smiled halfway, then turned and tromped back through the forest, towards camp.

Not wanting to sleep quite yet, Shesi thumped her back against the upturned root and craned her head back, watching the stars glisten in the night sky, diamond-white pinpricks amongst a field of flat velvet black.

She didn't remember the names of all the constellations, if any; she'd never had the patience for it. Hell, she couldn't even list off all of the elven gods and goddesses, even if she concentrated. Too much wasted effort for a non-academic mind. She knew how to distinguish an elk's or halla's cloven footfalls in the dirt from the softer padding of a black bear, knew which plants and mushrooms would kill her and which were safe, knew how to properly skin an animal from neck to arse and cook it 'til the juices ran clear. Those skills—those had always been enough for her.

A pang of remembrance trickled through her slowly, like sand through a sieve, and she let her eyes drift shut with a soft sigh.

Being here in the Brecilian Forest again was making it awfully hard to keep Tamlen from her thoughts.

She kept hearing his scream as the strange mirror sucked him into its silver depths, kept feeling the chill of loss spring goosebumps up on her skin. No one simply lost their hunting partner, let alone the best friend and man they'd fallen for, without feeling it deep within their bones. And had she not trekked westward to Ostagar, she'd have had a chance to sweep the forests for him again and again and again.

No…it wouldn't do to think like this. She had to keep fighting it. Keep trying to breathe.

The air shifted almost imperceptibly near her.

A hand clamped over her mouth.

Shesi drew in a swift breath through her nose, her eyes shooting open.

The metallic glint of a dagger's blade in the soft moonlight was the first thing that caught her attention. Then she registered the fact that the hand still covering her mouth was definitely attached to a person, and a man at that.

Not just any man—an elf, from the knife-pointed ears. And a noticeably attractive one, if she had to be objective without thinking of the dagger inches from her throat. It was hard to distinguish hues in the dark, but his hair was a noticeable silvery flaxen color, glossy and soft-looking and just brushing his shoulders. Dark skin, she could tell, easily as dark as her own, and eyes that weren't quite dark or quite light. Not to mention lips that curved upwards at one corner in an obviously arrogant smirk.

She stayed perfectly still, like a deer trying not to be noticed by a predator.

"Ssssh," he whispered, very slowly pulling the hand away but tapping one finger to her lips. "I am assassinating you."

One of Shesi's brows shot upwards.

Incredulity won out over anything else. She must've been really numb to the world, if even the phrase I'm assassinating you didn't make her heart pound out of her chest.

"Who says that?" she whispered back. "What happened to the element of surprise and all that?"

The elven man released a breathy huff of a laugh. "And who's to say I don't enjoy the thrill of a wild struggle over the dull ease of finishing a target in their sleep?"

His accent had the same pleasing flow to it that Corvis's had, the same rhythm and cadence. Interesting. Perhaps they hailed from the same place?

"Are you even an assassin, or do you just have delusions of grandeur?"

"Why don't we find out?" he said, a wicked grin stretching his mouth and flashing white teeth.

He plunged the dagger towards her neck.

She yanked her own knife off her belt and parried the blow with a sharp ting of metal against metal. Then she was on her feet in a heartbeat, bracing her legs in a fighting stance and gripping the knife's hilt tightly in her right hand.

She had quick reflexes, but he'd let her parry him. Why? He even rose more slowly to his feet with a deceptively languid motion, his eyes glinting in the darkness with all the feral fiendishness of a wildcat.

"Shall we play a little, lovely one?" he purred.

She readied herself, and he lunged.

Shesi jumped backwards, dodging, the air parting as his blade whipped inches from her chest. Being armor-less was probably not the most advantageous fact at the moment…but she wouldn't knock her knees together like a child.

He swiped again, and she twirled away, returning the gesture. Steel flashed in the night air, and the assassin nimbly dodged the blow.

It was too easy, too addicting, falling headfirst into the steps of a rogue's dance.

Dodging. Striking. Twirling. Every step as careful as it was fast. Feet lighter than air itself. Shesi might never have learned how to shoot a bow well, but she knew this dance like she knew the breaths that passed through her lungs.

"Who are you?" she panted; he redirected her blow with a flick of his blade, she skirted out of the way of his.

"Now, now," he scolded, "dead women don't ask questions. Only the particularly undead ones. And I don't think the noises that come out of the undead are quite intelligible enough to be considered questions. Unless you happen to be fluent in undead. In which case—"

"This is the most ridiculous situation I have ever found myself in," she breathed.

He smirked. "I aim to please."

Catching her briefly off guard, he knocked the heel of his hand against her sternum and sent her stumbling a step back, against the trunk of the large oak. His dagger flashed to her throat, holding steady there; she could feel the blade's chilled edge against her skin as she swallowed.

Retaliating, she held her own blade to his throat.

Breaths surged in and out of her lungs, her chest heaving. She noticed the elven man's chest was rising and falling with some speed, too; she'd exerted him, at the very least. He was awfully fast, though, she'd give him that.

It took her longer than she cared to admit to realize she was…grinning.

On the verge of laughing breathlessly, even, electric tingles filling her body and making the hairs at the back of her neck stand on end. What an odd thing. She felt bizarrely and strikingly alive, every sensation on fire, everything sharper in her eyes.

Had it truly taken an assassination attempt—albeit a strange one—to make her feel life pouring through her veins and awakening her deadened mind?

More. She wanted more. Needed it.

"You lost," she said, flicking her knife against his throat.

"Have I, now?" His chuckle was a low rumble in the small space between them. She could smell the light scent of his sweat, now, the tang of metal and subtle musk of leather. "It seems to me, Grey Warden, that we are at some sort of a draw."

"Fuck your draw," she goaded him, snapping her leg up in an attempt to knee him in the groin.

He shot his free hand down, blocking her rather unsportsmanlike blow. "Naughty little minx, aren't we?"

"You goofed," she said, fixing her eyes on his, unable to look away. "You picked the one Warden who doesn't care whether or not she dies."

"If you are so unconcerned with your state of being," he said, his own eyes flicking down to her throat, "then might I ask why you haven't bothered to die yet?"

Because this is the most alive I've felt in weeks, she thought.

"Because you haven't managed your job yet," she said instead.

"Mmm," he said. "Allow me to rectify my poor performance, then."

"Nope," Palla said from behind the assassin, startling Shesi, as she brought the pommel of her sword down on the elven man's head.

He groaned from the blow and immediately slumped, both his and Shesi's blades clattering to the ground as she reflexively grabbed at him. His weight nearly dragged her down before he thumped down hard on his back and lay there, eyes shut and arms sprawled.

It hadn't been just Palla who'd caught them fighting, Shesi realized. All of them had been roused from their sleep and were looking at Shesi with a wide spectrum of expressions.

Whoops.

She hadn't been paying any attention.

"Shesi?" Ellie asked; her big chocolate eyes were bleary with sleep, and she yawned behind her hands. "Are you okay? Do you need me to heal you?"

"I'm…" Shesi started. Great, actually. Better than before. And there's no way to explain that.

"A loony," Palla finished. "Why didn't you call for help, Shess?"

"You poor dear," Leliana said sympathetically, even while her blue eyes fixed keenly on the unconscious assassin like she was trying to decipher everything about him in the span of a few seconds. "Thank the Maker you aren't hurt."

"Who is that?" Alistair asked, noticeably confused. He looked sleepy, too, bags under his hazel eyes. "And what did he want with you?"

"Clearly his aim was to rouse us all from our slumber and inconvenience our night," Morrigan said dryly; her eyes were nearly slits. "I say we rid ourselves of his presence and return to our previous course of action, lest he wake up and antagonize us further."

"I never thought I'd agree with you," Alistair said.

"Tis not often I share sentiments with a blubbering simpleton," she retorted.

"Hey."

"Might we question him instead?" Leliana suggested, glancing at Sten's silent, monolithic form in the back of the group; Shesi knew Corvis and Palla had freed him from a cage in Lothering, releasing him from his punishment for apparent murder. The former Chantry sister must've been considering the fact that they'd spared shady characters before, and benefited from it. Probably. "Surely we can learn something of his motives."

"I can guess at them," Corvis said mildly, crouching near where the assassin had fallen and grasping his jaw to slowly turn his head. "From what I remember, tattoos like this are common in Antiva. Did he have an accent, Shesi?"

"Like yours," she said, nodding. Tattoos must've been common, indeed; Corvis had that bloodred one, after all, that tribal-looking mark half-circling his left eye.

He clicked his tongue in thought. "Assassin combined with Antivan generally means one thing."

"Prick?" Palla said.

"Uffa," Corvis said, rolling his eyes so hard she thought they might detach from his head. "No. It means Antivan Crow. For the uninformed, it means a member from the largest and deadliest house of assassini in the whole of Thedas."

"Oh!" Ellie exclaimed. "Corvis, you pretended to be one for those highwaymen outside of Lothering. I remember now." The healer stared down at the assassin on the ground. "And now here's a real one. Those bandits seemed awfully frightened just from hearing the word Crow."

"Which is the usual reaction, si." The enchanter stood, crossing his arms over his chest. "A trained Crow is seldom bested in combat, especially outside of Antiva. I'm curious about this, now."

"I'm not," Palla said. "Let's just shank him and go back to bed."

Shesi's heart thudded unexpectedly against her ribcage.

"Wait," she said, holding her hands out. "I think we should question him."

Seven pairs of eyes fixed on her.

"The hell?" Palla said. "Shesi, you're the one he tried to kill."

"And I want to question him," she said firmly, startling herself.

"About what?" Palla said, clearing her throat. "Good evening, fine ser, what was it you wanted? Oh, you wanted one of us dead? How boorish of me to interrupt you. Go on then, tally-ho. Have a nice murdering."

"And honestly," Alistair added, looking at Palla, "should we be surprised that more people want us dead? It seems to be a popular hobby right now."

Ellie visibly shivered.

"Crows do not kill on a whim," Corvis said firmly. "The most successful of Assassin Orders survive because of a strong code of conduct. Somebody hired this one. Better that we deduce who did the hiring, find them, then systematically and blissfully ruin their life."

Leliana nodded her agreement. "I agree—he should be questioned, no?"

"Maker," Palla said. "Fine." She nudged the fallen elf's dagger away with the toe of her boot. "But someone should tie him before we wake him up, I think. Just in case."

"I know a thing or two of knots," Leliana said.

Shesi watched quietly as the elf was propped up in a sitting position with his back against the oak's trunk, his head lolling back, baring the pretty slope of his throat. Such a vulnerable position for him, completely at the mercy of eight armed strangers. She didn't envy him this.

Leliana deftly tied his wrists behind him, then stood and stepped back.

He hadn't woken up yet, somehow.

"I have no patience," Palla said with a huff. "Let's wake him up. Alistair, shove your tongue down his throat."

"What?!"

Palla snapped her gaze to the slumbering assassin. "Damn it. Your outraged yell was supposed to wake him."

"…oh," Alistair said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Should've tried something dirtier," Corvis said, snickering. "Alistair, ram your—"

"Not listening, not listening," Alistair chanted, plugging his hands over his ears.

"There might be an herb we could wave under his nose," Ellie tried helpfully.

Everyone was silent then, seemingly considering different methods of rousing him. Luckily, none of them had to be employed; the assassin coughed roughly and came to consciousness, wiggling to straighten himself where he sat against the tree.

"Oh," he said, almost a groan. "Oh. I almost expected to wake up dead. Or not wake up at all, as the case may be."

Corvis crouched in front of him.

"Ciao, sconosciuto," the enchanter said, slipping easily into a language Shesi didn't recognize. Antivan, must've been; she'd heard him utter a few scattered words before, but never full sentences. It rolled rather nicely off his tongue. "Tu chi sei? Un corvo?"

The elven assassin's eyes visibly brightened.

"Ah! Un collega antivano," he replied, flexing his arms against the ropes. "Si, si. Mi chiamo Zevran. Piacere di conoscerla, amico."

"Allo stesso modo," Corvis said. He seemed to have enjoyed easing briefly back into his native tongue, if the sly smile stretched halfway across his mouth was any indication. Stifling a yawn, he gestured at Shesi. "My compatriot here will take over your interrogation."

"She will?" Palla asked.

Corvis nodded. "Yes. I'm tired, and I unwillingly forfeited a very interesting dream only a few minutes ago." He apparently wasn't able to stifle the next yawn, electing to cover his mouth with a hand instead. "Goodnight. Wake me up if the assassin here goes rogue and kills me."

"…how?" Alistair said.

"You heard me," the enchanter said, returning without a further word to the camp.

Shesi scanned the group. Sten, probably vastly uninterested, had already left to who knew where. Ellie looked like she could barely keep her eyes open. Morrigan briefly watched Corvis leave, then apparently grew bored herself, disappearing into the blackness surrounding them.

Shesi pursed her lips. Then she sat cross-legged in front of Zevran, facing him, and rested her hands on her thighs.

So it was Loghain, after all.

Shesi scrubbed her eyelids with the heels of her hands, then looked over her shoulder at Palla and Alistair, who'd remained with her for Zevran's "interrogation." Both had, however, fallen asleep—Palla's head leant on Alistair's broad shoulder, and his head on the top of hers—before Zevran had dropped the metaphorical bomb of Loghain's involvement with the assassination attempt.

According to Zevran, who'd proven rather chatty and forthcoming especially for his line of work and this unholy late hour, Loghain had taken preventative measures to try and ensure no Wardens would escape Ostagar. And one of those measures had been a contract doctored between Arl Rendon Howe and the Antivan Crows.

She'd have to tell Palla that; the woman deserved honesty. Shesi knew Palla's blood would boil at the sound of Howe's name alone, but secrecy wasn't an option.

"I'm sick of this," Shesi said abruptly, reaching for her knife.

"Of what, bella?" the assassin said, watching her with hooded eyes that she'd finally deduced were dark gold, like the color of pancake syrup. "Here I was, thinking we were having such a lovely chat."

"I didn't pull the knife out to kill you." Shesi shifted forward, scooting her knees in the dirt so she could reach behind him, and sliced through the knotwork Leliana had done earlier. "I just feel like it's impossible to have an honest conversation when one of us is bound here against his will. You want to try to kill me again? Have at it. That was the most fun I've had in ages."

"You are a rather intriguing woman, Warden," he said, eyeing her up and down as she finished with the ropes and sank back to sit down in front of him. "But, no. Assassinating you is clearly a hazardous business that I don't particularly feel like repeating."

"It's Shesi," she said.

"Hmm?"

"That's…my name." Why was she telling him this? Surely she'd had smarter moments in her life. "It suits me more than 'Warden', most times."

"Might I call you by it, then?" he asked.

"I set you free," she said, gesturing at him as he rubbed his wrists to presumably get back his circulation. "You can do whatever you want."

"Mm, you do like playing with your chances, don't you?" Zevran said. His gaze shifted once to the sleeping clump of Palla and Alistair, then back to Shesi. "But, you are a dangerous woman in a formidable group of traveling companions, and I would be remiss to not see the value in such a thing." He straightened his back, lifted his chin a little. "You are the one who bested me in combat, my dear, so I will make you the offer."

"Offer?" Shesi repeated, raising her brows. "Are you not loyal to Loghain at all?"

"Ha! I know nothing of the man, except that he wanted you dead." He leaned forward a bit, his eyes fixed on hers; she held her ground, didn't lean away, but her heart thudded weirdly in her chest. "Loyalty, though, is an interesting concept. If you wish, and if you would let me finish, we can discuss it further."

She nodded once. "Go ahead."

"Well, here's the thing." He folded his hands deceptively casually in his lap. "I failed to kill you and your Warden brethren, so my life is forfeit. That's how it works. If you don't kill me, the Crows will."

"Because if you failed, you should have forfeited your life?"

"Precisely. Now, thing is—I like living. And you obviously are the sort to give the Crows pause. So…let me serve you, instead."

Shesi blinked.

"Not that I'm about to reject your offer just yet," she said. "But…what would prevent me from receiving the same loyalty as Loghain? Or the Crows?"

"I happen to be a very loyal person!" Zevran protested. "Up until the point where someone expects me to die for failing. That's not a fault, really…is it?" He rolled his eyes around in thought. "Unless you're the sort who would do the same thing, in which case, I…don't come very well recommended, I suppose!"

"You did make a very flashy entrance, though, so I'll give you props for that," she said amusedly. And you purposefully forfeited a couple easy opportunities to kill me. Why?

He chuckled. "Ah, yes."

"Although," she said, "you could just be making this offer so I give you even more opportunities to finish us off. Lull us into a false sense of security, so to speak."

"Would you have untied me if you thought so?"

"I'm not sure."

"Well," he said, "let me tell you this much. I was never given much of a choice regarding joining the Crows in the first place. They bought me on the slave market when I was a child. I think I've paid my worth back to them, plus tenfold. The only way out, however, is to die—or to sign up with someone they can't touch." His eyes scanned hers. "Now, you tell me—why would I forfeit my chances of leaving the Crows just to make a last ditch assassination attempt that I've already failed once before?"

"Because you don't actually want to leave the Crows?" she countered.

He shook his head, laughing. "No, no. See, even if I did kill you now, they might just kill me on principle for failing the first time. They have ways of finding these things out, you know. Very creepy. Honestly…I'd rather take my chances with you."

"Since you failed," she said, "will they send another assassin to finish the job?"

"Possibly," he said. "But, I know their wily ways. Such is an advantage to you, yes?"

That it was, if he was forthcoming enough to share their wily ways with her. Logically, she probably shouldn't be taking his word for that.

My choice, she reminded herself.

"Fair enough," she said, nodding. "Hypothetically, if I were to accept your offer…what would you want out of such an arrangement?"

"Let's see." He clicked his tongue. "Being allowed to live would be nice. And it would make me marginally more useful to you, I imagine. And somewhere down the line, if you should decide you no longer have need of me, then I go on my way. Until then…" He leaned just a little bit closer, close enough that even in the dark she could see flecks of brassy gold in the deeper umber of his eyes. "I am yours. Here to serve you and cater to your every whim." Slowly, brazenly, he reached up and combed a strand of her hair behind her pointed ear. "Is that fair?"

Only an idiot would've failed to realize that he was using his charm to try and make the offer more appealing. Still...Shesi didn't want to forfeit the rush of life she'd felt in her veins when he'd arrived and tried to assassinate her. No matter what his motives truly were…she wanted more of that feeling.

She couldn't expect the rest of the group to agree with her. No; she'd have to make the arrangement herself.

"Zevran," she said, straightening a little and extending her hand, "I'm accepting your offer. Any terms you want to decide on will be with me alone. You guard my back, and I'll guard yours."

A flash of some emotion that almost seemed to resemble surprise passed through his eyes—quickly, just the briefest flicker of it. Then he smirked, grasping her hand and shaking it.

Someone in the group—not naming any names, but probably Palla—was going to murder Shesi come morning.