"...I had wondered that myself, once. Why the Wardens would not gather up forces enough to push and find the last of the darkspawn, destroy the taint. But after seeing the deep roads myself..." So many bodies. So much blood. Assassins were made for death, certainly- but Zevran was not made for the war Alistair had to wage. For piles upon piles of corpses, for fetid blood cloying thick, for splinters of bone and brain in his hair.

How it was they waded through so much carnage and came out the otherside mostly unmarred, he never knew. But he thanked The Maker every day for his fortune.

"It would be madness to attempt it. Either the First Warden knew and condoned the action- or he did not know and there was greater intrigue in the Anderfels." As it was a mystery all it's own more often than not? Zevran couldn't say. Uncharacteristically somber he slowed, voice soft. "...the more I hear from you, Dorian, Hawke and the Bull, the more I wonder if what we managed had any point whatsoever."