A/N (Aroihkin's Notes) 05.17.2010:

I used a banter line in this one, mostly by accident... but then I left it in. :D And one dialogue line from a non-party NPC. Sometimes it's appropriate, I think, even if I try to avoid it most of the time. Also, I took out the reference to the Legion armor in a previous chapter, since I seem to be mostly putting these in order now.

Reviews are loved and loved! I'm sorry these chapters are always so short.

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Sometimes you have to get to know someone really well to realize you're really strangers.
-- Mary Tyler Moore

His Grey Warden reveled in combat, thrilled in the adrenalin and the red-hot rush of bloodshed. That she did not enjoy killing was a point of some dark amusement for the Crow, but her love of the fight itself endeared her to him all the same. And so it was that he watched quite closely as another dwarven opponent entered the arena amidst the cheering and the master of ceremonies' booming voice, as the two made their remarks -- hers terse and simple, of course -- and the flash of an almost-grin as she pulled her helmet back on over her head.

She was thoroughly enjoying herself, and Zevran had never wanted to kiss a woman so much as he did right then. Gone was the strange edge of melancholy, or the hard gleam in her eye; for the moment at least, she seemed almost... whole. It shone a strange new light on their own fist-fights, if combat was how she best fit within her own skin.

He didn't realize just how obvious his thoughtful staring was getting until Alistair elbowed him in the ribs, and the Antivan glanced at him to find the Fereldan grinning like a fool. "Remembering your taste of that?" the human asked, as the distinctive sound of a shield hitting metal rang out, just barely audible in the din of the crowd. Knowing his Warden, it was the shield hitting the weapon more than it was the other way around. She was a fan of aggressive defense, to say the least.

"Must you remind me with such relish?" Zevran asked him, feigning a wince as he looked back out over the fighting. "My ears still ring from it, some nights!"

"Ha, I'll bet," he didn't realize that Alistair had said anything else until he was elbowed in the side again, this time harder, making him glance over and up again. "What's going on with you two?" Alistair asked, "Now that I've got you where she can't hear for once. You two are almost inseparable."

"Ah, my good friend Alistair," Zevran chuckled softly, gaze drifting back to the fight as the elven Warden knocked her foe to the ground and advanced on him. The dwarf had lost and he didn't even know it yet. "Is this jealousy I detect?"

"No! Well, maybe..." the almost sulky honesty drew Zevran's attention again, and he cocked an eyebrow at the would-be Templar. "Well," Alistair continued awkwardly, "not like that, it's just... we're the only two Grey Wardens left in all of Ferelden. And we barely even get along. I'd hoped... she and I could be friends, perhaps. But maybe that's stupid of me."

"Perhaps," Zevran agreed, reminded of all the disapproving looks Alistair had shot their leader after nearly every encounter with a stranger. He wasn't going to be the one to say it, however. But it was an interesting reminder, too, that no matter how... not close they seemed to him, used to easily sauntering in and out of beds as he was, the elven Warden was even more distant with almost all of the others. She seemed to be befriending Morrigan, a human raised far away from society, and had a sort of unspoken camaraderie with Sten, but otherwise it was himself and the dog who seemed the closest to her by far.

"What happened the last time we were here, anyway?" Alistair asked, glancing out at the fight as the crowd roared and another dwarf was drug out of the arena by his fellows. Their leader actually bowed to the crowd, Zevran noted with amusement. He'd never seen her in such a good mood, even if her helmet was still on, concealing her face. Violence truly suited the taciturn woman. "I thought everything was going fine and then she just up and hauled us out of here."

"Ah, you were not with us when we visited the Shaparate," Zevran chuckled softly, folding his arms, "it seems Prince Bhelen was playing us with false documents, and our leader did not appreciate it. I believe she hoped they would resolve this throne issue on their own in our absence, but... apparently not. In Antiva," he added conversationally, as though they weren't surrounded by dwarves, "half of the assembly would be long dead by now, if they didn't get the message early and come to an agreement on their own."

"Really?" Alistair's eyes were a little wide, "You just... kill off politicians to make them decide on things?"

"Oh yes, you would be surprised at how effective it is!" the elf laughed, "Sometimes no one steps forward to become King until we do just that. Never let it be said that the Crows are not patriots!"

"You... frighten me a little sometimes, you know that?" Alistair said slowly, "You and your whole insane country."

"Oh now, it is not so bad, Alistair," Zevran smirked, "if we went through all of this every time we needed a new King or Queen, when would we have the time to drink? Even the dwarves are half-sober by now, look at them!" Of course, they wouldn't need a new monarch so often if they stopped assassinating theirs... but that was beside the point. At least Antivans got things done.

Their leader had taken down another opponent while they spoke, and was now being advanced on by a pair of twin dwarves. Zevran uncrossed his arms and watched the fight unfold, the Warden singling out the dual-wielder of the pair first without hesitation, turning on the other only once the first had been taken down for the count. Watching her versus another shield-user was an exercise in contrast; others used their shields almost entirely for defense, but the Warden used hers even more than her sword.

And when it came time for her to name a second, one fight later, Zevran was pleasantly surprised to be the one called. He had expected her to take one of the mages, which would have been the purely pragmatic choice. But no... she wanted Zevran Arainai of the Antivan Crows. Flowers and poetry could have never been so sweet.

She'd zeroed in on his location as though a beacon had been lit.

When they found Ruck, Zevran lurked to one side of the group, smirking faintly to himself when the lost dwarf called their leader pretty lady, crooning about her pretty hair -- like metal, and dark leather -- and her pretty pretty eyes -- deep blue like smoke. The Antivan watched the Warden closely during all of this, puzzling a little over her strange care in speaking to the afflicted dwarf, her ruined voice almost soft for how quietly she suddenly used it.

The more he observed the dwarf, however, the more disturbed he grew. The man's mind was gone, clearly scooped out by the disease running through him. It was a horrific thing to contemplate. "You know, do you not?" the dwarf said to his Warden, pulling him out of his musing, "Ruck sees, yes. He sees the darkness inside you."

Zevran watched as the Warden went strangely still, and as she then bowed her head for a moment. "Yes," she said in that strangely quiet way, "and someday I... yes, I understand."

The Antivan did not hide his stare when the Warden glanced his way, and his stomach clenched sickeningly as she offered him a strange, sharp-edged little half-smile, barely more than a twitch of her thin lips. She went back to speaking with the dwarf, exchanging coin and items with him as though he was still a person and not a... husk. An empty husk, burned hollow by the very darkspawn flesh he had consumed to survive.

Zevran could feel eyes boring into him, and he met Morrigan's stare with his own as their leader shrugged her new shield onto her back. The Legion of the Dead emblem grinned out at him from her back as the dwarf mentioned that he would remember the scent of the pretty lady's hair. Utterly repulsed, the Antivan turned and paced away, moving a few dozen feet down the sinuous tunnel to wait for the others to finish their... business. Unconsciously, he rubbed his arms as though to warm them, feeling like his flesh would crawl right off his bones if he let it.

When the rest followed a few long moments later, he stepped out into their path, making the group halt. The taste of the entire encounter still bitter in his mouth, Zevran made his proposal to put the dwarf out of his misery, citing that he had seen poison victims in better condition. His mind was gone and the rest of him would not be far behind, the dwarf was already dead. Now it just remained to see how his ending came for him. To just leave him here to rot... it didn't sit well with the Crow, for some reason.

The Warden waved the others on around the next bend, and then stepped closer to Zevran, her eerie stare suddenly just a little bit worrisome to him, as though they were strangers all over again. It was just like when her stare had bothered him from the other end of a log beside the fire, mere days after his life had been spared. "You truly feel this is best?" she asked quietly, just as she had spoken to the dwarf, ruined voice still rough but somehow muted.

"I do," Zevran confirmed, not looking away despite his sudden unease.

"..." the Warden drew a knife from her belt, and reached up to loosen her braid from its customary tightly-wound bun. Zevran watched in complete silence as she selected a lock of hair from the end, one equally gray and brown, and sliced it free. "Make it quick and painless," she said simply, and held out the bit of her hair, "and leave this for him."

Zevran curled his fingers around the hair, opening his mouth to say something... anything... but he wasn't sure what, and so he closed it mutely. The Antivan instead offered her a short, tight bow, and then slid into stealth, creeping back up the tunnel to his new-found target with the Warden's hair in his hand. Behind him, he heard her continue away from him, moving to re-join the other two.

Ruck never even knew what hit him.

-- --: -x- :-- --
Dragon Age belongs to someone else.
All here that is not found in the canon... is mine.
Never steal if you value your spleen.