His Preferred Gift
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age.
Zevran looked down at the small gold bar in one hand and the medium silver bar in the other with a slight smile on his face. He was pleasantly surprised when the brave and beautiful Warden who had chosen to, against all odds, spare his life had not only noticed his fascination with these precious metal bars but had chosen to indulge him by letting him claim them whenever they stumbled across any.
Yes, it was certainly very good of her though he got the impression that she didn't really understand. That was fine, though; let her think he was just drawn to symbols of wealth. In some ways, it was even true. There was always going to be something powerfully alluring about such an obvious status symbol to a boy born in a whorehouse and sold for three sovereign. These bars served as a tangible reminder that he wasn't that boy anymore. Three sovereign? With a few of these he could have bought his own freedom and more. Not that he was naïve enough to think that, were he to be able to magically send his present wealth to his seven-year-old self, that he could have such precious treasures without them being taken but the point remained the same. He wasn't that boy anymore. He had known that for quite some time – they really had very little in common besides the name – but the bars made the disparity all the more striking. How could he be anything like his past self when he could afford to be so casual about the same amount that had decided his fate and had taken him from the path of 'future whore' and placed him on that of 'future assassin.'
That was another reason, of course. He hadn't had any say in either of those futures although he did vastly prefer that of an assassin. Had he not been chosen by the Crows after all or the deal had fallen through would he have not been able to imagine any life but that of a whore? Probably. He had a feeling he'd even be content there. That was how you survived, after all, by not wallowing in your misery. Still, though his current path was also chosen for him until this pesky Blight was over with, he had been promised his freedom once that was over with. Even better, he was told he could leave at any time but as long as Taliesin was still out there, that was simply not a realistic option.
It was all well and good to be content in your confinement and he was content here, with the Warden, journeying to end the Blight. He had been content in Antiva living the life of an assassin, particularly after he'd survived his training. The bars, however…that had been romantic sentiment on his part and not something he would ever willingly admit to. Small, unmarked bars of silver and gold…that was quick, easy currency. If he were to ever just leave it all – well, leave it all again after that ill-fated trip to see the Dalish – then those bars would be his means to achieve it. He had long suspected that this was exactly the reason that the Crows, while they had easy access to whatever material comforts they could ever desire, were never given much coin. A gilded cage was still a cage, after all, and there was to be no means of escape save death. If there had been, he probably wouldn't have chased his own destruction quite so single-mindedly.
He'd had to leave most of his collection behind when he'd gone off chasing the Warden and his end – and it wasn't like he was liable to need them anyway – but he'd since started amassing them again. Logically, he knew that he probably wouldn't need an escape plan from the Warden since it was more his own enemies keeping him here rather than any compulsion on the Warden's part. Still, even though he had much readier access to actual currency than he'd ever had before old habits died hard.
It was easier to stockpile little bars than gold sovereign anyway.
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