The sound of laughter and loud chatter were all the shadowy figure who was perched atop the tavern could hear. The hours had slipped into the wee morning and the air was quite brisk, but still he waited patiently for his prey. Several had already left the tavern, and there were only a half dozen individual voices that could still be distinguished from inside. It would not be much longer.
Sure enough, a man matching the description on the parchment the assassin had been given stumbled outside. Curly dark hair and an unshaven face went along with his slightly portly figure to mark him as the target. Common as this man looked, he was not to be underestimated- apparently he had spent a good deal of time as a mercenary himself, employing his ability to blend into the crowd rather than the shadows. However, this particular man had crossed the wrong people recently, often demanding more pay than he had been promised and threatening to expose his employer if he was not appeased. A desperate move. He probably owed many men much money. Alas, his poor financial management was about to cost him dearly.
As the man began to stumble his way home, Zevran leaped soundlessly to the ground, following in the shadows of buildings. They made it nearly all the way across town until the target finally turned down a small alleyway- he must live here, the assassin thought. Sure enough, the man found a doorknob and began to rattle it, cursing as he realized it was locked. As he began to dig noisily through his pockets for a key, Zevran made his move. Brandishing his daggers, he quickly closed the distance between he and his prey, raising his right arm to slash the man's throat.
The mark quickly (or about as quickly as a drunken man can) spun around, his own dagger in hand, but it was too late. Without even giving him time to scream, blood began to soak the man's tunic. Zevran finished the job with an upward stab beneath the ribs and into the target's vital organs. The job was done.
It was nearly noon the next day before Zevran awoke with a generous stretch and toothy yawn. Another night, another mark down. Such was life now for the Antivan assassin. Zevran would be the first to admit, life was a bit boring now without a blight to battle. After the death of the Archdemon, he had remained in Ferelden for a time, but he just hadn't felt comfortable there. He didn't belong in a palace, left to grow fat and old, without ever having to use his beloved daggers again. Then, when the only reason for his lingering went off for a month to begin her duties as Warden Commander, Zevran took the opportunity to slip off to Antiva City, never to be seen or heard from again.
It was better this way, he told himself, although he yet missed her. Tylira was a busy woman now- she didn't need him around to distract her, to keep her from the responsibilities ahead of her. Likewise, Zevran was better off with something to sink his daggers into. "They" were never meant to be, he supposed. As much as he had come to care for... nay, love the Gray Warden, they would only get in each others way now with the paths that Fate had led them on.
That was why Zevran had returned to Antiva and taken up life as an assassin once again- this time, however, without the Crows. He didn't need them. His reputation alone found him plenty of jobs, and that reputation doubled to keep the Crows from trying anything against him- they didn't want the Ferelden royalty nor the Gray Wardens after them, after all. So yes, life was good... yet still lacking somehow.
The frustrating thing was Zevran knew exactly how it was lacking- his heart was still unfulfilled. Oh, how he missed his dear Tylira! The beautiful Warden had managed to capture him in a way that no one had before. He had thought himself beyond such things as love, that he could be completely satisfied with finding pleasure where the opportunity presented itself, and yet she had managed to prove him wrong. The way she fought was the first thing that had attracted him to her. She was fierce like a cobra, her eyes bright with focus as she looked down the tip of her arrow, finding exactly the weakest spot on her target before releasing her bowstring with a twang. The arrow almost always struck true, and so she made short work of her foes with that fiery intensity that had honestly scared him when it was turned against him the day they had first met.
With Zevran, she had seemed to see something in him that no one else had. Even at the fierce disagreement of both her party of comrades and all common sense, she had spared his life that fateful day, inviting him along on their quest rather than doing the logical thing and putting a sword through him right then and there. When asked about it later, she had joked that it was his accent- she was simply a sucker for his Antivan tongue. Zevran knew better (although his dashing accent couldn't have hurt, mind you). She had an uncanny ability to judge character that not even those she was judging knew they had in them. If you had told Zevran three years ago that he would soon fight alongside Gray Wardens for the good of Ferelden, he would have laughed- right before stabbing you in the heart. One less insane person in the world.
Yawning again, Zevran closed his mind once again to these familiar thoughts. 'Tis all in the past, he told himself. Time to move forward.
After dressing and scarfing down a quick breakfast, he prepared to go collect his payment for the job he completed the previous night. Swinging the door open, he actually started to see the figure standing there, raised fist frozen in midair as if to knock.
Rubbing his eyes, Zevran muttered, "Perhaps I am not as awake as I thought. This must be some dream, for I think Tylira is at my door." He swung it closed once more and shut his eyes. "And this is the part where I wake up!"
However, when he opened them again, he was still standing there, not laying in his bed as he had expected. This puzzled the assassin, prompting him to pinch himself to convince himself he was, in fact, asleep. "Ouch?" If he didn't know better, he could have sworn he actually felt that.
"Um, Zevran? I believe you're quite awake," said the voice from his door. Tylira's voice.
Slowly opening the door again, he was amazed to see that she was still there. Could it be that she wasn't a vision after all? "Um, my dear Warden, I-" he began, but was cut off as she quickly traversed the threshold of his apartment, flinging her arms around him in a warm embrace. "I've missed you so much, Zevran." The woman's voice was filled with emotion, and he could tell she was struggling to keep her tears in check. As he slowly returned the hug, he found himself doing the same. "I have missed you too, Tylira. I truly have missed you too."
Before he could get too caught up in the moment, he forced himself to take a step away from her, placing his hands on her shoulders, holding her at arm's length. "Yet, why have you come here? I... I intended for us to go our separate ways, my dear. Our relationship... it cannot be." This was exactly why he had left when he did, to avoid this sort of heartbreak. Telling her that it was over was much harder for him than he would ever admit, especially knowing this would not be the first time a man had done this to her. He cursed himself silently, despite the fact that he knew it could not be helped.
"Oh?" Rather than becoming more emotional as he had expected, the Warden crossed her arms over her chest. "And why is that, exactly?" she asked defiantly, a tiny smirk playing her lips.
A bit confused by her reaction, Zevran raised an inquiring eyebrow in her direction and responded slowly. "You are too busy, dear Warden. My presence would only distract you from your duties. You know this."
"And what are these," Tylira began, gesturing dismissively with one hand, "duties, you speak of, Zevran?"
The assassin was beginning to get a bit frustrated with this feigned ignorance. What sort of game was the Warden playing? It was starting to grind at his nerves. She was making this harder than it already was.
"The Gray Wardens of which you are a commander! Really, Tylira, this is-"
"Zevran," she interrupted, chuckling and shaking her head. "I'm not a commander anymore."
"Not a... what? Have you been promoted?" Zevran was truly confused now. None of this made sense to him
"Quite the contrary, love. I've left them."
"Left them?" The assassin now shook his head, not believing what he was hearing. "Tylira, I love you, I truly, truly do, but do the Wardens not need you? You cannot abandon them, abandon Ferelden, for an Antivan mercenary. You've never been one to put anything, let alone love, above your duty, why start now?" Zevran's tone was pleading now. This was just not like her, and as much as he wanted her back, he knew he couldn't take her from her people who needed her.
"No," she said, stepping closer and taking his hands in her own. "They do not need me. The blight is over, Zevran. The Broodmother is dead. The darkspawn are quiet beneath Orzammar. My mission is complete."
The elven man swallowed, taking all this in. Over. Complete. It was difficult to comprehend the end of the darkspawn threat. And yet, he knew there was something else she would have to leave behind to rejoin him. "But what of Alistair? Are you not his most trusted adviser? Should you not then go back to his side in court?"
At this, Tylira averted her eyes downward, the sadness obvious in her voice. "Alistair also has no more need of me. He has finally married, and his wife is quite the military genius. She... she will do a fine job advising him. I'd only... make things harder..."
Zevran gently removed his hands from her and pulled her in a warm embrace once more. He knew how hard this must be for her, for she had... loved Alistair. For most of their journey, her heart had been torn between the handsome Templar, whom she had fallen for shortly after they began their quest, and the assassin who joined them later. As much as he tried to convince her otherwise, she chose to be with Alistair over the Antivan. Alas, the poor fool had broken up with her the day he knew the crown was to be his, citing his civil duty to father a child as his reason. This effectively reduced Tylira to friendship status, which she did her best to uphold without complaint, but after that day she had distanced herself from the Templar. Of course, her lingering affections toward the assassin had drawn her close to him, allowing their love to truly blossom over the short time between the Landsmeet and when she had departed to pursue her duties as Commander of the Grey. To be truthful, getting away from Alistair was probably her primary motivation for leaving in the first place- it truly did hurt her to be near him. As well as it all had worked out for Zevran, it always haunted him that he was her second choice.
Sighing into her hair, the assassin allowed himself to relax a bit as he breathed in her scent. "All the better for me once again, I suppose. So then... you've truly decided to pursue... "us"? That truly does make me happy- if, that is, this is really what you want?"
Tightening her embrace, he could feel her nod into his chest. "Yes, Zevran. More than anything."
Pulling away from her once more, Zevran hooked a finger under her chin and lifted it toward his face. "Good, for I was truly unsure of how I was going to live life away from you, my love," he said with a slightly giddy smile, leaning in to capture her lips in his.
And with that kiss, he could almost feel his heart swell with happiness. Life, now, truly was good.