Author's Note: Yep, it's another Dragon Drabble. Only this one is Origins. And YES, I do know that you cannot pick to sacrifice yourself(can you?) if you're an elvhen mage and not Dalish. So a tad AU. Send me a review to tell me I haven't totally made Zevran OOC here…hoping I haven't. :D

"I know you will guess all I leave unsaid." ~ Comte de Mirabeau

"Are you crying?" Alistair, King of Ferelden, settled himself beside Zevran on the cold stone bench. He should have known one of them would notice, they had been watching him like hawks since his-the-Gray Warden had sacrificed herself and killed the Archdemon. But he had expected it to be the nosy old mage…or maybe Morrigan, both of whom were easily enough deflected with taunting. The former Templar had not seemed the likely candidate and none of the disarming comebacks Zevran had been preparing seemed appropriate.

"Don't be ridiculous, Antivans don't cry." He murmured, brushing the dalish gloves across his face and sucking in a deep breath. "I am just tired, my friend. My eyes hurt…from the ash cloud."

"Hmm." Alistair nodded, as though this were to be expected. He regarded the assassin's gloves and boots and smiled broadly. "You know, I was there when she found these. The boots, at least. Yanked them off a dead smugglers feet…nearly got her head bitten off by a drake to fetch them, too."

"Really? Was she that desperate for new boots?" Alistair would not be so easily put aside from his story, however, and ignored the elf's attempt at humor.

"I remember asking her what, for the love of the Maker, she thought she was doing nearly getting us all killed for a pair of kinky looking boots. She held them right up, sniffed them and the first words out of her mouth were 'smells like darkspawn piss'."

"Touching." Zevran couldn't understand why it was hurting his throat so much to smile.

"Leliana jumped right in of course…you know how much Leliana adores-" A flash of hurt struck the kings face and he swallowed. "-adored her. Piped up with her little Orlesian lilt and informed her that they were of Antivan make. As if Earyn didn't know it already. Carried them in her pack all the way back to camp like a cat with a canary. We were all kind of surprised when she gave them to you, actually. I used to think she was so selfish-"

"You were quite wrong, then, were you not?" Earyn and Alistair had not seen eye to eye on many matters, but it was exquisitely painful to hear her slandered after her death. Alistair stopped abruptly and turned white, pressing a fist to his mouth like he was about to be sick.

"Damn. Of course I was wrong, I knew she was never-not really-she just wanted everyone to think…I'm so sorry, Zevran. I tried to take the blow for her but I couldn't, you saw what she did." The elf shrugged away from the king's hand, staring at the worn dalish gloves.

"It is done, Alistair." Maybe if he had tried harder, fought against the paralysis that she'd shot at them at the last second. He'd wondered at that last moment, when they'd fought off the darkspawn and the only creature left was the wounded Archdemon; why she'd suddenly turned on her fellows:

"Zevran!" Laughing even in the heat of battle, her voice sultry and sweet, she'd called his name. He'd turned, if only to tell her to pay attention to the dragon, and her paralysis spell had hit him in the face. She was badly injured from a blow to her side, but she'd lunged forward and pressed her lips to his frozen ones with the quickest, most frightened smile he'd ever seen. It had been at that moment that his confusion ended and that he'd railed desperately against the magical bonds that held him in place. He'd seen that expression, when he'd come to kill a young antivan noblewoman once, one that hadn't offered him her body in exchange for his mercy. They'd been on a roof garden and she'd beamed at him when he appeared from around a pillar with his knives drawn and ready. Smiled just like that…before stepping backwards off the roof.

"Goodbye, my love." Earyn had whispered against his lips, so quietly he'd barely heard it.

She'd danced backwards, fired a spell that sent the smiley old healer Wynne to her knees in disorientation. Alistair had realized, had jumped towards the arch demon, tried to get in her way. But Earyn had made her decision and she'd fired a spell his way that made him fall over gasping for breath. Zevran had watched her grab the Templar's sword, barely able to lift it. Felt the tower shake as the archdemon made one final, desperate lunge; ready to swipe his love aside with it's claws. And he hadn't been able to see it, she'd made sure he was turned the other way.

Apparently, she'd run at it, driven all of the last wild strength of her delicate frame behind driving Alistair's sword into it's chest. The paralysis had held for a moment as the Archdemon screamed so loudly it stunned everyone within a hundred yard radius, Earyn stumbling backwards and into his line of vision as her slim fingers slid off the blood slicked pommel of the sword. She fell to her knees, the blood blooming across her chest as she swayed once and keeled over sideways. Curled into herself in pain as some great, unseen force that must have been the arch demon's spirit imploded in a great shockwave and sent him sprawling across the stone. She'd been cold before he reached her-

"-did you tell her?" Zevran blinked away the blurriness in his eyes and looked up at Alistair. The king was crying into a mysterious tankard of ale and the assassin realized that he hadn't heard Oghren's approach.

"Of course he told her, he'd have been mad not to." The dwarf muttered, sipping from his own flagon.

"And even if I did and he didn't, she knew. She had to have known." Lelianna was sitting on the floor beside his knee, her coppery hair catching the dim light beautifully. Zevran reached out and petted it tentatively, trying to smile into the Orlesian bards tear-streaked face.

"We knew." Alistair sniffed. "That you loved her. For all your dumbness-"

"-Stupidity and pride." Morrigan corrected intellectually, slinking out of the shadows.

"Yeah, that. She was just like that, too. Full of dumbness and pride."

"Come now, all of you. 'Tis too much, you trying to make me cry?" Leliana pressed a drink into his hand and he took it and swallowed thickly, the alcohol burning all the way down.

"What'dya think she'd do, if she was here?" Alistair sniffed, turning the cup over in his hands and chipping at it with his fingernails. Morrigan snorted derisively and the king looked up with a glare: "What? I'm serious!"

"As am I. She would be at least partially unclothed, standing on a table with a bottle in each hand, inebriated beyond mortal limits and retelling awkward stories about 'how they did it in the Circle' to fancy Ferelden nobles." Zevran laughed at this conjured vision of the unorthodox elvhen warden, surprised when the action caused his chest and throat to ache.

"She was all class, our warden." Oghren rumbled, his smile pulling at the edges of his red beard. "Toss a few fireballs around too, I reckon, just to see the looks on their faces."

"I was thinking about erecting a statue in her honor, you know. Maybe it should be naked."
"And making a rude gesture at admirers." Leliana adds, rubbing her nose and sniffing. But it is the eldest party member who notices the change in elf first and it is Wynne who quiets them.

"Hush, all of you. Go occupy yourselves with your well-wishers, that's enough mockery for one night." They drift off, chastened. Leliana places a platonic kiss on his cheek but, in a reflex he'd inexplicably developed, he flinched at the casual touch. It takes a few moments for them all to disperse, but they do, chatting about how badly his warden would have behaved in the pleasant company they were struggling against.

Wynne pulled up one of the decorative chairs and sat across from him, smoothing her dark red robes over her lap. She said nothing and was simply present. The senior enchantress was good at that, just being in the moment. It was something the master assassins did, something he'd done on his tougher jobs. He'd always been the worst at it, though. Dreadful, in fact. His mentor had used to box him about the ears for being too chatty. Being two steps ahead of everyone else is no good if your twenty ahead of yourself. He hadn't really understood his master then, but he thought he'd finally managed to figure it out after being spared and traveling with the warden.

Oh, the memory of waking up tied to a tree and to the devious grin on her pointed, delicate features inches from his face…

"Is it awake? Can we kill it?" A man, sort of whiny and young, loomed at the edge of the conversation.

"I don't know, I think he's kind of pretty." Said the blonde elf inches from him and he'd opened his mouth to speak, realizing with a pang how very much the bright gleam in this woman's eyes reminded him of his Rinna. Oh Rinna. The painful memory made him wince and he shut his mouth as a scantily clad apostate spoke, poking his foot with her magic stick.

"Pretty dangerous. I may have grown up in the wilds, but I never slept within a vipers reach if I could help it."

"Very well. Talk and talk fast, gorgeous." The Gray Warden had commanded, slinking back up into a standing position and tickling the skin or his neck with the business end of her mages staff.

Finally able to get a word in edgewise, he'd babbled reasons why they shouldn't kill him. Mostly a pathetic plea for mercy, all the time most concentrated on their leader, who'd smirked the whole time. He'd half been hoping he would say something wrong and that she would kill him. He deserved to die, after his last job…after what had happened to Rinna. All Tailiesen's fault…and his own.

"I…so, if you don't kill me, the crows will. It would be counter-intuitive to betray you now."

"Well, that settles it. Alistair, untie him. Everybody step back-" Zevran scrunched his eyes shut and sucked in a deep breath. Fine. If the Warden wanted to kill him, it was no less than he deserved. He would not run.

The whiny one knelt beside him and untied his wrists and Zevran grinned and looked him up and down appreciatively, delighting in the charming blush that crept across the man's features. She whistled to get his attention and Zevran turned to look at her: Truly, a glorious woman. Though mage robes hid the best parts of a woman's frame…it was unfortunate. There would have been worse people to die by, certainly. She raised her eyebrows at his calm, her lips twisting in a sideways quirk of amusement. Idly, she spun her staff in a complicated twist of circles before catching it upright and whirling it behind her back in preparation to strike. He shut his eyes as he heard the staff whistle through the air and stop, inches from his skull and crackling with magic. Zevran opened one eye and saw that the staff was indeed inches from his face, but she wasn't poised to kill him with it.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Grab the end of it."

"Gladly." He grasped the end and she hauled him forward so that he nearly tripped into her. "Well, keep your friends close, keep your enemies even closer. Think we can be frenemies?"

"That, my warden, was a terrible excuse for a pun." He smirked, clearly he would not be dieing today.

"Keep calling me 'my warden' and you can mock my puns from dusk 'til dawn." The woman chuckled delightedly, dancing backwards a few capering steps and shimmying her hips. Oh, she was just asking for it.

"What?" Alistair gasped, sounding thoroughly put out. "We're bringing the assassin with us?"

"For once, the Templar and I agree on something." The dark haired beauty muttered, her lips pursed and arms crossed.

"Where's your spirit of open-mindedness this morning, eh? I brought all of you along, didn't I? Picking up cast-offs is what I do. Leliana? Unstealth yourself, if you please, and greet the new addition."

"Have you got a death wish?" A silvery little Orlesian accent breathed from just behind him. Ah, so the warden was not so foolish and drawn in as she pretended. She'd had the little chantry rogue watching him, her bow knocked and at the ready.

"I don't know about you, but I'd rather this one creep into my tent by night and slit my throat than a darkspawn. Least I'll die looking at something pretty. Now, come on…Zevran? You have a nickname?"

"Just Zevran. And I wouldn't dream of trying to kill you again, mei bella." He vowed, smiling at the warden warmly. She grinned back at him, the cheeky light sparkling in her eyes.

"For that, you can walk up here next to me."

"Could I not walk behind and admire the view?"

"Maker help us all."

...

"Zevran?"

"I am…fine. I am just leaking. Tears." Zevran sucked in a breath against the Dalish gloves and winced, blinking several times. He felt like he would burst, just lose everything in an outpouring of emotion. How could it be that he felt so guilty, even though this time, her death hadn't been his fault? "I should have stopped her, Wynne. I was so close, I was just a hairsbreadth away. I should been faster, better-"

"Hush. That's quite enough of that. Earyn did what she had to do and it was no one's fault, my dear boy. Certainly not yours. Especially not yours. Without you, I don't even know if she'd have had the courage to go on as long as she did." Wynne was beside him then, her wizened face pulled into an expression of pity.

"But we never…we didn't-" He'd never said he loved her, they'd never even discussed it. She was incredible in bed, very different from what he was used to. Very different from…her. Sweet, nubile and gentle. Sincere and it was rare for him to find someone who was sincere. Had he missed the hurt in her eyes when she'd glibly shot back: "Easy come, easy go?" ? He must have.

"Oh, you were both too proud. And too scared of being hurt. From what you've said, the crows didn't seem to be the place to look for love. Neither was the Circle. Most of the little apprentices I taught ran off to gallivant at one point or another, but little Earyn was never one of them. Oh, the stories that girl would tell would make your toes curl. But they weren't the truth, just stories. When she was just a mite she had them all convinced she was Dalish…but I'm off on a tangent."

"I just need to know…would she have done it? If she had known-"
"She was unselfish. She'd have had everyone believe otherwise, of course. But no, my dear, I don't think that would have helped. I cannot pretend to speak for her, but I don't think she'd want you torturing yourself. She…" Wynne looked abruptly lost for words, her light eyes full of sudden despair. The old mage coughed and clasped her hands in her lap, struggling to recover. "She loved you as you were, Zevran."

"Insufferably arrogant and a coward?" He flung the empty flagon aside and it made a hollow thunk as it bounced off the stone.

"She thought you guiltless." Wynne murmured quietly, her gaze distant. "And so very alive. I think we all had our moments, the heavy ones, that she couldn't stand. She loved us so she listened but you and she…well, you two were so very alike. Both elves of Dalish descent, both more or less orphaned-"

"Guiltless? There is not a more guilty man in all the world especially…especially now."

"Who is she?" Earyn traced circles across the bare skin of his back with her fingernails, healing the scratches she'd left in the golden toned flesh of his shoulder blades. He reached back and grabbed her wrist, pulled her hand away and nibbled at the pads of her fingers, watching with delight as her eyes clouded with lust. She smiled softly and shook her head, focusing once more. "Zevran?"

"Who is who, my love?"

"Rinna? Who is Rinna?" The soft, innocent question on her lips; bereft of all jealousy and full of curiosity may have been what compelled him to tell her the truth. He looked away, unable to meet her eyes for a moment. Her fingers, still damp from his kisses, traced the dark swoop of the tattoos on his face.

"I…said that name, did I? Forgive me, 'tis an appalling beginners mistake to cry the wrong name, no?"

"Hardly. Besides, that was my nickname in the Circle. It's not even as though you cried the wrong name even, any derivative of an r sound with an 'en at the end is suitable. You know, that or pleas to the Maker." He laughed and her smile widened before she brought his lips down to her own for a kiss that was too brief for his liking. "She was your last partner? On the job you wouldn't tell me about?"

"It's not exactly pillow talk, my dear."

"The night is young and we have plenty of time. Besides, I need a brief respite before we go again." Her lips brushed across the bridge of his nose in a feather light touch and she smirked.

"Very well. You have been a good friend to me, so I will tell you."

So he told her the story, of Rinna with her fierce eyes and her wild beauty, neglecting to say how much Earyn reminded him of her. His voice faltered as he told of how Taliesen had been convinced of her treachery, of how they had slit her throat. How he had spit on her for her suspected betrayal, been deaf to her pleas. Then, most painfully, hoe Rinna had been innocent. He told it, in all the detail he could bear. She had listened, silent and still, her dark green eyes like a cats in the dim light. When he had finished with the story, she had kissed him, pressed her lips to his ear.

"Zevran, I am so sorry. And I am…honored."

"Honoured?" He'd whispered against the skin of her neck, confused. She brought her face down to his and smiled that impossibly soft and lovely grin, kissing his cheekbones.

"Honoured that you would call me by the wrong name during sex." How could this woman make him laugh so? It was like he was back in Antiva with the sun on his face and a beautiful woman on either side of him…only better. She traced her nails like claws up the inside of his thigh and he gasped with pleasure. "Because to be comparable to a women who managed to capture your undivided attention is to be paid the greatest of earthly compliments." She laughed as he pulled her down and pinned her, catching both of her wrists easily in one hand.

"I can think of better things to do with this night than talk."

"Zevran, this was not your fault. No one was going to stop that girl from killing herself to save her country. She wasn't going to let Alistair take that blow, not in the end. Do you know what I asked her, when I found out about you two? I asked her if she was truly prepared to be selfish enough to love someone. In the Circle, we didn't love each other, because it was dangerous. Now that she'd found it, I felt certain she'd leave Ferelden to the Blight for you. But she didn't and I cannot tell you how I wish…oh how I wish…"
"You had never said anything." He murmured tonelessly, staring at the stone beneath his boots.

"I'll leave you to your thoughts, Zevran."

A few hours later, he was finally crawling into bed. Not his own, but the warden's. The absence of the large mabari, Hadreth, had never been felt quite so deeply. The dog had been sleeping at the foot of Alistair's bed these past few weeks, after the endless howling had finally ceased. Reluctantly, he pulled off the gloves, his tunic…he pulled off one boot and then, as he was pulling off the second, he noticed a tiny crease in the wooden heel. Curious, he pulled a tiny shiv from the hidden scabbard at his wrist and wedged the tip into the crack, popping open the tiny compartment. A folded scrap of parchment fell out into his lap and he snatched it, almost greedily, unfolding it. There were two messages, both in the same familiar handwriting. The first one was hastily scratched and had been done with simple charcoal and without a firm surface upon which to properly scribe the letters. The second was very precise and in ink. Zevran glanced at the first and laughter, harsh with surprise and sorrow, burst from his throat.

Damn it, Zevran. You DO fondle these boots…which means I owe Alistair and Oghren five souvereigns each. Also, I'd liked to take this opportunity to point out that should you find this message and I be curled up in my own tent, lonely and cold…why are you still reading?

Here, the second messages handwriting was drastically different from the first. Sharp, exact, written quickly but neatly.

Well, I guess you DON'T fondle these boots…that much. But that's not what I snuck into your tent while you were blind drunk to write. If your reading this, than I died so we could defeat the Archdemon. It was my decision to make and I made it. I think you'll agree with me that someone as adorable as Alistair was never cut out to be a martyr. Besides, I'm an elvhen mage. Born cannon fodder. People'll get over my death pretty quickly I'm sure.

I stuffed this note in your boot because I love you. Not something you wanted to hear before and I'm pretty sure it's not something you wanted to hear now. But I do and I'm not asking that you love me back, I'm just writing it. So we're clear. (There were lots of dirty things I wanted to add to this, but I don't have time. Your going to come in here any minute and drag me off to bed.)

Goodbye, Zevran.

And please don't be upset. Crying makes your handsome face swell up.

- Earyn