This was written for this week's Zev thread prompt by payroo. What about all the silver and gold bars the Warden gives to Zevran? The 45 minute time limit gave me scant time for revision, so my apologies for any mistakes.
Precious Metals
Zevran turned the small silver bar idly in his hand, its smooth cool surface, the unblemished potential of the solid bar oddly appealing. Why had the Warden given him such a thing? He had been surprised when Aithne had gifted him with the boots, and then the gloves. But those, at least, he understood.
Over the last year the Dalish Warden had emerged from her suspicious shell and had taken the time to get to know all of her companions. Zevran glanced at Aithne, she was leaned in close talking earnestly to Alistair, no doubt comforting the naive oaf after their side trip to Ostagar. The Antivan shrugged, lately she was always taking the time to talk to every one in camp and give them little gifts; if she favored the human it was not his concern.
But the silver bar... What was it she saw in him that prompted such a gift? True, he had told her that, as a Crow, he rarely had much coin to spend. Still, if she wished to gift him with money, why not just give him sovereigns? The weight of the bar turned in his hand beckoning with its promise, its potential to become anything. Coin for goods, precious metal for delicate ornamentation (perhaps a pair of silver chased bracers), anything he should want. And the choice was his.
Turning away from the fire and the subdued conversation of his companions he looked north, to Antiva. Was that it? As a Crow he had bid on contracts for coin, for goods, for favors. The bidding was competitive and rarely did a Crow ask for much coin when Masters tended to favor payment is things other than hard currency. Fine wine, desirable lodgings, a coveted dagger, superior armor, these were the compensations of his trade.
The silver bar, in its unmarked perfection, represented choice. He could spend it, keep it, or have it crafted into another form. Choice that he never had until now, to stay or to go, to do only as he wished. The gift made sense now. Aithne's acknowledgement of how much the freedom to choose meant to him.
Zevran drifted to sleep that night, one hand resting on the sleek metal bar. He would leave it as it was. It was the best thing about his freedom to choose; there was no pressure to choose right now.