Come Hell or High Water

I

Zevran glanced nervously at the Mabari hound sitting guard near the treeline, his intelligent eyes tracking the elf with grim determination . He walked slowly past the war dog, affectionately named Puck by their fearless leader, and acknowledged his warning growl with a curt nod. He was not to disturb the elf mage. Creeping silently through the trees, his experienced eyes sought out the slim form of Neria.

She sat in the middle of a small clearing, hands fisted in her robes. To any normal observer, it would appear to be a simple meditation or pensive reflection. Her white knuckles and faint glimmers of sweat on her neck belied a more sinister cause. The assassin intentionally cracked a branch beneath his foot, alerting her to his prescence. More than one of their group had been the victim of a surprised Mind Blast for surprising the stern little mage. Her anger with them quickly dissapated to make room for concern, her enormous green eyes glittering as she healed their pain.

Neria barely twitched at the noise, eyes staring straight into the shadowed forest. Zevran circled around to her front and sat at her behest, cautious.

A moment passed before her eyes landed on him.

"Zevran."

"Milady, I must admit-"

"Be silent."

The assassin closed his mouth with a snap, charm fading in place of attentiveness. He allowed his gaze to linger on the cuts adorning her hands. Blood welled up lazily and spilled onto the grass. Gritting his teeth, he fought the urge to lean forward and shake her. The sight of those red stains on her luminescent skin set his teeth on edge, in a manner decidedly unprofessional. Her eyes bore into him with an intensity that had him frozen. Her silver hair shifted with the soft breeze, the random small braids lifting from her fragile skull.

"Do you trust me, Zevran?" she asked softly, her voice gliding over his skin. He shuddered.

"Always and forever, my Warden." Zevran answered without hesitation, meeting her gaze.

She paused, and he took the moment to take in the tiredness in her face. There were circles beaneath her eyes, gone mostly unnoticed by the attention that was drawn to her tattoos. They stood out sharply against her cheek bones, the inky black stark against her skin. Neria had not slept since they exited the Circle, three days ago.

"Then you know that I would not ask this of you, were it not...important, to me." Neria said, finally breaking her stare to look down at her hands. She seemed lost in thought before the other elf reached forward and grasped her delicate fingers in his hands.

"You will never be one to idly watch someone suffer. Who can begrudge you that?" he asked her, voice low as he gently traced the cuts.

When she did not answer, he placed a soft kiss on her cheek, before dissappearing into the woods. Neria did not raise her head at his exit, merely watched as her blood began to hover in front of her.

Later, when they returned to Redcliffe Castle, the group learned that the bloodmage Jowan, had committed suicide during their departure. Grieving for his love, Lily, he had taken a poison known to stop the heart. None thought to inspect the body, or investigate the dozens of small cuts found on his hands and wrists. A by-product of blood magic, they imagined.

The group descended upon their leader with concern, and Neria only faintly acknowledged them, prefering intstead to sit alone with Puck. In a surprising display of forethought, Alistair kept his distance and returned to henpecking Morrigan. The rest of them took his lead hesitantly, restoring normalcy at the camp. After the rescue of Connor from the Demon, the incident with the mage was nearly forgotten. From the bedraggled look on Neria's face, no one dared ask what took place in the Fade, choosing simply to congratulate her on a job well done.

"Evil is never vanquished, simply shoved aside without forethought. The Fade will always be there, a danger to him." she had answered quietly. The others ignored her vague comment and began the celebrations.

Zevran, for his part, merely stood guard as the mage expertly practiced her bloodmagic, ignoring the twist in gut at the sight.

Yes, he trusted his Warden.