A/N: Hello everybody. I don't normally include author's notes, but then I normally only write one shots. Also, normally I write angst. This… is only mostly angst. Actually, as I include more chapters the fluff will probably start to outnumber the angst, no promises though. Furthermore, I had some trouble with what genre to put this in, but chose romance because, well, I'm a fangirl and the Zevran/Amell relationship is most of why I wrote this. Finally, I have to give credit where credit is due. I was initially inspired to write this fic by Tacens' "Rain" here on , and this has very little to do with that. I just loved the idea of a mage character with absolutely no idea of how to exist outside the tower, and blatantly stole the rain thing… and then I had other ideas… and you know how it goes. So. Happy reading.
He did not understand her. It had been three weeks since they started travelling together, and every time he thought he had her personality pinned down, she eluded him. Him – A master of manipulation! – Could not seem to solve the simple puzzle of one woman, almost more of a girl. She was naïve to a ridiculous extent, and seemed almost simple the way common things puzzled and amazed her, and yet she responded to his outrageous flirting with a clever wit and quick tongue that spoke of sizable experience with the matter. She dealt out death and was as knowledgeable about the subject as some of the most cold-blooded Crow assassins, and yet seemed to hold an extremely innocent view of the world completely at odds with her intimate knowledge of the mechanics of killing. And now there she was, standing in the rain that had finally started falling after four months of the worst timed drought imaginable.
Their companions had finished clearing away all the accoutrements of their camping a few moments ago, getting ready to wait out the rain in their nice dry tents, save the poor souls who were unlucky enough to have drawn watch duty that night. However, Charissa stood out in the rain, arms held lightly away from her body, palms up, eyes turned up to the sky blinking frantically to clear out the small drops.
"Does it always feel like this?"
Zevran was confused. Nothing seemed to prompt the question, perhaps it was some sort of metaphysical musing on life and death? They had encountered a rather dangerous (now distinctly dead) group of mercenaries earlier that day; perhaps she was musing on post-battle type thoughts?
"What, battle? Well I find that every battle is different, though eventually you grow used to the blood, and the dying and such."
"No, no, not battle, this," she gestured vaguly upward, "- this rain."
"…I do not understand. Surely it feels much the same as any other rain you have felt, yes?"
"I've never felt rain before."
Zevran knew that those words should really mean something to him, but he could not puzzle it out. To have not felt rain? Maybe if she lived out in the deserts that surrounded his beautiful Antiva, but even there rain happened. But they were in Ferelden, where most of the time it rained fairly prolifically. Certainly, there had been not a drop the last four months, but that was an anomly. The Gray Warden correctly interpreted his silence as complete bafflement.
"I was found practically on the doorstep of the Circle as an infant. I had never even been outside the tower before Duncan took me away to become a Gray Warden. They do not permit us outside for fear that we may transform into birds or something and fly away. I used to watch the rain as it fell against the windows in the upper levels, and I always assumed it would feel much the same as a shower spell, but it does not. I was just wondering if it always felt like this…" Her voice was more somber than usual, reflecting on the past instead of delighting in some new discovery as she usually does. Zevran was not sure he liked the change.
"Ah, no, actually," In Zevran's favor, he did regain his suave footing fairly soon, and seemed to actually consider the question. "No, it is a rather light shower tonight. Sometimes it comes down much harder, and much colder. It is actually a rather pleasant rain tonight. Though you may want to seek shelter, catching a chill now would be bad, no? Of course, if you did I would be happy to, ah, warm you up?"
She abruptly turned around, with a small giggle, happy to play the game of flirtatious words with him, and Zevran was unaccountably pleased to have loosed her from her melancholic state. As she walked back to her tent, head still happily turned up to the sky, he heard her reply, "No, that won't be necasary, but if you catch a cold I'll be happy to let you borrow Dog, he's a good heater."
Zevran smiled at her parting barb, and mulled over what he had learned. It explained a lot, he supposed. The way she was met extremely simple things with bafflement, and assumed that everyone is held accountable for their actions, the way she trusted that justice would be dealt, the way she had almost no understanding of simple things like the correlation between drought and famine. The more he thought about it, the more all the clues fit, and yet he still found himself intrigued. He had figured her out, he guessed, at least enough to know generally how and why she ticked, that should be enough, no? But it was not. He wanted to know more, he wanted to know exactly why she did not seem to resent the Templars, or the Chantry. He wanted to know how she would react to new experiances in the future. Zevran laughed at himself, slightly puzzled by his own desires but willing to just go with it. It was a good thing then that he had sworn himself to her service.