The antivan looked down at the boots that smelled of genuine antivan leather and pondered. He pondered and he doubted. "How come, such a lovely woman goes to such lengths to give such a genuine gift?" True Zevran flaunted his foreign charm and used his accent much like one of his poisoned daggers, but underneath all of that charm and all of those one night stands was uncertainty. Yes, he was good looking, but he was also a killer. He was an assassin and nothing else; even the Crows no longer had a need for him.
"What does she want from me?" He could not fathom the idea that the warden could hold true feelings for him past the usual lust and desire that was normally expected of him. She was a noble, beautiful, and proud Dalish woman who could strike with her daggers as though she were performing a flawless dance. He was a no one born of a whore house turned assassin, killing and flirting his way through life, even if he wanted to believe that there could be more, more than a life in the shadows (not that he detested the shadows and the killing, quite the opposite in fact) but as much as he wanted to wish for something more he found the thought impossible to grasp. He was an assassin, trained from childhood to detach from any and all emotions. Love was for those who still had souls, not living weapons.
No, Zevran was simply a weapon to be used, used until he was no longer sharp. He was now useless to the Crows, they would not hesitate to dispose of him, which he knew he deserved no less. He had failed, but now Zevran was being wielded by another, a light in the darkness that had been his life for so long. He would fight for her and prove that he was more than simply a broken tool that needed to be disposed of.
Although he had lived his life hidden amongst his charms and temporary passions much like the enveloping shadows that he had grown to find comfort in, perhaps this warden, this woman, could free him from his long locked gilded cage, the mind and heart that had been forced closed and dyed black as the crow. Maybe, just maybe one day he could stop doubting and learn to believe that these boots were more than a way to earn a favor or a payment for a task. Maybe one day he could be able to feel love again.
