My sincere thanks to LadyAmesindy and Erynnar who have encouraged my writing. You ladies are the best. Please read their work; they are wonderful writers.
"Who was that?" asked Alistair.
"Someone I used to know, " his sister Warden replied flatly. She turned on her heel and began to walk away from him.
"It was a mercy, you know," he said to her back.
She paused for a moment, then made a beeline for Zevran. She curled her arms around his waist and rubbed her face against his armored chest, breathing in his scent. He smelled of citrus and spice and just a little of the Antivan leather he loved so much. He hugged her tightly for a moment and then turned them toward their tent.
"Come, amora, talk to me."
They entered the tent a little awkwardly given that his Warden didn't seem to want to let go of him. He persuaded her to enter first and immediately pulled her back into his arms. Holding her tightly with his left arm, he freed his right hand and began undoing the fastenings on her armor. Gauntlets, spaulders, cuirass, greaves and boots joined an ever growing pile in the corner. She sat back enough to help him with his own armor before crawling into his lap and burrowing herself firmly back in his arms.
"That was Tamlen, was it not," he queried gently.
His Warden's eyes filled with tears as she nodded against his chest. "He was my clanbrother, my best friend. We grew up together, took our lessons together, learned to hunt together, got into mischief together, and got each other out of mischief. We picked berries, greens and mushrooms. We learned to swim and climb trees. Whatever either of us had, half belonged to the other. We were inseparable from the time we could crawl until...until..."
Zevran gently stroked her hair back from her face and waited.
"We completed each other. Not in a romantic way, but in the way twins often seem to do. I never took a step he did not shadow or a breath he did not echo. He never forged a path I did not tread or hunted without me by his side. When Duncan said it was too late for him, when we couldn't find him, I assumed he was dead."
Zevran's fingers slid into her hair and his palm cupped her cheek as he cradled her head against his chest. "But it was not so. I see."
"Duncan was a Grey Warden, and the Keeper believed his assurances. I believed Tamlen was dead. I stopped looking for him...and went with Duncan...to Ostagar," she choked. "Oh sweet Creators, what have I done?" She wound her fingers into his shirt, turned her face into his shoulder and wept while her whole body trembled in his arms.
"Sssh, sssh, amora, quiet now..." Zevran slipped into his mother tongue as he rocked her like a child. She didn't know exactly what he was saying, but the warmth of his voice eased her. She cried herself out as that beloved voice whispered comfort into her ear. When she was down to hiccups, Zevran said, "The past is past, my dearest Warden. It cannot be changed. We can only go forward from where we are, no? I have learned this, and you know it to be true. You did not fail him in the end. You stood beside Tamlen one last time and granted your brother mercy and peace."
At Zevran's words, something in her heart loosened as if a too tight cord had been cut. She would grieve for months to come, but it would be clean and untainted by guilt. In time, she would tell her companions of the many adventures and misadventures which two Dalish elflings had gotten themselves into, and her heart would heal. In time, she would remember Tamlen and smile.