Questions

Zevran sat across the fire from his former captor, a warm bowl of stew in his hands and the idle chatter of her companions filling his ears. Of all the outcomes he could have predicted for himself after accepting a suicidal contract to kill two Grey Wardens, this was not what he would have bet on.

Even more intriguing was the dwarven woman currently smacking Alistair on the back to compliment a particular bit of swordsmanship she'd seen back in Lothering.

Mina. It was certainly a beautiful name for a deadly woman. Even though they hadn't run into any darkspawn yet, he could tell from her carriage that she knew how to handle a sword. Her body was strong and stout and a small part of him wondered just how easily she could pick him up. The thought lingered for a few more moments than necessary.

He watched her as he ate; she counseled Alistair on their current situation, listened to Leliana's stories of the Maker even though she was clearly uninterested, attempted to coax more than two words from Sten, and even made her way to Morrigan's corner of the camp to speak with the Witch of the Wilds. She cared about these people. They were her family, that much was clear.

Finally she came back to the fire, stretching her arms above her head and giving a large yawn. Zevran automatically ran his eyes down her body, curious if this position would tell him more about what lay beneath her bulky armor. She caught his glance and scowled before plopping down in front of him.

"You joining me on watch?" She gestured to the rest of camp; their remaining companions had already retired.

Zevran shrugged. "I imagine it would make your Warden friend feel better if I were not left alone."

Mina waved a hand dismissively. "Alistair's like a mabari: protective and loyal, but sometimes you just want him to calm the fuck down."

At this, her warhound Pebble whimpered pleadingly until Mina scratched his head affectionately.

Zevran chuckled and tossed another branch onto the fire. He contemplated her once more, her gray eyes scanning the horizon and the firelight glancing off her skin. She looked intense and watchful; he wondered how hard her life had been before the Blight. "May I ask you a question?"

The dwarf turned to look at him, still wary. "Fine."

"Why did you spare me? Forgive me, but you don't seem like the sentimental type."

Mina smirked. "You're right about that." Then she paused and rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly, clearly not in her element. "Look, I know what it's like to not have a choice when it comes to a job."

His eyes fell on her purple face tattoo and recognition dawned on him: she was casteless. He could not help but think that despite the mark's attempt to mar her reputation, it complimented her features beautifully.

"You seem well adjusted to the surface." He got the sense she didn't want to delve into her past.

She shrugged. "Could be worse. My sister thought I'd fall into the sky if I came to the surface. So far that hasn't happened. And stars are nice," she admitted, craning her neck back. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. "Could do without people trying to kill me all the time."

The assassin gave her a mock bow. "I assure you, it will never happen again. Well, at least not from me. You are quite unpopular with the darkspawn, I hear."

At that remark she granted him a small smile and Zevran felt an unfamiliar pull to cause more for her.