It was evening the next day before Zevran got another chance to speak to Rora. The generals—who included, he supposed, her and Alistair—kept them marching at a frantic pace in their efforts to beat the Darkspawn to Redcliffe. She also remained at the front of their group, while Zevran was stuck in the middle with the rest of their companions. It wasn't until they stopped and made camp that he even saw her.
He nearly didn't, though. He happened to be walking by the edge of camp when he noticed twin glints of light coming from the shadows in the tall grass. He took a careful step toward them, fearing they belonged to some wild animal, when his own night vision kicked in and he spotted her.
"Rora?" he said.
She sat with her back against a tall tree, half hidden by the foliage. A book rested, open, in her lap. When she heard him she glanced up, freezing in place.
Zevran looked around.
"Whatever are you doing back here?" he said.
She hunched her shoulders.
"I was just…" She sighed. "I just needed some quiet."
"Oh," he said. "Do you wish me to go?"
She shook her head. "No, it's all right."
He looked around once again, then moved into the tall grass and took a seat in front of her. He glanced at the open book.
"What are you reading?" he said.
He didn't mention how relieved he was to see her doing so. He'd never met anyone with such a passion for reading as she had, someone who pulled out a book and started reading in the middle of the Frostbacks, or crouched in a dungeon hiding from assassins. Someone who, when those she helped insisted on offering payment, asked to be paid in books instead of money. The fact that she'd stopped reading lately had worried him, perhaps, more than anything else.
She closed the book, folding the corner of the page to mark her place, and handed it to him. He took it and squinted at the cover in the dark.
"Does this Book Have Griffons in It?" he read. He glanced back at her. "An interesting read?"
"It's about the Grey Wardens," she said. "Alistair gave it to me before…"
She trailed off.
"Perhaps now is not the best time to read such things," he said quickly.
She looked up at him through her hair. "It was for research," she said. "I was hoping there'd be something in there about Archdemons. Something useful. But it's just tales."
"I see," he said. He looked at the book once more, then set it down on the grass. "Well, if there's no useful information to be found in it, then perhaps you should read something else."
"I don't have anything else," she said. She tilted her head, then smiled slightly. "Unless you had something in mind?"
Zevran frowned, thinking, then looked up with a grin.
"I will tell you a story," he said. "A tale of murder, or perhaps lust. Or both."
"I don't think I'm in the mood for lust or murder tonight," she said. There was a laugh in her voice.
"That is unfortunate, then," he said. "My tales involve little else."
Rora frowned thoughtfully, then straightened up, leaning a little closer. He half shuddered, wondering if the warmth he felt came from her, or from within.
"Tell me a story about you," she said.
He chuckled, and hoped she couldn't tell how nervous he was.
"I'm sure you've heard every one of my stories by now," he said.
"Not every one," she said. "You still haven't told me why you—"
She cut off suddenly, perhaps catching the way his face had fallen. Seeing her obvious mortification, he quickly changed the subject, both to save her embarrassment, and for his own sake. He was still far from ready to discuss why he'd left the Crows.
"I know," he said. "I will tell you about the time I rescued a child from the wheels of an oncoming cart. That is one of my few tales of lighthearted heroism."
She laughed, clearly glad that the topic had moved past her slip of the tongue.
"Is this a true story?" she said.
"You will have to judge that for yourself," he said.
He began, gladdened by the sound of her laughter ringing out in the night.
ooo
It was another week before they reached Redcliffe, and during that time Rora seemed to seek Zevran out at every opportunity. When she wasn't meeting with the generals, seeing to war preparations, or tending to any of the other host of things required of her as Warden Commander, she was by his side. She'd appear wordlessly out of nowhere, falling into step beside him on the trail, or claiming the seat nearest to him at the fire. When they were together, when he told her an amusing story or joke, he could see the sadness fall away, her whole being lighten.
He tried not to read too much into these recent developments, tried not to hope or even think too much about them. Their moments together, just talking, were treasure enough. He wouldn't ruin them with expectations, especially when he knew such thoughts would only lead to disappointment later on.
ooo
It didn't take long for the rest of their companions to notice how much time he and Rora were suddenly spending together. Such notice usually came in the form of curious glances from Leliana and Wynne, or, once during a particularly lively discussion, a slurred "Get a tent!" from a hungover Ohgren. Once, he even spotted Alistair looking at them, blankly, from the other end of camp. Zevran felt a momentary stab of sympathy for the other man, but it was only momentary. It was difficult to feel sad when she sat so close, close enough for their knees to almost touch. When she gazed at him so raptly, smiled and laughed because of him.
The day before they were due to reach Redcliffe, Zevran was warming his hands by the fire when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He looked up, grinning, but instead of Rora he was surprised to see Wynne standing over him. Her expression was pleasant enough, but it was perhaps his Crow training that allowed him to catch the dangerous glint in her eyes.
"Zevran," she said, voice even, "I'd like a word, if you please."
He got to his feet. "Of course, my darling Wynne," he said. "Anything for you."
She rolled her eyes. His grin remained, but he felt the same coldness, the same drop in the stomach, he might have felt if he were child about to be punished for wrongdoing.
He followed her away from the fire. They stopped in front of her tent, and she turned to face him. Any pleasantness in her expression was gone now.
"I can't help but notice that you and Rora have been spending a lot of time together, as of late," she said.
"Have we?" he said. "It is difficult for me to remember, when so many others desire my attention."
She crossed her arms. Her mouth was a thin line.
"None of that now, Zevran," she said. "I'm not in the mood."
He chuckled nervously. "What are you in the mood for, then?" he said.
She sighed heavily. "I simply want to ask you one thing," she said. "What are your intentions towards Rora?"
The grin on his face froze.
"My intentions?" he said. "Whatever do you mean?"
"You know what I mean," she said.
He could tell she was losing her patience now. He cleared his throat.
"I have no intentions," he said, truthfully. "I simply wish to lift her spirits."
Wynne raised an eyebrow. "And that's all?" she said.
He met her piercing gaze, unflinching.
"That is all," he said.
Wynne's posture relaxed slightly, but the sternness in her face didn't completely fade.
"Good," she said, "because that poor child doesn't need any more heartbreak."
The words hit Zevran harder than he would have expected. He had a sinking feeling in his stomach, like he'd missed a step while walking up stairs. He struggled to keep his expression, and voice, neutral.
"I agree completely," he said.
"I do hope so," said Wynne. Her eyes narrowed. "For your sake."
With that, she turned and stepped inside her tent. He was sure that, had her tent flap been a door, she would have slammed it shut behind her.
Zevran turned back toward the fire. He shivered, but not because of the cold. He headed back to his own tent, distracted and troubled. It wasn't until he was lying in his bedroll that he realized he'd forgotten to bid Rora goodnight.