Author's Note: So they fight, Blight related things happen, they try to recruit people blah blah blah...okay back to some fluff ;) I'm just going to try and keep my little story bits in one spot is all. And these all do compliment my Horrors and Joys story as a point of interest.

Quietly, she stared deeply into the fire, as was her usual ritual after everyone ate and began to settle in for the evening. It was her time of peace - the only refuge in the world and it was offered to her by the dusk. Shuffling back, she moved to lean on one of the stumps that served as a chair, but stopped quickly with a grimace.

Within seconds, Zevran appeared at her side, "Are you alright my dear Lady?" he asked, not one to miss a thing.

"It's nothing, I'm fine." Kila tried to dismiss him to no avail.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk, what are these lies you tell me? You should at least let me take a look, to make sure it truly is nothing." She cast a suspicious look at him but he continued to smile sincerely at her. "I know my way around battle wounds I assure you, but if you would prefer I shall get Wynne …"

With a sigh, she stiffly turned away from him, lifting the back of her as high as she could before stopping from pain. If Zevran made an issue of things, then Wynne made a catastrophic event of them. The old woman was growing on her, even so.

He lifted the back of her shirt up to her shoulders and let out another 'tsk'. Between her spine and shoulder blade was the making of a large, dark, angry bruise. "You did get pummeled awfully hard the other day. I was…" afraid I wouldn't make it to you in time, "surprised how quickly you sprang up from it in fact."

After putting pressure on her ribs and getting no reaction he continued, "Good news is there is indeed no serious damage. I do have a salve that might numb the pain, but beyond that, there is little that can be done." He let his fingers linger, gently brushing down the skin of her back. The shiver it incited was difficult to miss, but in response, she dropped her shirt back down. "All the same, I do not think I will drive the butt end of my sword into it".

Her mouth dropped open then shut again quickly at the embarrassment of remembering how she had been when he first arrived at their camp so many weeks ago. Kila seemed to be an open book to him as, without missing a beat, Zevran chuckled softly and squeezed the top of her shoulders, "Oh my dear I jest. After all, I did try to kill you no? Really, it was only fair."

Not giving up his chance to speak with her, he moved in front of her and asked, "So if I am not to heal you, can I at least treat your blades?"

"My…blades?" She pulled her daggers from their sheaths, "But there's nothing wrong with them. I've cleaned them and there's no blood or rust or anything." She turned them over in her hands carefully inspecting them when she noticed the frown on Zevran's face. "Besides, you've more than earned your keep in battle; I was not going to hold you to your promise of shining our armour and such."

"No? Then let me do it out of mercy. I cannot stand to see such blades be so mistreated." Gently he reached over, putting his hands on hers, and carefully tried to pry the daggers from her fingers. He gave her a reassuring smile in light of her insulted look, maybe mistreated was too strong of a word, "Please. Please?" Finally she let her blades slip from her grasp.

She sat up on the stump as Zevran quickly ran back to his tent to grab his supplies. He settled at her feet, with his back to her, and set to work on her weapons. "I've a question, if I may." He said after a moment.

It was his voice that brought her to reality, and she realized she had been staring at the taut muscles in his shoulders as he worked. The light fabric of his tunic did little to hide his masculine form. Averting her gaze she replied, "Sure…of course."

"Well, here is the thing. I swore an oath to serve you yes? And I understand this quest you're on and this is all very fine and well. My question pertains to what you intend to do with me once this business is over with. As a point of curiosity." He suddenly spoke with stiffness although he tried to be casual.

"Do with you…?" She echoed. She could think of a few things but…

"Oh, I imply nothing specific of course," he said lightly, "One simply assumes that once your Grey Warden business is finished, you will have no need of an assassin to follow you about. Am I wrong?" Never once did he turn to look at her, but rather kept focused on slathering foreign creams over the blades of the weapon. His hand moved in small circles as he polished the creams into the metal.

Imply nothing? Oh. "Well, first of all, I don't hold you to your oath." His hand stopped moving. Was he insulted? She quickly added, "It's not that I doubt the sincerity of your oath …not at all. It's just…" Deeply she sighed. What did she mean?

"I don't hold you to your oath because I can't. I can't hold anyone here. I'm not some great army with the power to conscript civilians and house traitors in cages as a deterrent for deserting." He continued to polish, apparently satisfied with that. "For Alistair and I, we have no choice, it's literally in our blood. But each of you has your own reason to be here, be it an oath, a promise, a sense of duty, a genuine desire to help Ferelden, or," her eyes were skimming over those at camp and came to rest on Tolan, the Mabari and she mused, "Or…just have nothing better to do? But whatever the reason that brought you here, all I can do to hold you here is be a leader worth following, be worthy if the time you are giving to me. Which…which I haven't been." Her words melted into a whisper as her dark epiphany broke through.

Why did any of them stay? Her look passed over each of her companions again. It occurred to her how extremely lucky she was that no one had left her. Having a cause to believe in only carries people so far, and from there, they need a leader to believe in to move them the rest of the way. Tactical leadership was one thing, but people needed more to inspire loyalty. She knew all this, and yet offered her companions little. Sure, she was warmer to them now than in the beginning, but that's simply throwing shoestrings at a high dragon and calling it sound tactics. Suddenly, she wanted to announce an apology to everyone, but realized that the words would be hollow not to mention juvenile. Instead, she silently swore an oath to her party, an oath to be a leader worthy of them. And…maybe she should see if Bodahn had anything in the way of presents? A little good-will bribe couldn't hurt…

Zevran turned towards Kila and watched her quietly as she fell into contemplation. Her sharp features looked so delicate by the light of the campfire. He almost hesitated to interrupt her, "I made the oath willingly, but this is all the better." His smooth accent gently cut through the cloud of her thoughts. "But let's assume that I didn't desire to leave once the time came. What then?"

"Not go?" she asked, "You mean to say if you had the chance to leave you wouldn't take it? If I had the choice I…just can't understand why any one would stay"

"It is difficult to say why I might not want to leave." Finally he pressed the hilt of her daggers back into her hands as he finished. He looked up into her eyes, silently trying to impress something on her, "Is there no one that I might stay for?"

Was he implying…? A smile tried to pull at the corners of her mouth, but instead she quickly looked down to inspect the daggers in her hands. They were incredible, so rich and shiny they could easily replace any mirrors in camp. She could only guess this might be what they looked like when they were first forged – she was not their first owner, so she would never know.

"Andraste's Grace, these are amazing Zevran, thank you!" she exclaimed as she looked from the blades to him. He still required an answer, "Oh. Well…I don't know what to say. I don't know what will happen, where my duty will take me, or what I might need…." Was that a disappointed flash in his eye? It was so difficult to tell, he held his demeanor so well, "But in any case, I can always use a friend."

Thoughtfully he nodded, almost satisfied with that answer. Almost…"Oh? Not more than friends?"

Was he serious or joking? At the mere thought he might be serious, her face flushed and that smile returned before she could control it. Quickly her face went back to neutral, but her hand had already been shown. With a very forced chuckle she joked, "Well, we'll have to see on that won't we?"

"Indeed we shall," he chose to spare her and not comment on the bit of emotion he saw. They had many conversations over the last several weeks; both of them cautiously showing pieces of sincerity which others might not believe existed. As frightening as it was for him to contemplate letting his guard down, he was harder driven by the desire to witness the small glimpses past her guard.

No one else had seen that smile…no one but Leliana who just happened to look up from darning a hole in her tunic. A warm grin freely spread across her face, as it gave her great pleasure to see her weary leader smile so. She had to admit, it was a surprise that the first sincere smile she had ever seen on Kila was inspired by the man who initially tried to kill her. But so far he had proven himself trustworthy, and all Leliana could hope what that he might continue to make her smile. Gently she began to hum as she returned to her work - not wanting to interrupt the moment she was lucky enough to catch.