Thanks to millelibri for the review and to the folks that alerted this story. I'm continuing this one for you! I must say, I'm a little surprised to find that this has become such a Zev-centric fic. Not that that's bad thing...

"You are trespassing upon Dalish land, shemlen," the elves said as they stepped out from behind the trees. "Granted to us by King Alistair."

"Pushy lot, aren't they?" one of the men behind Zevran muttered. "Give them a patch of mud and rock to call their own and the elves get uppity." Zevran turned his head and gave the man a quelling look, also taking the opportunity to remember his features. He then turned back to the elves.

"I am Zevran Arainai, friend to Lhaine Mahariel. I bring him a message from the King."

"I remember you, Master Arainai," one of the female elves said. "You are welcome in our camp, but the shems cannot stay here."

"That is understood." Zevran turned to his escort. "Go back to the village and wait for me there. I will send word." He gave the king's purse to the captain of the escort, who was not the man who'd spoken earlier. "Stay warm, Captain, and enjoy yourselves. Thank you for coming out here with me."

"It was an honor, Master Arainai. We will await your word."

"It should not be longer than a week. If it is, then I will send you back to Denerim and find my own way back."

"Very well, ser." Zevran dismounted his horse, pulling his saddlebags and bedroll off, then handed the reins to one of the guardsmen. The captain saluted him and turned the small troop around, trotting off back towards the road and civilization. Zevran turned back towards the elf who had spoken.

"How are you, Mithra, besides lovely as usual?"

She snorted. "You have not changed, Zevran Arainai."

"Does that mean there is still no hope for me?"

Her green eyes glinted with amusement. "According to the Creators, all elvhen are capable of enlightenment and change. But I suspect you might be the one exception."

The hand that wasn't holding his saddlebags and bedroll clutched his chest in mock sorrow. "Ah! You wound me!"

"Not yet. But it could happen." Zevran chuckled. Mithra gestured towards the trees, from which he could see some smoke rising. "Come, our camp is this way. Let me get you to a fire. Any guest should be treated with courtesy. Even you."

The Dalish camp was laid out much as Zevran remembered in the Brecilian forest-the aravels scattered about in a loose grouping, with several communal camp fires distributed throughout the camp. Playing children running through the camp stopped in their tracks for a moment to stare at the stranger, then took up their pastimes again. Mithra led him to the largest campfire, where the storytelling benches were. They'd been brushed clean of snow, but it was starting to come down again.

Zevran set his belongings on one of the benches to keep them out of the wet, then went to the fire and held his numb, mittened hands to it, savoring the warmth. He truly hated the cold and there had been so few times he'd actually felt warm since coming to Ferelden. In the height of summer, perhaps. And definitely down in Orzammar. A city with a river of lava running through it tended to be cozy place to say the least. That warmth had almost caused him to overlook his dislike of dwarves-until said dwarves kept coming up with one suicidal condition after another to gain their cooperation.

"Bide here for a time," Mithra said. "I will send someone for the Mahariel. If you will forgive me, I must return to my post."

"I am devastated, but I will endeavor to survive, lovely one. My thanks to you."

The elf snorted once more; then, shaking her head, she slipped back off into the gathering dusk.

Zevran waited for a few minutes, actually removing his gloves to properly warm his hands, feeling oddly alone in the camp full of people. No one else spoke to him, though he was the recipient of many curious glances. Not all of the elves he saw were from Zathrian's clan-there was obviously at least one more clan camped here. The snow was coming down faster and he was just considering going to look for Lhaine himself, when a figure came towards him out of the snow and Lhaine's pleasant voice spoke his name in astonishment.

"Zevran? What in Andruil's name are you doing here? Not that it isn't good to see you! Creators, they left you standing out here? Come with me, let me get you inside. Ashalle is cooking dinner, we've more than enough for you. Aneth ara, lethallin."

"It is good to see you as well, Lhaine," Zevran said warmly, giving his friend a quick look-over from head to toes. He's thinner, and he looks weary. But he seems cheerful enough. The hair is different. Lhaine's customary tightly bound braid at the back of his head was gone. Instead, there were two small braids at the sides of his head, keeping the hair back out of his eyes and the rest was a pale gold river falling down about his shoulders. It only enhanced his extraordinary looks. And he wasn't wearing his armor, clad instead in a quilted leather coat and breeches and boots.

Lhaine was still one of the most beautiful men, elf or man, Zevran had ever known. And yet, for some odd reason, he was totally unmoved by that beauty, other than by an aesthetic appreciation of it. He was not sure why that was. Perhaps it was because they were very much alike in coloring, aside from the difference in the color of their eyes and Lhaine's lighter skin, and lusting after Lhaine would have seemed like lusting after his own brother. Zevran did actually have some boundaries, although you had to go a far way to find them…Whatever the reason, the sexual disinterest was actually rather relaxing and left him free to appreciate Lhaine as a friend only. The dearest friend he had ever had, not that the Crows had allowed friends.

That friend now took up his bedroll and bags and slung them over his own shoulder. "Come. Ashalle is waiting for us."

Zevran had seen the insides of aravels before, long ago when as a boy he had run from the Crows to briefly join a Dalish tribe. This one was a particularly lovely specimen, with ornate carving covering almost every surface inside and small lanterns lighting it Ashalle was standing at the small metal stove, stirring a pot from which savory odors arose.

"Ah! Master Arainai!" she exclaimed without turning her attention from the pot. "Andaran atish'an! You come in a good hour-dinner is almost ready. There is wash water, Lhaine," she said , indicating a small pot beside the larger one on the stove.

"Thank you, Mamae."

Lhaine wrapped a cloth around the handle and took it to a larger basin partially filled with snow, that sat upon a little table folded down from the wall. He poured the water in and tested it with his finger.

"There. Good and warm. Zevran, would you care to wash up?" Zevran was only too glad to make use of the warm water and the woodsy-smelling soap. He dried his hands on the towel provided and stepped back so that Lhaine could wash as well. When they had finished Lhaine took the bowl of water outside, dumped it, swished a little snow around inside to wash it out, then brought it back in and set it in the niche prepared for it. He then pulled a folding chair down off the wall and set it out of the way.

"Sit, Zev. Dinner will be ready in a few minutes. You never told me what brought you all the way down here in the middle of winter."

Zevran took the chair and leaned forward, elbows on knees, watching as Lhaine pushed the little table up into the wall and let a larger one down, then pulled two more chairs down and commenced setting the table with cutlery and dishes from a cabinet set into the wall. His movements held the unconscious grace of long habit and Zevran could see no sign of the injuries to his legs.

"Alistair was very glad to get your letter. He answered you back. I volunteered to bring it."

"And since when is the mighty Zevran Arainai reduced to being Alistair Theirin's post boy?"

"He asked so prettily with those big, hazel puppy eyes of his that I could not resist."

Lhaine chuckled. "He can almost out-do Dagger in that department."

"By the way, where is the walking flea circus?"

"He's under the wagon. He's got a bed box up off of the ground, attached to the bottom of the aravel-Master Varathorn helped me build it. It's all enclosed and has cushions in it and a hide for a door. Dagger likes it. He tried sleeping in here at night, but there's not a lot of room and he'd have to wake someone to let him out if he needed to go. And we kept falling over him in the morning. This way, he comes and goes as he pleases. We'll take him supper after dinner and you can say hello."

Ashalle had her back to them, putting the final touches on the meal, so she did not see the pointed look at her back her foster son gave her, nor the cocked eyebrow he shot at Zevran, his green eyes glinting. Zevran suppressed a smile at the subtle invitation to private conversation later. Lhaine obviously did not believe that the letter was Zevran's only reason for coming.

Dinner was dished out in short order after that-a hearty venison stew and fresh-baked bread with halla butter and honey.

"Mamae is getting a house built in the spring," Lhaine said as they ate. "The very first one here. Can you imagine it?"

"I am getting the first house only because I am the Mahariel's mamae," Ashalle laughed. "It is through no great virtue of mine! Everyone wants him to have a place he can call home here. He is hahren now, everyone has agreed upon that."

"Hahren? Like Hahren Valendrian in the alienage? You're in charge here?" Zevran asked in surprise. Lhaine seems to be putting down roots here with a vengeance!

"No, it is not quite the same thing," Lhaine said. "The city elves do not remember it correctly. A Hahren among the Dalish is an…elder I guess you would say? I am not speaking of age, but…accomplishment? A person worthy of respect? There are several of us here. We sit on a Council to make the decisions our new land requires."

"Sounds like you are very busy."

"Oh, he is," Ashalle said with pride. "He is on the Council and he goes out with hunting parties with the falon'fen and he leads us when the harelen come."

"Harelen?

"'Dread children.' The darkspawn," Lhaine explained. "It doesn't happen often-we mostly encounter remnants trying to get back below ground. But there's no sense risking anyone else getting tainted. Dagger and I can usually deal with them blade to blade while the others shoot from a distance." He glanced at the wall, where his Warden armor was hung and smiled a little. "I suppose I eventually ought to send word to the First Warden that I am the Warden of Halemshiral."

"I thought that was the name of the capital of the Dales."

"It was. It means 'journey's end'. So far, we've not been able to come up with anything we like better for this new land. When more of our kindred join us, perhaps something else will occur that everyone can agree upon. Or perhaps the Creators will tell us."

"I wish that our clan was here," Ashalle put in a little sadly. "This is a nicer place than where they are now, camped on a mountain near one of our oldest graveyards close to that wretched Kirkwall city. There is something about that place that makes me shiver! Lhaine has spoken of going to get them. But our halla are dead-they died on the passage across the water. It will take time for the herds of the other clans to increase enough that they can spare us the halla for a new herd." A shadow crossed Lhaine's face at the reminder. Zevran recollected how good he had been with the halla of Zathrian's clan. For a clan to lose all of its halla must be the worst possible blow.

"I know that Lhaine must be glad you remained with him, Mistress Ashalle. But as attached as the Dalish are to their clans, I am a bit surprised that you did."

"Twice across the water on one of those accursed shemlen ships is enough for me!" Lhaine's foster mother declared. "A third time and a fourth to come back would be the end of me, I am sure! No, I will wait here for them. There is much to do here and Lhaine and I can represent the Sabrae until they arrive."

Hahren. Grey Warden. Representative of the Sabrae clan, Zevran thought a bit despondently. Alistair may be hoping for Lhaine's return, but the reasons for him to stay here seem to be piling up at a rapid rate!

A bowl of baked spiced apples served as dessert. Lhaine had eaten lightly throughout the meal, just enough to lay Ashalle's concern to rest but without his usual rapacious Grey Warden appetite. Zevran, however, had no compunction about stuffing himself-the food was really very good-and patted his stomach when the meal was over. "Mistress Ashalle, thank you for a most excellent meal! Please, let me help with the washing up."

"Your friend is so very polite, Lhaine!" Ashalle said with a pleased smile. "But I could not let you do that, Master Arainai. You are our guest. Why don't you go with Lhaine and take the falon'fen his dinner? I know that the two of you must have much to talk about. My next door neighbor is heating some wash water as we speak-it is her turn. We will do our dishes together and gossip about Lhaine's handsome guest, the elf from the country where there is no winter." She laughed. "You must tell me some tales of Antiva to share with her."

"It would be my pleasure," Zevran said. "Oh! That reminds me." He went to where his packs had been placed on one of the beds and rifled through them, coming up with a bottle. Giving the bottle to Ashalle, he said, "A small guest-gift, if you will accept it. This is brandy from Antiva. They say you can almost taste the sunshine and flowers in it. Share that with your friend."

Ashalle took the bottle carefully. "Master Arainai, you should not have. This must have been dreadfully expensive!"

"Not so much as all that, and the expense is certainly of no account when it comes to the beautiful mamae of my best friend. I hope that you will enjoy it."

Ashalle actually giggled and Lhaine shook his head and laughed. "Stop flirting with Mamae, Zev! She'll be red as a rose for the rest of the winter!" He was pulling on his coat and gloves, and held Zevran's out to him. "Let's go see to Dagger and then you can show me that letter you risked death by freezing to bring."

Dagger remembered Zevran very well, giving him a friendly nudge with his huge head and a furious wag of his tiny tail. He courteously refrained from licking in the cold weather. His coat was thicker than Zevran remembered ever seeing it and he looked very glossy and fit. Living with the Dalish obviously agreed with him. Dagger accepted the venison haunch Lhaine had retrieved from a hanging cache in the trees with much happiness. The two elves left him to his gnawing and tearing, walking though the camp in the falling snow, lit at intervals with the bluish elven lanterns. Most folk had retired inside their aravels for the night except for those who had chores to do and the camp was very quiet.

Lhaine paused beneath one of the lanterns that was beneath an evergreen tree and held out his hand. "Letter? You did bring it with you, didn't you?"

Zevran fished inside his coat's inner pocket. "Here you are."

"Thank you. Am I supposed to tip the courier?"

The assassin's grin flashed whitely in the night. "Only if you are so inclined."

Lhaine smiled, shaking his head as he broke the seal on the letter, then moved closer to the light to read, bent over it a little to keep the snow from it, though the tree blocked most of that. Alistair's hand was bold and a bit untidy, with lots of words underlined for emphasis.

Dear Lhaine-

You never failed me in anything, please don't think that you did. I understand why you had to leave. More than anything, I want you to be able to find peace with yourself and if finding it means that you stay with your own people, then I understand that, though I will miss you very much. I don't consider you foresworn in the least, please don't beat yourself up over leaving Denerim. Just heal if you can-that's all I really want. Eamon and Teagan are helping me with the king thing. I think you actually see people more clearly than they do, but they do have Ferelden's best interests at heart. Zev and Leli have helped too, so you needn't worry that I'm trying to deal with this by myself. And I can't stop Wynne from putting her oar in, whether I want her to or not!

Your idea about the bodies sounds just fine. I would appreciate a word if you do stumble across Duncan. I'd probably want to come down and get him, maybe take him back to Highever. It sounds like there are a lot of big plans going on down there-I'm assuming they're keeping you busy. Once you get actually start building things, maybe I'll be able to make a progress down there and see what you've done. In the meantime, know that you are welcome at court any time.

Your friend,

Alistair

"So-aside from the letter, why are you really here?" Lhaine asked when he was done reading, and had folded the letter back up with a small smile and put it in his own coat.

"Alistair was worried about you. I volunteered to come down and see how you were doing." Zevran cocked an eyebrow. "And how are you doing, by the way?"

The Hero of Ferelden shrugged. "I don't sleep well at all-but that's nothing new. I don't have much appetite despite the Grey Warden thing. I don't like people coming up on me suddenly-Cammon took my shoulder from behind one day and I nearly skewered him. People make sure that I see them coming now. I have to work really hard at holding my temper in council." He sighed and began walking again. "I'd like to think the day will come when the wrong voice, the wrong trick of light, the thing seen out of the corner of my eye won't throw me back to Drakon, but it hasn't happened yet. Every morning I wake thinking that and every day I'm disappointed."

They were passing the storyteller's circle, the firepit cold and dark. Lhaine's voice was soft, eerie in the muffled air like that of a spirit speaking across time. "I never asked him to do it, Zevran, to go to Morrigan. She came to me first, did you know? I wasn't opposed to what she wanted. But it was right after Drakon. I couldn't stand to be touched and I couldn't bring myself to let her spell me to make it happen. I would have if I could have, to save him. But I didn't expect him to do it for me. I told him afterwards that he should have just let me go. I was more than willing. I left him at the gate for a reason."

"I know that," came Zevran's quiet response. "But he loves you, my friend."

"And I love him. Poor Alistair."

"You don't give him enough credit. He sees you clearer than you think. It is not the Hero of Ferelden he wants back, but Lhaine Mahariel."

Lhaine stopped walking suddenly and turned to Zevran. "And what exactly am I supposed to do if I go back, Zev?" he asked in frustration. "Just stand around and let sculptors make statues of me all day? Listen to the nobles make snarky comments about jumped-up Dalish? Creators know I never asked for this! I didn't want to love a shemlen man, much less one who is a king! I cannot be his queen and I will not be his toy!"

"He knows that. He does not want you to be his toy either. He said as much to me just before I left. But he misses you very badly."

"I know. And I miss him." Lhaine's expression was suddenly desolate. "I think sometimes that maybe…just maybe I could sleep in his arms. And I would so very much like to try that it aches to think about it." His mouth tightened. "But there needs to be a Queen of Ferelden, and she needs to be the one sleeping in his arms. It would be best for Alistair if I stayed here for the rest of my life and let him get on with his."

"And what would you do for the rest of your life, Lhaine?"

The Mahariel shrugged. "Fight the darkspawn, sit in council, do what I can to build Halamshiral into a going concern. Live my thirty, more or less. Die and be burned so as to not give the earth the Taint. Have my ashes buried beneath my tree, unmarked in the forest like any other Dalish."

Zevran, looking at him, wondered if he'd actually reach the thirty, more or less. Out here, away from Ashalle and the pretense of cheer he had to keep up before her, Lhaine seemed very much despairing. It would not even necessarily be intentional. Just reflexes slowed by not enough food, not enough sleep…Some common hurlock could take what the Archdemon could not one day…

He has given, and given and given again. You reach the point where there is nothing left at the bottom of the well. He is scraped dry. I have to wonder if being with Alistair is the only thing that would help him. If he is, then Ferelden owes that to Lhaine, though she certainly won't see it that way! But there might be something else she could do for him that would help and might get him back up there to see Alistair as well…I remember what Ashalle said earlier…

Aloud, he said, "If you wanted to go in the spring and bring the Sabrae back, Lhaine, Alistair might be able to find the money so you could do it."

Was that a flicker of interest in the tired eyes? "Without halla, I don't know how it could be done."

"Teams of horses could be hired to bring the aravels to the ships. And once they were across the water and in Ferelden, horses could haul them out of Amaranthine. Then your folk could bring halla up from here to bring them home."

The flicker brightened. "That is true! And it actually makes more sense than trying to take halla to them and go overland through Orlais. It could be done! But it would take three, four ships." Lhaine's face fell again. "That's a lot of money we're talking about Zev, just to bring more Dalish knife-ears back to Ferelden. I still have some, but not enough for that."

"The clan that is the Hero's family are hardly just any Dalish knife-ears. Let me at least go and see what I can arrange, will you?"

"Very well. But I should probably go over first, to talk to them about it. Marethari took the clan to Kirkwall because of something between her and Asha'bellanar. At least that's what Ashalle says."

Zevran frowned. "Flemeth rearing her head again! Do you think it involves you?"

"I suppose it could, though I can't imagine why. I did not fight her after all. The only way to know is to go and ask, though I will admit I am not much enthused about going to a strange shemlen city. I've been up in the Free Marches before, for the last Arlathvhen six years ago. But I never went near Kirkwall. It has an ugly reputation. There are slavers there, 'tis said."

"You would not be going alone. I would go with you and I'm sure Alistair would insist upon an honor guard."

A snort of laughter. "A shemlen honor guard for a Dalish! Whatever is the world coming to!"

"A place it is past time coming to, if you ask me. You haven't heard him lately, Lhaine. He wants to make Ferelden a kingdom for everyone; elves and men and dwarves and mages alike. What happened to you changed him as well."

Lhaine's gloved hands rubbed together almost reflexively. "I know that. Afterwards, there wasn't any more whining about not wanting to be king. He just stood up and took the throne. Which proves, I suppose, that the old adage about it being a rare ill that doesn't do someone some good is true. If Alistair can accomplish that, Zevran, then I don't begrudge Ferelden my pain."

"Well I begrudge it your pain!"

The beautiful smile Zevran loved flashed briefly across his friend's face. "You are a fine, fierce friend, Zevran Arainai. And no doubt a frozen one by now! Let's get you to a bed."

Zevran found it interesting, and a bit dismaying, that Lhaine took all the coals out of the stove in a metal box on a handle and took them off to the main fire in the center of the camp that was always tended, night and day, before they went to bed.

"The fire will eat all the air in the aravel if we leave it here all night-we keep it closed up during the winter. You'd wake up dead if we didn't take it away, Zev. But here-" and he showed the assassin the hot stones he'd brought back, well wrapped in cloth and handed him one. Put this at your feet. Just unwrap it a little."

The hot stone and the heavy, down-filled coverlets and the ridiculous quilted cap Lhaine made him put on actually meant that Zevran was quite cozy when he was snuggled down into the top-most bunk above Lhaine's. Certainly cozier than he'd been at some of their winter camps during the Blight quest. There were four bunks in the aravel, and of course Lhaine and Ashalle were using the two bottom ones. Both had volunteered to switch places with him, but Zevran had refused.

"This reminds me of home! You remember, Lhaine, what I told you about the Crow apprentices? Packed in like crates? I like it up here-it's the first cozy bed I've had since I came to this country!"

Since he was obviously sincere, they did not press about the matter, but wished him a good night and got into their own beds. After the usual amount of tossing and turning, everyone settled down and the aravel grew quiet. Zevran drifted off to sleep.

He woke in the middle of the night to some restless moving and a muffled cry from the bunk below him. Then there was some rustling and a sigh. "Emma souveri," came Lhaine's tired whisper after a moment. Zevran waited, watching through slitted eyes as his friend rose, pulled his clothing and boots on and going to the door, took down a cloak or blanket from a hook close by and opened it and stepped out, closing it softly behind him.

After a few moments, Zevran dropped soundlessly down from his bunk, casting a quick glance in Ashalle's direction. The elven woman was deeply asleep. Donning his own clothes and shoes and coat noiselessly, he too slipped out of the aravel, moving stealthily as possible once he had done so. Lhaine and he shared some skills in common. Zevran had even taught him some of the tricks of the assassin's trade. But though Lhaine was much the Antivan's superior when it came to picking locks and disarming traps, he had admitted more than once that no one could shadow a target like Zevran could; even a Dalish who had learned his stealth on the hunt.

Nonetheless, Zevran was cautious, keeping well back, given Lhaine's comments about skewering earlier. Dagger was a possible fly in the ointment-he could not hide from the mabari's nose-but the dog did not look to be awake. Or perhaps Lhaine had ordered him to stay back before Zevran left the aravel.

In any event, Dagger was not about and it was an easy enough task to follow the one set of footprints showing through the new layer of snow until he could see Lhaine's faint outline moving ahead of him. The snow had stopped falling, save for the occasional tiny flake and everything was absolutely silent. Zevran wondered where he was going for he was heading directly across the encampment to the far side. Eventually, the assassin could see the outline of a structure in the dark-a fence, and the sound of animals moving about and chewing.

The halla pen he realized, and wondered what Lhaine could be doing here. He ghosted around to one side so that he could get a better view in the light of the lantern that stood near it.

Only a few of the halla were standing-most were laying down, asleep or just resting. Lhaine vaulted the fence easily and heads with those improbable horns all rose to watch him. Some of the standing halla came to great him and he spent some time stroking noses and foreheads and scratching about the bases of horns. Then one of them nudged him meaningfully. It looked like it was almost urging him someplace. That place appeared to be the back of the pen, where several halla had lain down close together under the cover of some overhanging trees.

Lhaine allowed himself to be nudged and pushed over to the group of halla. One of them within the center of the cluster lifted its head and made one of their expressive bleats. It sounded almost welcoming to Zevran, so he wasn't particularly surprised when Lhaine moved carefully through the prone halla to that particular one, wrapped his blanket around himself and settled down beside it, laying his head at the junction of its neck and shoulder. What was amazing was that the one on the other side of him carefully rose and then settled back down again, snuggling closer against him.

The herd settled once more. Lhaine, sandwiched between the two warm halla bodies, seemed comforted. Zevran was not close enough to know if he was actually sleeping, but he certainly wasn't tossing and turning as he had in the aravel.

Zevran watched a little while longer. He couldn't decide if what he had seen was beautiful, sad, comforting, tragic or all of the above. The cold leaching through his coat eventually brought his ruminations to an end and drove him back to the aravel to seek his own rest.

"You followed me last night," Lhaine said matter-of-factly the next morning after breakfast. Zevran had awakened to find him back in the aravel, fixing porridge on the stove after having fired it again. They were outside, collecting wood from the communal pile to bring it back to the aravel.

"I was stealthy! There is no way you could have seen me!" Zevran protested.

"I didn't see you," Lhaine agreed. "What I saw was the set of tracks that weren't mine, leading to and from our aravel this morning. You didn't brush them out."

"Basta!" Zevran swore. His Dalish friend chuckled.

"City boy," he said fondly. Then, more seriously-"I hope you're not going to worry Alistair when you go back. He's got enough on his plate right now."

"I can make no guarantees about that, Lhaine. You know Alistair. He is a worry-wart. I could tell him everything was fine and he would still fret about you, at least a bit."

"Well, try to keep the fretting to a minimum if you would, Zev." This was said in the tone of voice that Zevran had not heard since he arrived-Lhaine's Commander voice. He'd always found it best to pay heed to it.

"I will do my best."

"That is all I can ask."