Author's notes: Hi everyone! Thank you so much for the amazing feedback and reviews!

I find myself really inspired by music while writing this fic, which is kind of a new process for me. The lyrics I'm putting at the beginning of chapters are lyrics from songs that I listen to while writing that chapter, that helped me get into the right mood. I know some readers like to know these kind of things and I thought I could mention it. Feel free to ignore them, though!

As always, many thanks to my beta, Epiphany Sola Gratia!


I'm on the outside, I'm looking in,
I can see through you, see your true colours,
'Cause inside you're ugly, you're ugly like me,
I can see through you, see to the real you.

~ Staind, Outside

It wasn't long before he encountered his first darkspawn.

He'd heard the tales, of course, but stories didn't exactly do the beasts justice. He wasn't prepared for the smell, for one thing: the powerful, sickening stench that made it almost impossible to breathe around them. The stories didn't speak of the sounds either: the thundering roar as they charged, the revolting, gurgling noise that rose from their throats as they fought.

They fought like savages, too, all brute force and powerful strokes, no finesse and no strategy to the attack, and they were impossibly difficult to kill. He had already been warned not to let the blood come into contact with any orifices or wounds, and he was very careful. Dying of the Blight disease was a horrendous way to go.

There were better ways, for sure, he thought, raising his weapon to parry a vicious attack. Fighting the darkspawn provided him with a plethora of opportunities, if he could force his body into it.

What if he did not take that side step, what if he took a second longer to raise his sword, what if he didn't turn around in time…

The darkspawn roared, his weapon raised above him, and… promptly erupted into flames.

"Zevran! Get your head in the game!"

He saw a flash of red hair out of the corner of his eyes and deliberately turned his back to her. An enemy was charging him and he slid into a defence stance.

What if… his guard was too high? Too low?

The darkspawn tackled him, sending him to the ground, winded.

"Damn it, Sexy, I thought you said you were good at killing! Come on!"

A flash of lightning, and the imposing, heavy carcass of a dead darkspawn crushed him. He lay there, stunned, blinking, for what seemed like an eternity.

"Zevran! Come on, on your feet! I need you!"

The words rang in his head, echoes of another plea, voices superposed…

I need you, Zevran, please don't…

He pushed the corpse off him and got to his feet. She was closer, now, her back to him, shooting bolt after bolt at a rapidly approaching darkspawn. Four long strides and he was in front of her, weapons raised. The darkspawn didn't even slow down, neatly impaling itself on his sword. He heard her gasp behind him. Only then did he lower his gaze, seeing the darkspawn's blade stuck in his own chest, a second before the pain hit him. The beast fell to the ground, gurgling, and then she was there, in front of him, grasping the hilt of the sword in his gut, and she pulled.

Blinding, excruciating pain wracked his whole body. His knees buckled under him and he fell forward, completely unable to stay upright or to break his fall in any way. He confusedly thought that dying saving the damsel in distress was way too good a death for a failed assassin like him, but then again, so be it. At this point, he wasn't picky.

She caught him.

He was vaguely aware of the ground against his back, firm and unyielding. Then her hands were on him and her magic was inside him… and brasca it felt amazing, like she was pushing pure light and warmth back into his body, making them flow all through him. The pain was ebbing away, replaced by overwhelming relief, pleasure, ecstasy.

Life.

His whole body arched into her touch, greedily absorbing every bit of her magic she gave him, drinking it in, until the pain was nothing but a vaguely unpleasant memory.

"All right, Zev. Come on."

He blinked up at her as she scrambled back to her feet. He was feeling oddly dazed, but strangely focused at the same time. A diffused warmth lingered in his chest, where her hands had been pressed, as if her fingers had touched him deeper than skin. She was smiling down at him, a small, sad little smile.

"Thank you," he managed to croak. She shrugged, extending her hand to him.

"You need healing," she said, simply. "That's what I'm here for." He grabbed her hand, held on to it to get on his feet.

"Now back into the fight, Sexy!" she said with a smile and a slap on his rear.

And back into the fight he went.


He was watching them as they went about their business around the campfire, cleaning, polishing or sharpening equipment, sewing, reading, or cutting vegetables. No one seemed to pay him any attention, but Zevran knew appearances were deceiving. He could sometimes catch one of them sneaking a glance at him, with various levels of stealth. The Qunari, for example, was downright staring at times.

They were watching him too, no doubt about it.

They had reached the camp a few minutes earlier. Tara, after some summary introductions, had led him towards the fire.

"And everyone, this is Zevran. He tried to kill us this morning but now it's fine. Zev, you sit here. Nobody kills him, 'kay?"

Then she had gone inside one of the tents, closing the flaps behind her. After a minute or two of stunned, tensed silence, the people around the camp had continued with their activities.

Zevran was left to himself, to sit and watch. He was careful to keep his impenetrable, slightly amused mask on. It wouldn't do, to let them see the turmoil in his head.

They were not what he had expected. Well, no, that wasn't totally true. In a way, they were exactly what he had expected. He wasn't fooled. Each and every person here was very, very dangerous. He would have to tread lightly among these people. If he wanted to stay alive… which he was still debating. Still, it was a step up from before.

Most of all, he could see he would have to stay in Tara's good graces. Well, he already had an idea or two on how to do just that.

The archer walked up to him after a while, her dagger in one hand and a cloth in the other, settling down beside him to clean her weapon.

"I'm sure you have questions, no? What is it that you want to know?" she asked, keeping her eyes on the blade in her hands.

His lips curved into a little seductive smile.

"Did you draw the short straw, lovely Leliana?"

"No, nothing like that. It is simply very apparent to me how… unlikely our little band might look from the outside."

"That it is," he nodded. "What is she doing, exactly?" he asked, indicating Tara's tent with a little jerk of the chin.

"We don't know, to be honest. Each time we make up camp, she disappears inside her tent for an hour or two before supper, asking that we do not disturb her. There's never any sound. She reads, probably, or rests, or… writes a journal, maybe?"

"Hmm. What about the others? What are they all saying about me right now?"

"That they don't trust you, mostly. They wonder where to put your tent so that they could easily keep an eye on you. Whether or not to let you have a turn in the night watch. That sort of thing."

"Really? No one's plotting my impending demise? That's new."

"Well, she did give very precise orders not to kill you. She must have her reasons."

"That she must," he said, turning his gaze to the closed tent.

He could feel Leliana's intent stare on him, but she stayed silent.

It was a long time before Tara finally emerged from her tent, dragging a heavy pack.

"Sweetie?" she called out cheerfully. "Do you know what day it is?"

"Hum… I think it's… oh wait, really?" Alistair said, looking up at Tara who was coming up to him, the backpack thrown over one shoulder, "Is it camper's Satinalia again?"

"You bet your sweet, firm, biteable ass it is! Gather round, everyone, let's see what I've got in here!"

"Oh, you should come and see, Zevran, she always has the best gifts!" Leliana said, getting on her feet and extending a hand to him. He caught it and hauled himself up, watching curiously as everyone gather around Tara to sit at her feet… even Morrigan. Even Sten.

"Okay, let's see, who's been very, very good? I think everyone has, but I couldn't help noticing that Morrigan hasn't snapped at Alistair all week! We all have to agree that her accomplishment is really amazing, don't we!"

"Indeed."

"Hey!" Alistair interjected.

"All right, Morri, what do I have here for you? Oh, how about this? I think you'll see that all your hard work is being justly rewarded…"

Tara rummaged in her pack, finally pulling out a huge black leather-bound book. Morrigan stared at it, her mouth agape.

"You… you found Mother's grimoire?" she asked softly.

"I sure did! Are you happy?"

"I shall begin reading it immediately," Morrigan stated, grasping the book and scurrying away to her campfire.

"You're welcome!" Tara yelled behind her, smiling. "I can tell she's happy and that's enough for me! Plus, I foresee some quiet nights ahead for the rest of us…" She winked, then plunged her hands in the pack again.

"Here, Sten, look at this!" she said, holding a small painting. "I thought of you when I saw this, for your… em… prayers or whatever. Do you like it?"

"Yes. Thank you," Sten said, taking the painting and retiring to his tent. Zevran thought he saw the Qunari smile, but surely his eyes were deceiving him.

"Leliana, I have two gifts for you, because I really appreciated your cooking this week. Here!"

"Oooh, what lovely shoes! And a pendant! Thank you Tara!"

"What about me?" Alistair asked eagerly as Leliana walked away.

"First, I have a favour to ask of you, sweetie. I know Wynne's already in her tent, and she's tired and I don't want to bother her, but I have a gift for her too. Could you bring this bottle of wine to her? I know she can't resist you!"

"Of course," he said, sounding more serious.

"You're a dear. Look what I found for you!" she said, handing him a flat white stone with golden engravings.

"Thank you!" he said, jumping on his feet and hurrying towards Wynne's tent.

"Well, that was an interesting display of maturity," Zevran said, his tone sarcastic.

"Aw, come on, sexy, everyone loves camper's Satinalia! Does that grouchy face mean that you don't want your gift?"

Zevran felt all of his own maturity melt away.

"You… you have a gift for me?" he asked meekly.

"I'm pretty sure I do, I mean, I pick up the oddest stuff… but if you're too old and mature for camper's Satinalia, I understand…"

"What… what is it?" He could have slapped himself. He had sounded like a stupid, eager six-year-old.

"All right," Tara conceded, smiling. "Close your eyes and extend your hands."

He did, feeling a bit stupid but also maddeningly curious. He felt something heavy fall in his hands.

"Open!"

He slowly opened his eyes. There in his hands was a pure, glinting, heavy and unbelievably real gold bar.

He raised his eyes to look at her. She was smiling at him expectantly.

"Do you like it?"

"Like it?" he repeated, completely befuddled. Was she serious? "What do you want for it?"

Her smile vanished somewhat. "Nothing. It's a gift, Sexy."

"But none of the other gifts had that much value. Surely you want something in return from me."

She was frowning now. "I want nothing, Zev. It's not about value, I have no clue how much this is worth. It just reminded me of you. You know… of your eyes. It's… it's pretty and shiny. I thought you would appreciate it."

Ah, so now things were becoming a bit clearer. He smiled at her, a smug little smile, and leaned closer to her.

"Ah, so it is my eyes you fancy, yes? Why don't you come a little closer, my Grey Warden? You could look at them more closely, and I could show you my… gratitude."

She leaned in slowly, the smile returning to her lips. "Now that's an enticing… wait, what?" She backed away. "Are you saying you think I'm… ugh! Damn it, Zev, I'm not trying to buy your services!" She pushed him away and crossed her arms over her chest. "It's a freakin' gift! I give it to you because it pleases me to, and you say 'thank you' and that's all!"

He looked down at the gold bar in his hands. The craziest thing was that he was beginning to believe her; that he could just say thank you and walk away and all that gold would be truly his… no strings attached?

"Thank you," he said softly. He doubted she would ever know how very sincere his gratefulness was.

"Bah!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. "You know what? You've taken the fun out of it. That was too hard. Too hard!"

"I'm sorry. I just…"

She looked at him struggling with words for a while, her expression softening, before letting out a long, heavy sigh.

"Don't worry, Sexy." She patted him on the cheek. "I'll do better next time. I'm going to find a way to give you my gifts that you won't be able to resist. You'll see. I like a good challenge."

She grabbed her backpack and walked away to her tent, leaving him standing numbly by the fire, the gold bar clutched in his hand.

All his.


"Is this seat taken?"

Zevran looked up, startled. How did he not hear her coming? Had he been so lost in thoughts, staring at that gold bar? Not that he minded the interruption. His whole train of thought had just led him to a point where he was about to admit to himself that he was having so much trouble accepting her gift because he felt undeserving. That thought didn't sit well with him at all. He pocketed the bar, pushing the unwanted thoughts away.

She was smiling down at him, a plate of food in each hand, a book stuffed under one arm.

"You should eat," she said, handing him one of the plates. "It's not good, but it's hot. A vigorous man like you needs his strength, after all."

"Ah, yes, one never knows when the necessity to be… vigorous might arise," he said, flashing her one of his infamous charming smile and taking the plate. She sat by him, her plate in precarious balance on one knee, her open book on the other, and started reading, absent-mindedly shoving spoonfuls of food into her mouth.

He took his own spoon in hand, tasted the content of his plate and instantly regretted it.

"I know, it's awful," she said, seeing the look on his face. "What can I say? There were no cooking classes in the Tower. I'm getting better, though! The first time I cooked, it was absolutely impossible to remove the food from the cooking pot. Like, it turned to rocks… big sticky rocks, glued to the bottom. We had to throw out the pot. At least now it's edible! What you need is a distraction. See?" She showed him her book.

"Yes, but what is going to distract me while you sit here reading?"

She thought about it, not quite concealing a coy little smile, her hand idly playing with the neckline of her robes.

"I could lose a button or two, if you want…"

"Ah, my beautiful Warden, you are a lady after my own heart," he said, a hand pressed to his chest. "How about you lose the book and we simply talk instead, hmm? Distract each other from this… ahem… acquired taste."

"Well aren't you a sweet, cute, little non-deadly assassin," she said, closing her book and letting it fall to the ground. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Well, how about you explain to me how this strange group of people came together?" he asked. "None of them seems to like the others much."

"Well, I guess they're all here because of me, more or less. Alistair was there with me at Ostagar, we're probably the two last Wardens in Ferelden right now, so we stick together. We found Morrigan in the Wilds. Well… she found us. She looks tough as nails, but every time she scoffs at us and gets all superior, I remember she's here because her mom told her to. Leliana was a Chantry lay sister, but I found her in a tavern, which should have tipped me off right away that something was weird with her. She's here because the Maker told her to, which was probably another clue. I found Sten in a cage and freed him, so basically he's here because he owes me. He also wants to know what the Blight is. I tried to explain it to him, but apparently I'm something called a 'Saarebas' and that means I'm not an expert or something. Between you and me, I think he's hiding here a little. I don't think Sten's a good Qunari. For one, he likes paintings… and kittens, and cookies! I just don't think that's right. Wynne… I think Wynne was just happy to get out of the Tower, and she missed bossing her favourite student around."

"You? Wynne was your teacher?"

"Yes, actually, healing classes. Ah, good times…" The smile on her lips faded slowly, and for no more than a second Zevran thought he saw something flash in her eyes, something dark and deep and a little desperate. It was gone in a blink and anyone less observant would have missed it. But Zevran was nothing if not a keen observer.

She turned to him, smiling again.

"Hey, what do you know, you're done!" she exclaimed, pointing at his empty plate. "Oh, and so am I… but I'm still hungry!"

"I heard that!" Alistair shouted from his place by the fire, quickly filling another plate and bringing it to her. "Here you go."

"Thank you sweetie," she said with a smile, handing Alistair her empty plate. He took it and left, but not without shooting Zevran a warning glance. The assassin resisted the urge to chuckle.

"How about you, Sexy? Wanna tell me about your adventures? I've got this whole plate to go through…"

He told her about some of his contracts, and as she listened attentively he found himself looking intently at her face, waiting to see if the mask would slip again, if he could catch another glance at the true person beneath, but it was to no avail. Zevran knew what he had seen, however. He was too intimately familiar with the process of playing a role not to recognize it in others. Only when she bid him good night, looking at him with an unusually grave expression, did he wonder if maybe, while he was trying to figure her out, he didn't reveal more about himself that he intended to with his stories.

He had almost told her about… about her. What was going on with him?