"Let me." Zevran whispered, reaching toward trembling fingers pulling on a buckle.

"No," she whispered back, finding her struggle with a stubborn strap favorable to silence and the wailing ghosts of the dead.

He had asked for this, insisted they spend the night in Highever, and he could see his folly. After a generous meal with Fergus, Zevran felt too tired for travel. The first snow had begun to fall, and there was no longer a sunset to fuck off into. Settling down to watch her from his seat on a carpet by the hearth, Nyla stepped into her bath. She did not invite him, or accept his doting offers.

"What is it like to be here, Nyla?" He offered gently, and she fumbled, dropping her soap. Wide eyes flicked up to gaze at him, her lips trembled almost imperceptibly.

"I don't know." Nyla sought out her soap and hastily scrubbed her legs. "I don't know. I can't tell. The quiet… I can't hear myself in the silence. I can feel the..." her hand raised, thumb rubbing against four fingers. "Can't you feel it?"

"No. I feel the warmth of the fire. I feel safe here, behind stone walls, protected from the elements. Though, I have a preference for outside sounds." He moved toward her, rolling up the sleeves of his tunic. "I am not having your experience. I am only a witness to it."

"What do you see?" Nyla flinched, backing away subtly as he reached toward her.

"I see my love is on guard. Perhaps overwhelmed." Kneeling next to the tub, he tilted his head at her, wishing she would accept his touch and gestures of affection. "Too aware."

"Yes!" Nyla spoke urgently, "Yes! Too aware."

Resting a hand on the edge of the tub, he looked into the darkness with her; what if he were in the place he killed Rinna? The sounds of her pleading for her life, expressing her love, the wet breath of her dying, the smell of her blood, glassy eyes staring up at him in disbelief and horror. Shaking his head, Zevran shuddered to think of making a bed of her grave.

"I'm sorry, Nyla. I should not have insisted upon this."

She nodded, her face scrunching in her efforts to repress tears. "Zevran, I shouldn't be here." With a tearful chuckle she added, "Now I'm sitting here all fucked up in a hot bath."

"Si!" Zevran chuckled with her, feeling her warming toward him. It amazed him, as always, how it changed everything for her, just to be seen.

Taking the soap from her fist, he crouched behind her, resting an elbow on the edge of tub. Soaping his hands, he reached around her, placing a hand over her heart. "I have you," he crooned, feeling the heart of his love beating hard beneath his palm. Affectionate gestures, when she desperately needed them, often made her cry.

"There's a din within the silence," she whispered to her lover, the ghostly apparition amidst the cacophony in her mind. "Like the screams of the dying."

"I have you," he whispered, running a slow and gentle palm along her throat.

"I don't mean to be so dark."

"Have you ever known Zevran to be averse to your darkness, mi amor?" Working his thumbs at the base of her neck, she did not relax beneath his touch, so he hummed for her to drown out her darkness. Her head tipped forward with a relieved sigh, her shoulders relaxed.

As he soaped her hair, massaged her scalp in small circular motions with his fingertips, humming became a gentle song; an Antivan love song that used to confound and annoy him with its foolishness. Guiding her to lay back in the water, her dark hair splayed out, floating around her. With a hand resting on the back of her head, he held her afloat, combing his fingers through her dark locks, rinsing it of any soapy residue. Slow, soothing gestures. Nyla reached out a wet hand, and he leaned into her touch with a smile, kissing her palm and resuming his soft song.

It had been a restless night in Highever, and Zevran's offers of pleasures and massage were declined. Despite the comfort of a hot bath, a downy mattress and her lover's arms, Nyla tossed and turned, startling to wakefulness with whispered fears. 'Did you hear that?' With strong arms and gentle hands he reassured her, 'I hear only silence, amor. I have you.'

Sleep, often broken and unsettling at the best of times, felt easier when Nyla drifted off to nighttime sounds. Waking throughout the night to a canopy of stars overhead and the golden hair of her lover illuminated by firelight; hard ground preferable to a soft bed in the silence of a still room with stone walls.

"Nice earring, sis." Fergus teased, knowing its origin, having seen the jeweled hoop on the elf before. Handing off the last of Nyla's packs to her he continued, "Did you lose the other?"

"No." Nyla chuckled. "Let's just say Zevran takes comfort in having his most prized possessions all in one place."

"Oh." Zevran paused for thought. His forehead wrinkled, and he tilted his head at her with an annoyed and incredulous stare. "Nyla. Always knowing more about me than I do and then sharing at most inappropriate times."

"I don't always share at inappropriate times." Nyla narrowed her eyes at him.

"That is not what I said."

"Where will you go?" Fergus smiled with a silent chuckle. Their mini-spats could be quite cute, however, he didn't feel like sitting through another one of them.

"Oh, you meant always knowing more..." Nyla spoke quietly to herself.

"We are beginning a journey," Zevran began.

"To do some Grey Warden business." Nyla spoke quickly, affixing the last of her belongings to her mount. "Come on, darling."

"Nyla, big brother is an ally." He quirked an eyebrow at her. "Does our secrecy have a purpose?"

"Trust me on this one. Let's keep it secret."

"Zevran disagrees with you wholeheartedly." He folded his arms across his chest.

Nyla sighed deeply with hands on her hips and met his eyes; he seemed to be rather passionate about about it. Nodding and gesturing toward Fergus with an open palm, she conceded to his desire. "Alright, darling."

"We are going to find a cure for Nyla's Calling. Our first destination is Nevarra, where we will see an old friend, and see what we will find." With a pointed glance he spoke, "See? Not so hard."

Fergus furrowed his brow at him, "Forgive my ignorance... what's a Calling?"

"Oh." Zevran cringed as Nyla bit her lip to stifle laughter. "Shit."

"See?" Nyla sighed.

"Zevran did not think this through."

"I know. It's alright." Nyla spoke gently.

"Big brother is an ally," he defended weakly.

"And now what?" she smirked at him.

"And now we must tell him what a Calling is?"

"No!" Nyla cackled and snorted, batting at him playfully. "Now we leave him more confused than before you started sharing our business!"

"Fuck." Zevran grimaced and shook his head. "Regretfully, we cannot give you the details of our purpose. Your pup is never going to let Zevran live this one down."

"He's right. I'm really not." She spoke to Fergus matter-of-factly. "I will remind him of this every time he insists-"

"We get it, amor." Zevran palmed his face, wishing she would just stop using her serious voice to make jokes; so stressful.

"You're both mad." Fergus laughed. He would miss having them around. They were warm, loving, bringing levity when needed, and willing to be serious when it mattered. As he pulled them both into a hug he spoke, "Keep taking good care of each other, alright?"

"We will," Zevran replied with a smile as Nyla turned away and mounted her horse. "Goodbyes upset Nyla, especially when extended, so I usually do them for us and get dragged off-"

"Come on, Zev." Nyla rolled her eyes and spoke her annoyance, "You're delaying our departure by talking about my aversion to delayed departures. It's driving me crazy."

"Alright then, get out," Fergus spoke playfully, sparing her the discomfort. He pulled an envelope out of his pocket and handed it to Nyla. "This is for later."

"Bye Fergus. Love you." Nyla tucked it in her pack and urged her mount forward, Zevran following close behind.

"Love you, pup." He watched them for a time, barely hearing their voices in the distance, chattering in Antivan. Nyla extended a hand to Zevran, and he took it. Envious of their closeness, how together and affectionate, he craved it; for the first time since losing his wife, Fergus enjoyed imagining courting another woman.

"Nyla, why do you oppose so strongly when I sit on tables?" Zevran asked curiously, mounts walking steadily on the thin crust of snow as they departed Castle Cousland.

"Hmm." She took his question seriously, even though the answer occurred as obvious. "It's improper, impolite. Why do you sit on tables?"

"I like to sit on high places, and I do not imagine people would take kindly to my climbing their bookcases. I suppose, I like having a wider field of view."

"So you feel safer when you sit on tables?"

After a few moments of thought, he smiled. "Essentially."

"I'll keep that in mind." Nyla reached for his hand, and he reached back, clasping her fingers tightly.

"I had not anticipated our spending the night would hurt, amor." Pausing for thought, his thumb idly stroked the back of her gloved hand. "Perhaps you should not trust me as much as you do."

"I don't expect you to be perfect, Zevran, but when you insist something that hard, I will always trust you."

"A bold move, mi amor," he smiled with a chuckle.

One place at a time, Ferelden had become a trail of horrid memories. Love for her homeland had driven her to greatness in order to see it saved, and now it could no longer be her home; the thought brought her grief and shame, given they called her Hero.

"Do we really have to go back to Wynne, Zev?" Nyla spoke after they ate, washed up and settled into their camp. With ample distance between themselves and the Wardens, Highever, and the biting cold which made her lover shiver, Nyla's heart could finally relax.

"Yes. Wynne is good. She would like helping us. She could point us in the right direction," Zevran nodded, and Nyla fell silent, staring pensively into the fire. "Tell me what hurts, Nyla? You are thinking so much and speaking so little."

She sat closer to him, near enough to feel the warmth of his arm against hers. "I don't want to return to Ferelden. I want to remain far away from it. The Hero wants to retire somewhere warm with her lover."

"This makes sense to me, amor. You were not bred for war, and you have seen too much."

"The war wasn't what got to me, Zevran." Her voice trailed off, her mind wandering to the intensity of the blight, and how well she seemed to simply have her shit together. "It was the aftermath that… did something. What were you saying?"

"First we will see Wynne, then all of the following weird shit that comes with finding the cure, then retire somewhere warm. Bare in mind, Nyla feels a lot darker when her moon approaches."

"Yes. Tomorrow is when your dry spell begins. I am aware." Nyla rolled her eyes and rested her forehead on his shoulder with a chuckle. "You will survive."

"Barely." He playfully nudged her with his shoulder, "Zevran cannot survive on only your eager mouth, Nyla."

"Well, aren't you funny." Nyla leaned close to him and nibbled his jaw.

"May I address a concern, amor?" Zevran began, and Nyla looked up at him inquisitively. "I have been thinking." The fire cast a warm glow on the contours of his Warden's lovely face, her dark eyes on him; as always, his heart swelled as she stared at him so intently.

"What have you been thinking?" She spoke patiently.

"Amor, why are your feet always on me?" He chuckled, her toes continued to curl idly against the top of his bare foot.

She shrugged with a deep, satisfied sigh, her attention on the sensation making it even more delightful. "I like it."

"Te amo, I got distracted. We have not sparred in several years, I imagine you have improved, no?"

"I have improved. I suspect we would be an even match, with odds slightly in your favor. Why?"

"I feel some concern that we may run into some Crows in the near future."

"Why?"

"A hunch," he shrugged. "Will you spar with me? Show me what you know? Perhaps even let me teach you a few things, if I may?"

"I am not particularly in the mood for an elaborate lesson, my love, but if it would offer you peace of mind, I am willing to spar."

"It would, amor. Very much." He sighed, standing to retrieve his weapons. "Come then!"

Nyla followed suit. "We're using our blades?"

"What else with, Nyla? We have no practice weapons."

"I don't know, I was thinking sticks or something so we don't… stop looking at me like that." She chuckled, took her stance, weapons at the ready. "All right, then."

"Ooh, very nice. You look sturdy, but quit smiling at me, you look too cute. Show me a fight face."

"A fight face? You mean, as if I were under actual duress?" Nyla chuckled at him, and he lunged at her, surprising her. Their weapons clinked together, pushing against each other where they stayed. His blow had landed with force, hurting her and igniting sparks of anger.

"Now your face is too stoic. Fight face. Intimidate me."

"You're telling me to practice being scary," she quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Crows are not like darkspawn. They are not mindless, they will be watching you, assessing you for skill and intent. Look… fierce. " He glowered at her, predatory, his eyes gleaming catlike in the light of their campfire.

Tilting her head at him, their weapons still crossed, he withdrew, then came at her with vigor, landing several blows, forcing her into a defensive posture. Blow for blow she met his daggers with her own; she wondered if he would really have cut her if she wasn't so on top of her game.

"This is too much." Nyla tried to surrender, but he came at her again, eyes cold; he utilized his 'fight face' to intimidate her, but it was too easy, unfair, too much like her nightmares.

"More offensive. This is not how you would fight a Crow." Her face remained expressionless with occasional glimpses of what may have been confusion. "Nyla, pretend Zevran is a Crow, and come at me."

So she did, and her style differed from his. Zevran's strength outmatched hers, but her speed was nothing to scoff at, and her agility impressive. Still, he parried, blocked and evaded everything she threw at him.

"Is this the best the Hero can pull off? Feeble twirling and low blows?" Zevran panted, sweat beading on his temples.

"Oh, you." She panted, rolling her eyes; it had started to get a little fun when she started moving. Body warm and limbs loosening. "You should know better than to believe jeering and petty insults would get a rise out of me. I mean, I do see what is actually happening. My twirls aren't feeble, and you," she pointed with a dagger and a wide smile, "are getting tired."

"True," he chuckled. "I do not know what it takes to get a rise out of stoic Nyla in combat. I am trying."

"Try compromising the safety of my love," she jested, and he surprised her with a swift and painless slice across her chest. "You… you cut my shirt." Horrifying, though it was possibly meant to be cute, she couldn't tell past his hard stare. "Love, I don't like-"

"I still haven't seen a decent fight face." He glowered, determined to get a broader vision of what he could expect from her.

"I can't simply fake a fight face, like some of us can," Nyla insisted, frustration bubbling to the surface.

"Zevran is not pretending."

"What?" A shock to her system, and her daggers almost slipped from her fingers.

He dashed at her, letting her block a few of his jabs, a few slices, and switched it up, disarming her, one dagger flying from her hand.

"Nyla," he growled, frustrated with how she simply refused to take this seriously. Did she not understand Crows? Fucking Crows could come for them, at any time, anywhere, some preparation was necessary! She had to learn. He had to show her and sometimes she just needed a little extra push.

Swift movements Nyla could barely keep up with, she blocked one of his daggers with her own, and spun out of the way of what could have been a lethal jab. He circled her with brandished daggers, stalking her, very suddenly striking, disarming her.

Abandoning one of his weapons to get a hard grasp on her hand, he folded her arm, curling it uncomfortably against her back. Standing behind her, a dagger hovered near her throat.

"Let go of me, Zevran." She demanded. "Enough of this game." Is it a game?

"Find a way out." Voice hard, he pressed deliberately on her arm, making her hiss in discomfort. "Nyla has agility, speed, fucking use it."

"You're asking me to hurt you-" He bent her arm to the point of pain, igniting anger, prompting her to react.

One arm shot up, grabbing his wrist on a pressure point, disarming him. Burning pain in her shoulder, pressure in her elbow, there was only one way to free herself and he wasn't going to like it. One twist of her body, and she was standing next to him, both of his arms bent uncomfortably and he hissed when she applied the slightest pressure. He looked over at her.

"There is Nyla's fight face!" Zevran celebrated her face contorted into a sneer, eyes angry and teeth bared. She let him go with a disgusted push away from her, and he stumbled forward. "That is a perfect fight face, amor. Intimidating, passionate, so much anger! I felt the ease with which you could actually break both of my arms with one motion! Beautiful! Show me again."

Nyla moved away from him in wide strides, near tears. A few wide paces away from him she turned around to meet his befuddled stare. "No. Absolutely not. What the fuck are you doing ?"

"Nyla?" He spoke softly, his eyes shone with concern and compassion at hearing her wavering voice. Did I just make her cry?

"I can count how many allies I have, Zevran, on one finger." Tears slid down her cheeks despite herself; Nyla didn't want to shed tears in her anger. "Is it too much to ask that there be one person in the world that I don't have to fight off?"

"Amor." He spoke quietly. "I need to make sure you are going to be able-"

"I told you I am able. I should not have to prove it to you! You aren't my father, you do not get to impose lessons upon me against my will. You are my partner, and I do not need to appease you. How dare you, Zevran."

Oh… shit, he thought as he went toward her and she backed away. Her cheeks wet with tears, she pressed her thumb and forefinger on her temples for a sniffle and a bout of silent weeping. Betrayal and sadness shone in her eyes when she looked up at him, and he felt like a complete asshole. But I meant well…

"And to see you come to me with so much love after you had just hurt me. You wanted so badly to be taken seriously, I fucking heard you. I needed to stop. What does it take for you to hear me? When I'm standing here pushed far beyond my limits and weeping like a child? "

"I pushed you, yes, but you often times thrive beneath pressure. I had no idea it would hurt you like this. How could I?" This seemed to relax her, but Nyla remained far from him, her arms folded protectively across her chest. "What hurts, amor?"

"The very real fear that I will lose you to the Crows one way or another."

"Nyla." He cocked his head at her, quirking an eyebrow, "you will not." She only glowered at him and swiped at her cheek with the back of her hand; this was exceptionally odd. "I have been much more rough with you in the past, Nyla, and you did not hurt like this." He sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. Fool Zevran, fucking with her when she is on the cusp of her moon.

"No. You had never looked at me with such ire. Not in the waking world."

He moved closer to her, relieved she didn't move away. "This is a common dream for you, mi amor?"

"Yes. They come for you. They make an offer you can't refuse. You choose them."

"Then we brawl?" Zevran steadily approached her.

"You kill me." Nyla's heart ached as she swiped another tear from her cheek.

"Without brawl?" He spoke softly, as understanding seeped in.

"Porque quiero que lo hagas." Because I want you to, she spoke, her sad gaze on him, longing in her smile . "I don't mean to be so dark."

"Te amo." Zevran wrapped his arms around her; sometimes, when things became too dark, it just made sense to stop everything and let it go. "I am sorry you hurt. This was not my aim. You do know that there are no conditions under which I could be compelled to go back to the Crows, no?"

"No, Zev. Once you believe something isn't possible, that is when you become vulnerable."

"You do not seem to be less vulnerable when you imagine losing me to the Crows. Especially if you would give up life the moment it happened." Imagining what it had been like, when she ran to the Deep Roads, he had been so brittle, losing his will to live. If he had believed what she had done was possible, he may have reacted differently.

"True. Even now, thinking about it, I have no vision past being by your side." Nyla spoke sadly, pulling him closer. "All I want is one ally. One person to bond to, to trust, that I can see and focus on, to protect. Without that, I see no purpose to living."

"The darkest Nyla approaches," Zevran teased, kissing her wet cheeks. "And this time, I do not wholeheartedly disagree."

"Not wholeheartedly." She looked up at him and cocked her head, "What does that mean?"

"While I cannot foresee myself doing any better upon losing you, if I died I would want you to live. I want you to know this."

"What happened when I went into the Deep Roads?"

"I imagined if you weren't already killed by the cave-in, your death would have been slow and painful… inevitable. It felt like the most vital part of me died with you. It seemed to take a great deal of effort to remain breathing."

"Yes." She met his eyes, earnest and serious, "Don't expect me to promise things you can't." In trying to make her point, her mind spun into dark places of remorse and longing.

"Stop that." Zevran chuckled, seeing her face fall, horror flickering across her gaze. "We have been over this."

"You don't know-"

"I see it right there, Nyla, you're doing it again. Wallowing in your dark places."

"Fuck." Nyla had to laugh. "Alright. The only rational outcome to all of this-"

"Sex?" Smiling, nudging her nose gently with his, Zevran felt lighter in hearing her laugh. "Debt fulfillment? I am sure someone owes someone something right now, no?"

"Yes."