She recently realized that she knew next to nothing about Zevran. All through her journey, she'd made it a point to talk to everyone she meets, hear their story… but because Zevran always got on her nerves for one reason or another, she hadn't gotten the chance to actually converse with him.
And so, one night at camp during their journey to Orzammar, she sits beside him and prompts a conversation.
"So," she draws out. Zevran raises an eyebrow at her as he sharpens his blades. She idly realizes that she'd given one of those blades to him.
"You… you kept it," she says in surprise, picking up the saw blade gingerly from the ground.
Zevran shrugs. "It's a good sword," he says to her. "I might even consider using it on a regular basis."
Filauria blinks up at him. "R-really?" she asks, "I… thank you."
In truth, she'd thought he was going to throw or sell the blade away when she'd given it to him. After all, it had been rusty and dull. But looking at it now, with all the rust gone and the edges sharper, it looked like a new blade. And, even though she wasn't a rogue, she can say that it was a handsome sword indeed.
"Surely you've come here for a reason, no?" Zevran says to her, moving to put his blades away. Suddenly, he smirks. "Unless you've come solely to ogle at my sword."
Filauria turns beet-red at the innuendo. She clears her throat and immediately hands him the saw sword hilt-first, biting back the first comment that had come into her mind.
After all, she came to him to engage in conversation, not lose her temper.
She takes a deep breath. "I, uh… wanted to ask you… how it is being an assassin."
Zevran leans back and studies her curiously. "I didn't think you were interested, my warden."
"I'm n—" she begins, then clears her throat. Goddamnit why is it so hard to be nice to him! "I mean, of course I am," she amends. "I asked, didn't I?"
The light-haired elf gives her a knowing smirk before he answers. "Well," he begins, "the crows would have you believe that it is an involved process that takes years of training – a kind that tests both your resolve and endurance. Survive that process and maybe – just maybe – you're good enough to be considered as one of them."
Filauria thinks of this for a moment. "You said that that's what the crows would like people to believe – what's the truth?"
"The truth," Zevran continues, "is all it requires is the desire to kill people for a living. It's surprising how well one can do in such a field."
Filauria tilts her head to one side, genuinely intrigued at his comment. "So you like killing people then?"
"An assassin is more a tactical choice than a lifestyle," Zevran replies. "Of course the Crows would like it better if their training is shrouded in mystery."
The raven-haired girl frowns, realizing that Zevran hadn't really answered her question. She tells him just that. "You didn't say if you liked killing people or not."
Zevran smiles at her as he stands. "No, I did not," he says. "Now come. I think dinner is almost ready."
He walks away before she can even say another word.