Zevran was only keeping his eyes open by sheer force of will. His strength was gone, his very life nearly sapped from his body. What in Andraste's name was going on? The warden was staring at him. Zevran cursed himself inwardly. If only he had taken Morrigan up on her offer to cover him for watch duty, but no. He simply HAD to protect the warden at all costs. Besides, he doubted his condition would be any better if he were sleeping. There was something unsettling about how suddenly his illness had developed, and how persistent it seemed to be. He pulled his fur blanket closer to him, shivering despite its warmth. His ears were ringing, head pounding with each heartbeat. Just for a moment, no harm in but a moment, he let his eyes close...

Distantly, Zevran felt a cool hand touching his cheeks and forehead. From somewhere closeby, he heard a muttered "Maker's breath," before feeling an ice cold wetness lay over his forehead. He forced himself to open his eyes just a little. He was laying on the ground, probably still where he'd been keeping watch with the warden. Not much time seemed to have passed. He looked up into the wide, concerned eyes of the warden. His lips parted but before he could speak he broke into a coughing fit. The warden lifted him into a sitting position and tipped a flask of water to his lips. The liquid was cool wet and refreshing. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to be lowered back to laying down, resting his head on the warden's lap.