This was my present for my friend Eva Galana in the Secret Santa fiction exchange at CMDA. :)

In War, Victory

Thomas yanked out the sword from the chest of a Hurlock and almost in the same movement, swung it to the right, cutting off the sword arm or another one. Ignoring the shrieks of the creature, he spun on his heels just in time to pierce the Genlock that tried to attack him from behind. Through the thick smoke, he felt that something vicious and violent was coming from the left–and from behind, too–damned these disgusting things! There were too many!

An arrow flew over his left shoulder; a pained shriek told him it hit its target. Then another one, and another one.

Zevran?

He turned in the direction from which the arrows were flying. At first he saw no one; then Leliana came running. Ah. Of course it wasn't Zevran.

"Thomas, are you all right?"

He blinked and forced himself to smile. "Fine. Let's go."

I forbade him to come with me, he reminded himself as he ran over the dead creatures. Zevran wanted to come. He told him to stay at the gates with Alistair.

Still…

A roaring Genlock ran his way, brandishing its sword above its head. Pathetic. He mechanically ran his sword through it, and looked around. How many more were there? And where were all the soldiers, damn it? He stiffened as he heard footsteps from the alley to the right.

"Warden Commander!"

Ah, they there were. Two mages, three Dalish and a dozen or so Kardol's legionaries. No commander; it seemed they just randomly regrouped, after their platoons were destroyed. But now was no time to worry about that. Unless he found and killed the Archdemon real fast, they'd be all dead before the nightfall.

"I must get to the Fort Drakon. Make me a path!"

Relieved to have a goal again, their faces lit with determination. One of the mages cast a rejuvenation spell on him and Leliana. Good. That's two potions saved.

"They're coming!" one of the Dalish warned. "Go, Commander! Leave them to us!"

And so he pressed forward, Leliana two steps behind him. He could see the Fort already. One place he never wanted to see again. One place he desperately needed to reach. And it was proving much more difficult than he expected. But, it seemed the Archdemon wasn't there yet, either.

What if Riordan fails?

No point in worrying about it now. He had to trust the old guy knew what he was doing. And he couldn't be far away–Thomas could vaguely feel the presence of the third Warden. It would work. It had to.

If only Zev was here.

I told him not to come.

I still expected he would. Like back then.

With an angry cry he sprinted towards the Tower, unsure if he was disappointed in Zevran or himself.

oOo

Back then.

Ah, the surprise in the Warden's face when he saw Zevran, still with a bow in his hands. He obviously didn't expect the man who failed to assassinate him just a few hours ago to save him.

"Why did you do it?" the Warden asked.

"And why not? You saved my life, too, no?" Zevran replied with a shrug.

That morning, he tried to lure the Wardens and their companions into a trap and assassinate them. It seemed easy enough task. Two Warden rookies, a pretty Chantry Sister, a young witch, a Qunari and a dog, all completely different and constantly quarrelling over every tiny detail – not a threat at all. What chance could this band of misfits have against a cell of Crows, disciplined and precise, for who assassinating fools was the sole purpose of existence? Or so he thought. He lost; all his men lay slain, and he himself was badly wounded.

Zevran expected the Warden–the one in command, not the babbling fool–would kill him. That was what he would do, without hesitation. But the Warden didn't kill him. Everyone except the pretty Sister told him he was a fool and naive and that it was wrong, but he didn't listen. He might be a Warden now, but he would not dishonor the name Cousland by such a cowardly act. That was what he said. And he went even further: he gave Zevran two healing potions and bandages. Because, he reasoned, leaving him there injured would be a cruelty, not mercy. Then he ordered Zevran to never show his face before the Wardens again. They would not be merciful again, he warned.

And yet, here he was. At first he was telling himself he wasn't really following the Wardens; he decided to go to Denerim and they were headed in the same direction. And if he would get a second chance to fulfill his mission, even better. No?

The darkspawn attack was a perfect opportunity. He could have picked them one by one. Starting with the noble brat. All he had to do was to aim a little more to the left... Instead, he shot the darkspawn. Intentionally, he might add, despite the spite the other Warden, was spouting.

"Besides, it seemed you needed a hand. And I am amazing in giving a hand. To you, I could give a hand day and night, if you would let me," he said with a sly grin. "I'm sure serving you would be much more pleasant than serving the Crows."

In truth, Zevran didn't expect the Warden to accept it, but accept it he did. He became one of the Blight Companions, as they became known across Ferelden. (Or the Blighted Companion, as the babbling fool called him.) Since that day, he always followed his Warden, wherever he went and fought at his side whatever he faced.

oOo

He stayed behind only to pick up few arrows; then he covered himself in shadow and ran after his Warden as fast as he could. He was never more grateful for his ability to move unseen – it saved much time, not having to fight every one of these blasted creatures. He would catch up with Thomas in no time.

If that foolish noble thought he could get rid of Zevran that easily, then he didn't know Zevran as well as he should. Thomas made him promise he would stay defend gates with Alistair, yes. But he never specified how long he would do it, no? So technically he wasn't breaking it. Even if he did, it didn't matter, not this time. The only thing that mattered now was to keep Thomas alive.

What in the Void was Thomas thinking, going off to fight the Archdemon and taking only Leliana, Sten, and Demon with him? The mabari was a great, brave warrior, and did all she could to protect her master; but she was still just a dog. She didn't survive the first hour. Sten was badly injured and had to stay behind. And from what Zevran saw now, Thomas and Leliana were also exhausted. What if he wasn't helping, from the shadows? What if the soldiers didn't arrive at that moment?

What if Thomas died–

With a curse, Zevran started to run faster.

oOo

A deafening roar from above made almost all soldiers stop, paralyzed with fear. Thomas looked up. There it was. The huge shape of the Archdemon, black against the bright red sky, was gliding–no– falling?! It was! It was falling! Right to the top of the tower of the Fort Drakon, just like Riordan said! It meant the plan worked! It meant they still had a chance!

Feeling guilty he ever doubted the older Warden, Thomas sprinted toward the Fort. Time to kill the big boss.

To die.

Leliana was shouting something, but he couldn't hear. He turned to where she was pointing. All hairs on his body stood up and for whole terrible second, he couldn't remember how to move.
The horde.

Running this way.

What–the Song. They were responding to the Archdemon's Song. It might have been injured and forced to land on the tower, but it was far from helpless. It was calling them, singing to them, and they were coming. In a few moments, the Tower would be full of darkspawn. Getting to the Archdemon would be almost impossible. If he wanted to kill the Archdemon, he had to do it now.

"For the glory of the Maker!" shouted Leliana. Was that supposed to encourage him? It didn't. He stopped caring about the Maker's glory at the night of his conscription. The only person that could give him courage wasn't there.

He raised his sword. "For Zevran!"

He half expected that she'd laugh at him, but she didn't. They ran into the Fort, trying to win the impossible race. At least Riordan was up there already.

Goodbye, Zev.

And don't blame yourself, you fool.

oOo

"It wasn't your fault."

From anyone else it would be a cliché. But Thomas Cousland was battling the same demons. He knew what it felt like, to let those you love be killed. To turn and leave, while they bleed to death. To have their ghosts follow you at every step, whispering bitter accusations.

After they returned from Orzammar with the last alliance formed, Thomas decided it was time to deal with Fereldan nobles. Despite Alistair's repeated suggestions, he was refusing to visit the Arl Eamon till that point. He wanted to have his own army first, independent on any Fereldan noble, so that nobody, not even Alistair's so-called uncle could manipulate him.

But when they arrived to Redcliffe, they found it under an attack of demons, Arl Eamon half dead, and his only son possessed. They defeated the demons, but there was no way to save the child. Thomas killed him. The Arlessa cursed him and almost scratched his eyes out, but Zevran thought she was lucky. Maybe one day, she would be able to understand, too.

Alistair blamed Thomas, of course. If only they came earlier, none of that would have happened!

It was only for the sake of his friendship with Alistair that Thomas agreed with the impossible mission to find the sacred ashes of Andraste.

Would he agree if he knew about the Gauntlet and its Guardian?

Zevran doubted it.

"Do you regret what happened?" the Guardian asked. He might have as well asked if they regretted carving their hearts out.

And then ghosts of their pasts. One for each, spouting few enigmatic words of wisdom and leaving a cold ache in the left.

They did not talk about it until they were back in the Redcliffe. While everyone rejoiced the miraculous healing of the Arl, Thomas retreated to his room. Zevran followed, uninvited, but not rejected either. He couldn't remember how they started to talk about it. They bared their souls to each other, all the pain and misery that was fermenting in the darkness and silence.

The night was almost over when they finished, the pale moon and stars barely visible any more, and both of them felt vulnerable and cold.

Thomas touched him first, moving his hand up Zevran's arm, in slow motion, and Zevran felt how life and warmth return to his body. He realized he never needed anything as much as he needed this, and he saw the same need in Thomas's eyes. It was gentle and slow, and far surpassed any previous experience.

It wasn't just sex. It was love-making.

Neither of them was ready to admit it yet.

oOo

The Fort was eerily quiet. Outside, the horde clashed with the army, but from this side of the thick oak door, it sounded like a little more than a brawl. If not for corpses littering the floor and the stench of darkspawn blood so thick the air was almost unbreathable, he would think he entered a chantry, by mistake.

He hoped the soldiers would be able to keep the horde from the Fort. If not... Well, he would worry about that when it happened. Now he had to find the Archdemon and Riordan and help the old guy kill it before Thomas could stop them. Morrigan said Thomas wouldn't die, but Zevran wasn't sure if he believed her; he wouldn't risk it.

Soon, he was able to get ahead of Thomas and Leliana. He wouldn't be able help them here, not without being noticed. And he didn't want Thomas to notice him just yet.

The rooftop was much more crowded than he expected. He thought there would be the Archdemon, fighting with Riordan, and perhaps a few Fort guards. But there had to be few dozens of darkspawn and soldiers; it was impossible to say if the old guy was there as well.

Brasca! This wasn't good at all. The Archdemon had its winged torn, the pieces of the membrane flapping like rags in the wind as it moved; but it seemed that other than that, it wasn't much injured. The few mages did what they could to slow it down while the warriors and archers put down the darkspawn, but they wouldn't last long.

Still covered in shadows, Zevran ran to the ugly beast. Without Riordan, he'd have to do what he knew already. True, Flemeth and Andraste were both smaller, but at least he had some practice. It was easy, yes? Jump on it–climb up the neck–stab it with the poisoned daggers. No matter how big or ugly, even the dragons couldn't survive the Crow Poison injected directly into their brains. Especially as their brains were ridiculously tiny, compared with their bodies.

But it was more difficult than he assumed. This was a limited area, no side alleys, no alternate paths. Sneaking was useless here, unless for covering in fear. That would be quite reasonable, naturally. But he was never known to be reasonable.

"Use the ballista! Aim for legs, cripple it!" a familiar voice shouted the orders. Thomas was here. "Fire! You two, get them some stones. And you over there, cover them!"

Zevran dared a quick glance in the direction where Thomas was quickly regrouping the soldiers. A young god of war, his Warden, he thought proudly. Worth dying forth, yes. He turned his attention back to the beast, raging just few yards away. Now or never. He sprinted to it, and in one jump, got to its back. It didn't even notice him.

"Zevran!"

He heard Thomas's angry shouts, but he didn't listen. He had to focus, keep his balance. It would be a pity if he fell now. Die trampled by a paw. What a bad joke. A few times, the rocks from ballista almost knocked him down. He could hear Thomas's angry shouts I said legs! Aim to its legs, idiots! They sounded much closer. He forced himself to push it out of its mind. Focus. Breathe. Move. Nothing else mattered. Inch by inch, he climbed up the Archdemon's neck. Finally, he was up. He took out the Crow Poison and carefully covered his daggers, one by one. The noise of the battle was distant and vague. Let's hope Morrigan was right, he thought and trusted them in its temples.

The Archdemon roared in pain and lifted to its hinder legs, trying to shake him off. Zevran squeezed his eyes and clung to his daggers. He half hoped the beast would die from the stab itself. Ah, never mind. The poison would start working in a minute. Not even the Archdemon could survive that. Wait. Hold on. Survive. He was always good at that.

The beast started to sway and crashed down. Zevran let go his daggers and jumped off. He grabbed the first sword he saw on the ground and turned back to finish it off. But he was too late.

"Thomas! No!"

Thomas was standing next to the Archdemon's head, with his sword raised. And before Zevran could move, before he could even breathe, he brought it down with all his might.

The sickening sound of crunching bones paralyzed them–darkspawn and humans and all. Then the air trembled and everything exploded in bright light.

oOo

"Are you insane? I would rather face a dozen of Archdemons than do that with Morrigan! Much less painful, if you ask me."

"Then why am I alive?" Thomas insisted. By all accounts he should be dead. He killed the Archemon, so his soul should have been destroyed, obliviated into nonexistence. That was what Riordan explained to them, the night before the battle. The same night, Morrigan came to him, offering a way out. But the price she asked... he couldn't do that. He went to the battle ready to die. Yet here he was, with nothing worse than a broken arm. And Alistair was still denying it.

"How should I know?" Alistair crossed his arms. "Certainly not thanks to me doing anything with Morrigan. That's... ewwww! As in, ewwwww!"

"All right, all right, I get it." Thomas laughed. It was true–he couldn't imagine how would Morrigan convince Alistair to do the Dark Ritual. "Maybe Riordan found some other way," he decided. "We should ask him. Could you call for him?"

"Thomas," Alistair said with a sigh, "I told you already. Riordan is dead. I saw him fell by my own eyes."

"Nonsense. Don't tell me you can't sense it. He's alive, and not far away. In fact, I think he's right behind the door."

Alistair got up from the chair, marched to the door and yanked them open. "See? No Riordan here. It's just–by the Maker! You?"

"Wynne says he's awake," Zevran said in a weak voice.

"He is. But you-"

"I'm healed enough," Zevran said and pushed him aside. "I want to see him."

"That doesn't matter now–I mean it does, but–you're a Warden!"

"That I am," he admitted.

"Alistair. Could you please leave us alone, for a while?" Thomas asked; his voice sounded flat and hollow. Zevran flinched. Alistair glanced at him, then at Zevran, and then left without a word.

There was a moment of awkward, tense silence. Thomas watched Zevran's face–he never saw Zevran this scared and lost.

"So it was you," he said in the end. "You did the Ritual."

Zevran walked over to him. He knelt down and put his head on Thomas chest. "Yes," he said, in that same weak voice. Thomas could feel him trembling. "Even if you never forgive me, I had to do it. I couldn't let you die. Not you."

"Do you know what will happen? About the child?"

"Who can say what will happen? Maybe it will die at birth; maybe it won't live to adulthood; maybe it will be a normal child. No? I am not giving you up for something that might never happen. Do not ask that of me. If you can't forgive me, and wish to break it, I understand. I still prefer you alive and hating me, than dead."

Thomas closed his eyes. He wasn't happy that an Old God would be reborn–as a Morrigan's child, none the less. He was ready to die rather than risk that. But he couldn't blame Zevran.

"You're a fool."

"Yes."

"I love you."

"Yes?"

"Of course I do," Thomas said, a bit disappointed by Zevran's doubt. "Now get up from there and tell me everything. How and when did you become the Warden?"

Zevran didn't get up. "Riordan let me Join–but first, I, I'd like to ask you something, if I may."

"All right, but I get to stare at you luridly while you do so."

They both laughed at that, and it seemed that Zevran relaxed a little bit. He pulled something out from his breast pocket. "I... still have this. You remember it, yes?"

It was the earring–the one that Zevrand offered Thomas as a thank-you for defeating the Crows. Thomas refused it, said he didn't need any reward.

"I–I'd like to give it to you. Please, will you accept it this time? As a–as a token of my affection. To you."

Thomas wanted to pinch himself. This had to be a dream. Or a delayed hallucination caused by the injury. "That sounds almost like a proposal," he said with a smile. If he misunderstood, he could pretend it was a joke.

But Zevran didn't laugh. "Only if you wish so," he whispered.

"Yes," he muttered, his throat suddenly dry. "I wish that. I wish that more than anything."

Zevran put the earring in his ear. His fingers were cold and still trembling. "Now you are mine, yes? So promise me. Promise me you will never again try to die alone, leaving me behind."

"I promise," he said.

Thirty years, eh? -he thought as Zevran kissed him. Not bad. Not bad at all.