"What is that?" Neria's voice was so sharp that Zevran drew both of his blades and turned quickly, only to find her pointing at the night sky between the trees. He looked up, eyes quick. A dragon, perhaps? "Is that something that the trees do?"
"What?"
"That—the white—oh, is that snow?" And now her voice was becoming eager. "I've never seen natural snow before!" She was reaching up, dancing on her toes, and he saw it, the first snowflake of the season, out of her reach. He laughed and sheathed his blades. "Catch it, Zev!" she demanded, so he did, stepping forward to close his hand around the little thing.
"Let me see." Neria stepped close to Zevran and opened his curled fingers. He found himself smiling at her as she bent her head over his hand.
"It is melted to water, you know. This is what snow does, or so I have heard."
"So quickly?" She sounded disappointed. "Mage snow lasts longer." She sighed, and he felt the bead of water tremble inside the joint of his middle finger. She bowed her head closer and touched it with her tongue. He curled two fingers and slid them into the warmth of her mouth.
Later, he would lie in the darkness of his tent, sure that he had exhausted them both beyond moving any further. He would feel her fingers run down the damp skin of his chest. Little sparks of blue would trail her touch, pricking his skin and making his muscles twitch. One more time, he would think with a tired moan, and roll into her body again.
"Why?" It had been three days since Alistair had really spoken to Neria, so this sudden pained word made her look up at him, startled.
"Why what?"
"Why everything? Why did you give the rose back to me? Why did you take it in the first place? Why him and not me?" Alistair was looking down at her as if his whole heart were breaking as they walked. "You must know that he might kill you. I would never hurt you, Neria, never. " For a brief moment, she was able to look into his eyes, beyond the templar and the round ears and the bastard prince and see Alistair, gentle and kind and good.
Horrible responses ran through her mind. Funny story! You'll laugh. I'm secretly a blood mage!
Magic is sinful and… no.
I'm really not into humans at all anymore. If I hear 'knife-ears' one more time I'm blasting all of you into a crater.
You want love and Zevran asks nothing.
He was just starting to look away with a sigh when his attention was drawn back by her answer. "You want something that I can't give. I'm sorry." She moved quickly to leave him behind.
I would run faster from the templar's blade without love. I would be free.
On the Deep Roads, Neria screamed her loathing to the darkspawn. The air around her filled with her light as she stepped partly into the Fade and as she formed lightning storms. She threw herself at them as blindly as Ogren did. On the Deep Roads, Neria stopped using the words Grey Warden to mean 'I am free from the Circle' and started using the words to mean 'I will kill you and all your filth and give my life to see that the last of you is dead.'
It was in the dead trenches that Neria first knew that she loved him.
She was restlessly sleeping in the small alcove that they had chosen for camp. She had not been talkative for days and had to bite her tongue to keep from snapping at everyone. She felt filthy. Grime on every part of her, grime on the floor, darkspawn blood and disgusting fluids everywhere. She felt the call of their darkness strongly here, almost understood the song of the demon sometimes. She ate little and once had vomited off of a ledge when the cry of the dragon coiled strongly around her stomach.
So it was uncomfortably that she rested there, in chainmail now, thicker armor. Though she had avoided touching or looking at Zevran for days, he came to her as she rested and curled himself around her back. His head bowed and his brow touched her nape between her helm and her collar. He draped an arm over her hip and she felt his whole body relax with a sigh. And she knew that she loved him, in much the same way that a sick man knows he will die.
Zevran woke to find Neria peering with concern into his face, light shining subtly beneath her skin.
"What?" he said, voice rough with sleep. She didn't answer right away but reached up to touch his forehead.
"I don't like you sleeping in such a blighted place," she answered abruptly, her eyes grown darker with concern. "I don't want you to get sick."
Zevran cleared his throat from the sleep and caught a yawn before it escaped. "We have managed thus far, yes, and we have healing magic." He opened his eyes again to find her still studying him intensely.
Her voice became low. "I would not have hurt come to you if I can help it. I would protect you."
He reached up then and touched her face. Some pain came to her eyes and his hand slid to the back of her neck. He pulled her close to kiss her brow. "It is I who will be looking after your back, I have said."
They spent perhaps two heartbeats looking into the other's eyes and at the same time they both flinched their glance away. She stood and walked toward Morrigan, leaving him behind with a feeling of disquiet for company.