This is what I have written- so the end for the foreseeable future. If I add more I'll likely keep it in chronological order, so this will remain the last story. Thank you for reading! :)

"Well, we're here."

It was an understatement. Maiti's soft wheeze of laughter petered out quickly. Even his good cheer had diminished as they traveled, his graying red locks thinning and falling out, the laughter lines on his face a reminder of the mirth there had been. Maiti hated the Deep Roads. Zevran hated why they were there even more.

"I sense them ahead," said Maiti evenly.

They had held each other the last few nights, Zevran murmuring soft nothings into Maiti's ears, stroking his skin, his vallislin, his hair, but never the marks of corruption beginning to creep their way up his neck. They both pretended it wasn't there, that the Hero of Ferelden wasn't about to meet the end he'd always known was coming. They'd made love in the dark of the Deep Roads and they had held each other. There wasn't much else left to do, other than say something.

They had to say something to each other now, because before long it would be too late.

"How many?" said Zevran.

"Enough."

Maitimo Mahariel was never serious. They had spent thirty years- more than that, they had been lucky to glean a little more time than most- together. They had had thirty years. They had done so much. The Blight, the Inquisition. Zevran was head of the Crows, if he so wished to return. They had raised a child together (Zevran had not been there for that farewell, even thinking about it made his chest ache). So much more time than most, but it didn't feel like enough.

"I'm coming with you," said Zevran.

It was the thought they had both been too afraid to voice. Zevran waited for the reaction he knew was to come.

"You can't," said Maiti, and the whine in his tone broke Zevran more than any tool of the Crows ever had.

"I can and I will, mi amor," said Zevran.

"I need you to live," said Maiti. "Maker, it's silly now, isn't it. How many Warden have said this to the ones they loved? How many listened? But please, listen to me."
Many thought there wasn't much more to Maiti that a large sword and a big smile. Zevran had always known this was not the truth.

"I love you," said Maiti. They rarely spoke those words. Gestures, they thought, said it all. "I don't want to die with you."

"I don't want you to die alone."

"You wanted to die when we first met," said Maiti, green eyes boring into Zevran's own. "Don't grant that wish now. Not after all this time. You can go back. There are only a few stray darkspawn between here and the surface. Go back, be safe. Mourn me and all that. Live, be happy."

"You ask much of me," said Zevran, who felt like the rug was being pulled from under him. He had expected Mahariel to protest his saying. He hadn't expected to listen to him.
"It's my dying wish," he said. He had the audacity to smile.

Zevran reached for him, and they held each other like the world was ending. In that moment it was. Zevran buried his head in Maiti Mahariel's shoulder and sobbed, the warm skin of Maiti's shoulder more painful than comforting.

Minutes passed. Zevran pulled away. Maiti leaned forward, pressing his lips to Zevran's forehead. "Thank you for everything," Maiti whispered. He lowered his face next to Zevran's, taking a long, shuddering breath. Zevran could feel his closed eyes, eyelashes thick with tears as they fluttered on his cheek.

"Mi amor," said Maiti, voice choked.

"Mi amor," said Zevran.

He reached a hand up to run through his Warden's hair one final time. When he pulled away, Maiti was gone, and that was that. The Hero of Ferelden was dead. Zevran did the only thing he could. He lived.