Haven left them all raw, but she didn't think it hit any of them the way it hit Zevran. Perhaps Chantal shouldn't have prodded, maybe it would be better if she didn't know this dark, sordid secret. But the guardian used it to hurt Zevran, used it to shatter that careful, smooth facade. Chantal couldn't bear to see him hurt, so she asked.
She asked, and he told her.
Zevran picked her as his suicide method before he ever saw her, before he befriended her, before he fell into her bed. She was the blade meant to take his life the way he'd taken his former love's. Rinna.
Chantal wondered what she looked like. Elven, so thinner than she most likely. Graceful, willowy, elegant. She'd have been beautiful, of course. Zevran liked beautiful things. Maybe she had dark hair like Chantal's, or perhaps red like Leliana's.
He couldn't meet her eyes, he pointed them firmly in front of him as she examined his sculpted, handsome face. The rest of the camp slept behind them, with the exception of Shale, who guarded the precious pouch of ashes.
She'd fought a damn dragon for those ashes, and she'd do it again in a second rather than confront the darkness in Zevran's heart. She'd march right back up to Haven and do it herself, alone, rather than hold this poisonous knowledge.
"So, now you know." Zevran said flatly. "I can understand if you wish nothing more to do with me, but… I find I cannot regret it. Whatever I sought when I left Antiva…"
"Your death." She whispered softly.
"Yes. So I thought. But I found what I needed instead, here. With you and this… insane mission you have found yourself ensconced in, my beautiful warden."
She reached out and laid her hand over his. He wasn't wearing gloves, they'd gotten burned too badly in the fight with the dragon. She still nursed a rather nasty burn of her own over most of her right shoulder, Wynne healed the worst of it, but the poor woman needed to recover too.
She couldn't judge him as harshly as he thought he deserved, not when the shade asked her if she failed Jowan and she didn't know the answer.
"Do not… do not feel as if you must comfort me." Zevran pulled his hand away with a wry smile. "I do not deserve your kindness, Chantal. I have received more from you than I deserved already, my life alone was forfeit before it fell into your capable, lovely hands."
"Wynne told me once that nobody receives the kindness they deserve in the world."
Zevran snorted in exasperation, rolling his eyes upward. "Whatever does that even mean? That we all receive too much? Not enough? It is exactly the irritating babble she would spout."
She nearly giggled, replacing her hand insistently over his. "Would you prefer to cry on my bosom? It isn't as impressive as Wynne's, I'm afraid, but…"
He laughed, shaking his head. "Wynne disapproves of this kind of talk, Warden." He purred, flipping his hand to catch her fingers with his. He ran his fingers over her captured knuckles, soft and soothing circles.
Wynne disapproved of him. Wynne asked her, blunt and unashamed, if she didn't feel like Zevran was a dangerous distraction. If she could slay the archdemon if it was a choice between Zevran and her duty.
Her duty, she supposed, was to choose a cold grave instead of Zevran's warm embrace. A life alone, dedicated to defeating the darkspawn instead of a camp full of friends, of life, of joy. Why couldn't she have both? Why couldn't she do her duty and fall asleep next to Zevran? Why couldn't she slay darkspawn and listen to Leliana sing?
Wynne said because life was not always fair, but Chantal was powerful. Why couldn't she make the world more fair?
"Do you wish to end our affair, Chantal? Truly, I would not blame you." He continued to rub circles with his thumb over her knuckles. If she didn't know better, she would say he was anxious. "There are others with far more honorable intentions than I."
"Do you think you're going to hurt me?" She asked quietly.
"You ask as if the answer is clearly no!" Zevran's fingers tightened on her fingers. "Chantal, you must not be so naive. The entire reason we met is because I attempted to murder you in cold blood."
"No." Chantal couldn't bear not looking into his eyes any longer, reaching up to gently guide his chin towards her. His eyes were dark, secrets lurking in their depths. Guarded, walls up, like a frightened and cornered predator. "You did not attempt to murder me. You put yourself in my path to be murdered, but I didn't kill you."
"Instead you invited the assassin into your bed." He said seriously. "A move wisely criticized by nearly every one of your companions."
"I trust you."
"So did Rinna." His eyes were wells of sorrow. She could slide into them and drown in his regrets.
"I'm not Rinna." She insisted, scooting closer to him in the grass. Zevran sighed, ripped his eyes away from hers again and pointing them into the empty night.
"You're not who you were then." She reasoned softly, pulling her knees up to her chin. "You can't be that person again, Zevran. He's gone, now."
"And who is left, hm?" He asked.
"The man who lunged at a dragon because I told him to." She answered seriously, furrowing her brow. "The one who climbed up a mountain, slashing through crazy cultists, to find magic ashes that may or may not cure a man who can help us take down the man that left me to die."
"Oh, so I have gone mad as well then?" He asked, rubbing his eyes wearily. "Although that does explain much."
"You're the man I trust." Chantal said simply. "In my bed and out here. That's who you are now, I'm sorry if it isn't who you wanted to be."
"Diablo te lleve." Zevran muttered darkly. "How could you…"
He snapped his eyes back to his. She could see into their depths now, past the sorrow, past the pain and guilt. She saw something bright, something precious.
Then his mouth was on hers, brutally capturing her choked gasp of surprise. Pushing, demanding, and desperate underneath it all. Perhaps, she thought fancifully, a little frightened. He slid his hand into her loose hair, tugging her closer to him, pushing her knees down as he pulled her flush to his skin. He nipped lightly at her lip as he withdrew, leaving her breathless and trembling.
It was more. More than any other kiss she'd had from him.
"I am unsure if I am the man you need, Warden, but I am sworn to you still." He growled. "And you can trust that."