The group spent a handful of days outside Denerim, staying in the same spot for once while they finished their business in the city's capital. Naia was pleased when they obtained a solid lead on Brother Genitivi—perhaps they could finally cure Arl Eamon. They also tracked down Leliana's former lover Marjolaine, who met (in Naia's opinion) a richly deserved end. Alistair's meeting with his sister Goldanna, however, did not go nearly as well. Naia had to restrain herself from punching the woman square in the nose. She tried not to look at the alienage gate, and had to fight the guilt that rose in her stomach every time she wondered whether her family was safe.

But for the first time in months, Naia had something to look forward to at night besides broken sleep and frightening dreams. Zevran was easygoing and skilled, able to make her laugh one moment and gasp in pleasure the next, and Naia drank him in like a woman who had been dying of thirst. While she had no illusions that their nights together were nearly as revelatory for him—she was no virgin, but her experience didn't come close to his—she delighted in returning the favor, in watching his eyes close in pleasure and hearing him moan when she touched him.

Without ever really discussing it, the two of them agreed to keep their affair, if not secret, at least discreet. Zevran would return to his own tent in the middle of the night, sometimes sneaking out as Naia dozed off to sleep, though Naia suspected this was as much due to his own preference as their desire for privacy. During the day they tried to behave as if nothing had changed between them—although Zevran was not above whispering things in her ear that made her shiver and wish sunset wasn't so far away.

She knew that their liaison would not be a secret forever, however. Normally Leliana would have seen the clues first, but the bard already knew and was keeping her silence about it. Eventually, though, the others would have to notice.

About a week after leaving for Haven, as their group trudged yet another long dirt road, Naia was only a little surprised when Morrigan fell in step beside her and gave her a knowing smirk.

"'Tis cold in my tent," she remarked. "How is it in yours?"

"I've been all right. Do you need another blanket?" Naia asked, keeping her voice deliberately indifferent.

"Ah, I am afraid that would not be enough. If only I had something more vigorous to keep me warm. As you do."

Naia blinked innocently. "You want to borrow Zevran? Shouldn't you be talking to him about this?"

Morrigan's mouth dropped open in horror. "Absolutely not. How you bear his hands on your body is a mystery to me, 'tis certain."

"Oh. Is there someone else in camp you have your eye on?"

"No!"

Naia tilted her head in feigned puzzlement. "Morrigan, I'm confused. Are you sure you don't want another blanket?"

The sorceress made a disgusted noise in her throat. "These games of yours are not nearly so amusing as you think. Very well. I've noticed the assassin slipping into your tent at night. I simply wished to know if you'd insist on lying about your dalliance should I confront you."

Naia shook her head. "I have nothing to hide, Morrigan. I'd appreciate it if you kept this to yourself—I'd rather avoid a lecture from Wynne. But I'm not embarrassed that you know."

Morrigan's brows raised high. "Indeed? Well. I believe I have misjudged you, Naia Tabris."

Naia couldn't hide an uneasy grimace. "Uh. Is that good or bad?"

"Hmm," Morrigan responded thoughtfully, a smile playing about her lips. "Good, I imagine. I will keep your secret. I've no fondness for the old biddy's lectures either. But tell me, do you ever wonder at the wisdom of bedding a man sent to kill you?"

With some surprise, Naia realized that she hadn't thought much about that—and she probably should have, given that the Crows often seduced their targets. But it had been months since she'd thought of Zev as the assassin sent to kill her.

Morrigan was looking at her expectantly. Naia shrugged. "A lot of people have tried to kill me in the past year or so. I've learned not to take it personally."

An hour later, Naia looked over her shoulder to see Leliana approaching her. Subtly, Naia slowed her steps, putting distance between the two women and the rest of the group so they could speak in relative privacy.

"I saw you talking to Morrigan," the bard said quietly. "She looked most pleased with herself. I suppose she has realized you and Zevran are involved, yes?"

Naia nodded. "Everyone was going to figure it out at some point, I suppose. But I never thanked you for keeping what you saw a secret, did I? Thank you."

"You are welcome." Leliana gave her a warm smile—but Naia could see just a hint of a wobble around its edges.

"May I give you some advice?" the Orlesian blurted.

Naia bit back a sigh. "Depends. What's the advice?"

"Please be careful." Leliana's face was serious and sad. "Zevran has been with us for some time now, and I do like him. But I placed my trust in the wrong person once. I would not wish the same for you."

The worry on Leliana's lovely features filled Naia with an odd sort of guilt. She reached out and gave her friend's arm a gentle squeeze. "I know," she said simply. "I'll be careful, Leliana. I swear."

"Good." The bard's serious expression suddenly turned playful. "Now then. How is he in bed?"

Naia threw her head back with a laugh. "I am not going to answer that!"

That evening, as Naia struggled to assemble her tent, Wynne appeared at her side. "You and Zevran seem quite inseparable these days," the mage said tactfully.

Andraste's tits, is this a joke? Naia drew a breath, holding her temper steady, then stood to face Wynne, her jaw set. "Say what you mean, Wynne. I'm out of patience today."

"I—very well." Wynne folded her arms and straightened her spine. "I will be blunt. I've realized that you're sleeping together, and I wonder whether this the best thing for you and your mission."

Naia sighed wearily. "You expect me to end it?"

"I think it would be wise, yes,"

"Why am I even talking to you about this?" Naia shook her head. "You don't understand. You couldn't possibly."

"I beg to differ," Wynne said sharply. "Let me see if I can make a guess at what you're feeling. The task before you seems impossible. You feel drained by the constant expectations, the way everyone is watching you. He offers you comfort, companionship—and the more you think about it, the more it seems that you should be able to have a little fun. Does that seem about right?"

Naia's jaw dropped in surprise. Wynne's words had hit their target, and she knew that must have shown on her face. To her credit, the mage did not revel in it. Instead, she softened her voice. "I have a son, Naia. I was about your age, and I—there was a man in the Circle I liked a great deal. My son was taken from me while I was too weak to protest and given to strangers to raise. That was the price I paid for my comfort, for my fun."

Wynne's words held no self-pity, and yet, Naia's heart ached for her. For the first time since the conversation had started, she met the mage's eyes. "That wasn't fair. Your son would have been lucky to know his mother," she said softly. "But it's different with me and Zevran, Wynne. For one thing, Wardens can't have children. It's the Taint."

"That may be. But that was not exactly my point," Wynne said gently. "These kinds of affairs may have consequences you often can't anticipate—even when you think you are only having some fun. Furthermore, Zevran is a dangerous man."

"You say that as if he's the only one in the camp," Naia protested. "I know he used to be an assassin, Wynne, but he's fought by our side for months. Do you really think he would hurt me now?"

"I am uncertain. And that alone gives me pause." Wynne crossed her arms. "Moreover, whether or not he still means to kill you, I do not believe Zevran is capable of true affection. You may think you do not want that affection now—but that is the sort of thing that often changes with time. I do not wish to see you hurt, Naia. The task before you is hard enough as it is."

Naia pressed her lips together. "I appreciate your concern, Wynne. I do. But if you want me to say that I won't spend any more time with Zev—well, I won't lie to you."

The mage smiled, resigned. "I have given you my advice. Do with it what you will. And be careful."

Naia thought that would be an end to the conversations about Zevran, but as she walked away from Bodahn and Sandal's wagon, a new rune glowing against the metal of her blade, Alistair approached her.

"Naia, can I talk to you?"

And Naia's frayed self-possession finally snapped.

"Oh, great," she hissed, throwing her hands up. "Go ahead, everyone else has had their say. I thought you'd be different, but you might as well have yours too. Let me guess. Zevran is dangerous. I'm being stupid and selfish, or wicked and vile and sinful."

Alistair's eyes went wide. "I—no! No, no, no. I would never think you were any of those things!" He waved his hands frantically for emphasis. "Look, Zevran wouldn't be who I'd pick if I were a woman. I assume. I mean, it's hard to know, isn't it?" His expression grew thoughtful.

In spite of herself, Naia let out a little giggle. "Is it time to get you a pretty dress so you can dance the Remigold?"

Alistair pretended he hadn't heard her. "Maker, what was I going to say?" He crossed his arms and tilted his head. "Oh, right. It had nothing to do with Zevran at all. I was thinking about what you said to me at Goldanna's. You're right, I need to stop letting everyone else make my decisions for me and go after what I want, for once."

Naia grinned, momentarily forgetting her annoyance with this whole day. "Good for you, Alistair."

He smiled back at her. "You know, at first I was upset about the way things went with Goldanna. But then I realized in a lot of ways I already have a sister. You. You're a Warden like me, but it's more than that. You're … you."

Naia was momentarily startled into silence as tears pricked at the back of her eyes. "Alistair, I think that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me. I never had a brother. I like the idea."

The ex-Templar looked very pleased. "So, big sister, about Zevran—"

"Argh! Not listening, not listening!" Naia wailed, clapping her hands over her ears.

Alistair caught her wrists and pulled them away from her head. "I was just going to say that whatever is happening between the two of you, it sounds like the others have had quite a bit to say about it. And, well, I won't. As your honorary brother, I will rip Zevran's arms off if he hurts you. But otherwise I'm just here if you need me."

Impulsively, Naia threw her arms around her fellow Warden and gave him a fierce hug. Alistair was large even for a shem; her head barely reached the middle of his chest.

He ruffled her hair affectionately. "All right, let's not get all mushy. We've got an Urn to find, after all."

All day, Zevran had watched their companions converse with Naia, one by one, and he wondered if their words would have any effect. He knew none of them were likely to have anything good to say about him sharing the Warden's bed. He tried not to care. He had been sincere, or so he thought, when he told her that he would be content no matter when she decided to end their affair. But the idea of Naia refusing his company in the future was oddly unsettling.

Although there were opportunities to do so, he avoided catching Naia alone when they made camp. He did not want to press her—and more to the point, he wanted to see if she would seek him out.

After dinner, she did.

Naia sat down beside him with a weary sigh. Zevran smiled at her, quietly wondering if she intended to tell him that their affair was over. Instead, she turned to him with a tired half-smile on her face. "So. How many lectures did you get today?"

"Not a one," Zevran replied. It was the truth, although the previous day, Wynne had informed him that Naia had higher purposes than his lust, Leliana had sweetly threatened to kill him if he hurt the Warden in any way, and Oghren had told him a series of lewd dwarven jokes about moaning statues. Several of the jokes had been quite funny.

"I got four. Well, only three, really. The last one was my fault, Alistair didn't actually want to talk to me about you."

"Four lectures! No wonder you look exhausted, my Warden." Zevran moved closer to her, cautiously brushing a stray lock of hair away from her face and tucking it behind her ear.

"I think that's more about the walking," Naia murmured, closing her eyes in appreciation as Zevran's fingers trailed down the side of her neck.

"Do you know what you need?"

"A horse?"

"Hmm. I was thinking more along the lines of a massage."

Naia's eyes fluttered open. "After the day I've had, you had better be offering more than a massage," she said with a little smile.

"Things might happen to move in that direction. If we are speaking of the same thing," Zevran teased.

"I suspect we are," the Warden said seductively. "Come on. Before Sten decides to tell me what the Qunari would do in this situation."