Zevran wound his way through the Denerim streets in a fog, only vaguely aware of his direction. He reserved a small corner of his mind for watching for other Crows—he suspected Taliesin had come alone, but he could not be sure—but no one he passed gave him so much as a second glance. Still, he spent the better part of an hour wandering Denerim's market to see if he was being followed. As promised, he also notified Sergeant Kylon about the bodies in the alienage. It said something about the Sergeant's job that he showed no surprise about this news. He just gave a weary sigh and waved the nearest Guardsmen over.
Finally, Zevran's mind had cleared somewhat; he allowed himself to leave the bustle of the streets and return to the gate of the Arl's estate.
Leliana was standing by the fountain in the Arl's courtyard, her expression thoughtful as she hummed a little tune. She was out of her armor and in plain servant's garb. Zevran remembered that Naia had asked her to investigate Anora, as far as she could without being noticed.
The bard's face went white as she took in Zevran. "Oh, Maker. Where …"
"Safe," Zevran assured her quickly. "They are having dinner with Naia's family. I … encountered some unpleasantness. A former member of the Crows. I thought it best to let them have their meal in peace."
Leliana's lips parted. "I am sorry. The Crow—was he someone you know?"
Zevran stepped to the edge of the fountain. He stared into its waters as he tried to think of how to answer that. "Knew, and knew well. He was a friend. Or as close to that as I could have come, in the Crows." He took a breath. "But no more. Taliesin is dead."
When he looked over at Leliana, her face was sympathetic and sad. "Do you wish to talk about it? I, of all people, would understand."
"So you would." Zevran had not been there for the fight with Marjolaine, but he had seen Leliana's face afterwards, seen the potent mixture of relief and guilt in her eyes. He himself felt little guilt—Taliesin had given them no choice—but his mind still swam with confusion as he tried to puzzle out what his old friend's death meant. "I do not know what to feel. I regret that Taliesin could not be persuaded to leave well enough alone, but perhaps it has bought me some time. It will take months for the Crows to learn of what has happened in Ferelden. I could put quite a distance between myself and my last known location before they think to hunt me again."
"Will you?" Leliana's gentle voice was devoid of judgment.
The answer came easily. "No. I—I feel I must see this through. I would not abandon the Warden while her Archdemon still lives." Would Naia's awful nightmares finally cease, then? Of late, he had taken to waiting in her tent until the dreams came upon her so he could smooth her blankets when they passed. She needed her rest, and he did not want the cold to wake her.
He tried to reach for something like his usual insolent cheer. "Besides, if we succeed, we will become the stuff of your legends, no? Bards will sing of our heroism for generations to come. I would not miss the opportunity to have my name eternally on the lips of beautiful women."
Leliana laughed. "I expected that would be your answer. I doubt any of us would leave her side now."
"She does inspire loyalty," Zevran said, uncomfortable with the questioning look in Leliana's eyes. "I have often wondered how she does it. Does she merely smile that devastating smile at everyone, bewitching them at first glance?"
"Nothing so simple," Leliana said dryly. "I think—it is hard to put into words." Her brow knotted thoughtfully. "On the day I met her I think I must have sounded quite mad. A Chantry lay sister, covered in blood, insisting that the Maker had told me to follow the Wardens! But Naia offered her hand and welcomed me. All she saw was someone willing to put themselves in danger to help." She smiled a bit, as if she thought she might have solved a puzzle. "I think perhaps that is her secret. Faith. Not in the Maker, but—but in us. She trusts us, and in turn, we work to earn that trust."
"Do you love her?"
The question startled Zevran as soon as he asked it. He was unsure where it came from. But Leliana answered readily. "Yes, of course." She raised an eyebrow at him. "Not, perhaps, in the way you mean. But as a friend, yes, I love her. She will always be very dear to me."
She did not turn the question back on Zevran, for which he was grateful. Perhaps she would have, if the gate had not swung open at that moment.
"Now that was a proper Ferelden meal. Nicely boiled, even if the vegetables did still have some unpleasant crunch to them," Alistair said cheerfully. He gave Leliana and Zevran a wave as he crossed the courtyard.
"Most people prefer them that way, Alistair," Wynne said, shaking her head with a mix of affection and bafflement as they climbed the stairs to the building.
Zevran felt himself go still. Had Naia remained in the alienage? No—there she was, her helmet under one arm, the familiar red hair gleaming in the setting sun. She met his gaze and noticed his surprise; her eyebrows rose, puzzled.
"I had thought you might stay with your family tonight," he said.
She shook her head. "I don't think it's safe just now. Best if we remain together." Her mouth twitched. "Besides, I'm not exactly the most popular woman in the alienage at the moment, heroic slaver-killing aside. I'd like my father to keep his last window if he can." She stepped forward to hug Leliana. "What did you learn about Anora?"
"She is much as she seems," Leliana replied. "A smart woman, and a gifted politician. She would help you—so long as doing so served her own goals."
Naia wrinkled her nose. "Which are?"
"At the moment, keeping her throne." Leliana's mouth thinned. "It may be difficult to convince her that you can help her do so more effectively than her father, I think. But I will tell you more later. I asked the Arl's people to draw a bath for me and I find myself longing for it."
Naia grinned. "Don't ever let me keep you from a hot bath, Leliana. We'll talk later."
Was it Zevran's imagination, or did Leliana wink at him as she left the courtyard?
Naia set her helmet down on the lip of the fountain and looked over at Zevran. "How are you?"
"Well enough. I apologize for leaving so abruptly. I …" he trailed off, not knowing how to explain himself.
Naia nodded with understanding anyway. "You needed to be alone. Don't worry about it, Zev." She smiled. "Soris said to say thank you. He wouldn't tell me for what."
Zevran chuckled. "Simply another act of heroic daring, my Warden. I would tell you the story but it would surely bore you."
Naia rolled her eyes playfully. "Very well. Keep your secrets."
"Ah yes, speaking of secrets." It occurred to Zev that he ought to thank her for helping him with Taliesin, but an entirely different subject had found its way into their conversation. "You told me about Bann Vaughan. Why did you not tell me about your fiancé?"
The Warden's shoulder slumped, and she swallowed uncomfortably. "I suppose I didn't know what to say." She dipped a finger in the fountain and flicked a drop onto the water's surface, watching the concentric circles spread from the point. "It was an arranged marriage. I complained about it from the moment my father told me he'd purchased me a husband—that's how it works in the alienage, my father paid my fiancé's family because Nelaros was the one moving to our alienage. I didn't want to get married, but my father wanted so badly for me to settle down. I think he was worried that I would end up like my mother."
She seemed at a loss for words, so Zevran prompted, "He did not want to lose you as well."
Naia nodded, relieved. "Exactly. And I didn't want to lose him either, so I finally gave in and agreed. I met Nelaros that morning. We'd barely exchanged a few pleasantries before the priestess arrived. And then Vaughan and his men showed up. Nelaros was the only other person who came with Soris to the palace. I don't think he'd ever held a sword."
Tears came to her eyes; she scrubbed them away angrily with the back of her hand. "I barely knew him. I don't know if I have a right to mourn him. But he was a good man and he died because of me."
"He died because of Bann Vaughan. You know that," Zevran responded sharply.
Naia crossed her arms, hugging them to her chest. "Indeed? I could have refused the marriage, instead of giving in like a coward. Nelaros should never have been in our alienage that day."
Zevran looked at her helplessly, unsure of how to comfort her—and abruptly, that helplessness turned into frustration, and then into anger.
"Enough! The way you punish yourself for things other people do is infuriating," he snapped.
Naia turned her head to him, her eyes narrowing in anger, but his words came too quickly for her to respond. "Do you want to know what it means to be responsible for a death, my Warden? I watched Taliesin kill the woman I loved. Not only did I do nothing to stop it—I told him to do it, and rejected her when she begged for her life."
He watched Naia's face as she processed this story. Her mouth hung open slightly and her green eyes were wide; she seemed stunned.
She will hate me now. How could she not?
He looked away, turned his gaze back to the fountain, unable to watch her further. But then, finally, she spoke.
"Was that your last mission for the Crows, the one you wouldn't tell me about?"
He nodded, his eyes still fixed on the water.
"Will you tell me now?"
He chanced a glance to the side. Naia had stepped closer to him and was watching him with concern. "You don't have to," she added gently. "If you'd rather be alone—"
Zevran shook his head. "No. You helped me with Taliesin. You have a right, I think, to know."
He told the story as best he could, though it seemed as if every word cut deeper into his chest. He told her how Rinna's beautiful eyes and her cool, deadly confidence had won his heart, despite the Crows' efforts to turn that heart to stone. He shook his head in self-recrimination when he explained how proud he had been to win the merchant's contract, how excited to work with the two closest to him.
Then came the discovery that the merchant had knowledge of their mission and their identities. Rinna was not the spy, but she had been cleverly framed—and he and Taliesin had done what any good Crows would do if they thought a team member had betrayed them.
Mi amor, Zevran, she had pleaded.
And he had not saved her.
He realized, after a moment, that there was silence in the courtyard. When he looked over at Naia, there were tears on her cheeks—not for the dead stranger who might have been her husband, but for a girl she'd never met, and for him. "Zevran, I'm so sorry," she whispered.
His eyes met hers. "No one else in the Crows bid on the contract that brought me to Ferelden, you know. I took it because I wanted to die. And what better way than to throw myself at Grey Wardens? You can imagine my surprise when you spared my life."
Naia's brows drew together, worried. "Maker, Zev. Is that still what you want?"
He shook his head. "No. I want …"
Braska, what did he want? It had been so long since he had admitted to wanting anything besides a clean kill and an enthusiastic bedmate.
"I want to start over," he said finally. "To live a life away from the one I was sold into. And because of you, I have that chance. I owe you a great deal."
Naia's expression was sad and sympathetic and compassionate all at once. "You don't owe me anything, Zev. I can't count the times you've helped me. I—I'm really glad you're with us."
Tentatively, as if she thought he might pull away, she stepped towards him and put her arms around him.
The embrace was gentle, undemanding, completely unlike any contact he'd ever had with another person. Awkwardly, Zevran put his arms around her and held her, soaking in the comfort she offered.
And he realized that everything he'd felt for Rinna—the constant wish to be near her, the quiet fear of losing her, the anger when she hurt and the joy when she smiled at him, all of the things he'd once thought himself incapable of feeling—he was feeling again, for this woman. If Rinna had been everything he'd thought he wanted, Naia was everything he'd assumed he could never have. His fondness for her wasn't gratitude for her mercy, or admiration for her skills, or lust. He wanted more from her than kindness and camaraderie, even more than the pleasure of sharing her bed.
And it terrified him.
Breaking away from the embrace was almost physically painful. "I—we should both get some sleep. We have a Landsmeet tomorrow, no?"
Naia sighed. "We do, at that. I think I might follow Leliana's example and ask for a bath." She tilted her head at him. "You probably want to be alone. But you're welcome to join me, if you like."
For the first time since they had begun their liaison, Zevran almost said no. But then the idea of watching the Warden walk away from him made his breath stop in his chest.
He chuckled to hide his moment of indecision. "Hmmm. I could return to a cold and lonely bedroom, or share a bath with a beautiful woman. Let me think."
As Naia grinned at him, he reached for her hand and raised it to his lips. "I am yours."
Afterwards, alone in his bedroom, Zevran came to a decision.
He would fulfill his oath to Naia, stand by her side until the Archdemon lay dead. And then he would leave.
He could not stay with her. Whatever he felt, she could not possibly return those feelings—he knew that she cared for him, the way she cared for all those who followed her, but she had given him no indication that she saw their affair as anything other than a bit of fun between comrades-at-arms. And he could not risk failing her as he had failed Rinna. She deserved better than that. Better than him.
Yet something nagged at him, a sense that even if he helped her defeat the Blight, his debt to her would not be cleared.
Finally, he settled on a solution. He reached into a hidden pocket in his traveling pack, one stitched into the lining and carefully concealed. After a moment, his fingers found the narrow opening and he pulled out a little scrap of cloth. Slowly, he unwrapped it to reveal a jeweled earring, wrought handsomely in yellow gold.
He held it up in the candlelight, watching it sparkle. He had kept it close for years, and it made him a little sad to think of parting with it, but it was the only fitting gift he could think of for Naia. She could wear it or sell it as she pleased, but perhaps if she kept it she might remember him now and again.
With that decided, he finally slept.