"Carmela was joking. Tell me she's having me on." Taliesen slammed his brandy glass down on the table, knocking his chair on its side as he stood up and stormed over. "I didn't really find out that the Zevran whose mournful arse I have covered for the last six months has put in a bid for the SOLO WARDEN CONTRACT!"
Zevran folded his arms and raised his eyebrows at the looming, incandescent bulk. "You did, in fact."
He heard the slap to his cheek more than he felt it. There was enough bite in it to warrant staggering, but he'd have been on the floor if Taliesen had meant to put him there.
"You little shit. What fucking hot water you've landed yourself in this time. You and a handful of local hires against Grey Wardens!" Taliesen let out a groan, his shoulders crumpling like a concertina. "Why, Zev? You can't even get through a normal job without help. I chose the three-threes contract to keep it easy 'til you came good again. We'll get a master contract soon. We're doing well, even without Rin–"
"Enough, Taliesen–"
"No. No, it fucking isn't enough," Taliesen held up two fingers. "Here's two truths for you, my darling. Number one, Rinna is– shut up and listen!– Rinna is dead. And number two, because she's dead, that makes me the planner again. 'Cause let me tell you something, Zev: your plans are horrid. Why is that, hmm? Why are your plans always so horrid?"
Zevran scoffed. "I cannot imagine."
§
"So if I have understood correctly, my Grey Warden: my strategy tonight is to stay behind you as you cast spells?"
They paused as Rhodri fastened a leather utility belt around her, cinching her huge robe in until her top half looked like a collapsed hourglass. Her hands checked and re-checked the holsters keeping three flasks of lyrium in place.
"Essentially, yes. If one of these creatures accosts you from behind, let me know and I'll handle it. Or you can kill it, if you feel up to it."
"Ooh. I do love a little action, myself."
The Warden chuckled and sighed, gently motioning for them to walk again. "It'd be nice if someone knew what these things are. I'd have a better strategy if we had more information than the descriptors 'evil' and 'monsters'."
"We know they come out at night, they kill en masse, and slink away," he mused. "I am not sure what that could be. Wolves, I might have guessed, or some nocturnal animal, but surely the villagers would recognise them."
"I would think so. If I were feeling fanciful, I might've guessed something magical was afoot."
"Oh?"
"It's possible a maleficar is summoning wraiths or some other Fade creatures. Their eyesight's poor this side of the Veil, so they navigate by the emotional energies around them." Rhodri rubbed her chin. "If someone wanted to kill a whole village, setting them on frightened people in the dark is a sure-fire winner."
"Ah."
"But then it begs the question," she waved a finger now, "why would a maleficar target Redcliffe? Ferelden's impossible to invade, and there's no opportunity for a mage here. Now Tevinter's a different story. There, they could train in more tasteful magic and step into a cushy job. Talk about staying where you're not appreciated."
Zevran choked out a shocked laugh. "Does this sort of thing happen often in Tevinter, my Grey Warden? Mages fleeing the rest of Thedas and amassing a grand fortune in your fine country?"
She wobbled her head from side to side like he'd asked her opinion on jam. "Not really. Even with schooling, most mages are average, and average mages are only rich if they're born or marry into wealth. No, I'd say someone very powerful is behind this."
"... Yet you do not seem worried."
His pint splashed in his belly as she gave a shrug.
"I'm a powerful mage, too. So is Morrigan. That's two against one already, and Alistair's Templar skills are also very useful."
"Mm…? There is no possibility of more than one of these maleficars?"
"Hah! It's already unlikely that one gifted maleficar is squandering their time here. Once we get into the multiples, it's the stuff of fantasy."
Zevran caught his eyebrow rising and promptly put it back down.
"Hm-hmm!" Rhodri grinned. "I saw that. You disagree? Do you want to make a bet?"
He pursed his lips to school his nervous laugh into a sultry hum. "Now there's a thought. What would you desire if you win, my lovely Grey Warden?"
"Let's see… if I bet there are no maleficarum and win, you can tell me a story. Doesn't have to be long or true, or even good. Just a story. What do you think? Is that fair?"
"Oh yes, very fair indeed. And if there are maleficars behind this, you tell me a story, yes?"
"Right! It's a deal. Now, let's cover some safety pointers before we start practising."
The Warden's speech on magical hazard prevention was brief and absurdly commonsensical. Standing between a caster and the target was unwise, as was standing too close to the target, in the event of friendly fire. Do not distract the mage mid-spell, if possible.
When the Warden urged that he do his utmost to avoid being hit by a mage's staff or limbs in the event of unpredictable flailing, the last of Zevran's willpower dissolved and he fell into paroxysms of snorting laughter. And at this point, why not? If she were to kill him for it, it would at least be quicker and less gory than an unidentified monster disembowelling him.
When he had calmed enough to look at her, Rhodri was fixing him with a crooked smile as she rocked on her feet.
"You may laugh, my friend," she wagged a finger playfully, "but getting a hand or staff to the face makes up the bulk of magical injuries to bystanders!"
Zevran bit his lips together. The second onslaught of mirth came out like sobs as he glanced at Rhodri's staff. Gnarled, sickly twig of a thing it was. Between the two of them, the staff would come out the worse for wear if it hit him in the face.
Unless…
"Do… ah…" he broached, sobering with remarkable speed, "magical injuries come from touching the staff?"
The Warden shook her head. "Not unless you have lyrium affliction. You're safe with me if you do, though, because my staff isn't enchanted. I have the affliction, too, you see."
He frowned. "I have never heard of such an ailment, but I suppose I could have it? How would I know if I did?"
"Well, most of the people who have it are mages, so it's unlikely. Have you ever touched lyrium or an enchanted object before?"
Zevran nodded. "One of my better daggers, I believe, is enchanted."
"Any itching, pain, burning, bleeding, or blistering when it's close to you?"
"Not unless I accidentally cut myself with it."
Rhodri smiled. "No lyrium affliction for you, then."
"But you do have it?" He pointed his nose half-heartedly at the potions strapped to her hip.
"Mmm. The lyrium's safe like this. No fumes get out through the glass or cork."
"You drink it, though." He had meant it as a question, but it came out more as a statement.
The Warden's face hardened. "If I must, yes." She shook her head as if she'd caught herself being too serious, and fixed him with a careful smile that chilled his guts. "But that's not for you to worry about. Tell me, Zevran, do you dance?"
He raised his eyebrows at the irrelevant and frankly unnecessary question. "We are Northerners, my Grey Warden."
She grinned and rolled her eyes. "All right, all right. My fault for not being more specific. Are you good at dancing? Can you hold a rhythm?"
A cheeky smile was on his face before he could think to put it there. "My answer remains the same."
"Aeya, you're a wag! Look, the reason I ask is because we should start practising, and you'll find my combat drills to be very similar to a dance. If you'll follow me over to this little clearing with the wall, I'll show you what I mean…"
They strode over to a barren, cork-earth patch beside the Chantry with a crumbling stone wall on its perimeter.
"Now, I'll go through a drill, and we'll take it from there, yes? Watch for the spell boundaries."
The moment Zevran nodded, the Warden was facing the boulder, holding her staff as though she intended to run someone through with it. The air between them fell into a stifling stillness. When he was uncomfortable enough to try fidgeting a breeze into existence, small currents picked up near the back of the staff.
The sound of a whip crack had Zevran darting back, knife at the ready, in time to see a series of pearlescent orbs leave the business end of Rhodri's staff. They hissed through the air into the stone wall, where they burst open like fistfuls of powder and fizzled into nothingness. He kept his mortified scowl to himself, stepping back and resheathing the blade before she could catch him with it.
Besides, had he not been disappointed that her spells were amateurish and invisible? If the Warden did have the capacity for magic that twisted the air and summoned stars out of nowhere, it was clearly for special occasions. Not for him, healing or harming– and rightly so.
He was already smiling as Rhodri looked over her shoulder.
"Bit like an Antivan two-step, don't you think? Shall I do it again?"
Zevran froze. Had anyone asked him to recount the auditory and visual fancies of the last few seconds, he could have supplied copious details. Information on how the Warden had moved around to facilitate these, however, was rather more scarce.
"Yes, please!" The answer was rather more eager than he had intended, but if anything, she was thrilled by it. With a jolly nod, she turned back to the rock.
Zevran watched closely as she started up again. The staff was sweeping around her like she was rowing both sides of a boat, moving in fluid, precise motions. By his reckoning, two of him could have stood behind her without being hit. Moving with her perfectly, it might have gone up to three. Even a novice could have knifed her flank with ease. Oh, this mage would be in terrible trouble without him at her back.
As the second drill finished and the Warden turned around again, he smiled and nodded approvingly, if a little unevenly.
"Lovely footwork, my dear Grey Warden. I am quite confident these creatures do not know what trouble awaits them! All those stars and crackles, such raw power… mmm! You are a marvel!"
Rhodri shook her head. "Not raw power. If you can see or hear a spell, it usually means the caster isn't concentrating hard enough. Those noises and stars are Fade energy escaping."
Zevran's thumbs twitched so violently they flicked his legs. "Ah," he croaked.
"... Zevran?" The Warden's hand had barely begun to reach out before it drew back. Unexplained comprehension widened her eyes.
"Ah! The magic is frightening. Yes, I remember you were nervous when I talked about it on your first night with us, too. You were staring at me just like you are now." She gave him a sympathetic smile. "You must have heard a lot of disturbing things about mages."
He forced a smirk before the horror could paralyse him. "Hmm! I have read tales of angry mages turning people into toads, it's true."
"Hah! Those stories are pure grot. Especially the shapeshifting ones." She chortled. "In my experience, angered mages like to target the eyebrows with a growth spell. You wouldn't believe how many apprentices came to me with brow hair down to the waist after an argument."
Distract her.
"... How many?"
Rhodri nibbled her lip. "Ooh… probably happened once or twice a week. Very popular revenge tactic. The Templars were usually laughing too hard to punish anyone, see."
She waved a hand. "We're off-topic! My point is: if you're worried, it's all right. Over the years I've taught sixty-three children. How many do you think came to me unafraid of magic?"
He shook his head.
"Four. You're not alone. I promise you, though, that your safety matters to me. If I didn't care, I wouldn't insist on practising together now."
Zevran had to say something, but how did one get words out through a locked mouth?
By the time he'd managed to unlatch it, Rhodri's shoulders had drawn up in a slow, tight shrug.
"That didn't really help, did it?" she said softly. "I'm sorry, Zevran. I don't know you well enough yet to know what calms you best."
"No, no," he began, the overdue words falling out at a blather. "Not at all necessary. Forgive me, I–"
Rhodri gently held up a hand to silence him. "You need to be at least somewhat settled before tonight. If my spellcasting makes you jumpy, you could get hurt, and I don't want that for you." She puffed out a sigh. "Look, maybe we just need an uncomfortable truth for now."
That wild, half-witted laugh was threatening again. An uncomfortable truth. An.
"Had I intended to harm you, I already would have. Very effectively, too. And if you wanted to, you could do the same to me, when my back is turned." She shrugged again, much more loosely this time. "But I like you. I don't want to hurt you, and you obviously have no interest in killing me. So far, neither of us have laid a finger on each other, or even raised our voices."
Zevran clapped a hand over his heart. "You have my word, my Warden, that I have only your very good health in mind."
She nodded. "I know. I need you to know I prioritise your health, too. We'll take as long as possible now to make you more comfortable, but if you're still not settled by then, you might need to find solace in a calculated risk tonight." Rhodri gave him a small smile, shifting from foot to foot. "I'm a better bet than the monsters, after all. Well, at least until I have to identify herbs, anyway."
He squeezed out a laugh. The Warden brightened immediately, bringing her hands together and rubbing them with a chuckle of her own.
"Right! Let's get back to it, then. Shall I do another drill?"
§
For all its weakness during working hours, the Fereldan summer sun put in a long day. It felt somewhere near midnight when it finally disappeared (to spend a few hours wheezing and gasping, he presumed). Even then, the sky was unflatteringly bright as Zevran watched the moon rise from his place in front of the Redcliffe windmill. The Warden stood like a sentinel to his right, and the rest of the party was sandwiched between them and the decidedly inebriated townsfolk-cum-soldiers.
"Almost time, I suppose," he mused aloud, fingering the pommel of his dagger. "I hope these monsters do not come late to our party, after all the effort we have taken tonight."
The Warden chuckled and looked over at him. Her expression fell back into the usual severity as she ran her eyes over his face.
"It will be all right, Zevran," she informed his cheek gently. "You shadowed me excellently while we practised. Not a single scratch on either of us! Absolutely nothing to worry about in that regard."
He blessed the Maker twice over as a thud sounded from behind them and Rhodri's gaze returned to the front.
"Was that the third drunken militia member to topple down," she asked serenely, "or the fourth?"
Zevran didn't bother to hide his snicker as slurs of 'I'll help y'up' preceded a gasp of surprise and another thud. "I believe we are at five, now."
"Hmm," she nibbled her lip. "I think it might've been unwise of Bella to announce those free drinks, you know. Whatever these monsters are, I hope fire isn't their weakness. If our comrades here," she jerked her head over her shoulder, "get too close while I'm casting, they'll go up like a torch."
He laughed through his nose. "Let us hope, for their sake, it will not come to that. On the bright side, though, once they're down, they are unlikely to move from where they are. Perhaps if you need to cast fire and they are in the way, we could have someone roll them down the hill to the Chantry."
A loud guffaw burst out of the Warden before she pressed her fist over her mouth. She cleared her throat, "Sorry. That was probably meant to be serious, but what a thought!"
"Oh, I was only half-joking there. Stranger things have happened."
"Like standing in an odd little village waiting to fight unidentified things?"
Zevran glanced at the castle behind her. A putrid yellow mist had escaped the highwalled confines, flooding across the drawbridge like a lanced boil.
"I do not think we'll need to wait much longer to identify them, my Grey Warden." He pointed his nose at the spectacle in the distance.
The Warden looked over her shoulder and chuckled. "Hah," she said under her breath. "That time already, is it?"
She nudged Tomas, the man who had stopped them upon first entering Redcliffe, and indicated the castle. Tomas nodded, and with a yell that made the Warden flinch back and scowl ("Maker's tits, you don't have to be so loud…"), he had started a chain reaction of unsheathing weapons, frenzied prayers, and the occasional bloodthirsty, drunken roar.
Facing her own party, a rattled Rhodri motioned for them to come closer.
"Well," she said with a thin smile. "Our time has come. We're ready, yes?"
"Down to the last detail," Morrigan huffed. "If you revisit your plan once more, I shall start to forget things."
Rhodri hummed wryly. "If only we had details. Well, in any case, we all know what to do. Mind your stamina. Rest by the Chantry if you're tired. Protect it as much as you can, watch out for each other, and come to me if you need healing."
Alistair drew his sword in one neat motion, his face hardening as he watched the approaching fog. "Right."
With a flick of the Warden's hands, shields swelled up around each party member– except Zevran.
"Zevran?" She smiled gently at him. "Are you ready for your shield?"
It took an unfairly large effort to suppress a mortified wince.
Is my hair golden enough to pass for hay? I could hang myself up in a field with the scarecrows overnight and take my chances.
Shelving the ridiculous temptation, he rested a hand on his hip and pouted his lips. "Oh, yes. Do please lavish me with your marvellous spells, my dear Warden."
She snorted, and one flicked hand later, he stood in a bubble of his own.
A hushed prayer from Leliana coincided with a mouldering reflection of Redcliffe's own army appearing, shambling down the hill in piecemeal bodies and rotting armour.
From Zevran's right, the Warden hissed a string of profanities.
"I don't believe– Morrigan! Are you seeing this?"
The witch drew up beside them, expressionless and humming softly in agreement. "The dead walk, it seems."
Rhodri twisted her head and eyed the ashen-faced Tomas in open disbelief.
"You told me nobody knew what they were!" she exclaimed, throwing a hand in the direction of the approaching horde. "They're corpses! How can you not know what a bloody corpse is? It's you, but dead!"
The man's indignant splutters fell away as she let out a low groan and beckoned to Zevran.
"Let's go. Honestly, you couldn't make something like this up…"
They snapped into a jog. Zevran took longer than he should have to thank the Maker for the belt that kept Rhodri's robe from catching the breeze and accosting his face as he moved behind her.
Dodge, dodge, swivel-step, dodge, dodge. Check behind- clear. Dodge, dodge, swivel-step…
He couldn't help but snort to himself. The displaced Antivan hireblade, whiling away a war in a dance with the back of a shadow. The spells were silent, and the effort of filtering out the toppling drunks and singing steel to catch the sound of an impact strained his ears.
At some point, the Warden began to wheel around. He checked his back and was already behind her by the time she said his name.
"Break for a moment. I think they can handle the rest," she nodded in the direction of the handful of corpses still standing, outnumbered by their party alone. "Let's see if we can't help some of the casualties, hmm?"
Zevran followed her over to a ghostly man who lay ashiver in a half-halo of scarlet dirt. The sword was out of his wound but still in his hand, and blood poured out of him like a broken wine cask.
He raised a hand that she never saw. "My Warden?"
"Mmm?"
"We cannot help him."
She paused and looked at Zevran. "Why not?"
He shook his head, keeping his voice low and gentle. "He has lost too much blood. The sword was in his liver, you see?" He drew a finger over the same spot on his own torso. "Many veins and such there. He should not have taken the sword out."
The Warden glanced over at the shivering man and sighed.
"Allow me," he indicated his dagger, making to step forward. "It is better than leaving him to suffer, and I am quite used to doing it."
Her arm went out in front of him. "No. It's not for you to do that sort of thing any more." She shook her head, mercifully paying no heed to the way Zevran's eyes widened without his say-so. "I'll do it. I just… you're quite sure there's nothing we can do for him?"
Zevran pinched his thigh to force some sense into himself. "I am sure, yes. I have plenty of training in knowing when someone is beyond saving." He pointed his nose at the man. "He is very close to the end now, my Warden. He should be attended to quickly."
He heard her swallow; she nodded.
"I believe you."
She went and knelt down by the man, brushing the damp hair out of his eyes and murmuring softness Zevran heard in spite of himself. A simple turn of the hand was all it took to freeze the body, another to unfreeze it, and she rose to her feet again, scrubbing her hands as she did.
He inclined his head to her respectfully, the relief crowding out uneasy thoughts of being gratuitously frozen himself.
She spoke before he could. "Thank you, Zevran. He might have suffered with me, if I'd tried what I was thinking."
His smile was already in place, a modest reply all but leaving his mouth as a panicked footsoldier screamed his way into earshot from downhill.
"THE CHANTRY! THEY'RE DOWN BY THE CHANTRY! YOU HAVE TO HELP US!"
Rhodri's mouth fell open. "I don't believe–"
"ANOTHER ROUND OF THEM!" Came Tomas' voice from further up the hill. Zevran glanced in the direction Alistair had bolted and sure enough, a second swarm was departing the castle.
"I believe they are asking us to be in two places at once," he remarked wryly. "If only it were possible, hmm?"
The Warden's eyes widened. "Perhaps we can't be in both places physically, but with magic we can make it as though we were… Maker's tits, you're a genius!" She beamed. "We'll light a grease fire, kill them that way!"
"Provided the fire actually kills them," Zevran added quickly, "lest we end up having to deal with flaming undead. Could something be done to trap them, perhaps?"
"That's a good point! Mmm– ooh! Morrigan might be able to help there!"
They weaved through the first-wave stragglers until they reached the witch, who was shaking her head in disgust at the onslaught coming down the hillside.
"This is unsustainable, Warden," Morrigan barked. "This handful of novices will not survive a second, let alone a third or fourth visitation of these creatures. 'Tis useless!"
"I know. Listen, Morrigan, how are you with earth spells?"
The witch raised an eyebrow. "You intend to bury us alive to spare our pride?"
"Hm? No, no, nothing like that. I want a crack in the earth wide and deep enough for them to fall into."
"'Tis merely delaying them, to trap them in something like that," Morrigan shook her head. "They can climb."
"Line it with ice so they can't grip. I can go further up, grease them, and set them alight. They'll fall into it and burn to death before they can get out. Most of them, at least."
Zevran flitted his gaze between the urgently eager Warden and her blank-faced counterpart. The silence grew heavier until the latter shrugged.
"Very well, have it your way. I shall start work on the crevice. I suggest you hurry, though, as they draw rather close."
Rhodri grinned. "Thirty seconds? Enough time for a holiday. Come on, Zev!" She let out a laugh and broke into a run before his stomach could finish dropping at the unexpected name.
A hard shove to the back sent him stumbling forward.
"Get out of the way, elf," Morrigan spat from behind him. "Unless you wish to be at the very bottom of this crevasse."
Zevran burst into a sprint without looking back and quickly caught up to the Warden, who was already dousing the incline ahead with a lake of pearlescent slick.
"Are you ready?" she said over her shoulder, face shining with sweat and gleameyed enthusiasm. "This is the good bit!"
"I was born ready for the good bit," he purred.
"I won't keep you waiting any longer, then!" A small tongue of flame materialised on the grease and rolled up the hill, carpeting the earth in a blockish inferno that blazed taller than Alistair.
"Warden, will you get a move on?" came Morrigan's impatient voice from behind. "I cannot widen this before you have crossed it!"
Rhodri grinned at him. "No admiring our handiwork today. We'd better go before she kills us."
A foolish laugh escaped him before he could stop it, and Rhodri joined in, twice as loud and three times as ridiculous as she waved him into a run with her. They cleared the gap with a dramatic spring that won a satisfying 'ugh' from Morrigan. The witch struck her staff once, twice, three times on the ground, and the gap yawned until it was too wide for even a galloping horse to clear.
"Ooh, marvellous! Keep an eye on that thing, would you, Morrigan?" The Warden beamed at her. "We'll see to the nuisances by the Chantry."
Had she waited for a response, Rhodri would have seen the sort of eyeroll that turned knowing recipients to stone. Zevran suppressed the urge to sigh– they were, after all, running away before they could witness the 'good bit' in action– and hurried down the hill after her.
§
Zevran noted with delight that the incursion that had dragged them away from the pyrotechnics show uphill was smaller in number than the first two waves. Five or ten fewer– but fewer nonetheless!
And, better still, with the sky finally dark, the fiery patch was easily observed from the bottom of the hill, obscured as it was by fir trees and long grass. Between the usual ducking and dodging in synchrony with the Warden's massive, shrouded form, stolen glances were worth gold.
It was outright ungratefulness to will the sun away when it threatened at the horizon again and drowned out the silhouette of the fire. Zevran's apology to the Maker was easily given upon seeing the last of the undead flee back toward the castle. He gave another apology with far more sincerity when the exhausted, bloodstained party found themselves assembled at the front of the Chantry. Bann Teagan stood to their left, the survivors in front, and a sea of corpses– their side who went down in battle, those that couldn't be saved afterward, and the maleficars' lackeys all together, spanning out behind them all the way to the water's edge.
The man was making a grand speech of sorts that had the rapt attention of everyone but the Warden. Zevran watched on curiously as she frowned and rubbed at the grime on her wrists and robes with increasing irritability, not even stopping when the Bann turned to her and began addressing her.
"Ah… Warden?" Teagan cleared his throat politely. "Ser Grey Warden? I was, ah… just saying that we have some food ready, if you and your party would join us for a quick repast."
Rhodri looked up and nodded. "Thank you, I heard you. My party can do as they please, but I must wash and put on clean clothes before I eat."
The Bann shared a glance with Alistair.
"They'll have wet cloths to clean your hands with in the Chantry, Rhod," Alistair said, "but you'd have to go back to camp for anything else. The post-battle meal is only twenty-odd minutes, so we'd be done by the time you get back."
"Quite fine. I'll eat at the camp, then."
Another, rather more uneasy glance, which the Warden appeared to miss. Good manners, however, snapped back into place for the Bann with the quickness befitting of nobility.
"Of course," he inclined his head. "Please tell me if you would like anything from the meal, or anything else."
"Thank you, we have food at the camp I was planning to eat. My companion, however," Zevran's stomach dropped as she indicated him, "is without a tent. I would appreciate it if you could supply him with one. I'm happy to pay, of course."
Teagan blinked. His mouth opened and closed, and then opened again. "Yes, of course. I will see to the tent immediately, no payment needed." He clapped his hands together decisively. "In that case, shall we go?"
"You shouldn't go back there alone, Rhod," Alistair protested. "Really. Just… ten minutes? Eat and go? I'll go back with you early, even."
The Warden's face hardened. She rocked on her feet a little. "You know I always clean up before I eat dinner."
"I think we're probably closer to breakfast now, actually–"
"But this isn't breakfast," she insisted, her tone straining. "I didn't wash, and I haven't slept. I need to sleep. But I need to eat before I do that, and before I eat I need to wash and get these dirty clothes off."
The exchange was pulling glances from sober passers-by, and outright stares from the drunken ones. Bann Teagan and the party hovered halfway between them and the doors to the Chantry, gaze wandering in every direction but the relevant one.
"Perhaps I will go with you, my Grey Warden," the words fell out of Zevran's mouth like water, stunning him in the process, "I could do with a change of clothes, myself. I would hate for the grime to stain my leathers."
"Not bloody likely–" Alistair began.
"Zevran has been at my back the entire night," Rhodri cut him off firmly. "I am well, as you see. In fact, he helped to plan the firewall that kept you from being overwhelmed uphill. As far as I'm concerned, he has more than proven himself to be a remarkable addition to our party."
She took the Templar's hands in hers and gave him a wan but genuine smile. "I'm going to leave for camp now. Please go and eat. Enjoy your food and the company, and when you come, you can bring the tent with you, or have me come down to collect it."
Zevran jumped to attention as she turned to him.
"Are you ready to go?"
He nodded quickly. Not having it in him to take in the looks of the others as they left, he watched the path ahead, the Warden's praise rattling in his head the entire way back to camp.
Language notes
Aeya- A gentle, playful scolding. About as harsh as calling someone a silly sausage.