epilogue
They were sitting together, a flask of wine which Zevran was complimenting as being 'nearly drinkable'. Alistair out of his armor, but almost back on form, much to his fellow grey warden's relief. The last few Banns were gathering for the landsmeet, and things seemed to be actually going to plan for once. They both knew it would not last, but Zevran had insisted that they have at least one night together with some wine and a enjoy the lull before the next crisis broke loose.
Even though he was wearing a loose shirt, Zevran still had a bandage wrapped around the length of his arm. The way he'd diverted every enquiry with just a touch of sharpness to his voice had meant Alistair had not pried too much as too what had happened. Lounging, as only the assassin could, he reached for a second glass.
"So Ferelden wine is not so bad then?"
"Only slightly more appealing than pond water." came the reply, with a wide flourishing gesture with his bad arm that caused him to wince. Alistair watched the elf try to mask his pain, but he could not hide the dark blotch starting to spread down his sleeve.
He quickly rose and brought over fresh bandages, and sat down beside him.
"Let me change that bandage. I can probably tie it tighter, and stop you undoing all Wynn's hard work."
"As you will...." Zevran had become quiet, and as Alistair carefully rolled up the now blood stained sleeve and unwind the bandages, he saw a terrible wound running down Zevran's arm. It was deep, and had some uneven stitches which obviously could not hold up to the flamboyant elf's movements. He hesitated, wondering if he should go fetch Wynn through to re-sew the gash, when Zevran shook his head.
"Strap it tight, and I'll try not to move it so much."
"A proper healer would make a better job of it than me are you sure?"
"Wynn, I believe, has threatened death upon anyone who disturbed her during her hot bath." That edge to his tone again, just enough of a warning guised under the comment to make Alistair frown. He said nothing, and did indeed bandage the arm, tight as he thought Zevran would be able to bear.
When he finished he passed the wine over, though he suspected Zevran may benefit from something stronger, if they could prize it from Oghren's hands.
"Thank you," and with an exaggerated motion with his other hand, Zevran tipped his glass at Alistair before draining the glass.
"Pond water..." he muttered, forcing a grin. "But good pond water at least."
Alistair had gone to fetch more wine, quietly collecting more fresh cloth for bandages should they need them. When he came back, Zevran was running his fingers over the damaged arm, staring into the fire. He'd drank fairly heavily, though Alistair suspected he was trying to combat the pain in his arm.
"It is from the fort, isn't it...." he said softly, setting the wine down and sitting by the small fireside.
"...Yes. "
Zevran had rescued Alistair from Fort Drakon 12 days ago, which left plenty of time for him to have gotten the wound almost entirely healed. He furrowed his brow, why would the elf chose to suffer the injury.
"Oh don't look at me like that..." Zevran sighed and swung his legs over the chair, so that they rested upon Alistair's thigh. He leaned in, and continued,
"Do you remember getting out of the fort?"
"Sort of... its all a bit hazy."
"We were nearly out. The sounds of the maddened mabrai were fading, but so was your strength. I was amazed you had made it so far, but I could see you were tiring, starting to stagger.
"There was a guard, some token man placed by the servants exit who had stuck to his post despite my careful orchestrated panic. He saw me, saw you and charged down the stairs with a sword. You had no armor, and made the easiest target, so he swept the sword down at you first. I'm not sure if you saw him or not, but you could not have moved fast enough, even if you wanted to. And when the blow came down, I found myself in the way, between you and him. I didn't have time to use a dagger against him, and my armor was not dense enough to protect me... You can see how deep it cut.
"I dispatched the guard, and dragged you out of that hellhole. And for the longest time I could not figure out why I stepped into his sword, it is not something I normally do, thank goodness. Then I realized, I'd done it to save you. It was no conscious decision, I just reacted to the threat.... it forced me to realize my feelings towards you, to acknowledge them. So I have been loathe to have it mended, I rather like the idea of having a reminder, even if it is a bit of an eyesore."
Zevran leaned back, confession finished and anxiously watched Alistair's eyes for reaction. Alistair simply rose to his knees, and kissed the assassin. Though by night Zevran gave up his body without reservation, his inner feelings remained secret. Alistair knew, from listening to a heated discussion between the assassin and the bard that Zevran was not one to speak of love, so he suspected that the confession might be as close as he would ever get to an admission of affection. When they finally parted lips, Zevran gave a wry smirk.
"Still, I hope any further revelations are a bit less painful."