After the celebratory feast, Naia quietly slipped away to her chamber and took another hot bath. Strictly speaking, she didn't need it, but she couldn't resist indulging herself after the months spent bathing in half-frozen streams. Besides, the heat soothed the ache in her head, a combination of the day's constant noise and the pull of Leliana's hairpins.

When the water started to cool, she stepped out and dried herself off, then walked over to the trunk where the servants had told her she could find her clothing. To her dismay, she found it filled with various silk fripperies—Leliana's idea, she had no doubt—but at the bottom of the chest she discovered a plain man's tunic, likely placed there by accident. It was much too large for her slim elven frame but she put it on anyway, ignoring the way it drooped off one shoulder.

Her chamber had a large window, and she pushed open the panes and breathed in the warm night, listening to the late celebrations in the Denerim streets. She wondered how things were going in the alienage. Shianni had admitted that there was much to be repaired, but she expected the elves too would be drinking to their successful defense of their home.

"You should not stand in a window, out in the open like that. It is a perfect place for an assassin's arrow to find you."

With a great wrench of will, Naia forced herself to not turn around. "Always thinking of work, eh, Zev?" she asked. Is he here to say goodbye?

Zevran didn't answer, not right away. Instead, he moved next to her and stood in silence for a moment, looking out at the city.

"Do you see any assassins taking aim at us?" she joked.

"I slept with Morrigan."

Naia's stomach did a sick little flip. This is what he'd come to tell her? She crossed her arms, hugging them close to her chest. "Oh, indeed? How was she?" she asked, as if she couldn't care less who else her fellow elf bedded.

Zevran shook his head with a frustrated growl. "You are missing my point entirely. The night before the battle, at Redcliffe. She had me steal a goblet from Riordan and drink some Darkspawn blood first. Does that sound familiar?"

The world spun around Naia. This is why I'm still alive. Maker, how? Why?

Her legs began to wobble, and she dropped her hands to steady herself on the windowsill. Her palms scraped against the stone as she fought for control. "Zev, you didn't," she whispered, her heart in her throat. "The Taint is a death sentence, you know that. Why?"

Her lover shook his head, his mouth tense. "I did it because she told me you would die if I did not. It seemed reason enough at the time."

"And now?"

Zevran's eyes met hers. "Now, I am the father of some sort of demon god. I dream of Darkspawn and I am always famished. And yes, it still seems reason enough, now. I did not wish you to die, my Warden."

Naia had no idea what to say, or what to feel. Anger seemed as good an option as any. "Oh, so it's back to 'my Warden' now, is it?" she snapped, pushing away from the windowsill and walking to the middle of the room. "Zev, you … you're impossible!" She spun back to face him, her hands flung up in exasperation. "You're in my tent every night, apparently happy enough to be there, and then all of a sudden you push me aside like I disgust you and you won't say two words to me. And now you're telling me that you drank Darkspawn blood and slept with Morrigan to save my life? What in the hells do you want me to say? You're the most confusing man in Thedas!"

"Oh, indeed?" Zevran asked, his upper lip curling. He crossed his arms defensively. "If you've only become confused since we reached Denerim, you have had it rather easy, my Warden. Ever since that first night in your tent I have been nothing but confused."

"Really. You seemed confident enough at the time," Naia taunted.

She expected Zevran to storm out, but he just closed his eyes and dropped his hands to his side, his fists clenched in frustration. "I … how can I explain this to you?" He drew a shuddering breath. "The Crows are trained to harden themselves, to focus on the kill. I did not want to feel the way I feel. Everything I have been taught says it is wrong, reckless, stupid—and I know all too well how these things can end. When I realized what you had become to me—I did not know what to say. When Morrigan came to me that night, all I knew was that I could not let you die." He opened his eyes, then, and met her gaze with a pained expression. "Do you understand me at all?"

Naia stood in stunned silence, her anger cooling as quickly as it had flared. Shianni's right. I am an idiot. She let out her breath in a silent rush. "I'm no better at this than you, Zev," she said finally. "But I ... I think I understand. I didn't know what to say either. When I … realized."

It wasn't exactly an eloquent declaration of her feelings. But Zevran seemed to understand. Hope flared in his eyes as he took a step towards her. "Is there a future for us, Naia?" he said tentatively. "Some possibility of … of ... I do not know what, exactly."

A future? How could anyone promise such a thing? Naia almost laughed, but she could see that Zevran was truly serious. The Blight was over, but what lay beyond that—how could she know? What could she hope to offer him?

"Come with me to Amaranthine," she said suddenly, reaching her hand out for his. "Help me rebuild the Wardens. I can't promise what will happen tomorrow, or after that, but … I would like to see what the future holds for us there."

Zevran closed his eyes. Naia was afraid she'd offended him until she saw the small smile curving his lips—not his usual arrogant grin, but something far more unsure. "Then that is enough for me," he said, stepping forward and taking her hand. "Yes. I will go with you to the Wardens, if you will have me."

Naia felt an answering smile pull at the corners of her mouth, and soon she was grinning, her face alight. "I wouldn't have asked if I didn't mean it, you idiot."

Zevran opened his eyes and looked at her. When he saw her smile, his grew to match. Gently, he cupped her face in his hands and pressed his mouth to hers.

The kiss was undemanding, almost chaste. Naia reveled in it for a moment, but she soon wanted more. Her lips parted and her arms wrapped around Zevran's body, pulling him close. She heard him groan in pleasure, and his kiss grew hungrier, more savage. One hand tangled in her damp hair; the other arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her hips into his. Naia moved her hands to his chest, tearing at the laces on his doublet, pushing the fabric open and pressing her palms against his skin. In response, his hand moved from her hair, down the length of her body, then slipped beneath her tunic.

When Naia couldn't stand it anymore, she broke the kiss, pressed her lips to his ear and whispered, "Care to join me in my bed?"

For once, Zevran had no joke for her. He merely laughed under his breath, then pulled her tunic over her head, threw it to the corner of her chamber, and pulled her back into his arms, running his hands over her bare skin, kissing her neck and shoulders as she arched herself against him. In the end, they never made it to the bed—Naia wasn't sure which of them pulled the other down to the floor, but she was soon gasping for breath, all coherent thought abandoned as her lover pressed his body against hers.

The next morning, when Naia woke, she found Zevran sleeping soundly beside her.