Chapter 12: No Words Necessary

In a few days their party was going to set out for Orzammar and the Deep Roads. Cat was excited and worried at the same time at the prospect. This would be the crucial test of her abilities as a Warden. No one went into the Deep Roads but a few hardy dwarves - and the Grey Wardens.

They had withdrawn into their room at the inn early that night. Cat took up her favourite place on the wooden bench in front of the window, with a view of Denerim's busy marketplace. She wasn't in the mood for talking tonight. She needed time to think.

Fondly she looked over at Zevran who was carefully disassembling and cleaning his favourite leather armour. One of the things she loved most about him was the way he took so much care with his gear and with his appearance. Approvingly she let her gaze travel over his immaculate white shirt, his carefully brushed and braided blond hair. He was scrubbing the leather breastplate with saddle soap, sponging away tiny spots of blood. When he was satisfied, he began to apply oil to the soft dark leather. Cat watched his hands, his long dexterous fingers moving with light quick strokes, and breathed in the fragrance of the leather and the oil. She felt utterly at peace with him.

Zevran looked up briefly and smiled at her pensive face. Much as he loved her vivacious temperament, it was moments like this that he enjoyed particularly. Sitting here quietly with her made him realize how close they had grown, how vital her presence had become for his happiness. Underneath all the pride and swagger all he really craved was to be with her. With a small contented sigh he reached for the Dalish leather gloves she'd given him and carefully began to remove some speckles of dirt with a soft cloth.

She smiled when she saw the gloves and let her thoughts drift back to the day when she'd found them at an abandoned campsite out in the Brecilian Forest. At the sight of the soft leather with its downy fur lining she had immediately been reminded of the heart-breaking story he had told her of his mother, and she knew she had found the perfect gift. He'd been deeply moved and had worn them ever since.

It seemed strange, she mused, that his mother had been Dalish. He was so different from the Elves they'd encountered in the Forest, those haughty creatures that would have preferred to avoid all contact with humans. Zevran seemed to have nothing in common with them. In fact, most of the time she didn't even think of him as Elven. Antivan, yes, with his tanned skin and exotic looks. An assassin, by all means, dangerous and lethal. But Dalish?

And yet - he had seemed subtly different during the time they'd spent with Zathrian's clan. She vividly recalled the nights at Sarel's campfire, where they had sat listening to his tales about Arlathan and the Dales. She smiled at the memory of Zevran sitting at her feet, his long lean body gracefully sprawled on the forest floor, more relaxed than she had ever seen him in the company of others. The young women of the Clan had openly shown her interest in the handsome stranger, watching Cat with barely concealed hostility whenever he touched her or looked at her. She frowned. They probably resented him wasting his precious Elven seed on a shemlen like her.

Although, to give them their due, the Dalish generally weren't given to open displays of affection. Remembering Cammen's embarrassed expression when she'd asked him about kissing Gheyna, she had to suppress a giggle at the thought of Zevran living among the Clan. Imagine him spending his life in a place where only married couples ever got to touch...

No, he didn't belong there. Neither could she imagine him living the sordid life of the City Elves in the Alienage. Like her, he was a misfit, who no longer had a place with his own people. Like her, he needed his freedom. Their home was the open road, away from the rules and traditions of society. She sent a silent prayer of thanks to the Maker for allowing the two of them to meet. And she knew with crystalline clarity that she couldn't lose him, that the mere thought of something bad happening to him was more than she could bear.

Zevran had been watching the emotions chasing each other on her expressive face for some time. Now he finished cleaning and carefully stowed away soap and oil in his pack, placing the polished leather at just the right distance to the fireplace. He got up and came over to her, joining her on the bench.

"You're deep in thought tonight, carissima," he remarked as he took hold of her bare foot and let his hand run firmly along her instep, then up her calf.

She looked into his eyes, seeing only tenderness and a hint of concern. Moving over into his lap, she pressed her body close to his.

"Oh Zev, I love you so much," she whispered. He kissed her wordlessly, pulling back to look into her eyes, his fingers softly tracing her lips. He had given up chiding her when she talked of love, realising that she was far too stubborn to be dissuaded. Besides, deep down inside they both knew that it was true, that she loved him, needed him like the air she breathed, and that he felt the same way about her. Yet he'd never say the words aloud, driven by a superstitious fear that this would break the spell, drive them apart. It had bothered her for a long time, but tonight she found, much to her surprise, that she no longer cared. She didn't need him to put into words what he was telling her incessantly with his looks, his kisses, his whole body.

Huddling closer to him, she rested her head against his chest, content to just sit there, listening to his heartbeat. Together they watched the sun go down, painting the roofs of Denerim a deep dark red.