Eriana waited a few days before confronting Alistair, and not because she enjoyed watching the man squirm. After getting the whole story from Zevran and Ogren the next morning, Eriana needed a few days to calm herself down so she didn't end up saying something she would regret. Oh, she was furious at the templar, there was no doubt about that, but she tried to remind herself that Alistair had a tendency to be a teensy bit emotional and a bit prone to overreact. Well, maybe very emotional and emotional and very prone to overreact. He had her best interest at heart, she tried to tell herself, but that didn't change the fact that he had punched Zevran and tied him up while she was struggling for life. She shuddered to think what would have happened if she hadn't made it. Shivering, she rolled over and nuzzled her head against Zevran's chest, receiving a light kiss on the top of the head in response before the assassin returned his attention to the book he had been reading. Leliana's copy of The Rose of Orlais had been making its way around the party, much to the bard's amusement.

"You know he is on watch right now," Zevran said, setting the book aside for a moment.

"So?"

Zevran stroked the top of her head, running his fingers through her hair. "While I wouldn't normally suggest that my lover go to reconcile things with her former love, especially one who so recently broke my nose, keeping him waiting for your wrath like this is simply cruel." He looked down at her. "You need to talk to him. Now seems to be the ideal opportunity, no?"

"No," she said burying her head further into his chest, "Can't I just run him through? That would be easier, and probably cleaner."

Zevran chucked, "But alas, Fereldan needs a king, yes? And he happens to be the only royal bastard that we have on hand." He lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. "Go to him, you need to work this out, and you know it." He kissed her gently on tip of her nose. "I will be here when you finish, my dear Warden."

Groaning, Eriana sat up and pulled on her cloak and breeches. Zevran was right, as usual. Giving her assassin a quick kiss, she darted out of their tent into the cool night air. She saw Alistair sitting by the fire, poking at it with his sword. Eriana walked over to him and crossed her arms, looking down at him for a moment.

"Look, before you bite my head off, can I at least explain? You can feed me to the archdemon after if you want, but can I explain first?" Eriana motioned for him to continue. "When I found you guys, all I saw was you, lying there covered in blood and wounds, and beside you stood Zevran, his weapons at his feet, drenched in your blood, looking completely defeated. There was nothing else there, just you lying there dying and him beside you, his daggers on the ground. What else could I think? And once we got him back to the camp, he wouldn't say a word; he just stared at your tent."

"Alistair, did it ever occur to you that he was worried about me? That he was afraid I wouldn't make it?

"No! Of course not! Why would he care? He's a cold-blooded murder, Eriana; he's evil."

Eriana took several deep breaths before she sat down beside Alistair. Trying very hard to keep her voice level and calm, she said, "Then so am I. I am a murder, Alistair; does that make me evil too?"

"That's not the same, and you know it. You didn't have a choice; you were just defending yourself."

Eriana shook her head. "No, I had a choice. Vaughan was on his knees, begging me to spare his life. He offered me money, freedom, anything I wanted if I would spare him. I chose to kill him. Does that make me evil?" She paused for a moment. "How about this, when I was fourteen and my father was too devastated by my mother's death to work, I picked pockets in the market for a few months so that I could buy food. Does that make me evil? No, wait, there's one more. When I was a teenager working in the tavern, noble men would slip money into my pocket and threaten to turn me into the guards. They told me that I could keep the money if they enjoyed themselves. So, in effect, I was paid for sex, so I guess I'm a whore too. How about that Alistair; I'm a thieving, murdering, whore; does that make me evil?"

"That's not the same, and you know it. You say you had a choice, but you did those things to survive."

"But they were still wrong in your eyes, right? I still stole; I killed; I got paid for sleeping with men. Those are all things the chantry forbids, yes? But I don't feel guilty for a single thing that I did, and I don't regret it for a minute. I did what I felt I had to do to survive. In the real world, good and evil isn't as clearly defined as it is in the Chant of Light. There is a gray area where most people are forced to choose between survival and what the chantry deems moral or right. I did what I did to stay alive; it's a lesson you learn young in the ailenage. So let me ask you a question; why are you okay with my past but not Zevran's?"

Alistair sighed, "Probably because Zevan seems to enjoy the life he has. Killing doesn't bother him like it does you. You may not regret what you've done, but you just admitted that you know it was wrong. He doesn't seem to know that, or even care."

"And who are you to judge him? Have you even considered what he has been through in his life? Just think about how and where he was raised. How can you expect him to have the same morals that you do?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Alistair asked.

"It has everything to do with it, Alistair. I want you to think about what he has been through in his life; just think about it. His mother was a prostitute who died giving birth to him, so he begins life feeling guilty and responsible for that. He was raised by whores who cared nothing for him. For the first six years of his life, he watched men and women sell themselves and sell the illusion of love. He saw physical love but never had anyone who cared for him, who loved him. He was beaten, knocked around, ignored, barely fed, and then sold to the Crows.

"Now, at the tender age of seven, he is taught that murder is a way of life; the only way to survive. He was taught to fight, to seduce; to deceive; he was beaten, tortured, and force-fed poisons to build his immunity. He was pinned against other children and watched the weak ones die around him. Every sign of weakness, compassion, or fear earned him another beating. He learned to be cold, to shut off emotion, to kill to survive."

Eriana was quiet for a moment. "I never told you how I found him in the fade, did I?" Alistair shook his head. "He was being tortured by the Crows, being racked. Somehow, he found himself back in Crow training, trying desperately to prove he could tolerate pain, that he was brave enough to be a Crow." Eriana looked down at her feet, "It was absolutely heartbreaking to see what he had been forced to endure for years. His life has been full of pain and deceit, not a moment of true compassion or love. He wasn't taught right and wrong as you were in the chantry; he was taught strength means life, weakness means death. How could you possibly judge him by the same standards?"

Alistair looked down at his feet. "Look, Alistair, I know that there were many things missing from your childhood too and that Isolde made things difficult for you, but even when things were the worst for you, it was still far better than anything Zev ever had. You never had to be afraid of being beaten for showing a little emotion. You always knew where your next meal was coming from. There was always some kind of security in your life." Eriana reached over and toughed the amulet that was resting against his chest. "And there was love, someone who did care for you. You never really had to struggle to survive till now. Zevran never had any of that; life has been a constant struggle for him, and yet, through it all, deep down he is still a good person. There is good in him; I know it. The Crows didn't beat every good thing out of him; it's there if you take time to see it."

She got up, patting him on the shoulder. "I'm not saying you have to like Zev; I doubt that's even possible. Just try to see where he's coming from and imagine how that's affected him, then maybe you might not be as quick to judge him." She turned to head back to her tent, but stopped after a few steps, "Oh, and just so you know, if you ever do anything like that to him again, you may find yourself walking back to Redcliff alone, unless, of course, you actually see him stab me, then you're good to go. Got it?"

"Yeah, I got it. Good night, Eriana," said Alistair turning back to the fire as she walked away. "Hey, Eriana, can I ask you one more question?" She turned and looked back at him. "Do you love him?"

Zevran hadn't intended to stay awake and listen to the confrontation between Alistair and his Warden. He didn't particularly enjoy listening her yell at people, even if Alistair did deserve it. But try as he might, he was soon too engrossed in the conversation to simply roll over and go to sleep. So he listened as Alistair defended his actions, and Zevran had to admit, the templar made sense. He would probably have assumed the same thing had he been in Alistair's ugly, practical boots. When Zevran heard Morrigan approaching in her wolf form, he had put Eriana down, believing he had to fight off a wolf attack. He had been so relieved to see the witch that he just dropped his weapons and stood there watching as she worked to save his Warden. Everything after that had been a blur for Zevran; his every thought focused on the woman fighting for life in the tent. He didn't even realize how truly concerned he had been till later that night as Eriana slept in his embrace, but by then, he was so relieved that he didn't care about the implications of his feelings. That night had changed things for the two of them, but neither of them seemed willing to discuss or even acknowledge the change that had transpired between them.

The conversation between the two Wardens continued for a while before Alistair fell back on his old argument: Zevran's a murder so you can't trust him. He expected Eriana to shrug it off the way she had several times before, but she surprised him by calling herself a murder too and listing all the other things she had done in the name of survival. Maker's breath, she was comparing herself to him, absurd. What did such a woman have in common with a whoreson like him? Much to his surprise, Zevran found himself agreeing with Alistair; she had no choice in her actions. She was a far better person than he could ever hope to be, but there she was defending him with every fiber of her being. As she continued to talk about him, Zevran's heart began to swell. Never before had anyone said such things about him and with such passion; he didn't know quite how to react. Had he really told her all those things about his past or had she simply inferred them from their conversations? Zevran was quite sure he had not admitted to feeling such emotions, either. He was impressed by how intuitively she seemed to know him, how well she understood things about him that no one else was privy to.

Zevran was suddenly concerned; how had he allowed himself to become so open with someone? This wasn't at all like him. He had realized that they had grown closer than any of his past, more casual affairs, but when had this happened? He was usually so cautious, closed off. Somehow this woman and maneuvered through the barriers he had placed before him, behind the mask he so carefully donned. She had seen his true self, the Zevran he kept hidden, even from himself. And she thought he was a good man, despite his faults, despite his past misdeeds, she still thought he was good; he was touched by the fact that she seemed to think so highly of him. Deep inside, a longing to be near her grew stronger.

As Eriana was leaving to return to him, Zevran heard Alistair ask her a final question that nearly caused Zevran's heart to stop. "Do you love him?" Zevran took a quick breath, afraid to hear her answer, regardless of what it was. The moments between his question and her response seemed to draw out for an age. Finally he heard her respond.

"Love? Who can know these things, Alistair? Do I care for him, yes, a great deal, but do I love him? I don't know, it's simply too soon to tell, really." Zevran breathed a bit easier.

"But you're sleeping with him. How can you be with him if you don't love him?" Zevran smiled to himself when he heard that one, silly chantry boy.

"Those two things don't always have to go together, you know, Alistair, and I'm not saying love isn't a possibility sometime down the road." He heard her sigh, "I have been hurt before because I let myself love too easily, and I won't make the same mistake again." Zevran relaxed again.

He heard the flap of the tent rustle and watched through half closed eyes as she slipped into the darkness of the tent. He listened as she quietly slipped out of her clothes and into one of his long tunics and felt her slide beneath the blankets beside him. For a moment, he wondered if he should feign sleep, but the desire to be near her at this moment was simply too strong. As soon as the blankets closed around them, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close to him, her cool little body shivering slightly against his warmth. "Hey," she whispered softly, turning toward him, "did I wake you? I tried to be quiet."

"No, I was still awake when you came in."

"Did you hear all of that?" she asked, glancing up at him.

He nodded, running his hand down her cheek. "I did, my dear. I have to say, I am surprised by what you said."

Eriana looked up at him, confused. "Did I say too much; are you upset with me?"

"Quite the opposite, actually," he said kissing her lightly on the cheek. "I have never had anyone stand up for me in such a way; I am quiet flattered to say the least."

"I meant it," she said, gazing up at him in the dark. "Every word."

"I know," he whispered into her ear as he pulled her beneath him, every inch of his body begging for her touch. He heard her sigh as she melted into him, yielding completely to his touch. They had been together so many times before, giving in to the throws of passion, the hunger of desire, and the allure of lust, but this night was different than anything Zevran had ever experienced before. He had touched her before, but tonight, he seemed to feel her in a way that was wholly new. He seemed to drink her in, taking in all that she had to give. There was a tenderness to his kisses, her touches, their whispers. All the urgency of their past tumbles was lost to the slow, gentle passion of this night. It was like they were discovering each other for the first time, but with no hesitation, just warmth and affection as they moved in perfect synchronicity. The world around them seemed to disappear, and for a moment, his world was this woman in his arms. As he drifted into the fade, her head on his chest, his arm around her waist, Zevran sighed, feeling more happy and content than he had ever felt before.

It wasn't until the next morning that Zevran was able to identify the difference between the previous night and all the nights before. Always before it was simply bedding someone, taking pleasure where it could be found, even with Eriana, but this time it was different. He had had a lot of sex in the past, but that was the first time he had ever made love, a fact that did not escape him when he awoke in the morning. How this would change things between them, Zevran didn't know. For now, Zevran was simply content to have his Warden safely in his arms. The Crows and the cares of tomorrow would simply have to wait. Whatever the future brought, now more than ever, Zevran was certain he could face them as long as she was at his side.

Okay, so that conversation turned out to be a bit longer than I anticipated. Sorry that there wasn't much action in this one, but there were some things that just needed to be said between the Wardens. Hope you enjoyed this one, thanks for reading and reviewing.