Fear made Zevran magnificent. He bluffed his way past the guards with a silver tongue that would have charmed the Divine herself. His fighting was flawless, his focus perfect… anything to avoid thinking about what he might find in the dungeon. Thus it came as something of a surprise when he found himself in front of the final door, left carelessly half ajar because no one expected intruders so deep inside Fort Drakon. Leliana slid around him soundlessly to peer through the opening, then beckoned him to follow her through, gesturing for silence with one hand. It didn't even occur to him to be offended that she thought the warning necessary.
The two rogues slipped into the room unnoticed, and tucked themselves behind a pile of empty burlap sacks to take stock of their surroundings. Directly opposite the door through which they had entered, a stone staircase led down into a darkness that smelled of fear and blood. Zevran found it far too easy to imagine what lay at the bottom of those stairs. To the right of the staircase a burly jailer slouched, half dozing in a chair facing the only two occupied cells. In one of the two, a haggard looking man leaned against the wall, picking at his dirty teeth with a dirtier fingernail. The prisoner in the other cell lay in a crumpled ball on the stone floor. Her dark hair, crusted with dried blood, obscured her face, but her half-naked body was almost completely covered in dark, mottled bruises and there was something wrong with the way she held her left arm. And she was… whimpering?
"Please…" her voice was not loud, but it struck Zevran's ears like a physical blow, "please… help me…"
He tensed, and felt Leliana's hand on his arm. The bard shook her head slightly, her eyes fixed on the jailer.
The big man hoisted himself out of his chair with a grunt and shuffled over to Elspeth's cell. "What's all the noise about?" he growled through the bars.
Her only response was a wordless cry of pain, and Zevran's hands clenched so tightly against the hilts of his sword and dagger that his fingers went numb.
Muttering irritably, the jailer unlocked the cell door and stepped inside. "Ah, shut it, you," he snarled, aiming a kick at Elspeth's battered form. Zevran heard a strangled cry of rage, and realized too late that it had come from his own throat. The jailer turned toward the sound, and as soon as he did so Elspeth rose swiftly to her feet, looped her right arm around the big man's neck, and clamped down. He struggled briefly against the chokehold, but was quickly stilled by a few well-placed arrows from Leliana's bow. Zevran could have cheered, but somehow he maintained the presence of mind to feign cheerful nonchalance as he strolled over to the cell. "Ah, my dear Warden," he purred, "did you miss me?"
"Zev!" his name was almost a sob on her swollen and bloody lips as flew to him, catching him in a fierce, one-armed hug, her broken left arm still dangling uselessly at her side. He held her carefully, hearing her sharp intake of breath as fractured ribs shifted under his hands.
"The arl is waiting for us," Leliana reminded them gently, and Elspeth reluctantly let go and turned back to where the jailer's heavy key ring still lay in a puddle of blood on the dirty flagstones.
"Hey, what about me?" the other prisoner, who had been watching everything with interest, now spoke up, and Elspeth shot him a wry, lopsided grin.
"Don't worry," she said, unlocking the man's cell quickly, "I think we've all had enough of dungeons today."
He muttered a hurried thanks and darted out the door, and Elspeth turned her attention to a large chest next to the jailer's chair. Yusaris lay sheathed on top of the pile of plate armor within, but when Elspeth lifted her beloved blade it was only to set it gently aside before digging frantically through the smaller odds and ends in the bottom of the chest. At last, with a small cry of delight, she found what she was looking for and started to raise her hand to her ear. A few inches from the torn earlobe, she stopped, remembering, and casually slipped the jeweled hoop around her finger instead as she went back more calmly now to sorting through her clothes and belongings.
A sudden, fierce rush of joy ran through Zevran when he saw how she treasured his token.
Mine.
He frowned, perplexed and more than a little troubled by the unexpected thought. He had no claim on the Warden, nor would he want to, he reminded himself firmly. She called him friend; that itself was more than he should have hoped for. To ask anything more of her, whatever that might even mean, was to invite tragedy.
He remained lost in his own thoughts as he and Leliana helped Elspeth dress and don as much of her armor and equipment as her injuries would allow. Elspeth did not comment on his unusual silence, as remaining upright seemed to be taking up all her concentration on the way back to Arl Eamon's estate, and her ashen pallor was just one more addition to the growing list of things for Zevran to worry about. Leliana hurried off to find Wynne as soon as they reached the estate, and Zevran half-helped, half-carried Elspeth up the stairs to her room.
The Warden sat down heavily on the edge of her bed, wincing at her own sudden movement. "Ow," she commented wryly, then shot Zevran a tired smile. "You came for me."
The ribald response he should have made to that statement never even occurred to him. Instead, he said simply, "Of course. I am yours," The words came out less casually and with far more sincerity than he would have liked, but fortunately Elspeth seemed in no condition to notice.