(Courtesy warnings: mild non-het and much-needed fluff ahead.)

93. A Breath of Mountain Air

"Oh, by Andraste, Fin! You've got a problem with kleptomania, do you know that?"

The elf hummed in acknowledgement of Alistair's comment, but continued digging through the merchant's back room, absently dropping all sorts of goodies into his bag. This old hidden town was a cache of treasures, from old jewelry to clothing that was so long out of fashion that Orlesians would likely bring it back in again.

"There's a dead guy… right over there. We just killed him, like ten minutes ago. And you're raiding his back room!"

Fin found another treasure—a small statuette of a historic Andrastean soldier—and tossed it across the storeroom at Alistair. The warrior fumbled at the catch, but managed not to drop it.

"What's this?"

"Seems to be a figurine." Finian's head was back in his current crate.

"…oh, you are a tricky little elf. Plying me with gifts, are you? I'm onto you. My affections cannot be bought!"

"Then put it down." Finian's smile went unseen in the stack of goods.

There was a pause. "…oh never mind." His heavily armored footsteps retreated through the door, leaving Fin alone, and the thief chuckled.

Haven was… inhospitable. As soon as they had stumbled into the town after days of wandering the mountains, a guard had confronted them and told them to turn around and leave. They'd continued in anyway, only to find the town all but deserted.

Except for the shopkeeper, who took so much umbrage at their patronage that he attacked them. Well, he'd actually reacted with hostility to their asking after Genitivi, and that was suspicious enough.

Whatever kept these people hidden on this remote mountainside, they wanted it to stay that way. It baffled the thief. They had so much neat stuff! Why not trade it?

He pushed aside his current crate, revealing something that made him gasp—or rather, a pair of things. Delighted, he reached into the pile and grabbed them up, then plucked up his loot bag and darted out of the storeroom.

The shop's front room was empty—his companions had apparently moved outside while he looted. Who could blame them, as gorgeous as the weather was?

When he stepped outside, it was into the crisp mountain air, the sun beating down warmly while a cold breeze came down off the mountaintops. The sky was cloudless and bluer than Fin had ever seen. Here, in this little corner of the world, it was easy to forget that there was a Blight on.

The town of Haven was quiet, pastoral huts connected to gardens and meadows among the slopes and clusters of trees.

Alistair stood just outside the door of the shop, rolling the figurine around in his hands. Fin sent his fellow Warden a teasing smirk, and Alistair stuck his tongue out at him. No wonder Wynne always called them 'children'.

Slyly, Fin slipped his own prize behind his back, searching out the others.

He spotted Fang first, the wolf's white fur shimmering in the sunlight. The wolf sat in one of the cottage gardens. Beside him was Meila, the elf carving at a hoof of the deer they had eaten for dinner yesterday. On her other side was Leliana, giggling and trying to sneak peeks at the object as Meila moved it away. The Dalish elf didn't seem particularly annoyed by the attention… in fact, a smile threatened the characteristic calm of Meila's expression. Finian doubted either woman was aware of how close they were sitting, nor how long their eyes lingered on one another.

A low chuckle drew his attention to the side, where Wynne and Zevran lingered by the cottage, watching the girls. Wynne was on her knees, grinding a mortar and pestle, while Zev leaned back against the wall with his arms stretched above his head, utterly leonine in the sunlight.

Fin approached with the silent step of a practiced footpad, keeping his find behind his back. He had been meaning to get the assassin something for over a week, after everything with his family and the slavers and... yeah. The Crow hadn't needed to help with all that. But he had. If their little arrangement was a matter of mercantilism, then it seemed that extra work earned extra reward.

Or at least, if Zev asked, that was what Fin would tell him. Honestly, Fin just wanted to do something special to show his appreciation.

"Do you suppose," the Antivan was asking idly, "that she has a plan before she starts carving, or does she simply make it up as she goes?"

Wynne didn't look up, grinding a pile of seeds. "Meila is a very careful young woman. I would think the former."

"I disagree… she is entirely intuitive. She does not show it, but it is there nonetheless. What do you think, my dear Warden?" Zevran arched a brow, his shining eyes turning to reveal that he had been entirely aware of Finian's stealthy approach.

Finian laughed, keeping his find behind his back. "I think that if you really wanted to know, you'd just ask her."

"Ah, very true." Zevran's grin was as infectious as always. "But it is fun to stand back and philosophize, no?"

"Mm. Zevran Arainai: Antivan Crow, Warden companion, awful poet, and amateur philosopher."

"You wound me, my dear, bringing my poetry into this."

"Dirty poetry, Zevran. Those two words should not exist together in the same sentence."

"Ah, you have simply not developed a taste for truly awful poetry, then. Give it time, my Warden… we will get you there."

Dimly, Fin heard Wynne sigh and stand. "I will go check on Alistair. We must move on soon."

Fin nodded but didn't watch her leave. He moved to lean sideways against the wall, facing Zevran with his prize still not-so-subtly held behind his back. Zevran shifted his own stance to face Fin.

The assassin laughed fondly. "So tell me, my Warden, what is it that has you smiling so smugly at me?"

"I have something for you."

"Oh ho? Might it be a kiss, perhaps? Or perhaps you are misleading me, and have written me an awful dirty poem at last? Or perhaps a song, my aspiring bard? My heart patters in anticipation of your terrible rhymes and novice melodies."

Finian schooled his face to utter seriousness. "Rest assured, Zevran, when I write you a song, it will be as fantastic as you are. I will accept nothing less."

"Mm… flattery will get you everywhere, my Warden. As you well know." Zevran leaned in as if to steal a kiss, but Fin bounced back a step, grinning.

"You tease me! How cruel!"

"I still have something for you… and it's not that! Pay attention!"

Zevran laughed full-throated, leaning back against the wall again. The sunlight made his golden complexion seem to glow. "Very well. I will indulge you… what is it that you wish to give me?"

Finian produced his gift, and Zevran's playful smile dropped into a look of honest surprise. "Boots? You are giving me boots?"

Finian shoved them into the man's hands, and the assassin took them, looking perplexed. Then, Zev's eyes widened, and he pressed one to his nose and took a hearty whiff. "Aaah, that smell!" A broad smile lit his face. "This is Antivan leather, isn't it? I would know that anywhere!"

Finian leaned back against the wall, trying not to look smug. He apparently didn't do a very good job, because Zevran took one look at him and laughed.

"You continue to amaze me, my dear! I don't know how you found these, but thank you!"

"Go ahead and try them on."

"But I'm not done admiring them yet!" Zevran absorbed himself in studying the boots, handling the leather and rubbing his nose against them. "Can you smell that? Like rotting flesh! Just like back in Antiva City!"

Finian laughed, delighted that he'd correctly identified the leather. He remembered Zevran telling him of his life as an apprentice, living by the tanneries. It seemed his suspicions that Zev was more homesick than he let on were correct. There was no going back for the former Crow… but maybe this would help.

"Now if only you could find me a prostitute or two," Zevran was saying, "a bowl of fish chowder, and a corrupt politician! I'd really feel like I was home!" Zevran's laugh was full and unbound, and something in Fin swelled with it. He'd never seen Zev so happy. He wanted to see the man like this again; it was every bit as much a rush as any thefts or manipulations ever were.

Zevran hummed pleasantly as he kicked off his boots and slipped the new ones on. He kicked out a couple times, rolling his ankles in the tough leather. "And they fit! Marvelous!"

Finian chuckled. "Can't have my assassin getting cold feet."

"Rest assured that, wherever you are concerned, my dear, my feet will never be cold." Zevran stood, satisfied with the fit of his boots, and met Fin's eyes slyly. Without warning, he swooped in and kissed him, right there in front of everyone.

Fin had never kissed in public before, never mind that all present were perfectly aware by now of what the two were up to most nights. Even so, Zevran pulling him close, curling an arm around his waist… that was familiar enough for him not to mind much. That wasn't what surprised him most about it.

They had kissed before, in passion and in play… but never like this: gently, and with a leather-clad hand cradling his head. Fin's spine melted, and his thoughts fizzled away until all he could think was a startled Wow…

Of course, they weren't alone to enjoy it, as evidenced by the delighted squealing he heard from the garden and the groaning from by the shop.

"That's so cuuuuute!"

"Maker's breath… I did not need to see that. I did not want to see that. I am now going to go bang my head against a wall until I have no more memory of ever seeing that."

The two elves parted, chuckling. Fin's face felt unseasonably warm.

"Thank you, Finian," Zevran said softly, mindless of their audience. Fin's breath caught in his throat; Zev never used his name. "This was a splendid gift."

Fin wanted to jump him right there, regretting that they had business to get back to. Zevran must have read his expression, because he smirked shamelessly and winked.

"Damn it, Zev." Fin slapped the other elf's chestplate lightly, then found his fingers tracing the curling tattoo on the Crow's cheek. "You realize you're going to have to thank me properly later, right?"

"Mm… do I get to wear the boots?"

Fin smirked, lowering his voice to a purr he knew Zevran liked. "How about only the boots?"

"Oh ho, I like the way you think! My dear, I cannot wait."