Thanks to Seika, who turns my mess into English. :)

Catching Up

It had been less than three weeks since he had pledged his loyalty to the little Warden. In those three weeks, he had fought against darkspawn, demons, abominations, possessed humans, and walking corpses. And now he was on a quest to find a legendary relic; in every legend, he knew, there was always some legendary monster. Oh well. Better an exciting life than no life at all, yes?

He turned back and saw that the little Warden was too far behind again. It was strange to see him dragging behind; usually he was in the front, leading. He tried not to care, reminding himself he was an assassin, not a babysitter. It didn't matter how desirable the crazy kid was. Then again, he would look very stupid before the Crows if, after travelling with one of their best, the boy would be finished off by some dim-witted darkspawn, no?

So he had to make sure that the boy survived. If he didn't kill him, no one would. It was as simple as that. Pure professional assassin pride.

What else would it be?

Calling to Alistair, he stopped to wait for the boy. The others stopped, too, though they did not seem too worried. Sten was as unconcerned as always, and Alistair was too busy listening to one of Leliana's stories about the tragic fate of star-crossed lovers. Perhaps he should challenge her; make a bet about seducing Alistair. They had already made a bet about him seducing the boy. Poor Leliana. That would be the fastest money he'd ever earned, and one of the most enjoyable.

So far, he hadn't really tried. Every evening when they set camp, he would approach the boy, determined to do it, and every evening they'd end up talking about pretty much anything else, but mostly about him. It seemed to be the favorite topic of the little Warden. Where did you get that tattoo, Zevran? Tell me some of your adventures, Zevran, please? Will you teach me Antivan, Zevran? Do you enjoy being an assassin, Zevran? And let's not forget, Zevran, could you teach Alistair to make fish chowder?

The only thing more frustrating than all of those questions was his willingness to answer them. Every night, musing about it in his tent, he would decide that it was the last time he answered them, that he would not tell anything more, that the next time he would refuse. Politely, but firmly. But the next evening, the boy would come and sit next to him and ask him something, and he'd get completely lost in those big, purple eyes again…

As the boy came nearer, the others moved on. He wanted to do the same, but then he caught a hint of disappointment that crossed the boy's face. It must had been boring and irritating to walk alone in the back all the time, while the others were obviously having fun. So he patiently waited as the boy was trying to catch his breath, pulling his backpack down to get the flask with water.

"Warden, are you all right?"

"I'm fine. I'm just bit tired, is all. You should hurry up or you'll miss the end of Leliana's story."

The boy was trying to sound normal, but he could not hide the bitterness completely. And he's right. He wouldn't leave any of us alone, until he'd find out what's wrong. Even though he had not known the boy very long, he did know that much.

"Ah, that doesn't matter; I already know what the end will be, anyway. All these stories are the same. The young couple will promise eternal love to each other and seal it with a night of passionate sex, but the evil noble, who is in love with the girl, will get mad and send the lad to the army, to the front lines. Then the lad will get killed and the noble will try to seduce the girl, but she will refuse of course, and then kill herself to be with her love at least in death. Then a few new stars will appear in the sky as a symbol of their love."

He tried to imitate Leliana's dramatic narration, and was rewarded by a merry chuckle. That was much better. A smile suited that face so much more.

But something was wrong, very wrong. The crazy kid was trying to hide it, but now, when he watched him closely, it was so clear he could have kicked himself for not noticing it earlier. The boy was sending a constant flow of healing magic to his legs. Was he injured? Did he hurt himself during the trip? But why in the world would he keep quiet about it? And if the boy did not want the others to know it, should he bring it up? Concerned, he watched as the boy lifted up the backpack again, sighing.

"Here, let me help you." He took the backpack from boy's hands and cursed. "Andraste's sweet ass! Warden, what are you carrying in there? A baby bronto?"

"Of course not–ah, I mean–just few things…"

"No wonder you're tired! Hell, even Sten would be tired if he carried this all day!"

"I, well… oh, just give it back. That's my problem." The boy glared at him angrily and tried to take back the pack.

"No."

"No? What do you mean, no?"

"I mean that I will not give it back. Tell you what. I'll carry this… monstrosity and you'll take my pack."

"But…"

"No buts, my dear Warden. Come on. Let me help you. As a friend, hm?"

That was surprising, for himself just as much as for the boy. Nothing more than a tactical lie, he tried to assure himself, when the boy nodded and they changed their backpacks. Professional pride. There was nothing more to it. Nothing at all.

oOo

It was only when he watched the boy retiring to his tent, leaving his boots outside, that he finally understood what was wrong. Oh Holy Maker. The Warden really was just a crazy kid, wasn't he? He felt angry, amused, and sorry for the boy all at the same time. It was easy to forget that the little Warden spent most of his life in that cursed place, forbidden to go out of the Tower and without any soldier training. How was the poor kid supposed to know how to pack himself for a journey? Or which boots he should take?

After all the others retired as well, leaving him alone for the watch, he went to the boy's tent and picked the boots… or what was left of them, as they were practically destroyed. They were not real boots in the first place. They were those fancy mage shoes made from cloth, embedded with lyrium. Perfect for smooth floors of the Tower, sufficient for wide paved roads, but pitifully inappropriate for rough paths in the mountains. The crazy kid had to feel every stone in those. No wonder his legs hurt.

He had to do something. There was the soft light of a candle coming from the tent, so the boy was still not asleep.

"Warden? May I come in for a while? I'd like to talk to you in private, for a moment."

Not waiting for a reply, he opened the flaps of the tent. The boy was reading again and didn't even bother to look up from the book. "Not now, Zevran. I'd like to finish this before I go to sleep."

"Ah, my dear Warden, I'm sorry to interrupt you from your intellectual pleasures, but I'm afraid this cannot wait. It is a matter of the highest importance, see."

"Oh? What is it?" The boy put the book aside and look at him curiously.

"Well, first, let me assure you that this is not what it might look like… unfortunately. For me, that is. But back to the matter. I want you to show me your feet."

"You want me to do what?"

To tell the truth, he half expected the boy to freeze him, or at least turn him into a frog, but he sounded more bewildered and amused, than angry. That was encouraging.

"Please, my dear Warden, try to keep your voice down or our friend Alistair will think I'm trying to assassinate you, while I'm only trying to help you."

"And how does seeing my feet help me, exactly?"

"You were healing yourself the whole day. I want to see why and how bad it is.'

For a while, the boy just stared at him. Then he sighed. "So you noticed, did you? But don't worry, it's nothing serious, I'll be perfectly fine tomorrow– "

"No, you will not. Not in those shoes, at least."

"You know about that as well? But really, you don't have to worry. I will fix them during my watch."

"What do you mean, fix them? Nobody can fix those any more! Why don't you wear another pair? According to the map we got from that knight, we should reach the village in a few more days. I'm sure we can get some proper boots for you there."

"Yes, that's a very nice plan, but there's a catch, I'm afraid. I don't have another pair."

It was his turn to stare, speechless.

"What do you mean, you don't have another pair? What do you have in that big pack, then?"

"There are… other things that are much more important than shoes…"

"Care to show me?"

"Not really, no."

"Ah, but I'm afraid I have to insist. I will not leave this tent until you show me what is in that enormous backpack that is so important."

They glared at each other, but then the boy dropped his eyes, looking nervous and a bit ashamed. Taking that as an agreement, he opened the backpack and placed every thing from it neatly on the bedroll; his shock, disbelief and amusement increased with every thing he pulled out. He expected that it would be bad, but this was much beyond his expectations. There was some raw lyrium and other ingredients, poultices and potions, food and the flask with water, but most of it was–

"Warden. Can you explain me why you carry with you half of the Redcliffe library?"

"Nonsense. Half of the Redcliffe library would take at least two such backpacks."

"Oh, my mistake. I apologize. But still. Why do you carry… just a moment… why do you carry nine books with you? Nine big and fat books, if I might add?"

"And how do you think I learn new spells? You think I just wake up in the morning and find out I learnt a new spell in my dream?"

"Yes, I understand that, but – nine books? You really need all of them?"

"I'm a fast reader. I'm already reading the second one. Besides, I wasn't sure what I might need."

"But it never occurred to you that you might need a second pair of shoes, or robes? You came in the mountains with only what you are wearing?"

"I'm an ice mage, Zevran, unless you haven't notice it yet. Cold will not harm me. Clothes are not that important. I need to study; I need to be prepared."

"It's not just about cold! What if something happened, if your robes were torn, like your shoes are now? Would you climb trough the mountains naked? While I would not protest, not everyone here would agree, I'm afraid; Alistair would probably begin stuttering, you know."

The boy chuckled. "Yeah, I guess he would. Look, I know I'm a fool without you telling me, I just… I really didn't think that anything could happen."

He sighed. "Well, I guess there's nothing we can do about the robes for now. We must hope that nothing will happen till we find that village. As for the boots, you'll take mine. Don't worry, I have a second pair. And I'll take half of the books; I still have a lot of room in my backpack. You choose which ones."

"Zevran, that's–I can't accept that!"

"And why not? I offered it willingly. This is what friends do, help each other, no?"

The look in the boy's eyes was almost worth all the trouble and discomfort it would cause, he thought as he was returning to his tent. So… grateful, and warm, and shy… it warmed his heart a little.

But it still meant nothing. It was duty now to take care of the crazy kid, that was all. Just professional pride, he told himself.

Somehow, it was more difficult to believe than before.

oOo

With the backpack much lighter and proper boots on his feet, it was easier for the boy to keep up the pace. He stayed near him, giving him instructions on how to breathe, how to walk over the rocks, how to jump over some fallen logs and other such things. The boy was trying as hard as he could, but he was not dexterous. Perhaps they should start some proper training.

Later in camp, he wanted to change his watch with Alistair, so that he would have the watch before the boy. He intended to let the boy sleep, until Leliana's turn. The next morning he would wake him up early and start with the training. The crazy kid was a Grey Warden, for Maker's sake! It's time he caught up with his title.

But there was something else that troubled him. Something was in the air; he felt it, but was unsure as to what it was. He carefully watched the others for any sign of anything unusual, wishing that Morrigan was there, as well. She would probably know.

She and Wynne had to stay the castle, trying to keep the Arl alive; he had only survived so long because of the demon's agreement with Connor and when the demon died, the Arl almost died, as well. And he would have, if it wasn't for the combined powers of Wynne, the First Enchanter, the little Warden, and even Morrigan. That gave them some time, but not more than six weeks.

Six weeks to find the ancient relic. Of which they already spent one and half week. At least they knew where they should go; when the Arl became ill, and nothing could heal him, the Arlessa remembered Brother Genitivi, who was doing some research about Andraste and the resting place of her ashes which were supposedly able to cure any disease. So she sent her knights to find Genitivi, and one of them returned just in time to tell them that Genitivi was in Haven, and even gave them the map.

Which was, as Leliana was just explaining to Alistair and Sten again, the proof that the Maker himself was guiding their steps. To which Alistair was nodding thoughtfully, Sten was frowning scornfully, and the little Warden was ignoring completely. The crazy kid was so fully concentrated on the book he was reading, he wouldn't notice if Maker decided to appear in their camp in person.

Suddenly, he realized he was not the only one watching the boy.

"Parshaara. I've had enough of this nonsense." The Qunari stood up and, ignoring the surprised glances from Alistair and Leliana, stormed to the boy. "Warden. We need to talk."

"Not now, Sten. Step aside, please, you're ruining my light."

"Now." Sten took the book from the boy's hands and tossed it aside. The boy stiffened, then slowly got up, crossing his arms over his chest. This was not good. Zevran put his hands over his daggers, preparing for fight, and could see Alistair do the same.

"All right, Sten, what do you want? Make it quick."

"I want to know what we are doing here. You are a Grey Warden. We should go and kill the Archdemon. Instead, we are hunting ashes of some long dead woman."

"It is necessary. To defeat the Archdemon, we need an army. To have an army, we need the Arl. To save the Arl, we must find the Ashes. You know that."

"I disagree. We do not need the Arl to kill the Archdemon."

"Well, that's your problem. I think we need him, and as I'm the leader, we're doing what I say. Now, if you don't mind – "

"No. You are not the leader any more. From now on, I will lead us. You can either submit, or fight and die."

"You want to fight me? As you wish. Alistair, stay out of it. You too Leliana, Zevran."

He did not like this at all. The Qunari was twice as big and heavy as the little Warden, and if he hit the boy with that huge sword only once, he'd be finished. But if the big oaf expected that they'd follow him, he had to be extremely stupid. No chance. They'd avenge the boy's death immediately.

But he did not have to worry. The boy was too fast for Sten's cumbersome sword, easily avoiding every blow. Only after the big Qunari became totally frustrated, the boy started his counter attack. First freezing spells, then attacking with crushing spells. Most of them he knew already, but there were also few new ones, like the one that covered his fist in rock;he had never used that one before. Did he learn it during this trip, from those books? Soon, the Qunari was on his knees, defeated.

"I am sorry, Warden. You are strong."

"You have strange ways of atonement. Perhaps you should work on that temper of yours."

"Will you not kill me?"

"No, I will not. Live and do as you wish."

"Then I will stay. Lead and I will follow you."

"Fine." The boy turned away, picked the book, and without further words, left to his tent.

The rest of them stared at Sten, unsure what they should do. He would much love to gut the big fool, but as the boy decided to let him live, he probably shouldn't. Sten stood there for a moment, as if he was daring them to attack him. When none of them did, he also retired to the tent.

During the night, he slipped into the Qunari's tent and stuck one of his daggers in the ground next to his head. As a reminder.

Purely of professional pride, of course.

oOo

Nobody talked about it. Sten and boy avoided each other as much as possible, and the boy was unusually quiet. He tried to cheer him up, but it didn't work; the boy was too lost in his thoughts to register it.

Then, in the evening, the boy came to him. "Zevran… may I ask you something?"

"Of course, Warden." Well, what would it be this time? What is the best bookshop in Antiva, perhaps?

"I… do you trust me? As a leader, I mean?"

"Yes. I do."

"Even though I'm so pathetic that I don't know how to pack myself?"

"No, Warden, I trust you because you realize that you're not perfect and you're trying as hard as you can to improve. If this is about Sten; that pompous oaf would not be able to lead a toddler to the nursery. He's so sure of his own superiority above anyone that doesn't follow Qun, and is so blinded that he would have every one of us killed long before we reached Archdemon."

The boy grinned a little. Oh Maker, how he would like to cup that face, to kiss it, again and again, till they would be both breathless and... and he noticed that the boy was looking at him curiously.

"I'm sorry, Warden, I didn't hear you. Could you please repeat that?"

"I asked if you remember what my name is."

"I–oh. Of course I do. Why?"

"Because I would much prefer if you could stop calling me 'Warden'. I hate it when people call me that. I hate to be reduced only to my title. Names are important; they show who you really are. I'm not just any Grey Warden. I'm Airam Surana, one of the two Grey Wardens in Ferelden. Besides, it also shows that you trust the person, that you consider him or her a friend."

He understood. He knew about Qun's teachings on names, and trust and friends. Thinking about it briefly, he decided there was nothing wrong in giving the boy the answer he wanted to hear. It would be… professional, no?

"Of course… Airam. As you wish."

"Thank you, Zev. It really means a lot to me." And with that, the boy was gone.

Zev? Did the boy really just call him Zev?

Calm down, Zevran. It doesn't really mean anything. Friendship does not exist. It's less than an illusion. An empty word to manipulate fools. Right?

Right.

Yes, he was looking forward to another day with the boy; he had already prepared the series of exercises that he would force the boy to do, starting with push ups. But that was also only part of his professional pride. He must help the boy to become stronger, in order to defeat the Archdemon. Yes. That was it.

But then why… why was he disappointed the boy didn't ask about the bookshop?