Everyone had something to say on what was good for the health.
Zevran and Rhodri, and occasionally Leliana, tended to agree on what these fundamental things were, coming from neighbouring cultures who frequently shared customs. Coming to the sea daily, for example, cleared the lungs and improved decision-making. Eating red and green foods at dinner improved the constitution and warded off infection. And brisk walks in good weather were known to keep one cooler in the hotter hours, and warmer in the colder ones. Simple, logical things that had plenty of anecdotal evidence from healthy, long-lived locals to back them up, and the three of them knew these things to be as true as any fact that came from a book.
Even Alistair had his own thoughts on healthy living. And, of course, they were dreadful. That wretched man somehow had found the gall to advise that moss was an acceptable food group in the colder months, and that sharing a bed with a mabari kept the sleeper from being bitten by bedbugs. The same Fereldan, in consequence, was responsible for a string of apoplectic paroxysms among the Northerners who had had to hear it.
At one point earlier in the year, Wynne had come in with her own idea that eating bread daily improved eyesight, and this had given rise to a theory of Zevran's that different customs were helpful depending on where one lived and who one was. After all, the Antivan axiom that daily lovemaking sharpened the mind and improved all manner of endurance had been the case for Zevran, but the same had not had any measurable effect on Alistair since pairing off with Leliana. Not from what Zevran was forced to overhear most nights, anyway.
On the other hand, that could also mean that so long as Zevran was in Ferelden, the same held true for him, and the thought of degrading to that level of carnal ineptitude didn't bear thinking about.
Where everyone appeared to agree with regard to healthful living– and even Morrigan and Sten had said as much to that effect– was the importance of at least one hot, filling meal a day. When it should be eaten and what it was to contain had been a matter of great debate over the dinner table that evening in the Gnawed Noble, but everyone had agreed with vigorous nods that it had to be hearty, and served hot.
The Warden duo, as per usual, had richly availed themselves of the establishment's special– a stodgy Kirkwaller fish and cheese pie– in absolutely record-breaking quantities. Rhodri had even managed to shuck the nerves she had come in with long enough to demolish six huge slices of the stuff, and Alistair, who had found a new favourite in the dish, ate ten. In a far third place, Sten had managed three modest pieces.
"Outstanding," Rhodri sighed, resting a hand on her belly and staring at the stack of empty dishes in front of her. "I haven't had that much food in weeks. Almost exactly the same as the pie Hillary made for us in Kirkwall."
Alistair, whose crockery tower was the only one to outsize hers (and did so by quite a margin), groaned and nodded. "I want more."
Rhodri raised an eyebrow. "I don't know where you'd put more at this stage, Alistair. Unless you were thinking of feeding yourself through an enema, you might have to wait."
He moaned again sadly and nodded. "I think I ate too much. But I want it…"
"Mmm? You could sleep it off, and then ask in the kitchens tomorrow if they have any leftover pie for breakfast."
"Yeah." Alistair glanced down at his belly and then up at Rhodri hopefully. "I… don't think I can move right now."
Rhodri raised an eyebrow. "Oh, I think I see where this is going. You like being carried, is it? Like a princess?"
Alistair beamed and fluttered his lashes winsomely. "Got me in one. In all seriousness, I was born to be a princess, I reckon."
"Ah, well," Rhodri got to her feet and hoisted Alistair out of his chair. "Who am I to deny your birthright, hmm? Off to bed we'll go, then, Ser Princess."
Ser Princess' eyes glazed over delightedly, and he curled up against Rhodri as she carried him upstairs. Leliana, smirking like mad, followed close behind, and with the opportunity to make enquiries about the promised news making itself apparent, Zevran brought up the rear.
When a remarkably helpless, giggling Alistair had been put to bed with Leliana (the Sister had also asked to be lifted into their bed and tittered delightedly when obliged), Zevran and Rhodri stepped back out into the hallway. The same troubled look on her face from before dinner had returned.
"Zev?" Her voice was soft and apprehensive. "Could I borrow your attention for a minute?"
Oh? Was she going to tell him the news of her own volition? So much the better; it would be far easier than having to find a way to arrive at the topic. He smiled and nodded.
"For you, I am available for far longer than a minute, my dear Warden."
"Can we go to my room?"
A small frisson of excitement went through him as he wondered if she had changed her mind about their conversation in the Brecilian and was about to seduce him. He was quick to nod, not keen to give any impression of hesitancy by delaying. "Of course. Lead on."
Rhodri nodded and took him down the corridor to her room. She opened the door and invited him to enter first, closing the door and locking it behind her.
Zevran's insides were twisting in pleased anticipation. She, however, seemed nervous and a little distracted. In an effort to calm her, he kept his countenance serene.
Rhodri quickly cast her eyes around before gesturing at the bed, the only piece of furniture in the austere room.
"Sit, please, if you will," she requested politely. "I'll join you in a moment."
Zevran nodded and complied, perching on the edge of the small bed. He debated whether or not a flirtatious comment would soothe her nerves as she lit the lamp with a wave of her fingers. The excited anticipation built up further still when she paced over to the other side of the room to draw the curtains. He was relieved he had refrained from saucy remarks when Rhodri sat down beside him a second later, holding her satchel.
"I know this all seems a little strange but you'll see why in a moment," she explained. "I have something for you. Two somethings, actually."
Zevran raised his eyebrows. "For me?" he echoed with a grin. "Ooh, Rhodri! It isn't our birthday, and Satinalia is a long way off yet. What are we celebrating, then, hmm?"
"No occasion," she shook her head and turned away, rifling through either the bag or the Robes Void. "They aren't gifts. They're just for you."
He hummed, staunching the puzzled frown threatening. "Not gifts, but simply… for me."
"Sic." Rhodri turned back around and held out a large drawstring leather pouch that he recognised to be her money bag. It was packed with something that was stretching its seams fit to bursting. Without a word, she put the bag into his hands, and unprepared, his hands sank rapidly under the weight of it until he tensed his muscles and kept it suspended. Whatever was in it was heavy; perhaps glass, or metal of some sort, but not entirely coins. Cast iron, even. "This one first."
Zevran raised an eyebrow. "This is your money bag."
She quirked a brow at him. "Well spotted. Looks like you'll do without eyeglasses for another year. The contents are for you, but you can keep the bag, too, if you'd like."
Frowning warily, he loosened the straps on the bag and glanced inside, his mouth falling open in shock when he saw a small fortune gleaming back up at him.
"Rhodri, I…" he breathed, pulling out a small strand of gold and silver bars and swirling a hand through what he guessed amounted to two very large fistfuls of sovereigns. There were gold jewelled rings and embellished bracelets, and even a few precious stones. He looked back up at her in outright astonishment, unable to recall having held such a sum in his hands before- even on missions for the Crows. "This is a queen's ransom. It is not for me."
Rhodri put up her hands as he made to give it back. "It is for you," she said firmly.
"It is not," he insisted, trying to push the money bag back to her. "What did you even-? I thought you said you had no money. What–?"
She moved his hands back to him in a gentle but unceasing push. "I've been working–"
"Working?"
"Yes, working." She chuckled, "Turns out that insulating tents pays very well, and so do some of those Chantry board errands."
"Ah!" his eyes widened, his lungs all but tumbling out of his chest and into his lap. "This is where you have been all these days and nights? Working for all this money?"
"That's right, yes." Rhodri gave a proud smile, and added, "Well, not all of it. Some of the money, I already had. Unspent wages and such. And Tevinters carry jewellery to sell in an emergency, so I didn't get that from work" Rhodri quirked a brow at him. "Just so you don't worry I stole it. It's been a project since we had that talk in the Brecilian… I didn't really think I'd be able to pull it off until we decided to go back to Denerim, and then it all fell into place."
"Into place– I– a–a project, did you say?" he creaked in a voice that had almost completely died.
Rhodri looked at him curiously, as though he had failed to grasp a concept she had made a point of simplifying for his sake.
"Mm? When I said I was the only thing between you and the Crows, it made me realise that something had to change." She pointed her nose at the bag. "There's about ten thousand sovereigns' worth of goods in there. If you decide you want to go your own way, this should be enough to cover your cost of living for the first month until this comes through," Rhodri held a large, bleached envelope out to him.
"Wh–?" Zevran blinked at the envelope, only thinking to take it when Rhodri gently pushed the edge of the envelope into the crease of his hand. He opened it and stared at the letter and silver amulet on a thick chain sitting within.
"Read the deed first," Rhodri said gently. "I'll explain as we go."
Hands shaking a little, he extracted the paper and opened it out. The topmost paragraphs were in runes, which Zevran had only minor experience with.
"Ah," he mumbled. "I am not sure I can read this."
"No, I thought not," Rhodri tapped the lower half of the letter, which was written in Common, with the usual script. "Tevinter still uses runes in daily script, so I had them translate the agreement."
Zevran read the title aloud: "'Titus Octavius and Offspring, Merchant Banking in Minrathous, Tevinter, and Overseas: Rainfall Account.'" He frowned and looked up. "What is this?"
"Do you know what a bank is?" Rhodri asked, not unkindly.
"The place where the wealthy store their money, no? And take out loans and the like."
"That's right," she nodded. "And Tevinter used to have big problems with the paresfamilias taking back money they'd set aside for their dependents– spouse, children, that sort of thing, which is illegal, of course. Dependents are entitled to their own allowance, and aren't obliged to give it back. But because it was so easy for paresfamilias to simply steal money back, upward theft happened all the time. So the banks made special banking accounts for dependents that ensured the money only went from the parefamilias to the dependent, and they couldn't steal it back or have it transferred or anything like that. The money goes in one direction only, you know? Like rainfall."
"Ah," was all Zevran said. He looked back down at the paper, seeing the jumble of familiar letters but not taking any of the words in. Rhodri ran her fingers under a line, a mixture of letters and numbers.
"So I have arranged this sort of account for you. From next month, which is the soonest they can start the process, you will receive ten thousand sovereigns in this account every month for the next ninety-nine years." She smiled, either oblivious or wilfully ignorant to the fact that Zevran was acutely passing away after what she had just said. "And because Octavius has branches in every capital city in Thedas, you can travel anywhere you like with it!"
Zevran let out a small, mad little laugh and pushed the money bag toward her again. "I must be drunk," he croaked. "Or drugged. Terribly, terribly drugged. I could have sworn you just said I will have one hundred and twenty thousand sovereigns a year for an entire Age."
"You heard wrong," Rhodri shook her head and shifted the bag back into his lap. "It's not for a hundred years, only ninety-nine. But if you need more, we can easily arrange that. No trouble."
"'No trouble!'" Zevran cackled into his tingling hand. "Oh, my. Rhodri, I– thank you, but I do not need this."
"You absolutely do," she nodded. "You have to be realistic, Zev."
"Realistic—!"
"Yes. I've been helping arrange my family's protection since I was small, and you have been around top-class assassins for most of your life." She raised an eyebrow at him. "You'll need best quality security if you're away from me, and we both know that that is not cheap. By my most recent estimates, you'd need a team of about twenty guards. I factored in six mages, seven rogues, and seven warriors, and they will cost about seven thousand Fereldan sovs a month, total."
"Y-yes," Zevran conceded her quotation with a nod. "That is quite likely."
"I know I'm right," she nodded back. "That leaves you with three thousand a month to cover accommodation, food, and everything else you might need. Really, it's not very much, but you'd have a reasonable standard–"
"'Not very much?'" he cackled again. "I could revitalise an Alienage with that sort of money–"
"And if you want to do that, you are quite at liberty to," Rhodri agreed. "How you spend your money is none of my business. I can only give you what you need and trust your judgement from there."
Zevran shook his head. There was nothing else to do; what else did a person say when stark-raving mad Wardens plopped guarantees of extreme riches into their lap? Nothing. There was nothing. He was blank, and apparently wildly rich now, too.
Rhodri peered at him worriedly. "I realise this is a lot to take in," she murmured. "It's a big change, and you'll have a lot to think about now as you decide what to do next.
"I do hope, though," she cleared her throat delicately, "that you don't think I'm doing this because I think you incapable of making it on your own. I mean, to an extent I do– but not because you're lacking in– well, yes, a little– ah!" She held up a hand. "I should explain."
Zevran stared at Rhodri– simply looking would have required a level of restraint that was no longer available to him– as she drew in a deep breath and let it out again.
"You're in a hard situation. You're an elven fugitive, and the people pursuing you are clearly very powerful if you had to seek refuge with Grey Wardens. It's not fair, you know? To pay what it costs for independent protections, you'd have to be born into money. There's no other way to do it. You're very intelligent, and very beautiful too, but even you couldn't–"
Zevran snapped-to– at last, something had sunk in– "Oh?" He grinned broadly and shuffled a little closer. "You think I am beautiful, is it?"
Rhodri's entreating look fell away, and she watched him blankly.
"Well, yes, Zevran," she said after a moment. "I have eyes, and they work."
"Ah, forgive me, I did not mean to imply–" He paused. What had he meant to imply? What was he even implying? Maker, what was going on in any of this bloody conversation?
Rhodri was quick to step in again, "No trouble, don't think about that." She sighed. "We're off-topic. The point is that you need this money, and now you have it, and it's yours to do as you want with it. Now, the amulet…"
Too thought-impoverished to do anything else, Zevran followed Rhodri's gentle direction as she indicated the envelope, and took out the necklace. It was a round medallion, depicting in relief two women sitting cross-legged in front of a house. Beside the woman on the right, a sheaf of wheat lay on the ground, and next to the woman on the left was an artist's easel. Beneath the two of them, three words were engraved into the border in runes. Zevran squinted and read closely, but being as out of practice as he was, the words could have meant anything.
"Your amulet is your personal seal," Rhodri said. "There is only one amulet like this, and it's yours. Normally they're commissioned, but since we're only here for a few days, there wasn't the time, so I had to pick one that was already made. I… did feel that this one was the best choice by far, but– anyway, that's not really relevant right now." She shook her head.
Zevran glanced up at her as he slipped the amulet over his head, not quite possessing the verbal skills to ask for an elaboration, and Rhodri shook her head again.
"Anyway, the point is that you need to keep this on you, because this is how you will identify yourself with the merchant. I gave you a pseudonym, of course, which you'll see here…" she gestured down at the large-lettered AGATE FLORIANO. "Antivan roots, of course, so no need to pretend to be Tevinter."
Rhodri folded her hands into her lap and sighed. "Right. So, the last thing we need to do is go back to the bank together tomorrow."
"... Oh?" Zevran managed.
"Mmm. We need to put your thumbprint onto the back of your amulet, and you'll use that to prove that it's yours, and that should suffice. And," she pointed her nose at the money bag he had forgotten to push back into her lap, "if you're worried about carrying all that around, you can deposit it into your account box while we're there."
Zevran nodded. He looked at the pile of riches sitting squarely in his lap, driving a weight through his thighs, and blinked. Rhodri gave a chuckle that sounded so very far away, even though it couldn't have been more than an arm's length from his ear.
"A lot to take in, I know," she murmured. "But the main thing is you have options now. Real options. You can go anywhere, now. Do anything, be anyone. You won't need me any more."
His heart sank, and he wasn't sure why it was doing anything that didn't involve growing arms and legs, taking the money, and running with it to the bank. What else was one supposed to do with riches and indisputable, irreversible freedom?
Zevran chewed on his lips a moment, and spoke to his knees when he could finally persuade himself to vocalise. "... Do you want me to go, Rhodri?"
"I want you to do what's best for you," she said simply.
"But you need me here, by your side." He swallowed and looked up at her shoulder, not daring to bring his eyes the rest of the way up to her face. "... Don't you?"
In the corner of his eye, Rhodri shook her head, and his throat twisted into a knot.
"No, I don't," she said softly. "And you don't need to be by my side, either. Not any more. That's the whole point of this wealth, Zev. The only thing I need you to do, is to do what's best for you."
The room was expanding around them, walls and ceiling dragging back in every direction, and the growing space echoed with emptiness. There was nothing, and he was emptying like someone had taken the bottoms out of his feet and let him bleed it all out.
Zevran clutched his kneecaps, willing himself not to look at the door she would no doubt push him through when the words and the excuses had run dry, and dragged in a breath.
And then it hit him.
"Oh," he whispered, and glanced up at Rhodri with the smile that came so easily these days. "Oh, now." Zevran patted the money bag. "I am quite a wealthy man, no?"
Rhodri nodded. "I think that's a reasonable thing to say, yes."
"And power-wise, things have evened out between us quite substantially, no?"
"Well, you're still no Magister's heir, but you're certainly doing better than most people, I'd say."
Zevran sucked in a slow, steadying breath through his lips and ran a finger over his chin. "Oh, Rhodri," he purred. "Then perhaps now is as good a time as any to revisit that conversation we had in the Brecilian, no? What say you, mi sol?"
Rhodri's eyebrows were ascending rapidly, and would break through the border of her hairline if allowed to continue unimpeded. Her face was scarlet.
"I, ah…" she cleared her throat and held up her hands. "Don't think about that right now, Zev." She gestured at the money bag– though it could also have been at his bouncing knees, which he made sure to still just in case.
"... Not now?" he echoed, emphasising the latter word with as much oomph as he could manage in the current conditions.
Rhodri shook her head. "You're not thinking properly right now. This has all been a big shock. Just take some time to take stock of all your options. Think about where you want to be, what you want to do, now that you can actually do that safely." She held up her palms to him, "If you still want to revisit the topic after that, bring it up then. But not before, all right?"
"So we can–?"
"Zev…" Rhodri gave an exasperated little laugh. "Just wait, all right? Let the dust settle." She tapped her chest, "I'll still be here. I'm not going anywhere, whether you bring the topic up again or not. But you mustn't think on that now, sic?"
Zevran felt his face turn up in a wicked grin.
"Ah-ah," she murmured weakly. "I mean it. This is your future, and you must think about it seriously. None of this," Rhodri gestured between the two of them. "I didn't give you this in the hopes of getting entangled."
"No, but it might open the option anyway, no?" He chortled, only to fall silent as Rhodri watched him gravely.
"Zevran," she said, more firmly than gently now, "I am being completely serious. I don't ask much of you, but I am asking you now." She caught his eye and stared him straight-on. "Please prioritise thinking about what you want for your future."
Too victorious to be completely chastened, Zevran nodded and rose to his feet, money bag in hand. "As you wish, my dear Grey Warden. I had best go and start this thinking, then, no?"
Rhodri gave him a lop-sided smile and nodded. "Good plan. And we'll go to the merchant banker together first thing in the morning, sic?"
"Sí, sí," he bowed with a flourish. "Until tomorrow, then?"
"Mmm. See you at breakfast, then, Zev." Rhodri paused and added. "Or in the kitchens at midnight, if you end up hungry like me."
Zevran nodded and, as he sought more words, recalled that basic etiquette had been neglected in the midst of all this, and he was currently in possession of at least ten thousand sovereigns' worth of gifted items for which he had offered exactly zero thanks. His knees swayed a little underneath him, and he held up the money bag contritely.
"My goodness, where are my manners?" he muttered weakly. "All this, and still I have not thanked you."
Rhodri smiled. "Good," she said crisply. "Don't start, either. Nothing to thank me for."
"-! Well, surely there–"
"No," she shook her head. "None of that. See you at breakfast, Zev."
Zevran's arm sank back down by his side. He chanced a small smile, which Rhodri returned, and he cleared his throat.
"Then there is nothing to say but goodnight?"
"I believe so," she nodded.
"I see," he breathed. "Well, ah… good night, then. And see you in the morning, no?"
"That's the plan." She smiled and kicked off her boots. "See you then, Zev."
Zevran, to his utter mortification, turned around with a wave and walked straight into the closed door– and then, once the alarmed Warden was assured that all was well, he slunk away to his own room with fervent prayers to the Maker that money was not the cause of this newfound stupidity.
In the privacy of his own room, Zevran sat cross-legged on his bed, emptied the bag onto the mattress, and counted out fifty-two sovereigns, a strand of gold bars, a strand of silver bars, four gold finger-rings encrusted with rubies and emeralds, a matching gold bracelet, and a small handful of garnets and rubies.
He shook his head. How had she even made this sort of coin? Mages presumably had little need to spend money on armour or weapons, and possessed a number of special skills that were hard to come by in Thedas among those with no magical ability.
And when he thought about it a little more, she did live very simply, always eating the cheapest, most filling foods available. Even though they had made good coin on the road, he could not recall ever seeing her spend money on anything. It was as though she was allergic to making purchases, a notion that wrought a wry laugh out of him.
After counting the money a second, and then a third time, he finally put it away, splitting it and hiding it in various parts of his armour and bags. It was tempting to melt down the gold and silver bars into a variety of jewellery to wear under his armour and re-cast into a bar when the time came to spend it, but that would have to wait until he had far, far more time on his hands.
After briefly sponging himself down, Zevran crawled into bed, head swirling. He had not previously considered the possibility of an independent future for himself. Each day since his failed assassination attempt defied his expectations of even being alive, and yet someone-even if it had not been him- had been looking ahead. The idea of any kind of future, never mind a promising one, was a most intriguing one, and combined with the prospect of revisiting that delicious topic with Rhodri when some small time had passed, gave him the most welcome bout of insomnia he could recall.
§
Becoming the sudden beneficiary of large riches was not without its challenges, and deciding how to dispose of the wealth was among the least of them. Zevran could recall at least ten rich marks off the top of his head who had been reluctant to even admit their wealth, even when the signs of it were blatantly obvious. Part of it, he supposed, was because acknowledging one's well-moneyed status invariably brought in requests from the less fortunate to share a little of it. And, in more extreme cases, the attention of people who were willing to kill for it.
After much consideration, Zevran put on the bracelet and two of the rings. They would all be easily concealed by his gloves, and would have very little impact on his fighting. One gold bar would go into the bottom of his satchel, wrapped in socks for cushioning and disguising. After a little extra thought, he pocketed ten of the sovereigns as well, distributed in various pockets and seams. And, of course, he made sure to keep one or two coins in a knee-pocket that would be easily pickpocketed. A thieved sovereign from a simple pocket was a double win for the thief, who would invariably feel both clever and temporarily rich from the act. Marvellous.
That was more than enough to keep him out of trouble; the rest would go into the bank. Zevran had to admit to himself that it seemed unlikely he would see the money again if he did– did the rich really hand over their money and expect to get it back later, just like that? Surely not. But Rhodri had suggested it, and she hadn't let him down yet. Perhaps he had become too rich to inconvenience, and he could, in fact, expect to get the money back. It was hard to say.
Downstairs at the breakfast table, Rhodri sat alone with a colossal stack of toast, dressed in her finery again. She turned and grinned at Zevran as he sat down beside her, and put half the pile onto his plate.
"Zev, good morning," she took a bite of her own toast. "How was your night?"
Zevran snorted and, giving in to an impulse of cheekiness– which having not slept last night had no doubt helped along– he leaned forward and took a bite out of her toast as well.
"It was rich," he purred, and chuckled wickedly.
Rhodri threw her head back and laughed heartily. "Is that so?" she asked, and put the rest of her toast onto his plate. "Goodness, you're like a shark today. You must be hungry. Get eating, then, and we'll go, sic?"
Outside of an emergency or extreme hunger, Zevran couldn't recall having eaten faster, and Rhodri was going through her own breakfast at roughly the same speed. They left for the merchant banker just as Alistair and Leliana were shambling downstairs; Rhodri had cursorily advised them that they were 'going out,' and had said nothing more on the matter.
The merchant banker, one Camilla Octavianus, ran the Fereldan branch of Titus Octavius' concern, and her business quarters were found in a pleasant, unassuming backstreet a short walk from the Denerim market square. Zevran couldn't recall having gone this way, but it struck him as likely that this was where the better commercial enterprises had set up; the road, after all, was paved and in excellent condition, and the buildings were clean and, ostensibly at least, structurally sound.
The interior of the bank had stolen the breath out of Zevran's throat; there had been no indication outside of the grandeur that dwelled within– for safety reasons, it could only be assumed. The space was richly-appointed with the sort of decadent, gilded furniture Zevran had seen in the offices of the Talons– only in keeping with the Tevinter style, their sharp features and darker colourings had a terribly imposing edge to them. There were carved dragons and snakes galore, some of them in lush stained-glass windows that glowed faintly in the Fereldan sun. There were several portraits on the walls, some of people who resembled the banker herself, and one of a man who was covered from head to toe in elaborate robes (Rhodri would later advise him that this was the Archon of Tevinter), and grand, long banners bearing the insignia of the Tevinter Imperium.
The proprietor herself was a shorter, soft-bodied human who looked to be in her mid-fifties or thereabouts. She wore a pair of expensive-looking Orlesian pince-nez and a black velvet dress, and her hair was perfectly coiffed. Octavianus had risen from her seat behind her desk as they had come through the door, and bustled over to them without delay.
Rhodri inclined her head and touched a hand to her heart, and gave her hands to Octavianus when she reached out for it. Octavianus kissed them both, and greetings in loud, convivial Tevene ensued that lasted, by Zevran's reckoning, several minutes. He was fairly sure he had heard enquiries about a handful of family members (how had they greeted each other yesterday, then?), sleeping patterns, and breakfast, and even a few complaints about the weather, and then Octavianus turned to him.
"And this is the beneficiary, domine?" she asked. Her Common was perfectly correct, but her accent was remarkably thick. Enough so that Zevran was considering asking her to switch back to Tevene for simplicity's sake.
Rhodri nodded. "Sic, sic. Agate Floriano," she looked at Zevran and gestured at the woman, "I am delighted to introduce the lovely Madam Camilla Octavianus, who will be helping us today." And in reverse, she indicated Zevran as she spoke to the banker, "Octavianus domine, Agate Floriano, amicus carissimus est."
Zevran almost fell over as Octavianus swooped in and kissed his hands; he knew perfectly well that amicus carissimus meant 'my dearest friend,' and that it had been so openly admitted had to be grounds for dying of a blush. Even if it wasn't, his face was so hot that it looked likely to happen anyway.
"Ah, bene," Octavianus said to him with a smile. "And you are well also, domine?"
He cleared his throat and locked his knees before they could give out under him entirely.
"Marvellous, thank you," he purred, and dipped his head in a respectably low bow to the woman. "And you are also well, I hope?"
"I am very well, domine, thank you," she said with a nod, and guided them over to her desk. She rang a bell, and a round-faced human man with a similarly-styled hairdo appeared with fresh, hot coffee– proper coffee, no less, brewed in the traditional style and served in black tulip-shaped glasses.
Rhodri heaped several teaspoons of sugar into her own coffee and stirred it gently while Octavianus extracted a sheaf of papers from her desk.
"Now, domine," she flipped through the papers with her thumb. "I will not need so much information from you, I think, as Callistus domine has covered most of it. Perhaps only the branches you intend to visit in the future, in case you wish to forward payments there in advance." She looked up and adjusted her glasses, adding, "Of course, if you do not know, we can keep that open for now."
"Mmm," Zevran wobbled his head from side-to-side, partly in his own body and partly witnessing the spectacle from some metres above. "So far, I have no real plans."
"Just so," she nodded. "Then you should know, domine, that for now, the payments will come here until you say otherwise. There will be a ten-thousand sovereign credit available in each branch that you can withdraw in a single day, unless you anticipate needing anything greater?"
Zevran bit his lips to button in a hysterical laugh, and when he trusted himself to speak properly, he advised he would not.
"Mm-hmm, mm-hmm," Octavianus noted this down. "And if you put anything in your deposit box here, you can have this sent to any other branch. Normal delivery times can take a week, but we can expedite this for a fee."
"Ah," he produced the money bag and set it on the table. "If I may, I would like to put this away for now. Keeping the bag, though, if you please."
"Of course." The bell rang again, and the young man reappeared with a small lock-box. The edges of the box glowed bright blue, and Rhodri shifted away from it when it came close to her. Zevran quickly stashed the goods into the box and mentally bid it all farewell as the fellow carried the box away again.
"Your valuables," Octavianus assured him, "are protected with the highest level of magical security. Only my son and I," she waved a hand in the direction of the young man, "possess the enchantments to even take this box out of the bank. Fire-proof, water-proof, and completely theft-proof."
Zevran nodded. "Security is taken very seriously, I see," he offered.
"It most certainly is," she nodded. "Security is our number-one priority, and customer satisfaction a very close second." Octavianus smiled and took a sip of her coffee. "Now, domine, if you have any queries, you are of course welcome to ask now, or come back at any time during business hours."
When Zevran racked his brains for a question to ask and came up dry, he gave a small shrug. "Nothing at present, Madam. You have been very thorough indeed!" He took his coffee and drank a little. The rich, heady flavour, carried by heat, infused down to the bones, and he let out a sigh of relish. "Oh, my. And this coffee is divine."
She beamed. "Perbonus. As it should be, domine. Then perhaps we might move on to your thumbprint, sic? Have you brought your amulet?"
"I have," he hooked a finger into his collar and fished out the amulet, which he hadn't taken off since putting it on. He slipped it over his head and handed it to Octavianus.
Octavianus looked at the amulet and smiled. "It was a lovely choice, domine," she assured Rhodri. "A testament to your kind regard for your dependents. Now, let us warm the back…"
Before Zevran could begin to wonder what that had meant, Octavianus flipped the amulet over and traced her thumb over the smooth, shining surface and held it out to Zevran. "Now, domine, if you would be so kind as to press your thumb into the back– no trouble, it is not hot enough to burn, it will just be a little warm to the touch… ah, lovely, yes, just like that. Perbonus."
Zevran pulled his thumb away; the metal had barely given under his touch, only shifting enough to record the contours of his thumbprint, which left tiny, whirling undulations all over the metal. Octavianus tapped the side of the amulet with one finger, and handed it back to him.
"You can put this on again, domine," she said. "Though I must advise, it will be cool to the touch now. Only a little, though."
He chuckled and dropped the amulet down his shirt again. "I do not suppose I can afford to be bothered by a little cool in this country, no?"
The banker and the Warden both laughed, loudly and with a note of bitterness, and Zevran did too.
"Just so, domine," Octavianus said, and clapped her hands together. "Now, was there anything else I can assist either of you with today? Anything at all?"
When Zevran advised that there wasn't, and Rhodri did the same, the pair finished their coffee, made a series of long goodbyes with Octavianus, and left the building. Outside, the sky was overcast, and their shared sighs billowed out like smoke and hung in the frosty air.
"So," Rhodri said after a moment. "That takes care of that." She glanced at him and then looked away, wringing her robes in her hands and rocking on her feet. "That coffee is a funny drink, isn't it? Makes you… zippy."
Zevran stifled a snort. "You speak as though you have never had coffee. They did not serve it in the Circle?"
"No." She shook her head. Rapidly, and then looked down at her shaking hands. "I'm starting to think that was for the best. My students would've had to peel me off the ceiling." She shrugged and added, "Well, actually, they would probably have been stuck to the ceiling next to me. I suppose I could've just taught them up there."
He laughed this time. Loudly. And Rhodri gave a nervous little chortle herself. And then, completely unprompted, she spoke in a near-blather, "Do you know why you have that amulet? The one with Agatha and Agrippina?"
"The– what?" Zevran frowned and took the amulet out, looking down at the two women. "Is that the name of these people?"
Rhodri's eyes widened. "O-oh," she said. "You… don't know of them?"
"I do not."
"Oh." She rubbed her neck. "It's the most popular Tevinter folk story, I would say. They're popularly called the Two Friends, and you see them and the line on your amulet, all over the place. Carved into buildings, references in other stories…" Rhodri rocked on her feet. "Well, ah… do you have a little time to spare? I think you should hear the story, so you can understand why I picked that amulet for you, in particular."
Zevran couldn't help but privately wonder how much of the Warden's palpable nerves could be chalked up to the large dose of coffee and sugar she had just drunk, and how much was simply the event at hand. With his own insides shaking now, he decided it was likely the coffee, and forced a smooth nod.
"Perhaps over here, then?" He gestured at a nearby bench. "We could sit in the sun, such as it is, and take the story there."
Rhodri nodded and, almost literally, leaped into action, escorting them over and all but falling down onto the bench beside him.
"Now," she said, holding up both trembling hands, "I need to stress that the story was originally a novel, so I am shortening it. And translating from Tevene, so it won't be as elegant of a retelling as I'd like it to be."
Zevran offered his most reassuring smile and decided not to attempt touching her arm in a display of friendliness or comfort, lest he startle her and, in combination with the coffee, force the poor creature to launch herself into the sky and disappear for good. "I love a good story, short or long. Please, go ahead. I am a captive audience."
Rhodri nodded, looking rather more like she was about to be executed than tell a story to a 'dearest friend,' but she spoke all the same.
"R-right, well." She cleared her throat. "In a small village in the Tevinter heartlands, there were two neighbour girls. Agrippina was the only child of farmers, and Agatha was the only child of artists. The two families lived side by side on Agrippina's family's wheat farm. Their parents were best friends, and the girls, too, were inseparable from infancy. Now, it was expected that Agatha and Agrippina would be taught to follow in their parents footsteps. That was the custom in the area, see, but every day, without fail, once the day's lessons were over, the girls would meet out the front of their houses and play there until night fell.
"And so the years passed, and the girls grew up; Agrippina worked on the wheat farm, and Agatha worked as a painter in the village, but the day's work always culminated in the two friends sitting in front of their houses to drink tea and talk about their day, and watch the sun set over their country.
"Agrippina's wheat farm enjoyed prosperous harvests, and Agatha was approached by a wealthy noble in the nearby city who was impressed by her paintings. The noble's wife had been suffering from the Agonies after the death of a friend, and had said to her husband that she had been depressed for so long she didn't know what happiness even looked like any more. The husband was a practical sort, and he offered Agatha a two-year commission to paint a depiction of happiness that would cure his wife's misery. If she succeeded, he promised her a permanent commission, nationwide fame, and more money than she knew what to do with, and so Agatha said yes.
"For her first attempt, Agatha thought to take a personal approach to happiness. The woman's friend had died and that sparked the misery, so she painted a picture of the noblewoman and her friend, laughing and joyful. The noblewoman was touched but still grieving, and so that painting was rejected. She came back to the farm, and sat with Agrippina, and they drank their tea and commiserated.
"The second attempt, Agatha tried something a little less personal, and did a painting of a scene that strikes happiness in the heart of every Tevinter: the lush countryside. And in this case, she sat and painted Agrippina doing the wheat harvest after a bumper crop. It seemed promising, she thought. Everyone else who saw it loved it, but the noblewoman was still miserable, and that was the end of that one. She came back to the farm, and sat with Agrippina, and they drank their tea, talked about the farm, and commiserated.
"By this point, six months have gone. Agrippina's crop is beginning to come through on one of the fields, and so far it's looking promising. Agatha is aware of the time passing, and starts pondering happiness from a more intellectual and spiritual perspective. To her mind, the noblewoman clearly needed it in a more unadulterated form, so she consulted brothers of the faith and philosophers aplenty. For the remaining year and a half, she examined happiness from every possible angle and painted increasingly abstract concepts. She painted spiritual scenes, the anatomy of a star… there were about ten different paintings, if I remember correctly, and all of them were rejected."
Rhodri chuckled and added, "And, of course, she came back each time to Agrippina, and they would sit with their tea, commiserate, talk about the farm…
"And so came the night before the commission deadline. Agatha returned home for the afternoon after having her last painting rejected– I do believe that was one about the anatomy of the star– and she was, quite understandably, miserable. She sits down with Agrippina and they drink their tea.
And she complains to her friend, 'I'm exhausted, Agrippina,' she says. 'I've spent the last two years picking apart happiness in all its forms, looking at it under a lens and cutting it open like a frog, and then trying to paint it. And now when I even think of the word, it rings hollow in my head because I've said it too many times. All that, and I have nothing to show for it. The commission's over tomorrow, and I'm coming out of it with a smashed reputation. The only thing I can confidently say is that with all my research, I haven't got a clue what happiness looks like.'
"Agrippina sat with her friend's despair and thinks it over for a time. And then she said, "Well, Agatha, I'm not a scholar, but I'm confident that I have a better answer for you than any of them. I'm out in the fields and work all day, and whether it's a bountiful harvest or the crops have failed, whether I'm sunburnt or not, I consider myself the happiest person in the world because I know that no matter the day, in the afternoon I'm going to sit here with you, and we'll drink tea and talk about our day. I look forward to it from the moment I wake up in the morning. Really, I think you should have asked me first, because if you want to know what happiness looks like, here I am.'
Rhodri gestured at Zevran's amulet, and Zevran took it off his neck and handed it to her. She held it face-up in her palm and traced her thumb under the runes at the bottom. "Agrippina said, 'Iovaris iuxtate est,'" she read aloud. "Which means, 'Happiness is sitting beside you.'"
Rhodri put the amulet back in his shaking hands (why, for the love of all good things, were they shaking?). She crossed her legs and gripped her knees. "And the end of the story is– well, you know how these folk tales go. Agatha looks at her friend, sees the way she looks at her, and is inspired. She stays up all night painting that, and submits it to the noblewoman the next day. The noblewoman, of course, is immediately cured of the agonies, and they all live richly ever after."
Zevran, who found himself entirely speechless, was unable to reply, even when Rhodri looked over at him expectantly. She let out a nervous, barking laugh, and added, "It's funny, you know. I remember the first time I told my students that story. I was ten years old and very homesick, and they laughed themselves to tears, because many of them had, of course, grown up on farms. I didn't know the first thing about farms, and I remember folding my arms, all puffed up like a frog, and I said, "What is so funny?" A–and this student of mine– Millie, she was fourteen, she said to me, "Rhod, I can promise ya faithfully that whoever wrote that has never so much as laid eyes on a farmer.
"And–and I remember going to bed that night, wondering if the farmers in Tevinter told a completely different story. If they just had the names of the two friends, and the line at the end, iovaris iuxtate est, and made up some other adventure for them."
She laughed again and shook her head. "I… really should just get on with it, shouldn't I? Stop digressing and just say what I meant to say…"
Oh, Maker, there wasn't more than that. This was going somewhere far more dangerous than Alistair had taken him while drunk. If Zevran prayed hard enough, could the Maker intoxicate him on thin air so that he could at least be mentally absent? Save them both, really.
But he wasn't getting any drunker, and Rhodri had already taken a deep, decidedly steeling-sounding breath.
"'Iovaris iuxtate est has two meanings in Tevene," she said, "just like it does in Common. In one sense, Agrippina is implying that she is the embodiment of happiness and is sitting next to Agatha, and in the other meaning, Agrippina is saying that happiness can be found in the simple act of being beside Agatha.
"And– and Octavianus domine had about fifty different amulets to choose from, you know," she pushed on, rather doggedly. "Some had the drakonilla, others had stars or buildings, but I saw this one," she gestured at his amulet. "With the two friends, and the iovaris iuxtate est, and I thought 'I could have written that myself.'" She shrugged and shook her head. "Not– oh! Not because of plagiarism, of course. But it's…" Rhodri drew in another shaky breath, "It's exactly how I feel about you. Agate, the male Antivan version of Agatha, it… well, I think you understand."
Zevran looked at his knees. A breath had stopped in his windpipe, sitting there like a fat marble, not going up or down, and he and the air both stayed completely still.
Rhodri dropped her voice to a murmur, "I know yesterday I said I didn't need you–"
He dragged in air, and then, without exhaling, he took in another breath, and then another–
"And it's true, I don't. And you don't need me, either, but I think it's important that you know the difference you make." Rhodri dipped her head down to catch his eye, and even when he didn't, couldn't do her the courtesy of meeting her gaze, she watched him like that anyway.
"You make an incredible difference, Zev," she said softly, entreatingly, and as much as Zevran wanted to rip himself off the bench and flee the gentleness and the speaker, he couldn't bear to move a muscle.
"I can only speak for myself, for the effect you have on me, but you bring so much joy, and– and you make life so beautiful. I've always thought that about you.
"And now," she paused and let out a sigh, "now you can go anywhere, be anyone you want, and bring that joy and fun and splendour of yours to other lucky places, other lucky people, if that's what you want. You can do anything you like.
"I want you to know something else, too, Zev," she said after a moment. "I want— you need to know that your choice doesn't have to be permanent. If you decide to come with us, you can choose to go later on at any time. And– and of course, if you go, you need to know you'll always have a place with me. If you're gone five days or five decades, the minute you show up beside me, I'll make you tea, and we'll go on as usual, sic?"
Zevran's eyes were burning. Why were they burning? The coffee was, perhaps, poisoned, but Rhodri wasn't rubbing her eyes. And his throat! The ache was absurd! A knot, in his own windpipe, kinking off his airway altogether. How utterly useless he was.
How hopelessly, utterly useless.
He blinked furiously, and forced a smile, and nodded. There was a smart remark cooking in his head, about making sure it was tea and not coffee, lest the Warden be left zipping and shaking for days, but she didn't like tea either, and nothing was working–
"Right." Rhodri swallowed audibly, and in his periphery, she nodded and straightened up. "Well, we have another… what? Eight days here, I suppose. I think that will be enough to read through our research. I won't tell anyone, and if you don't either, you'll have eight days to think things through uninterrupted, and hopefully you'll at least know if you'd like to come along for the next little while–" she gasped and added hurriedly, "or go your own way, of course–! Whatever you want."
She shot to her feet and shook her head hard enough to make her ponytail whack against the sides of her head. "Yes, well!"
Zevran got up, too, swallowing and gulping the lump out of his throat to no avail and praying Rhodri would declare that they would be going back to the Gnawed Noble now. No more questions, no more gentleness or friendliness. An order, for fuck's sake. Something to knock a bit of sense into him.
"Ah… do you need anything, Zev?" she asked after a moment.
Zevran's eyes prickled again, and he prayed for death, and when death once again failed to come, he plastered a smile on and shook his head.
"... Maybe we could go back to the Gnawed Noble, then?" she offered. "We could relax for a little while until lunch, if you like?"
And Zevran, the damned fool that he was, grasped the sleeve of her robe like he'd float away if he couldn't anchor himself. Any and all attempts to let go– and there were many– failed summarily, and so he gave in and nodded, and Rhodri nodded back. She eased them into a walk and didn't say a word the whole way back.
§
Eight days passed in a blur. Zevran hadn't a clue what he had done, or said, or thought, but eight days had still passed, and he came to the end of that time knowing exactly two things.
The first was that the party, who had read through Genitivi's research, had found overwhelming evidence that the Brother's investigations had led him on a field trip to the tiny village of Haven. Haven, as it happened, was in the vicinity of Orzammar, which itself lay deep under the perilous Frostback Mountains. Getting to this enigmatic little place required crossing a mountain pass that, going by the Brother's map's topographical notes, looked awfully forbidding.
So forbidding was it, in fact, that the party had agreed that travelling to Orzammar a little earlier than Old Tegrin had recommended was smarter than a gamble on making it up through the pass, if the winter weather had already kicked in by the time they made it out that way. And so, with the course set tentatively for Orzammar, the way forward had been decided.
The second was that Zevran had come to the day of departure without having used his remaining time in the way that Rhodri had asked of him. He had, after all, had one job: decide whether to go with them, or go his own way.
And he wasn't without an answer for a lack of trying, of course. He had certainly attempted to plan things out. Leaving was the reasonable thing to do; who in their right mind would choose to spend the upcoming months– in the biting cold, no less– living out of a tent and hunting Darkspawn, when extraordinary wealth was all but burning in his pocket? Finding top-flight security for the money he had to hand was certainly doable, and he had even wound his way back to the bank in a spare moment alone and attempted to take some of his valuables out– and it had worked! Octavianus had bustled away to collect the box, and he took out the last two finger rings and left it at that.
He had even thought up a few fake itineraries, of making his way to Nevarra or Wycome or even Rivain with a budget that would keep him and his security force comfortable, with ample money saved each month even after paying for basic expenses and a few little luxuries. But fake was all the itineraries ever amounted to. Nothing he had any desire in pursuing, which left him with no choice but to stay.
But there was no reason to stay. Cognitively, he was plainly aware of this. Rhodri had made it perfectly clear that he should do what was best for him, and there were no hard feelings over him doing the sensible thing. What was best for him, evidently, was leaving the party.
And yet the departure day rolled around, and he had no plans to do any such thing. He had packed all his bags and come down the stairs, ready to say his thank-yous and goodbyes. That was, after all, the polite thing to do, and once he got the ball rolling things would be much, much easier from there, no doubt.
Rhodri was sitting alone at the table, fiddling with a single piece of toast. She jumped in her seat when Zevran sat down beside her, and the toast flew up into the air and landed back on the plate with a small clatter.
Zevran chuckled. "I tend to have that effect on people."
Rhodri snickered weakly. She glanced up at him, and then turned back to the toast.
"Morning, Zev," she mumbled. "How was your night?"
He shrugged with one shoulder. "Truly? I barely slept a wink. Much to think about, no?"
She kept her eyes on the toast and nodded.
"I, ah…" her voice was so quiet he had to strain to hear her, "d'you know what you're going to do? We're off today."
Zevran looked over at the front door, which was propped open as kitchen staff ferried crates of vegetables in from the market, and he was unmoved and unmotivated by the sight of the outdoors and the prospect of going into it alone. And then he glanced at Rhodri, who appeared not to notice that she was destroying the toast in her hands, picking away at it and sending clumps of the stuff all over her plate. Her eyes were fixed on him, and his amulet was a warm weight on his chest, and his mother's gloves sat on his thigh, waiting to be slipped on.
He chuckled, and the words came out like someone had pre-planned it all for him: "My lovely Warden, I think it is best to come with you."
The disembowelled toast fell out of Rhodri's hand and onto the plate again.
"I– really?" she breathed. "Are– are you sure? You could go anywhere, do anything–!"
He let out a low, wicked laugh that sent the heat up his chest and into his cheeks. "How would I ever tear myself away from your charms, lovely Rhodri?" he purred with a wink.
Rhodri's left eyelid twitched. A deep, near-purple flush had taken over every visible part of her face, ears, and neck, and Zevran grinned hard enough to make his eyes crinkle.
"I think that settles it, then," he said with a nod. "I'm with you until the end." A surge of panic shot out to his fingertips (what end? Hmm? What end?), which Zevran offset with a shrug as he added, "Well, provided you do not tire of me first, of course. Or I die. Or you die!" He let out a stupid, damned fool laugh, because that was all he was ever capable of, and shrugged again. "But there you go!"
Rhodri stared at him, agape and redder than a hot coal. And then, as though someone had booted her up the arse, she came to life and seized a stack of toast from the serving plate.
"Right!" She nodded fervently. "Right, yes! Of course!" Rhodri belted out a loud, clear laugh and snatched up a knife and the jam. "Yes. Oh… GREAT!– ah, too loud. Too loud. Right, good. Yes, and you can– you can go any time you like, of course, but you can– you can definitely stay to the end! Ah… breakfast." She waved the toast at him triumphantly. "We'll get you toast! Time for that jam you like… ah… oh, great, yes. Wonderful, good! Mmm!"
Zevran sat like a fool and watched Rhodri make him toast and cycle through twenty different ways to say 'excellent' in a handful of languages. There was no sense in his decision. None whatsoever, and he couldn't give a single damn about it. If the Maker wanted him to see sense, He would have done so, and thus Zevran not only sat like a fool: he was a fool. That was evidently what he was born to be, and who was he to question the Maker's will?
He ate every single piece of toast on his plate and called the morning a victory.