Leliana was the first one to catch on to the shift in the air, and that was something Zevran would have bet money on.

Of less certainty, however, was what had given said shift away. Had she simply come down for breakfast and caught him and Rhodri looking absurdly pleased with themselves? Rhodri's flushed complexion had persisted for quite some time after Zevran had revealed his decision to remain in the group, so it could also have been that.

Whatever the cause, it was with a smug smile and a modest lack of abandon that Leliana then nudged her Warden paramour, who had come down with her and was yet to notice whatever she thought she had picked up. She gave him a small, meaningful look, nodding in the direction of Rhodri and Zevran, and his baffled expression gradually gave way to comprehension.

Alistair glanced over at Rhodri, who was pouring tea for him and Leliana, and then he turned to Zevran. It was, it had to be said, a somewhat unnerving moment for Zevran, for whom Alistair's threats of grievous bodily harm for flirting with Rhodri were still rather fresh. If he really believed Leliana's suggestion that they had paired off, it was only reasonable to presume that Zevran's grisly end was fast approaching.

But no death came. Not so much as a threatening glare. Alistair simply looked between the two of them in astonishment, and then, when the silence threatened to suffocate them all, he finally spoke.

"Ah," Alistair said haltingly. "Right. Erm… so, you two…" he waved a finger between Zevran and Rhodri.

Rhodri slid the Templar's tea over to him with a decidedly oblivious smile. "Mmm?"

"Well, you just… ahm… well, anyway, are you happy, Rhod?"

"Me? Oh, yes." She bounced a little in her seat. "Overjoyed, really."

"You're sure?"

"Absolutely."

"And what about you, Zev?" Alistair looked at him now.

On the way to meeting Alistair's gaze, Zevran caught Leliana's eye, briefly, and the wicked woman gave him a coy smirk. Such looks from Leliana, in his experience as both an onlooker and a recipient himself, revealed the unspoken guarantee that he would be pulled aside and grilled for juicy snippets at the first opportunity. And who was Zevran to deny her? Northerners, when cut open, bled gossip, and Leliana had frequently asserted that Orlesians in particular needed a steady supply of piquant tidbits. According to her, they were especially prone to the Agonies during 'informational droughts,' as she called them.

With a careful blink to the Sister that confirmed his acceptance of the future interrogation, Zevran turned to Alistair. He smiled– rather more broadly than he had intended to, if the truth was known. But then again, it had been an excellent morning, and as a confirmed fool, it was Zevran's right to smile as widely as he pleased.

"Oh, I am thrilled," he purred with a nod. "As always, of course."

"Are you sure?"

He nodded again, and Alistair glanced between him and Rhodri.

"Well…" Alistair shrugged. "Good for you. That's… that's good. I'm glad to hear it."

Zevran could have keeled over from the relief, and from the additional challenge of concealing said relief. Somewhat erroneous as the Templar's conclusion was, it would, Maker willing, be true soon enough. Rhodri smiled and turned back to pouring Leliana's tea, only to pause midway through. Her eyebrows shot up.

"Ah!" She set the teapot down. "Forgive me, I assumed your contentedness when you said you'd slept well. Are you happy, Alistair?"

Alistair froze. "I… yeah?" He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Yeah, I'm great, thanks."

"You're quite sure?"

He nodded fervently. "Yeah, fantastic. Really."

Rhodri looked at Leliana now. "And what about you, Leli?"

Leliana had a small vein developing on the side of her head that Zevran was sure came from the violent suppression of a laughing fit. The good Sister nodded.

"I'm very happy, Rhodri," she said, adding, "and yes, I am quite sure about it."

The Tevinter Warden settled at this assurance and picked up the teapot again.

"Good," she said, rather decisively. "Well, if that changes–"

"We know where to find you."

Rhodri smiled. "Yes, you do," she said cheerfully, and filled Leliana's cup to the top.

§

For the rest of the day, Leliana and Alistair were restless. They paced and fussed and brooded, and no matter what anyone said or did, there was no calming them. If it wasn't frantic whispering between themselves, it was impatiently pushing the party to walk faster, or asking what time it was. And, on occasion, eyeing Zevran and Rhodri with the utmost beadiness. It was like being trapped in a room with two particularly agitated hens come laying time, and Zevran was partway between exasperation and hysterical amusement at it all.

Rhodri, it seemed, was closer to the former of these feelings. Not least because she had been the only one who tried with any real conviction to improve their moods– to no avail, of course.

By the time the night was falling and the tents were set up, Leliana and Alistair's fretting had reached a fever pitch. Alistair, in particular, was leaning into Rhodri like he was trying to shift a boulder, and Rhodri, who had finally reached her limit, threw up her hands.

"That's the last time I stand idly by while you both drink two coffees and a tea in one sitting." She gestured at them. "Look at you! You'd be climbing the walls, if there were any around! It's like watching my students descend into chaos when the summer rains come, honestly."

Alistair put his shoulder into the middle of her back and put his entire weight into pushing her forward. "We're going to chop wood," he insisted. "Come on, come on."

"Ae-ae, Alistair!" she exclaimed, falling into a walk. "My stars, but you are insistent today!"

"Come on…"

"Yes-yes-yes, I'm moving– aeya…"

Sten and Morrigan, who had witnessed the entire spectacle, shared a look between themselves, and then with Shale, and departed to their own corners of the camp with rolled eyes.

That left Leliana, who was already attending to the vegetables with Zevran. When everyone was at a reasonable distance, she eyed him with a wicked and rather wild-eyed grin.

"Zevran," she said breezily while peeling a potato, "I don't mean to pry–"

"My darling Leliana, you absolutely do."

The good Sister hastily acknowledged her defeat, dropping all pretense with a matter-of-fact nod. "I do, yes. So, you'd better start talking."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Ah-ah! Don't you try that on me," she lifted a finger off the potato and waved it at him threateningly. "I've known for a while now."

"Hmm?" Zevran tilted his head, fixing her with his largest Antivan eyes. "Known what, pray tell?"

"Oh, please. Rhodri looked so nervous when she pulled you aside to talk after dropping Alistair in bed in Denerim. Then everything was quiet for the rest of the week, and then she's 'overjoyed' at breakfast the day we leave?" Leliana raised an eyebrow at him. "If you think I'm a fool, you're mistaken. Something happened, and now you're together, and I-want-the-details." She made a point of nudging him with each syllable.

He shrugged and returned to the carrot he was peeling. "We are not together."

"Explain."

"Mm," he tipped his head thoughtfully. "I can give you a brief summary of what has been happening, I suppose…"

"Don't make it too brief," Leliana warned.

Zevran snorted. "Mm-hmm. Well, I did happen to mention to Rhodri– only casually, you understand–"

"Of course, yes–"

"-That I was open to getting a little closer."

"When was that?"

"When we were in the Brecilian."

"When in the Brecilian?"

Zevran clucked his tongue. "Maker's breath, woman! The same night you heard me moaning in my sleep, if you must know."

"Oh, my." She nodded and tapped his shoulder with the back of her hand encouragingly. "Go on, go on."

"Yes, yes, all right." He tutted, more born of the Northerner instinct for melodrama than any real exasperation at the Sister's badgering. "Rhodri declined, of course, otherwise we would not be having this conversation, no?"

"Why, though?"

He shrugged. "It would have been unfair on me, she said, to get involved like that when she was shielding me from the Crows. It made a 'power imbalance' between us, allegedly."

"Ah," Leliana smiled. "That sounds like something she would say."

Zevran sighed. "Mmm. I did not think it such an issue, truth be known, but she stuck to it. And that was that until we came to Denerim, and then she pulled me aside the evening she carried Alistair to bed and told me she had made… arrangements for me."

Leliana leaned forward a little, eyebrows rising. "... What sort of arrangements?"

"Ones that allowed me to leave the party and go my own way, if I wished." He paused and gave a meaningful look as he added, "In safety."

"Oh," Leliana chewed her cheek. "Protection from the Crows would be expensive, and I remember Rhodri saying she had very little money on her– ooh." Her eyes widened. "Is that where she went all this time? Was she out making all these arrangements for you?"

A weak, embarrassed little laugh slipped out of Zevran before he could stop it. He nodded and resumed peeling the carrot in his hand. "Just so, my dear." He sighed, "And I was told to use the rest of our time in Denerim to decide if I wanted to leave, or stay with the party."

"... So over breakfast, when you were looking so pleased with yourselves…" Leliana prompted.

"... I had decided to stay, yes," he finished her sentence. With the bare bones of the story covered but the obvious question of potential entanglement still unaddressed, Zevran decided, in the excitement of the moment, to press on before Leliana could dig it out of him. "I did ask, during that discussion in her room, if there was a chance now of anything between us."

Leliana dropped her peeled potato in the pot and shuffled a little closer to him. "And?"

He chuckled. "She told me to wait."

"... How long?"

"'Until the dust settled,' she said. Until I was used to my new circumstances. Then I could ask about it again."

The Sister raised an eyebrow at Zevran. "Your dust looks settled now," she said pointedly. "Why in the world are you still sitting here, talking to me?"

Zevran turned the carrot over in his hands. In theory, he could go and snatch Rhodri away from her woodcutting duties stating the arisal of an urgent question, leaving Alistair to finish preparing the firewood by himself. Rhodri would almost certainly have obliged the request, and it wasn't as though whatever Zevran would ask pertaining to their togetherness wasn't urgent. And yet, he wasn't levitating onto his feet to go and do the deed. In fact, his muscles were failing him entirely, his legs not so much as twitching upon receiving his request to stand. Good help was getting hard to find these days.

Resigning himself to a life spent sitting on this log, Zevran smirked and cut the carrot into rings.

"Why I am here with you?" he repeated. "I wouldn't dream of leaving you to prepare dinner without an assistant! Darling Leliana, what sort of man do you take me for?"

Leliana pursed her lips. "A very wicked man who is depriving himself of the company of a Warden who clearly returns his interest."

"Oh?" his belly jittered. "You sound very confident in that assertion. Rhodri never did say she was interested, though. She refused to answer when I asked her outright." Zevran shrugged, half to offset his suspicions of correctness and half to accept them before he found himself forced to do so. "She has not really shown any interest at all."

"Well, of course she hasn't," Leliana groaned. "Zevran! Maker's breath… look. You know what she's like. If she is worried about fairness, she wouldn't want you to feel forced into anything, no?" She watched him expectantly until he conceded with a nod, and then added, "So she wouldn't show her interest, would she? No."

"... No, I suppose not," he admitted.

"Then you know what you have to do, no?"

Zevran allowed himself a moment to rack his brains for any similar encounter with a mark. There certainly hadn't been any insistence on fairness that he could recall. Coyness, yes, and aloofness aplenty too, but those were in aid of appearing alluring to him, and he was as sure as he could be that Rhodri was making no such attempts.

With Leliana's eyes burning holes into him, he finally summoned a wicked smile and his best guess. "Nothing I have not done before, I do not think, my dear. Some people simply need a little coaxing to come out of their shells, and I think I have charm enough for that."

"Ah-ah!" Leliana held up both index fingers now. "No coaxing! No shells! She's not hiding from you, Zevran, she's restraining herself."

"Is there such a difference between the two?" he turned his palm up enquiringly. "It all ends the same way. A little encouragement brings the walls down, and then things can pick up."

She tsked and shook her head. "I thought you were a professional seducer."

"I am a professional seducer," Zevran bit back with a smooth, even smile. "But tell me, my dear, what mark feels obliged to practise restraint for the sake of an elven whoreson, hmm?"

Leliana's face fell, and Zevran regretted his remark immediately. That woman could do a pitying look as well as any of the Dalish, and it was enough to make him want to start a full-time career as a fish in the lightless trenches of Lake Calenhad.

"I'm sorry, Zevran," she said after a moment. She dropped her gaze to her knees and shook her head. "That was thoughtless of me."

"No, no," he said quickly. "Do not trouble yourself over it. Forgive me, I–"

"No, please don't apologise," Leliana held her hands up. "I shouldn't have said it, and I won't do it again. My point is that coaxing won't work with Rhodri, because she won't give in if she thinks she's in the right."

She nodded in the direction of the nearby copse the Wardens had gone into. "You look at how she is when someone tries to ask her what's wrong. She doesn't like it, and I think she'll end up proving to you that she won't give into temptation if you encourage her to drop her restraint."

Zevran accepted the Sister's remarks with a heavy nod and chewed his lip. "Just so. Then my options are limited, it seems."

"Not at all, mon râleur."

"Oh?"

"No-o-o," Leliana patted his knee. "I think you should tell her what you want, openly and honestly. If she's of a mind to, she will be very ready to meet those desires."

Zevran raised his eyebrows. He should tell her what he wants, as though it were right and proper to simply ask such a thing of her?

"What? She has hardly denied you in the past," Leliana shrugged. "She jumps at the chance to carry you around, no? Rhodri likes to please, and she is very fond of you, Zevran. If she weren't, she would have simply said so when you spoke in the Brecilian. She is waiting for you to tell her what you want. I think if you can explain that things are evened out between you, and that you hope to get closer, she will make it– ooh, look who's back!"

Leliana waved at Alistair, who was bustling over with an armful of firewood and an urgent, businesslike expression. Rhodri wandered quite a few paces behind him with her own load, looking more than a little flustered. Her fingers drummed one of the logs in her arms, and she was blinking into the distance like someone had thrown sand in her eyes.

"Zev," Alistair acknowledged him with a friendly nod and dropped the firewood near the pit. He looked up at Leliana. "You free for a minute, Leli?"

Leliana smiled. "I certainly– ooh!" Her potato flew out of her hand as Alistair reached down and scooped her up in his arms; Zevran barely caught the airborne vegetable before it could end up on the ground. He shared a smirk with Leliana as she passed him her paring knife (thank the Maker that hadn't been knocked into the air too) and waved as Alistair disappeared with her in the direction he and his fellow Warden had just come from.

Rhodri squatted down and let the logs in her arms drop onto the ground with the rest of the firewood.

"My stars," she mumbled as she sat down beside Zevran. "My goodness me."

Leliana's advice swirled in Zevran's head. Now, if he wasn't mistaken, would have been a perfectly reasonable time to take said advice and make his hopes known to Rhodri. She was, after all, right there, and they were entirely alone. Sten, Morrigan, and Shale were off in their respective corners on the perimeter of the camp, and Jeppe had trotted after Alistair and Leliana.

On the other, far more plausible hand, Zevran was not in a position to take this advice in a smooth, pleasing way. What Crow, after all, had any practice in telling someone what they wanted? Indeed, what Crow even had the room in their mental budget to be aware of what they wanted? None, that's who.

But Rhodri was there beside him, and she had started shelling the peas. Morrigan, in a rare display of patience, had taught her the skill a few weeks prior, and Rhodri had seized every opportunity to do it from that moment on. Zevran suspected the reward of eating the often-unwanted pea pods as she went was almost as significant of an incentive as the satisfaction of contributing to a group task. And now she was there with her warm body and long fingers, tenderly opening the pea pods and occupying the space next to him willingly. Intentionally, even.

She was waiting for him to tell her what he wanted, Leliana had said. Actively waiting, right now, and it didn't do to keep people waiting. Especially when it came to urgent matters such as these.

Ah, but Rhodri was busy now. Such conversations were ill-suited to shelling peas, not least since Zevran had no plan of action as to how this delicate matter would be resolved– and delicate it was, too. Not only was the future of their sex lives at stake, but life itself, too, if the intense mortification on both their parts was anything to go by. One more good shock and it could be curtains for the both of them.

On the bright side, if they did both die of complications of awkwardness, at least once dead, the topic could be revisited in the next life with far fewer bodily consequences.

One week, Zevran decided then and there. He had one week to decide how to approach her, and whether he had a plan or not, he would take the plunge during his next watch shift when she took over from him. If his preparation failed him, he would guess his way through. After all, was he not the master of improvisation? Something would carry him through, and even if it didn't, he would land on his feet as he always did.

The matter was settled, and with a decisive sigh, he diced the potato in his hand. Rhodri tossed half a pea pod in the air and caught it in her mouth (after a month's practice, she had gotten quite good at it), and Zevran grinned at her before he could stop himself.

Rhodri noticed and looked at him immediately– which, of course, meant that instead of being absorbed in the task as she usually was, she had been watching out for his attention. Heat crept into Zevran's ears that he refused to acknowledge on any deeper level, and he waggled his brows at her.

"Your training is paying off, I see," he purred. Rhodri beamed and nodded; Zevran pointed his nose at the other half of the pod in her hand. "Try your skills on me, hmm?"

Rhodri gave him a determined half-smile that made his skin tingle, and twisted around to face him. She held up the pod.

"Open up, then," she chuckled, "let's see if we can pull it off."

§

A week, Zevran often heard, was seven days long. Seven days, or one hundred and sixty-eight hours. If he sat down with a pen and paper, he could no doubt calculate how many minutes that made, or seconds, or even smaller units.

How, then, had a week managed to last a year? It wasn't possible; the sun had risen and set exactly seven times. Zevran had witnessed the passage of time with his own two eyes– indeed, he had spent the vast majority of it either wide awake or failing to sleep, and it was plainly obvious that things had simply felt slow in progression.

Leliana and Alistair were no doubt a part of the problem– and not an insignificant part, either. Had there ever been such a pair of wide-eyed busybodies in existence? They stared and observed and murmured speculations of pending passion (all of which Zevran, with his excellent hearing, had been forced to hear). And they had done so almost without pause. How Rhodri had gone the entire time without noticing was beyond him; Zevran could only presume that in keeping with Leliana's theory, they didn't dare speak loud enough for her to hear and thus push her into taking more of a proactive role, lest the whole process crumble.

It was hard to know what their reasoning for irking Zevran was. Perhaps they had privately decided to put up a unified front in indirectly irritating him, piling on the pressure with expectant stares until he finally cracked and did… what? Grabbed Rhodri by the collar and pull her into a kiss in the middle of breakfast? Hired Leliana to play a serenading air while he recited filthy Antivan poetry until Rhodri kissed him in a last-ditch effort to shut him up? Unreasonable, was what it was. Completely and totally unreasonable.

And those two evil individuals, Zevran was sure, were why he had finally come to his watch shift, seven days and possibly an entire year later, bereft of any plan of action. He wasn't completely unreasonable, though; it was also possible that the cold weather that had settled in over the last days had also slowed his thinking, thus keeping ideas just out of his reach. Whether the reason was one or both of these hardly mattered now, though. Fate had shat in Zevran's bed, and he would have to blunder through as best he could. If things got awkward enough that Rhodri's health was at stake, he knew to administer one of the red health potions she kept in her satchel. Somehow, though, Zevran had the feeling he was the more likely candidate to need one.

And yet there he sat on the tail-end of said watch shift, steeling himself as he heard Rhodri come out of her tent and bustle around the dead firepit for a time before crunching through the frosty grass, up to his vantage point. Huffing a wry laugh that briefly drowned out his nerves, he turned around with an unplanned grin on his face.

Rhodri was smiling back, holding two steaming cups in her hand. "Hello hello," she greeted him jovially, her breath condensing in the air as soon as it left her mouth. "A little cold tonight, isn't it?"

"This may not be the time for my evening swim, no," he conceded with a chuckle.

"Perhaps some sweet tea instead, then?" She sat down beside him and held out one of the cups. "I thought you might like something to warm you up."

He smiled as he took it. "You are good to me, Rhodri."

"My pleasure. So, did anything world-shattering happen while we lazy people were tucked up in our beds?"

Zevran snorted. "Well, there was a rabid wolf shambling around the outskirts of the camp," he gestured at the carcass that lay a stone's throw away with a single arrow sitting neatly in one eye socket. "I would not call it a world-shattering event, but I will not think less of you if you disagree."

Rhodri shrugged and sat down beside him on the fur. "Uneventfulness is a luxury, they say, but they also say variety is a spice. Between the two, I'm honestly not sure which is more expensive in Ferelden." She blew on her cup and took a sip.

He smiled and shook his head at the ridiculous remark before doing a double take. "Mm? I thought you did not like tea."

She glanced at him. "I don't. Tea is taken from the river running straight through the Void."

"Then what is this thing you-" he paused. "Oh, Rhodri. You are not drinking hot water, surely! Hah! All your criticism of Fereldan food and then you drink the Fereldan equivalent of tea?"

Rhodri had taken another mouthful of her drink while he was speaking, and said mouthful only remained behind her lips because she had slapped a hand over her mouth, her would-be laugh nothing but a wheeze coming out of her nose. Zevran bit down hard on his lip to maintain a deadpan expression, but her mirth proved difficult to block out. He compromised with himself and grinned into his hand.

"Aeya," she eventually gasped, lowering her hand. "Incorrigible. This is hot water with honey in it, so I suppose it's a small improvement on Fereldan tea. Kirkwaller tea, perhaps." She held the cup up. "Would you like to try some?"

Zevran shrugged. "I anticipate disaster, but why not?"

He took the cup and blew before taking a small sip. The liquid coated his throat and left a comforting, woody sweetness on his tongue, spreading the heat through his chest and down to his belly. Overall, the drink was far removed from a disaster, but his strong black tea would still outperform it substantially.

"A pleasant surprise, thank you," he conceded as he handed it back.

Rhodri arched an eyebrow. "Well, I never! I hope this isn't the start of an aversion to seasonings. I cannot be the only one up against "Pepper Is Too Hot" Alistair and Leliana."

"Never, my Warden. I wouldn't dream of such a thing." Zevran took a sip of his tea and was proven correct; it was far superior to her concoction. "Though I will confess that I feel a little sorry for you, never finding enjoyment in the finest hot beverage in Thedas."

"You say that," Rhodri countered with a grin, "but have you heard of hot chocolate?"

Zevran pursed his lips thoughtfully. "I seem to recall a very wealthy mark whose younger siblings were arguing over who had eaten the last chocolate. Very loudly, I might add, and if memory serves, both of them threw both their shoes at each other. Not hot chocolate, I do not think, but I do know it is edible, and that nobles squabble over it."

"Once you've had it, you'll know why. Hillary used to make it for us children whenever I did well in school. Gorgeous." Rhodri hummed luxuriantly and, as if remembering herself, snapped back into action. "Chocolate itself is hard and brown, and looks very unappealing in bar form for reasons I'm sure you can guess."

Zevran snorted. "I will hazard a guess that it is favoured despite its appearance, rather than because of it."

Rhodri chuckled. "That's right. Chocolate's rich, very sweet and creamy, and it melts in your mouth quickly. I don't know how Hillary made it into a drink, but it was perfect, even in the heat of the afternoon. Once we get back, I'll ask her to make you some, and I think I'll have you convinced soon enough." She shot him a confident, almost smug smile, as though certain she had won the debate before it could even begin.

"Someone is sure of themselves," he observed archly. "I would suggest we try making it ourselves, though I have not seen any chocolate here in Ferelden."

"I saw a single bar of it in Denerim."

"Oh?"

"Mm," she nodded. "Near the merchant banker was an imported goods shop, and that lonely, dusty little bar was on a pedestal in the window display, wrapped in red paper with a bow. Had its own little sign: 'Made in the Donarks.'" She chuckled, "They wanted ten sovereigns for it."

Zevran let out the same dramatic, sharp 'Eh?' the brothel workers made at any mention of an extortionate price. It was enraged, animated birdsong, and a noise he had promised himself as an embarrassed child he would not make. And yet here he was at twenty-five, wailing with the best of them. Zevran Arainai, Antivan fishwife extraordinaire.

"Ten?" he echoed in a near shriek.

"Ten! And the bar was barely as long as my thumb," Rhodri held her hand up indicatively, and then proceeded to wave it scornfully. "Absurditum. No wonder it was covered in dust! Who in Ferelden could afford something like that?"

The answer came to him with astonishing clarity, and barely believing it himself, Zevran touched his chest. "I could."

Rhodri let out a laugh, bright and ringing, and gave him a smile that showed every tooth in her head. "Well, now! That's very true!"

Zevran laughed a little himself, and shook his head when the madness of it all was too great to ignore any longer. He huffed a sigh, "What a thought. I could squander ten gold on a mouthful of food, and I would not feel the loss in the slightest."

"Mm-hmm. You could buy twenty of them and not notice it. More, even."

He shook his head again. "Just so. And yet, all I want to do is laugh at the thought of having that sort of money. I wonder how long it will take before being wealthy feels natural to me, no?" Zevran chuckled, adding, "Not long, surely. Maker knows I was made for the high life!"

Rhodri smiled. "Emotionally? In my experience, you might never get used to the big change. Mind you, I went in the other direction, sic? Fabulous wealth in Minrathous to nothing in Kinloch Hold. Perhaps it's different when poverty is the starting point." She shrugged. "But emotions don't have to have a big impact if you use your head. So long as you know what you can do in your new circumstances, what your new limits and options are, that's your way forward. The emotions can be dragged along with you wherever you go."

'Let the dust settle,' Rhodri had said. A sensible admonishment at first blush, really. After all, rare was the wise decision made in the heat of the moment. But now that they sat there, talking about what exactly would settle in the face of this… colossal elevation in status, the only reasonable conclusion was that any of Zevran's situational dust that could settle, had probably done so by now. And since dust was heavier than still air and thus, short of an updraught, was guaranteed to settle, whatever was still hanging up there was probably not dust.

All this, of course, meant that either he was onto something, or he had managed to get himself swept up in a windstorm of metaphors. In either case, he had– quite neatly, all things considered– arrived precisely at the topic of the evening.

Keeping his pleased smile to himself, he turned to Rhodri and found her watching him with concern.

She spoke before he could: "Is everything all right, Zev? You seem a little… shipwrecked, Irving used to call it. Caught up in your own thoughts, I think he meant, rather than literally trapped in a precarious spot with a ruined sea vessel."

Zevran snorted. Sometimes these things worked themselves out doubly.

"I am quite fine, thank you," he replied. "I was thinking about our conversation back in Denerim, as a matter of fact."

After several moments of looking at Zevran in total and utter blankness, Rhodri cleared her throat. "Ah… not to be obtuse," she said slowly, "but you'll recall we had more than one conversation in Denerim. And to my mind, many of them were momentous, so there's no 'the' conversation that I can assume you mean."

He chuckled and bit his lip. "We had this particular one twice, in fact. Once in the Brecilian, and then in Denerim– ah, I see you have caught my meaning." Zevran raised an eyebrow at Rhodri's mouth, which had fallen open wide enough for a bear to wander into. "You look terribly shocked there, my lovely Warden. Is it so unexpected that I might wish to revisit the topic after the way it ended last time?"

Rhodri wiped a hand over her mouth and left it there a moment. "I… suppose when you put it like that, I should have anticipated it," she finally said in a hesitant mumble, "and yet you catch me unprepared all the same. To be truthful, after the first time we discussed this in the Brecilian, I didn't dare think on it again, even in passing."

'Didn't dare?' Was that what she said? Now and then, marks who were cripplingly self-loathing about their looks, once naked and in bed with Zevran, would confess that they hadn't dared to hope his attentions were genuine. Such remarks had never extended beyond his appearance or smoothness– though why should they, really? He knew why the Crows had bought him. A drawing card was a drawing card, and Rhodri had said her piece on his looks– only once, but still.

"Oh-ho-ho…" Zevran forced his eloping stomach back down his windpipe with three swallows he hoped were not audibly thick, and carried on as if he hadn't had to pause to do that. "And why is that, mi sol? Am I so devastatingly beautiful that I frightened you away from those thoughts?"

"... Pardon me?"

He faltered. "Ah. Perhaps– perhaps not, then–"

"I am… so baffled right now," Rhodri said, shaking her head. "But if I've understood correctly, let me say that my self-imposed ignorance had nothing to do with your looks, and you certainly don't frighten me." She chuckled. "Maybe we can talk about that later. For now, please, go ahead and tell me about this other thing. I'm listening."

Despite– or perhaps because of hours upon hours of fruitless planning for this moment, now that the long-awaited chance to finally say his piece had come, Zevran couldn't help feeling rather put on the spot. The nerve of him. He permitted himself a single breath with which to steel himself, tossed a last-ditch prayer heavenward, and pushed on.

"Well, my dear," he purred, "I think we can agree that this dust we spoke of is as settled as it can be. I have not gone anywhere, and I have no desire to leave unless my presence is no longer wanted."

He left a smallish pause there, ideally one in which Rhodri would assure him in that stout, earnest manner of hers that his presence was very much desired. Her eyes widened; he waited a little more.

"Oh, I want– ah!" she paused, wringing her hands. "That is to say, we want you to do what's best for you. Nothing more, nothing less. So long as you're happy with us, so are we."

There. You got your answer. Again. Does she have to say it a hundred different ways before you'll understand?

Zevran swallowed the guilt down and schooled his voice into smoothness. "Trust me, my lovely Warden, when I say I am well pleased with my current direction."

"Oh," Rhodri said breathlessly. Her head bowed a little as she grinned broadly at her knees. "Oh, that's great. That's– that's the best news."

"I am delighted to hear it," he said, and meant it. "Well then, I do believe that the conditions between us have changed somewhat. That miracle you spoke of… I think you have more than delivered it, and so far as I can tell, we are in an excellent position to discuss getting closer." He allowed himself a single moment to watch Rhodri's face soften before adding, "Only if you are willing, of course."

"I–" Rhodri paused and cleared her throat. "Yes, of course. Yes, we can– we can talk about that."

"Lovely." He edged as close as he dared, stopping only when their knees were almost touching. "If I may be blunt with you–"

"Of course," she nodded fervently. "Please, any time– ah! Apologies," Rhodri held up her hands, "I interrupted. Forgive me. Ah… blunt away."

Zevran couldn't help but smile, and decided instinctively not to pursue the search for a reason behind it. His voice was warm as he spoke, even to his ears, and effortlessly produced. No summoning, no monitoring; he ignored that inconvenient little fact as well.

"I still fancy you, lovely Rhodri," he murmured. "More than ever, in fact. And I do believe that whatever unevenness there might have been between us has been brought well within appropriate levels now." He fell silent as Rhodri met his gaze, surveying him with gently furrowed brows for a small, delicious moment.

He pushed on: "The question is: do you fancy me back? And if you do, is this," he waved a hand between them both, "that is to say, a new level of closeness, something you would wish?"

Rhodri hummed under her breath. "Has the power imbalance been brought into check, though?" She shrugged and let out a puff of air. "I truly don't know. I wouldn't know how to quantify it. What is an acceptable level of imbalance? How do you measure it to know what's enough and what isn't?"

Zevran chuckled ruefully. "Oh, I think that would depend on whom you asked. I know any Crow would tell you that the more powerful you are, the better positioned you are to conduct relationships of any kind." He laughed again as Rhodri gave a contemptuous snort.

"Disgusting," she spat.

"Just so," he smiled and sighed. "For my part, I think there is no easy answer. We are all advantaged and disadvantaged in some way, no? You are a human, I am an elf. I am five years older. Five years more life experience, and seventeen more years than you spent in the outside world–"

"Enslaved all the while, though," she objected. Zevran arched a brow at her.

"I do not suppose the mages in Kinloch Hold enjoy many freedoms themselves, though, no?"

"I–" Rhodri paused. "... Well, no."

He smiled. "See? Already a world of nuances. How to compare the freedom of being allowed to participate in the outside world, and the freedom of being allowed to stop serving the Crows? We could write a book on that alone."

"You're right," she sighed. "So how would we navigate an entanglement with all these differences? I don't see how we could do it."

"Oh, easily enough," he waved a hand, making sure to keep the motion airy. "The same way we have navigated everything else between us, I should think. Confidence in the other's integrity goes a long way, I find."

Rhodri blinked. "So just… trust each other? That doesn't seem very fail-safe."

Zevran shrugged. "It has gotten us this far, has it not? And if one of us is not pleased, we have the means to stop things whenever we wish." An impatient scrabbling began under his skin, almost enough to tingle, as she acknowledged this with a nod.

"I… well, that's a very good point." She crinkled her chin in a thoughtful frown, "You're quite right there. So I suppose, in theory, since we can say no to each other, there's no reason it would be immoral."

His breath swelled.

Yesyesyesyesyesyes–

Zevran forced steadiness by tensing his whole body, holding it for as long as he dared, and relaxing again.

"Mmm," he nodded with a smile he couldn't quite stifle. "You have always made it clear that I could say no to you. But, provided you are interested, of course, I would also very much enjoy the chance to say yes to you."

She watched him with a small, tender frown. "You're quite sure you want this?"

Zevran could have– very nearly did– shriek with exasperated laughter at the question. In fact, how he had managed to keep it from happening was worth investigating later. Perhaps it was the knowledge that Rhodri had been more than patient with the consistent, insecure foolishness that Zevran took to absurd lengths compared to what amounted to courteous checks on his wellbeing from her. Perhaps it was some other, unknowable thing.

Either way, at that exact moment, laughter was not called for, and grilling himself with questions would be something for later. Much later, ideally, after having explored all manner of indulgences with the Tevinter opposite. For now, there was a question that demanded an answer.

"Oh, yes," he said through a grin. "Most certainly. But do you, lovely Rhodri? You have not said yet."

Rhodri's face stayed as it was, hardened a little, even, but the blush creeping into her cheeks was unmistakable. It didn't do to indulge in any sort of jubilation before it could be established that there was , indeed, something to celebrate, but Zevran's chest was swelling and his fingers were aching to stroke burning cheeks and melt broad, hard shoulders under the practised weight of his hands.

He crossed his legs and sandwiched his fingers into the folds of his knees. Waited.

And then he cursed himself as Rhodri, all but curled into herself now, murmured two soft, unintelligible syllables. He had been listening. Attentively, no less!

Hadn't he?

Can't even tell if you're listening when it counts now. How the weak do crumble.

Zevran ducked down to meet her eyes and smiled apologetically.

"Forgive me, my dear, I did not catch that."

"Ah." Rhodri's face turned a few shades darker. "Sorry, I–" she paused, rubbing her fingers together. "I said– ah… 'badly.'"

"'...Badly?'"

"Yes. I… want this," she stiffly indicated between them with her hand, her voice dropping to a rasp, "badly."

"Oh." A low, delighted laugh bubbled out of Zevran, floated him off the ground and onto his knees. Heat oozed through his chest, settling in a pool low in his belly. There had been some vague plan to follow through with some practised movements, to take Leliana's advice and somehow make clear his own wants and then take in both hands whatever Rhodri was willing to give.

And he had made motions to give at least a preliminary indication in reaching out to her– though what he was reaching for, he wasn't entirely sure. One hand was making a beeline toward her cheek, the other was– where? Approaching the waist? Her shoulder? None of it was clear. What starved person specified the meal they wanted when they would have eaten anything?

But Rhodri was quick enough to surprise him as she slipped her fingers into his outstretched hands. No thumbs, all stiff, featherlight gentleness feeding the momentum of his forward lean until he was in her lap, straddling her for all the world to see. Perhaps she had misunderstood his intentions in reaching out; hand gestures had often gone lost in translation between them.

Then again, perhaps she hadn't.

Unable to resist himself, Zevran reached out and brushed his knuckles over Rhodri's cheek. Smooth as glass, and marvellously toasty. Rhodri's eyes fell shut, and a little thrill went through him as she leaned into the touch. So easy to please. So pleased by him, of all people. Madness.

Rhodri sighed and hugged the hand to her face with her shoulder. The corner of her mouth was pressing into the meat of his thumb, and why, for the love of the Maker, were Zevran's own lips so damned far away from it all?

With a smile, he hooked a finger under her jaw and tilted her head up. She went easily, even reached her own hands out to cup his cheeks with her long, warm palms. And it was so simple, so ridiculously simple to shorten that gap between them until their noses were rubbing and the heat of her quickening breaths curled around his chin and lips. Nothing more to stop them; no more prerequisites to fill. Nothing to do but–

Her fingers firmed on his cheeks, keeping him from moving in any further as Rhodri shifted back with a gasp.

"I can't kiss on the mouth in public," she panted. "It's considered immodest– ah!" Her eyes widened. "Not that I assumed–! But–- ah… just in case you needed to know, sic?"

Zevran's eyebrows rose. "Of course," he said quickly. "Forgive me, I–" he glanced down at her lap and made to stand up. "I should not be sitting on you like this, I imagine–"

"No-no, this is fine," she gave a gentle wave of the hands.

"Mm?" He chuckled. "I must admit, I am surprised that this is permitted when a kiss is not."

Rhodri shrugged with a droll smile. "Sitting in someone's lap isn't unambiguously sexual. Friends and family often sprawl on each other."

"Ooh," Zevran smirked. "But kissing on the mouth is, hmm?"

"Mmm… less so now. More a holdover from ages past when it was an explicit sexual act… but we do still informally call mouth kissing 'the first fuck.'" She chuckled and added, "These days, you wouldn't get charged for public indecency, but it is akin to holding a glowing sign that says 'we plan to rut to death.'"

He bit his lips to button in a low, wicked laugh. He nodded, "Duly noted. Though I could not help but notice you said the… mouth? Quite specifically."

"I did. The mouth, the neck, and anything covered by clothing, those are off-limits in public." Zevran's eyes fluttered shut as Rhodri delicately ran her fingers over his forehead, down his cheeks, and followed the line of his jaw to his chin. He forced them open again in time to watch her add, "But kissing the rest of the face is permissible– looked on positively, in fact. As are the hands."

"Good," he purred. "And do you enjoy it?"

Rhodri threw her head back and let out a laugh that shook her whole body. "Oh! Oh, my, what a question." She eyed him playfully and dropped her voice to a murmur. "May I be blunt with you, dulcis?"

His stomach leapt at the name, forcing a soft, breathless laugh out of him before he could stop it. "I hope you will."

"Wish granted," she winked. "I could happily spend all my waking hours with my mouth on another's body, and theirs on mine… provided I had no duties and the other party wished it too, at least." Rhodri shrugged, "In public is no different, except that I'm obligated to be selective about where the mouth touches."

"I see…" Zevran snaked a hand around the nape of Rhodri's neck, and she let out a low, contented hum as he stroked along her shaved hairline, where the new growth gently prickled under his fingertips. He dipped his mouth down to her jaw, "I can think of something we could be doing right now, then."

She sighed and nodded. "I– ahem. I must keep watch, too, but please… whatever you want." From above, her eyes dropped down to meet his, gleaming and… what was around the edges there? Tenderness? Nerves?

Wouldn't it have been better to leave that question untouched? To encourage the ambiguous environment of the shadows, where Zevran so naturally thrived? But no, he had to ask, didn't he? Had to sabotage himself at every turn by indulging the pestilential curiosity that had driven him since joining the party, had to smirk and croon a gentle, probing, 'Nervous, Rhodri?'

And he deserved to be met with warmth that scalded, that was unable to be explained away as anything else as she smiled at him like he was worth smiling at and rasped, "No."

He tore his eyes away with the speed reserved for the reflexes of idiots who stared straight into the sun, but further withdrawal was impossible. There were no legs to stand him up and bear him away, no arms willing to loosen his grip on her, and any attempt to incite such movements only made an ache that refused to ebb until he gave up, leaned into the madness, and pressed his mouth into her jaw.

A broken little hum eked its way out by Zevran's ear, and warmth and salt crowded out the freezing night air as Rhodri's body carefully, painstakingly curled into him. There were no moves to hold him in place. Her fingers were skating along his cheeks with no purchase on him whatsoever; he could have shifted in any other direction, and she would have remained. The thought revitalised the unpleasant pang from before; he stifled it with another, rougher kiss on the sharp tip of her jaw, and made a line down to the corner of her mouth.

"Venhedis–" Rhodri pulled back with a gasp, regarding him with a slack, heavy-lidded smile. "You've made your intentions quite clear, dulcis." She chuckled breathlessly, "But it will still be some hours before the sun rises and we're afforded a little privacy."

Zevran bit his lip and smirked back wolfishly. "No chance of asking Alistair or Leliana to take over? I think that after all their heckling, it would be quite fitting to put them to work while we played."

"Mm… you know I couldn't do that."

"Ah. A pity, truly. I have already thought of several ways we could–" he fell silent as Rhodri's fingers went over his mouth, and pressed a kiss into her fingertips with a sinful little chortle.

"Aeya…" she pulled her fingers away and gave him a playfully reproachful look. "Evil man. I'm barely able to think clearly as it is! And furthermore, shouldn't you be sleeping right now?"

He touched a hand to his chest. "Me? Sleep now?"

"You were yawning today," she declared.

"... I do not remember this."

"I do. You yawned twice over lunch, and then a few more times in the later part of the afternoon. You need rest."

In fairness to Rhodri, he hadn't slept a wink the night prior; agonising over plans on how to conduct himself tonight had been a full-time affair, and the days before that hadn't been very much of an improvement. And to think, all that worrying had revealed was that elaborate plans were unneeded. And, as it happened, he didn't conceal exhaustion as well as he presumed.

Zevran glanced over his shoulder, down the hill to where his tent stood. It was covered in frost, and not within grabbing or nestling distance of a warm Warden body. And that bloody ache was still there when he even pondered getting up.

He shrugged as nonchalantly as he could manage in the conditions. "Perhaps I could keep you company while you keep watch?"

Rhodri laughed. "While sleeping, is it? What are you going to do, sleep on me?"

Oh, the Maker works quickly these days.

"Ooh! Now there is a thought," he purred. "If such a thing is on offer, I would not say no."

She shrugged. "All right. You could sleep against me, if it pleases you. I could even let you under my robe so that you have my body heat. You'll be warm and safe with me, no question."

Zevran's eyes widened. "Marvellous," he crooned. "And of course, I will be on my very best behaviour."

"You'll be snoring within ten minutes," Rhodri replied dryly, not looking up as she undid the fasteners on her robe.

"I do not snore!"

She snorted. "Of course you don't. I meant the other Zevran."

Zevran harrumphed playfully and pulled the robes around him when they came loose. He settled back against Rhodri's torso, so hard and warm and Maker, the smell of salt was everywhere and lulling him into the plush, seductive pull of drowsiness. How did it creep up so quickly like that? After all this?

But there was no answer– or if there was, he was too damned exhausted to see it.

"I'll believe I snore when I hear it for myself," he muttered, snickering in spite of himself as Rhodri laughed. Her head leaned down enough to press her cheek onto his crown for a moment, and then lifted away again. Tenderness. Terribly wrong of him to take it, and terribly ill-directed on Rhodri part. Wasted on him.

But who was Zevran to dictate how people spent their energies? Totally out of his purview. The only thing that was his business at that exact moment was the act of closing his eyes and sleeping, as had been asked of him.

He shut his eyes dutifully.