"Dulcis?"

Zevran's eyes opened as Rhodri patted the tent canvas. Had he really been asleep?

Surely not. Drowsing, at the very most.

Rhodri spoke again, "May I come in?"

Open the flap, idiot.

"Ah!" He scrambled to the tent flap and pulled it open, suppressing a curse as a gust of icy wind tumbled in. Outside, Rhodri smiled down at him, stepping out of her shoes as she went.

"Forgive me," he held a hand out to her and, when she took it, guided her into the tent with him. "I was terribly slow to answer, wasn't I?" Zevran winked, "You must have bewitched me with your charms!"

Rhodri snorted. "Yes, I'm sure that's what it was. Sleep is such an unlikely candidate, isn't it?"

"Surely you have not been gone long enough for that," he chuckled. "I barely had time to shut my eyes… no? … How long have you been gone?"

She shrugged and slipped her robe off. "A while. Long enough to see a change in the weather, certainly. It's getting very blowy out there now."

He acknowledged the observation with a lamenting sniff. "I did notice a little of that when I pulled you inside. We are getting more of that weather lately, do you not think?"

"We are," Rhodri nodded. "It's because we're getting closer to the Frostback Mountains."

"Ah," he said glumly. "Then I suppose it will not improve from here. No warm weather for me."

"Unlikely. But I'm on hand with heating spells whenever you want them. Any time, dulcis, sic?"

"A tempting offer! Ooh, and just think, we could even conserve mana if you simply held me against that exquisite body of yours, no? Ideally without clothes, so that I warm up in no time." He winked with a small flourish and a sultry chuckle.

Rhodri smiled through a bitten lip. "The next time we're alone in here, you'll have whatever your heart desires. For now, though, I'm about to make your breakfast. I had to wash first, get all the sweat off." She pinched the fabric of her tunic and waved it a little, "But I forgot to take a fresh set of clothes with me when I went to the lake, so I'll need to change out of these old ones. If you're not ready for nudity, of course, I can dress elsewhere–"

"No, no," he shook his head quickly. "No, please. If you enjoy appreciative audiences, you'll more than find one in me."

Rhodri laughed. "Of late, I get as many fascinated audiences as I do appreciative ones, but I don't mind either way."

"... Oh?" Zevran leaned back on his hands and peered up at her through his lashes. "Is your beauty scientifically dazzling as well?"

"I think it must be!" She pulled her tunic off and set it down in one corner. There was no breastband or slip beneath, and she stood with her top half entirely bare. Grinning, Rhodri indicated her thick arms and broad shoulders with a flourished gesture. "Have you ever seen a human as big and strong as me who wasn't a man?"

He bit his lip, running his eyes over her appreciatively, and shook his head. "Is it the Taint?"

"Ooh, you're good!" Rhodri nodded. "Smart, smart fellow! Would you believe I was as thin as Morrigan before I joined the Wardens? Thinner, even." She snickered as Zevran's eyebrows shot up. "Oh, my word, yes. I had smaller hips and much bigger shoulders, but then I joined the Wardens and, well…"

"You grew?" he offered.

"I did a lot of that, yes," she grinned. "But shrank, too, in some respects. The Taint eats most of your body fat, it seems, and I didn't have much to begin with. Hence my chest," Rhodri nodded down indicatively, where her nipples (there were no breasts to speak of) sat misaligned and at differing heights atop wide, broad musculature. "All the softness was gone in a day, and there was nothing left but loose skin that hung like a flap. I got such itchy heat rashes underneath that I had to shrink the skin away."

"You… did it yourself? Magicked the skin off?"

"Mm-hmm," she nodded, and added with a laugh, "it was a rushed job, though, and I did it without help, hence the untidiness." Rhodri chuckled and shook her head, "I could even them up again, I suppose, but you know…" She paused and glanced around furtively. Zevran's stomach gave a pleasant jitter as a hint of colour crept into her cheeks.

"Ooh, Rhodri," Zevran purred. "Have you got a little secret for me?" He tilted his head so that his ear faced her, "Come and whisper it to me, my darling. Tell me everything."

Rhodri laughed. "Oh, it's not a secret. It's just… silly, really. You'll think I've lost my mind, though, I'm sure of that much."

"Now, now! Did I not say once that sanity is overrated?" Zevran gave her a playfully reproaching look. "Be as mad as you like. You are in very good company with me."

That won him a broad, if somewhat bashful grin. Rhodri nodded. "All right. Well, to be honest, I'm not in such a hurry to correct my nipples, because, well." She cleared her throat, "The first day I saw them in the mirror, I had this… thought."

Heat pooled low in his belly. "... Oh?" he prompted softly. "What sort of a thought, hmm?"

"... One that made me get a piece of charcoal from the fireplace and… and draw a face on my belly so that my nipples looked like a pair of googly eyes."

A deeply undignified shriek of a laugh burst out of Zevran, which he stifled as quickly as he could manage by slapping a hand over his mouth.

"Forgive me," he choked, "I was not laughing at you, I swear."

Rhodri gave a shy little smile and scuffed her foot on the canvas. "To be honest, I did hope you'd find it funny. I thought it was hilarious at the time, but you know, Morrigan didn't laugh at all when I told her about it."

"She did not laugh?" Zevran clucked his tongue sympathetically. "Ah, well. Morrigan does not know what she is missing. Let me assure you that if you wish for company the next time you draw a face on this marvellous body, Zevran will be there in a heartbeat! I could even assist in the artwork!"

"That's quite an offer, coming from someone as talented as you," she said as she shed her pants. "You draw beautifully. Did you have a hand in designing any of your tattoos?"

"I did! Quite a few, actually. Some of them I even inked myself." He hiked up his left sleeve and indicated the series of black peaks and swirls spanning from his elbow to his wrist. "This one, for example, was the work of a few days."

"Hold the mirror still, Taliesen," Zevran requested gently, not looking up from the sinking reflection of his elbow.

In the corner of his eye, Taliesen, forever distracted by any- and everything, scowled and steadied his grip on the mirror. Zevran raised an eyebrow. "I told you you did not have to do this. You can go, if you like. Prop it against the wall there and–"

"No, no," Taliesen protested. "It's all right, I'll keep it still. I will!"

He said it with all the conviction in the world, just as he had the previous twenty-some times that afternoon. Zevran shifted the needle away from his skin and watched the human watching him with eyes he could– often did– tumble into. He scoffed and shook his head.

"Truly, Taliesen, I do not know why you insisted on coming with me today." He waved a hand at the storm-whipped king tide throwing itself into the seawall, and then at the pouring rain filling the deep gutters by their ankles, "You loathe the water, and it is coming from all sides. And you hate sitting still!"

He knew well enough why, and knew just as well that Taliesen would never admit it. Why did he always do this to himself?

His lover's jaw clenched, shoulders shrugged tightly. "Doesn't matter," Taliesen grumbled. "I'm here now, aren't I? Isn't that what matters?" He nodded at Zevran's elbow. "Just get on and finish the bloody thing, or we'll be here all night."

"And here I was thinking you'd leap at the chance to get away for a night with me."

Taliesen's darkening eyes betrayed his scornful curled lip; a hint of satisfaction stirred in Zevran's chest. It was enough for now.

"Shut up," Taliesen mumbled, his heart nowhere near in it as he threw a nervous glance at the water. "Go on, get back to stabbing yourself before these fucking waves breach the seawall and drag us out to Rivain."

Zevran smirked, eyeing the mirror as it dipped again. "I will if you'll kindly keep that mirror still."

"Ugh-h-h…"

Rhodri paused with a fresh pair of pants in hand, cocking her head from where she stood to match the angle of Zevran's arm. He chuckled and held it out to her.

"You can come closer and look, mi sol, if you are comfortable."

Rhodri's eyebrows rose. "Oh, you don't mind that I'm–? I can get dressed first–"

Zevran laughed. "No need for that. You can lose the smallclothes, too, if it pleases you." He waggled his eyebrows, grinning at the wolfish smile his comment was met with, and beckoned her over. "Come as close as you like."

"If you're sure…" she set the pants down and sat cross-legged on the bedroll beside him. He lay his arm in her hands, watching her interested frown (she had a frown for almost every emotion, it seemed) as she ran her eyes over the tattoo. "It's beautiful. Reminds me of waves. And these little strokes here, at the peaks of the lines," she ran the pad of her middle finger over each one demonstratively, "it's like the water droplets when the waves crest. The little ones that get suspended in the air."

He beamed. "Just so! We were having a week-long summer storm when I did this tattoo. High tides every day, and the water was the choppiest I had ever seen it. One or two afternoons, the waves were so high that they crashed up the cliff faces and over the corniches. Made them completely unusable!" Zevran sighed, a little wistfully. "I watched it whenever I could get away from the apartments, and wanted something to remember it by, hence the tattoo."

"Is this one your favourite tattoo?" Rhodri asked, and then frowned again. "Do people even have favourite tattoos? Does it work that way?"

"I have a favourite," he nodded, "though it's not this one. I do like it, though. Would you like to guess my favourite tattoo, or shall I show it to you?"

Rhodri hummed. "I seem to remember you said to Alistair you have plenty all over, and I've only ever seen you clothed. So unless you show me all of them so I can make a proper guess, I think you'd better just show me the favourite one."

Zevran chuckled. "Oh, I think I could have a wonderful time having you guess where I am tattooed. You could name the body part, and I could strip it naked so you could see the proof for yourself!" He laughed a little louder as Rhodri's stomach interrupted her low, approving hum with a noisy growl. "Oh, dear! Perhaps breakfast is the priority for now, no?"

"Ah," Rhodri shrugged with a droll smile. "We should eat, it's true, but the game you suggested sounds like grand fun, too."

"No doubt," he purred. "Not to worry, there is always tonight. For now, we had best get to the business end, so to speak." Zevran waved his hand over his left cheek. "This one is my favourite. For now, at least."

"Lovely choice. Did you do it yourself?"

"I did not. In fact, to begin with I did not want a tattoo on my face at all."

"... No?"

"No, no. In Antiva, facial tattoos are often favoured by mages, cultists, or Crows, and the average Antivan fears all three. It creates extra work for us when we must craft a backstory to put our marks at ease, see?"

Rhodri's eyes snaked down along one of the lines. Her cheek pulled inward as she chewed on it. "So why did you get it if it wasn't advantageous?"

"It was necessary." Zevran took her hand and traced her fingers past the side of his eye, down to the bottom of his cheek, where the worst of the scarring was still easy enough to feel. "Tattoos are preferable to scars, and this was a bad one. On the face, a scar can ruin the elven looks one was recruited for and end one's assassin career, often quite gruesomely."

Zevran had, in a brief spate of Maker-knew-what, initially intended to leave a pause there, during which Rhodri would ideally leap in with stout, unwavering assurances that there were none handsomer than him, tattooed, scarred, or otherwise.

Had intended.

In the minuscule window of time he had to assess the likelihood of that occurring, no indignation or moves to assuage his ego were forthcoming. In fact, as Rhodri's expression began taking a turn for the anguished, Zevran dropped the entire thing in an instant and wondered why on earth he had presumed it wouldn't go this way.

His voice shot up to a rapid trill, "Now, to the fun part! What does this tattoo remind you of, hmm?" Zevran tapped his face with her fingers. "Anything at all?"

Relief settled in his chest as Rhodri frowned and stroked his cheek pensively. The tension in his jaw, unnoticed by him until now, melted away under the pad of her thumb.

"Mmm…" she hummed. "There are a lot of things that curve like that. Traditional depictions of flames, for one."

"Mmm? What else?"

"Water? Rivers, for example." Rhodri scanned his face enquiringly, and when Zevran smiled and shook his head, she chewed her lip. "Not elemental… mm… I'm not really sure what else it might be."

"We passed by many fields of them in the warmer months," Zevran hinted, "swaying in the breeze."

Rhodri's eyebrows shot up. "Crops? … Wheat crops?"

"The very ones!" he nodded. "One of the prostitutes who raised me– Cristofania, her name was, she grew up on a wheat farm in the Drylands. When I behaved, she told me stories of her life out there, before she came to Rialto. It was so hot in the Drylands, she would say, that during the day everything slept until nightfall. The only thing you heard when the sun was out was the buzzing of the cicadas."

Rhodri smiled. "I'd almost forgotten about that noise. The Tevinter heartlands are much the same. The buzzing is so much louder than you think it will be, too." She brushed a loose strand of hair out of Zevran's eyes, "So your tattoo is swaying wheat? To remember Cristofania Domine?"

Zevran hummed in the affirmative, his heart squeezing fondly as Cristofania's face flitted into his head. "She was very good to me. I was a wicked little boy who was always getting into trouble, and she was forever distracting me with small jobs to keep me out of strife with the other prostitutes." He shrugged as Rhodri's smile broadened and set a glow creeping into the outer reaches of his chest. The shrug had no discernible effect in stopping it; he shrugged again just to be on the safe side. "In any case, the scar was all over my cheek, and the swaying wheat covered most of it very well. And now it has given me a favourite tattoo to show off to a ravishing Grey Warden." He shot said Warden an enormous wink as he added, "Just wait until I show you my second favourite tattoo!"

"Ooh," her legs bounced a little. "Where is it–? Oh. Oh." Rhodri cleared her throat, rubbing her fingertips together. "I don't know why I was so slow to catch on when you winked then. I… think I thought the wink was for the first thing you– but then it was two flirts in a row, wasn't it…"

Zevran gave a wicked laugh. "It was," he purred. "I would bring it up to three or four in a row, but I find it awfully hard to stop once I get going. Especially with such tempting company as yourself."

Rhodri's hands pattered on her thighs.

"Oh," she breathed. "Perbonus. I'd enjoy that a lot. Though I should probably be getting on with breakfast–" She rose to her feet and made for the tent flap–

"Clothes first, Rhodri," Zevran reminded her gently (and, admittedly, quite hastily; she was almost lifting the flap by the time he realised he would have to speak up).

"Oh ye gods, you're right!"

She threw the now half-open flap shut again, but not before Zevran caught sight of Leliana gaping at them from where she sat at the campfire, her boiled egg falling out of her hands.

§

"Listen, Zev," Rhodri whispered to him later that morning as she passed him a small tower of jam toast, "I need to give you a bit of a warning."

Zevran raised his eyebrows enquiringly, murmuring his thanks as he accepted the toast and took a bite out of the topmost piece. Why, precisely, Rhodri was whispering when the two of them were the only people sitting by the firepit (the others were either still asleep or had gone to attend to tasks unknown).

"Is something the matter?" he asked.

"Not really," she shook her head. "Not badly. But Leliana started… asking questions while I was outside before." Rhodri waved a hand between herself and Zevran, "About us."

Zevran snickered. "No real surprises there, I do not think. She has been asking me about the goings-on between us for quite some time now."

Rhodri's eyes widened. "Oh, truly? Does it bother you?"

"No-o-o," he waved his toast airily. "I have had nothing to report until now, of course, but you know Antivans and Orlesians, we enjoy speaking with our friends about entanglements. Of course, if you are uncomfortable with it, I will keep our business for ourselves–"

"No, no," Rhodri shook her head. "It's– it's quite fine. I didn't tell her anything in case you wanted to keep it private, but if you like talking about that kind of thing, then perhaps I could ask a favour?"

Zevran had to work unfairly hard to keep his astonishment under wraps. A favour? Had she ever asked anyone for one of those before? More to the point, would she ever do it again?

Not keen to keep her waiting, lest the moment flitter away and the chance get lost forever, he gave a generous sweep of the hand. "Name your wish, mi sol, and Zevran will see it done."

She rubbed her neck a little, "... Perhaps you might do the talking with Leli? About whatever she wants to know? I love her dearly, but my stars does that woman use flowery language! I couldn't tell what body part or action she was talking about half the time when she was asking me things, and she doesn't care for the… erm… well, the correct anatomical descriptors." Rhodri shrugged, quite charitably, as she added, "Makes her a little self-conscious, I think."

There was something incredibly tempting about the thought of getting Rhodri to gossip with him. Even a few minutes' picking over what had transpired this morning between her and Leliana would have been enough to sate him for at least a few hours, though more was always welcome. Perhaps it was born of an urge to connect on a fundamental level with another Northerner– one that the tight-lipped Fereldans and their Southerner ilk failed to grasp. Perhaps it was because Rhodri so seldom participated in gossip (in fact, by Zevran's reckoning, she probably never had). After all, people who spent more time with their mouths shut often had their ears open instead, and thus caught all manner of juicy tidbits that the talkers missed.

And to think! If she and Zevran were to join forces, pool their knowledge, well. At that point they would know just about everything about everyone, surely. Failing that, at least they could be awake until all hours in Rhodri's tent, tangled together under the blankets as they exchanged vital information in hushed whispers. Sealing agreements of confidentiality with kisses that turned into questing hands caressing their way beneath loosened waistbands–

Rhodri's belly grumbled again. Loudly. Pointedly, Zevran might have said, had Rhodri not been watching him with a complete lack of pointedness. He put aside all thought of gossip and its delicious accoutrements for later, and reached up and planted a kiss on her cheek.

"Have no fear," he purred. "I will supply Leliana with all the flowery particulars she could possibly need." He chuckled as Rhodri sagged with relief. "Bene."

"Thank you," she sighed. "I'll handle Alistair and his questions. He's been coming at me often enough with them, asking about you and me. If I didn't know better, I'd say he and Leliana have been working together in that regard."

Zevran hissed out a laugh through his teeth. "I do believe you're right. In any case, it is an excellent idea to delegate, mi sol. We must play to our strengths, no? Two are better than one."

Rhodri nodded with the sort of determination befitting a decorated general in the last moments before battle, and handed him another piece of toast. She obliged him with a kiss to the temple when he brought his head over to her mouth, and then without being asked to, she kissed it again.

"Two are better than one," she echoed by his ear in a low, resolute rumble.

§

Before coming to Ferelden, Zevran had never seen mountains before.

Antiva, being a much more moderate country in that regard (and in so many others, it needed to be said), had hills, certainly. And some of the hills were high enough that the residents experienced a substantially different climate to those at sea level. But Zevran doubted very much that anyone lived at the top of the Frostback Mountain range that haunted the road ahead. So far as he could see, there were no trees or foliage– not so much as a mossy rock on those things. Endless winter. As though Ferelden weren't unbearably cold enough at this altitude.

And if the cold of it all weren't enough, there was the wind! Icy blasts born of the mountains being where they were, so Rhodri had said. Was there really no spell for levelling abnormally high terrain so that a sneaky breeze didn't think to pick up? How absurd. How terribly, terribly negligent of the Circle of Magi, and of magic in general, to overlook such a vital service. Zevran would have to pen a complaint to the local Bann when they next stopped in a town.

In the here and now, however, the chill wind whipped and sliced and buffeted, undid any spell of Rhodri's in an instant as it passed the weft and warp of any protective clothing and sank its fangs straight into the skin beneath. Could bones feel cold? Zevran was quite sure they could, and judging by the grimaces on the rest of the party's face as they trudged along the road, he wasn't the only one who believed it. Even Sten looked miserable.

"Right," Leliana eventually said. Loudly, of course; the wind all but stole the voice right out of her, sweeping it away with the spindrift it had picked up from the road. "RIGHT!" She shot Alistair a pointed look, and that was apparently enough to prompt a little action from him.

"I think that means we're setting up camp," Alistair announced with a chuckle.

Without a word, Morrigan wandered away to the side of the road, surveying the frozen nothingness with her hands on her hips. When she had decided– on what, Zevran couldn't imagine– she took out her staff, and with some terribly dramatic hand movements, the ground swelled in front of her, rising like proofed bread until it was as tall above them as an Alienage rowhouse and curved around them like an alcove. The wind died away; she smiled to herself.

Zevran let out a shudder of relief as the first tingle of warmth registered in his muscles again.

"My dear woman," he croaked to her as he shook the frost off his cloak, "you are a marvel. People should be making a line from here to Nevarra to admire your endless skill."

Morrigan scoffed. "Tell me something I do not know," she said, and wandered away to the farthest part of the manufactured protections with her tent bag in hand.

"Ah," came Rhodri's warm praise from behind him. "I think you made her day just then, Zev."

Had they been talking about anyone other than Morrigan, Zevran would have dismissed the remark with a laugh. What strange times these were, that he believed Rhodri.

What strange times.

§

Entanglements were full of benefits.

Going through a comprehensive, or even semi-informative list was enough to make Zevran break out in a cold sweat; after all, some of those benefits were contingent on said entanglement being a long-lasting one, and it wasn't for Zevran to consider anything beyond the present. At most, the coming evening.

But the benefit of being in a position to flirt again could not be understated. Certainly, Rhodri had made it clear that overtly vulgar remarks ought to be avoided in public, and that was well and good. Maker knew the best come-ons were the subtle ones that each added to the collective heat until the blood was at a rolling boil and both parties were dragging each other away to the nearest secluded area.

And it was with this benefit in mind that Zevran took his place beside Rhodri as the camp collected around the fire for dinner. Even sitting down was an opportunity to exercise this newfound freedom of expression: by shuffling a mite closer than usual, their thighs rested against each other.

"Ah, forgive me," she said hurriedly, making to shift away. "I didn't leave you any room to–"

Zevran smiled as she paused, glancing over to his left and finding ample space.

"I do not think I need so very much room, mi sol," he said to her with a minuscule waggle of his eyebrows. "In fact, I wouldn't mind having a little less."

Rhodri looked down at their legs, and then up at him. She smiled tentatively.

"Right," she gave a pleased nod. "So this is fine? Good, good, perbonus."

"It is very good," he agreed, making a little show of slowly guiding Rhodri's hand, and the bread it was holding, up to his mouth and taking a bite of said bread with a low, approving hum.

Rhodri swallowed. "I– ah," she wiped her other hand over her reddening cheeks, "Is– is that a sign I should get you some more bread?"

"No," he purred, and took another bite.

"... Do you want to have my piece?"

Zevran smirked and flickered his eyebrows. "I find it is not so much what I want," he brought his mouth a little closer to her ear, dropping his voice to a murmur, "but rather who I want. Whose attention I long for."

Heat pooled low in his belly as Rhodri's breath caught in his ear. She swallowed again.

"I'll give you whatever you desire," she whispered hoarsely. "Though some things may have to wait until after dinner when we can relocate."

"Mmm," he hummed. "You'll have plenty to attend to, my darling. And I think perhaps I might as well, no?"

Rhodri's boots twisted and dug into the icy ground. "Rules first," she husked, "and then my time is completely yours."

Zevran offset his wicked smile with a melodramatic sigh. "I do not know how I am to make it through dinner in this state," he whined softly. "How does anyone manage to sit beside a ravishing Grey Warden like yourself and not simply die of it?"

"I–" Rhodri's fingers tangled in her robe, twiddling it with borderline violence. "I… know you're teasing me."

"Oh? And what do you have to say about it, hmm?"

She raised an eyebrow and pointed at his food with her nose. "I say you had best eat all of that, because you'll need your strength in time to come."

A thrill surged up Zevran's spine and out to his fingertips. He sighed again. "Well, if you insist I supp–"

"Rhod?" Alistair's voice cut through Zevran's sultry resignation. He pointed at the road behind them, "Someone's coming."

The two of them turned around and sure enough, a lone figure was trudging a path along the icy road.

The Wardens and their paramours abandoned their dinner and met the man on the outskirts of the camp. He was a lanky, copper-haired fellow, and the first person Zevran had seen who was paler than Rhodri. He had a remarkably familiar, self-assured grin about him for someone whom no-one in the party gave any indication of recognising, moving to the party camp in a near-swagger.

"'Ello, there!" he said jauntily, smiling at Rhodri in particular as one might an old contemporary.

"You're a hard one to find, Warden!" he said to her fondly.

Rhodri blinked. Looked herself over, and then looked back at the man.

"I must be easier to find than most people," she said blankly. "Look at the size of me. I'm almost two of you!"

The fellow's expression faltered ever-so-briefly, but he was quick to regain focus.

"Too right you are," he replied with a chuckle. "Anyway, I'd best get on an' introduce meself before I forget my manners completely! Levi Dryden's the name. I don't s'pose Duncan ever mentioned me, did he?"

Rhodri and Alistair shared a pensive glance, brows equally knitted.

"... Levi of the Coins, he might've called me?" he offered hopefully. "Levi the Trader? No? Never told you of old Levi? We've known each other for years!"

Another look between the Wardens, slightly uneasy now. And then, Rhodri hesitantly spoke up.

"Ah… I'm sorry to–"

She fell silent as Levi held his hands up. "No, no, I understand. 'Ere I am going on when you've got a Blight to stop. Don't wanna waste your time–"

"Not at all–"

"But y'see," he pushed on, "Duncan promised we'd look into something important for the Wardens… and for me, I s'pose… but poor Duncan's no more."

Zevran bit back a laugh– and from her spot in his periphery, a betraying vein was making itself prominent in Leliana's temple– as Rhodri and Alistair both crumpled, their relieved sighs in chorus. Levi froze, eyes wide; so did they.

"Oh– no no–!" Alistair waved his hands hastily. "We're sad about Duncan, believe me–"

"Very sad!" Rhodri near-shouted in agreement. "We didn't know you knew he'd died, that's all. But you do!"

Levi briefly met Leliana and Zevran's eyes. They both smiled and nodded at him; Levi looked away again.

"... Right," he said after a moment. "Anyway, um… I know Duncan'd want his work carried on, pledge fulfilled an' that."

When the Wardens invited him to continue, Levi, who quickly regained his entrepreneurial charm, launched into a dazzling tale of his part playing in bringing the Grey Wardens back to Ferelden. If he was to be believed, Levi Dryden was one of a groundswell of campaigners who defied Teryn Loghain and beseeched King Maric to allow Orlesian Grey Wardens into the newly-liberated Ferelden.

And then, of course, came tales of the once-noble Dryden lineage; Fereldens did love to climb all the way up to the top of the family tree, with a heavy focus on the most interesting, impactful members. In fairness to Levi, his most touched-upon forebear was someone of reasonable note: one Sophia Dryden, the last Warden-Commander of Ferelden. At the very least, Rhodri and Alistair looked sufficiently impressed at this revelation.

Naturally enough, Sophia had made something of an ignominious reputation for herself, as most all Grey Wardens in Ferelden had at the time, but Levi assured all present that these were likely due to the prejudices of both then-King Arland and the populace at large. In fact, he declared, such was this spoiled opinion that the King requisitioned all land and titles belonging to the Drydens, including the former Warden stronghold in Ferelden, Soldier's Peak.

And thus came Levi Dryden's request: Duncan, who had been brought up-to-date on all of this, had assured Levi that he would assist the Drydens in their quest to clear the name of Sophia Dryden and reclaim a long-untouched Soldier's Peak for the service of the Grey Wardens. And, of course, with Duncan no longer being in a position to do any such thing, said request now fell to the only living Wardens in the country.

"I've spent years mapping out the tunnels leading up to the Peak," Levi said, pulling a handful of crumpled maps out of his pocket and holding them out to the Wardens. "Soldier's Peak is about three days' journey from here, won't take too long to sort it all out."

Rhodri and Alistair took a map and opened it out. Zevran and Leliana peered around their shoulders at the labyrinth of inroads, and Zevran couldn't help but ponder what a welcome break it would be to travel underground, where the wretched mountain gales wouldn't touch them. He was of a good mind to accept the task on the Wardens' behalf.

"IYou know," Alistair said thoughtfully, "the old bases have caches for armour and other things, and Warden gear's nothing to sneeze at. My breastplate could use an upgrade, that's for sure."

Rhodri hummed in absent agreement. "I would have said this needed to wait until after Orzammar, but I don't think that Tyler fellow did a very good repair of your armour. And for my part, I'm in need of a staff." She looked up from the map and nodded at Levi. "Then we'll make for Soldier's Peak in the morning. How far are the tunnels from here?"

Levi beamed and let out a chattery laugh. "A thousand blessings on you, Warden!" He pointed into the bleak, snowy distance. "The southwest tunnel starts a morning's walk away from here. You won't regret this!"

The current Dryden set up camp with the rest of the party and gratefully accepted a leftover portion of stew and bread that he ploughed into with little ado. He took himself off to his bed shortly after, citing absurd levels of exhaustion and fullness, and that left Zevran to return to his deliciously sinful task of shooting Rhodri soft, smouldering looks until she finished eating and carried him off to her tent.