The afternoon breeze had started to roll off the sea and into Minrathous, balmy and humid enough to drink. Rhodri sprawled beside Zevran on a chaise on the balcony, soaking it all in with closed eyes and a serene smile. She wore her finery like she'd been born in it, and for a reason Zevran couldn't summon up at that moment, he couldn't take his eyes off her. The silence between them was comfortable, pleasant even. The afternoon tide was crashing in the distance, and the bustle of the metropolis nearby was down to a soft hum.

"I took care of the Crows," Rhodri said to him without opening her eyes.

Zevran nearly choked on his own tongue. "I– what?"

"I said," she repeated evenly, grinning now, "I took care of the Crows. You're free."

Rhodri looked over at him, snorting as she watched his mouth fall open. Her hands pattered on her thighs. "Told you I'd find a way."

Zevran could barely get enough wits to speak to her in more than a hoarse whisper. "How…? That is to say, what did you do?"

She shook her head with a small chuckle. "Not for you to worry about, Zev. It's done, and that's what counts. And of course you know that means it's safe for you to go anywhere you like, now, if you wanted."

He took the remarks with a nod. This decision-making business was a miserable one, and no matter how many times he made it clear it wasn't his forte, Rhodri never did hesitate to put options in his lap. And without a single inkling of what she might prefer, too!

It wouldn't do. There was no need for all this to be lumped on one person– especially when that person was him, and it was time to do something about that.

Zevran bit his lip and shuffled over toward Rhodri until their legs were almost touching. Her confident smile fled, and in the corner of his eye, one of her hands wrung her robe.

He looked up at her with a small, wicked grin. "I could just leave, could I?" he asked. "Just like that?"

"Of course," she cleared her throat, nodding hard. "You always could, but now it's safe to do so without consequence from the Crows."

Zevran chuckled. "Duly noted, thank you. But tell me, lovely Rhodri, is there no-one I might stay for? No-one, for example, who I might fancy? Who might fancy me back, perhaps?"

Rhodri's cheeks went pink. Zevran huffed another laugh, groin stirring as she studied him turning his body around to bring them face to face. "Nothing holding us back any more," he murmured, "now that you found us that miracle, no?"

She snickered weakly. "Well, it's certainly not impossible any more."

"Mmm," he leaned forward and rubbed his forehead against hers. In the blur of the closeness, Rhodri's eyes slid shut. Where his self-control had gone was a mystery to him, but in its absence, Zevran let the rest of himself inch forward until, with softly encouraging hums from Rhodri, he was straddling her and her arms rested over his shoulders. He left a gap between their fronts for the sake of modesty, but with the way her legs were trembling and her eyes were blown enough to fall into, the gap might as well have not been there at all.

He leaned down to her. "What shall I do, then?" he husked onto the corner of her mouth. "Am I wanted here?"

Rhodri swallowed. "Please."

Zevran chuckled and pulled away, noting the promptly-stifled beginnings of a protest as he did.

"Hmm?" he teased. "'Please' what, Rhodri? Stay? Go? Teach you the Antivan Midsummer dance?"

She watched him seriously. "You and I both know you know the answer to that."

"Oh?" He nibbled his lip. "Do I, now?"

"Yes. You're already sitting on me, and my arms are around you. And you're hard and pressing into me with it," Rhodri pointed down with her nose to where her robe was parted and the aching bulge in his linen pants rested firmly against her there. Soft, a little enveloping, and if Zevran wasn't mistaken, the source of a small, warm wet patch. When had all that happened?

Zevran chuckled breathlessly, "Well now, I wonder what that could mean." He dipped forward again, planting his hands on either side of her, and carefully rocked his hips against hers, winning the most delicious gasp in his ear for his trouble.

He buried his face and the grin on it into the crook of Rhodri's neck, expecting salt and starch and finding old leather and soft cloves instead. His stomach leapt.

"Ah," he huffed weakly. "You smell like me, Rhodri."

Rhodri smirked into his cheek. "No, ensoñado," she purred, her grip on his shoulders tightening when the name made him groan and arch his back a little. "You smell like me."

Zevran sighed and nodded, stealing a glance down to where the damp patch was spreading.

"I do," he pressed a kiss into her neck and rolled his hips again. Her hands kept him from lifting his shoulders too high, forcing him to drag his entire torso up along hers whenever he moved. "Yes, I do."

Rhodri opened her robes all the way out and gently eased them out from under his hands. One side of the robe was lightly draped over the top of him, and then the other, and with Rhodri beneath him and private darkness above Zevran took the cue, buried his face deeper into the silky warmth of her neck and ground against her in long, deep strokes.

Rhodri shuddered and breathed a raspy 'please' by his ear. Her hands drifted along his back, trailing further down with each movement until they settled on his rump. They rested there, only making their presence known when gripping him to her if he shifted too far away, and Zevran didn't dare wonder what it meant when he was pleasing her and she was pleasing him, and he was moaning and she was sighing and she hadn't asked him to leave.

The tight shiver started travelling up his spine. Zevran gave an embarrassed little laugh and meant to deliver a self-deprecating apology for his pathetically (and assuredly uncharacteristically) lacking stamina, but Rhodri was speaking before he could open his mouth.

"Ah," she panted. "I'm close. Very– ngh!– close."

Zevran groaned, half in enjoyment and half to curse the way such announcements invariably sent his restraint crumbling. Her fingers dipped down and caressed the underside of his buttocks. He clenched his fists and rubbed his whole body against her without marking rhythm or style. Rhodri gave the choked little growl Zevran heard most nights despite himself, and the volume of his own succumbing moan startled him–

Awake?

He hazily looked down at his pillow, and at the blanket trapped beneath his hands that looped under his arse.

Ah, and of course, he was also looking at the considerable amount of spend he had managed to soil his bedroll and sleeping pants with. Marvellous.

Cursing under his breath, Zevran sat up and shucked his pants, only to scramble back into them as a lumbering, distinctly bear-like gait came into earshot.

"Ah!" Rhodri's voice was clear and ringing; she was running. "Bear in the camp! Everyone stay in your tents!"

Zevran got his knives out anyway, ears still ringing, and slung his bow and arrows over one shoulder for good measure. He lingered by the tent flap, ready to dart out at a moment's notice. His fingers pinched the tent flap open a little; nothing of the fight was visible. There were noises: roars, an explosion, and a loud thud quickly after. And then, nothing.

Rhodri's victorious laugh cut through the new silence. "It's safe again! Thank you for co-operating, everyone. Back to watch for me, and good night to you all!"

Zevran couldn't help but hope, however weakly, that it was more theatrics from Alistair and Leliana that had prompted the surprise wildlife visit, as it had been every other time.

But Alistair was snoring loudly enough that it was possible he hadn't even noticed the goings-on of the last few minutes. Which meant, of course, that Zevran had been doing the exact same thing as that wretched, stomach-turning pair. Alone, no less, because Rhodri certainly hadn't been involved in any official capacity.

Bruised and mortified, Zevran let the ache of it all wring a quiet 'agh' out of him, and he set to cleaning up.

§

There was nothing wrong. Life was as good as it got and Zevran was an ungrateful bastard for acting like it wasn't.

In fairness to him, though, it wasn't as though he'd chosen to sleep poorly. The fact that he'd tossed and turned for the rest of the night was merely a consequence of that issue. He'd pulled the new gloves off and on, and then on again. Put them under his pillow when the noise in his head grew too loud, and then when the pain in his chest became distracting, he'd taken them back out. There was no pleasing anyone, and as Zevran rose in the bleak sunlight, he permitted the self-indulgence to creak one long, soft grumble out of him.

It took a lot of convincing to finally leave his tent when he had finally dressed. How, precisely, he was meant to look Rhodri in the face after their conversation last night had been issue enough, and one he hadn't actually found an answer to. In fact, if he was honest with himself (which he always was), he hadn't even bothered to start looking for one.

After that pathetic display he had unknowingly put on that had attracted the bear (oh, Maker, couldn't he just have died of the embarrassment of that!), how he was supposed to even be in the same country as Rhodri– the same continent, even– was a mystery to him.

But something would have to be done. It didn't do to feign nonexistence in the four walls of his little canvas home. No, he would have to simply play it by ear. It wasn't the first time he'd made a complete show of himself, and no doubt it wouldn't be the last, either. If she wanted to discuss it, he would discuss it. If she pretended it hadn't happened, so would he. That was all there was to it.

With something of a plan in place, Zevran departed his tent. He paused to stretch, glancing to the left, and then to the right, where he saw a bear the size of his tent, lying on its side encased in a block of ice.

Rhodri, who was tending to the crackling fire, grinned over her shoulder at him.

"I thought the clan might like it!" she said cheerfully. "I froze it so the meat would stay fresh, and they can use the pelt and claws, too! What do you think?"

Ah, so she had decided they would be pretending. Good.

"Oh, I think they will like it very much, my Warden," he purred, going over and sitting with her. "... I do wonder how we will get it to them, though. That bear is quite a size, no?"

"Here's your tea," Rhodri handed him a steaming cup, and wobbled her head thoughtfully. "It's not so heavy. Not as bad as a cow. If someone from the clan can come and look at it after I melt the ice, Alistair and I can easily carry it to their camp if they decide they want it."

"Ah," he smiled and took a careful mouthful of his tea. "You have a plan for everything."

She chuckled. "Is that possible? Can you have a plan for even half of everything?"

Zevran shrugged playfully. "Somebody must, surely."

"Hah. If you see them, tell them I'd like to meet them." Rhodri passed him a stack of cheese sandwiches and rose to her feet. "I'd better get Morrigan's tea to her, and then I'll feed the dog. If you'll excuse me– ah, and enjoy your breakfast, of course." With the same courteous smile she always gave him, she nodded her head and disappeared with a steaming hot cup in hand and the hound at her side.

And with that, he was alone. The air around him was ringing, vibrating on his fingertips and in the inside of his chest. Uncomfortable, yes, but baffling, more than anything. He took a bite of a sandwich and decided, before the accusing voice could decide for him, that this was what embarrassment felt like, and he was only experiencing it because he was sensible enough to be polite to the person keeping him safe from the Crows.

Leliana stepped out of her tent moments later, and Zevran had to stifle a laugh as the sound of Alistair's snoring briefly, considerably amplified while the flap was open. She tucked a loose strand behind one ear and strolled over toward Zevran with a broad, gleaming smile.

Oh, no.

"Good morning," she smirked. "A very good morning, even."

Oh, no.

He slapped on a smile. "My dear Leliana, you are looking even more beautiful today than yesterday! However do you do it?"

"Now, now," she flicked a hand at him. "Don't try and distract me with flattery, mon râleur. You did not see the way Rhodri was from those noises you were making last night! She was stopping her ears, and ooh, so red in the face!"

Zevran's stomach had to be swallowed down from his throat several times before he could so much as get an 'ah' out. Leliana snickered.

"Oh my word, yes," she pushed on. "You cannot doubt you have an effect on her, Zevran. There is no hiding it! Go on, go to her and–"

"Ah, my dear!" he trilled, rising to his feet (or rather, the panic reverberating along the planes of his bones levitated him off his posterior). He pressed his pile of sandwiches into a gaping Leliana's hands. "I would love to stay and chat, but I am afraid I must go and speak with the Dalish about the bear behind me, no?"

The good Sister raised an eyebrow at him. "So you say."

He allowed his smile to grow firm. "I do. Pardon me, if you please."

Without another word, he departed for the Dalish camp. The entire five-minute walk was spent ignoring the nagging thought that he had excused himself in precisely the same manner as Rhodri.

§

Zevran couldn't bring himself to go near the other Dalish children. Uthria had insisted Zevran hand over his knives upon arriving at the camp, both for his safety and the safety of the other children. And then she had told him he could play with them while she spoke with other adults! But she hadn't taken anything off the other children in front of him; how was Zevran to know they didn't have concealed daggers? They almost certainly did; the forests were hardly a safe haven.

And there he was, without blades, and the children monitored him in the way all children sized up fresh meat. He was no stranger to it, and so long as they didn't come after him, Zevran was happy enough to take a spot by the bushes on the periphery of the camp. A truce, of sorts. Loneliness was better than the alternative.

The master of the hunt, Uthria had called her Varian, had allowed him to hover there for a short while before marching over to him. Zevran stood as straight as he could; the Dalish frowned on cowardice.

"Not playing with the others, da'len?" she asked him with a brisk but warm smile.

Zevran shook his head.

"Why not, then?"

He froze; there wasn't time to think of an excuse. With a careful smile, he gestured at the place where she had been sitting. "Perhaps I could be useful to you? While I wait to play, that is. I can help with anything you like."

A sad look flitted over Varian's face that gave way to another resolute smile. She nodded. "Good. Come, da'len. I will teach you to sharpen a blade."

"I already know," he said quickly. "Mine were all kept very sharp."

"The ones Uthria took off you?"

He nodded. Varian hummed approvingly.

"You can show me what you know, then." She led him back over to her place by the fire and handed him a blunt knife and a coarse whetstone.

The pommel of the dagger sat in his hand like an old friend; Zevran's stomach settled immediately. He set to work immediately, keeping half an eye on Varian as he did, and she was smiling before he was barely a few motions in.

"Well, well!" she clapped her hands once. "We have a boy who's been learning his lessons well!"

Zevran felt his eyes crinkle as he soaked in the praise. He flipped the blade to draw the other side along the stone. "I have been sharpening blades since I was seven."

"I see. Tell me your name, da'len."

He looked up. "My name is Zevran."

Her eyebrows rose. "Zevran! A good Dalish name. Who are your mother and father, then? They must be proud."

"They are dead. I never met them."

"Ah," she said sympathetically.

He shrugged. "My mother was Dalish. I don't know anything else." The thought of his mother's gloves, long since taken, crossed his mind. Zevran pushed it out of his head and focused on the knife.

"Keep up like this, Zevran," Varian gestured at the blade, already looking much sharper, "and you'll be coming with me on the hunts soon. What do you say to that?"

"I could do that," he said quickly, and looked up. He nodded fervently. "I could hunt. I can already kill monkeys and nobles! And shoot arrows!"

Varian threw her head back and laughed. "Can you now? Killing nobles! Remarkable." She paused. "Ah, are you one of those Crow boys?"

Zevran nodded again; Varian's face softened a little. She put a hand on his shoulder and pulled it away again when Zevran reflexively recoiled.

Her voice became gentle, "I hear the training is very hard with them. Is that so?"

"Yes."

"Mm. Well, you remember that you have come through that to where you are now. Those days are behind you, but what you learned with them will serve you and the clan well." She gestured around at the camp. "Look out for your people, and your people will look out for you."

It seemed implausible, but Varian appeared to mean it. Zevran nodded, "Yes."

"And think! Work hard enough, and you might become my apprentice! The next master of the hunt for Clan Marendis, hmm? What do you think of that?" Varian folded her arms and gave him a meaningful look.

Zevran's mouth opened a little. He nodded carefully, not daring to believe it wholeheartedly. "I can prove myself."

Varian chuckled and sat down beside him. "All in good time, da'len. I'm the master for now. Let me get old first, yes? And in the meantime," she picked up another dagger and a finer whetstone, "there's work to be done."

§

It was one thing to enter the Dalish camp beside a Grey Warden. Zevran formed a part of the background, briefly noticed by the shape of his ears– and then, of course, by the tattoos on his face. Acknowledged, if momentarily, and then dismissed as a flat-ear who was only there on the Wardens' say-so.

Coming alone was another thing entirely. Especially when Zevran was no longer a runaway child, but a tagalong adult. All eyes went on him and stayed there, and while there wasn't quite the same scorn held for a human, he was clearly not considered family or friend.

The guard from yesterday, Mithra, stood at the periphery of the camp, and waved to him as he approached.

"Andaran atish'an, traveller," she smiled politely. "Your efforts to help Deygan are greatly appreciated. We need every hunter we have, especially now."

"Traveller" was pleasant enough; Zevran considered it a victory.

"Andaran atish'an," he replied, inclining his head to her. "Yes, we heard from the Keeper about the last attack by the werewolves. Your Deygan, is he well? Did he survive the night?"

"He did," Mithra gave a small, decidedly relieved-sounding laugh. "I had been afraid he was too far gone, but your master brought him back in time, it seems."

It was Zevran's turn to laugh now; Mithra raised an eyebrow.

"The Grey Warden, you mean?" He snickered and stopped himself as quickly as he could manage. "Ah… ahem. Forgive my amusement, but Rhodri is not my master. We are all… how to put it… something like co-workers. The Grey Wardens lead, but we are treated equally."

Mithra's other eyebrow went up by now. "Creators," she murmured. "That is an arrangement I have not seen before." She shook her head. "Fair enough. If there is someone you need, you are welcome to seek them out– ah," Mithra pointed behind him. "Your co-worker approaches."

Zevran glanced over his shoulder and waved at Rhodri, who was walking over to them as quickly as one could without actually calling it running. She stopped a long stone's throw away, waiting and with her hands behind her back. Her eyes were fixed on the foliage of a tree off in the other direction.

Mithra dropped her voice to a near-whisper. "What is she doing?"

"An excellent question!" Zevran grinned and called out to Rhodri, "You are so far away, my Grey Warden. Do not tell me you've grown shy!"

Rhodri's head snapped back around, her eyes wide. "Oh!" She strode the rest of the way over, giving them both an apologetic nod. "Sorry. No, I'm not shy, but I wasn't sure if I should wait for you to finish."

He chuckled. "Ever the courteous one. Please do join us."

"Ah, thank you." She smiled appreciatively at him, and nodded again at Mithra. "Good morning. I hope you're well."

Mithra blinked. "I am, yes."

Rhodri either didn't notice her surprise, or chose to ignore it. Either way, she hummed blithely. "Excellent! I won't keep you, but I've come to ask about a bear."

"A… bear."

"Mmm. One came into our camp last night, and I killed it and froze it." She waved a hand toward the path leading to the party's encampment. "It's still there now, fully intact and in a large block of ice, so the meat is still very fresh. Is it something you and your clan might like?"

Mithra frowned. Rhodri's eyes widened, and she quickly added, "My apologies, of course, if I've offended. I don't doubt the skill of your hunters, but since they're not allowed to venture too deeply into the forest, I thought meat might be hard to come by. We have more than we need, and it makes sense to share."

"I see." Mithra cleared her throat. "That is… generous, Grey Warden, but not my decision. You might go into the camp and inform our First."

Rhodri beamed. "Excellent. Thank you very much. If you'll excuse me…"

She bustled off. Of course she did. Zevran gave the guard a quick nod and hurried after Rhodri.

§

When the First had accepted the offer of a fresh, cold bear, Zevran and Rhodri hurtled back to the camp. Alistair had only recently stumbled out of Leliana's tent, and had to be plied with two cups of tea and half a block of cheese before he could comprehend his fellow Warden's request to help shift the frozen bear behind him. Rhodri had used that time to melt the ice away, and once Alistair was finally on his feet, the Wardens, accompanied by Leliana and Zevran, took the bear to the camp and handed it over.

"That was a big bear," Alistair mumbled to Rhodri once the pleasantries were out of the way. "Nice of them to invite us to eat some with them. First time I've been asked to an early bear lunch."

Rhodri nodded thoughtfully. "Same for me. Well, at least officially. We might well have eaten bear in the Circle, for all I know." She hummed. "Usually when we're invited to dinner in Tevinter or Kirkwall, we'd bring a gift for the host. Orlesian chocolates or wine, but we don't have anything with us."

Zevran chuckled a little. "I wonder what wine would pair with bear meat? Surely there would not be much call for that, even among the eccentric rich."

"Oh, there are enough Orlesians who would try it," Leliana piped up now. "So long as it is en vogue, they will go for anything in their droves."

"When I was small, a lot of people were eating monkey meat," Rhodri mused (Zevran quietly choked on a laugh at the thought of his subsistence meal being favoured by the overly moneyed). "It was supposed to be very good, but surely the meat would taste like banana–"

"Excuse me!" A gentle voice, not at all made for shouting, had the party turning around. Said gentle voice belonged to a gentle-looking man with a soft, round face and long, grey hair in a braid that went to the back of his knees. His vallaslin covered his entire face in long spiderleg strokes that reminded Zevran of Master Varian; his heart gave a fond little squeeze at the sight.

Rhodri beamed at him. "Good morning! I hope you're well."

The man's eyes widened a moment, but he was quick to nod at her as he drew up in front of them. "Thank you, Grey Warden. Andaran atish'an. I do hope your initial welcome by the clan was not too harsh."

"Ah? No, no trouble at all," Rhodri waved a hand. "Perfectly understandable. I hope with time they will feel a little more comfortable while we're here."

"Oh, yes, certainly," he nodded again. "I believe that is already happening."

She smiled, fingers tapping her legs. "Oh, good. That's… mmm. Wonderful. Ah, but I was distracting! Was there something you needed?"

"Ah. Well…" A deep flush spread through his cheeks; the Dalish were not known for their directness in asking favours, and Zevran quietly resolved to advise the Wardens of this at the next possible opportunity.

The man cleared his throat. "Ah, my name is Athras, Grey Warden. I am one of the hunters." He pointed at the clearing further ahead on the path. "I would have gone with your party to hunt Witherfang, but the Keeper has… mmm… well, he has forbidden me." A furrow deepened between his brows.

Rhodri nodded sympathetically. "I did hear that, yes. Deygan was the only survivor among those we found when we were in the forest yesterday. I can see why the Keeper would want to keep everyone else at home."

"Of course," he agreed hastily, nervously even, and coughed again. "I wonder if I might ask if you saw a woman there, among the dead? Shoulder-length white hair, light skin, green eyes? Looked about my age, quite round in the middle. It's my wife, Danyla, you see. She is– well, was a hunter, and I wonder what has become of her."

"Oh, my," she breathed, looking at Zevran encouragingly. "Let's just think a moment, Zev… let's see…"

Zevran hummed. "I recall seeing a woman with grey hair, down to here," he drew a line over the middle of his chest.

"Ah, no," Athras shook his head. "That would have been Pailan, Creators rest her."

"No, that lady is the only one I can recall seeing as well," Rhodri said after a moment. Athras' frown deepened.

"It is… so strange, you know," he said, almost quietly enough that he might have been talking to himself. "Zathrian told me Danyla is dead. She was gravely injured by the werewolves, I know, and the curse spread rapidly, but he will not let me see her body." He kissed his teeth. "I am beginning to wonder if she became a werewolf, and he is keeping me from the forest so I do not pursue her."

Rhodri gasped; Zevran would have bet money it was because of the potential injustice of being lied to. Storming over to the Keeper and interrogating him about being untruthful about the whereabouts of the missing woman would undoubtedly cause a rift, and in that moment, Zevran made the split-second decision to cut over her.

"What would you do if that were true, my friend?" he asked, not unkindly.

Athras shrugged. "I… do not know. Perhaps she would still know me as her love? Perhaps she would know our daughter? She stands over there, eating by the fire." He pointed at a young girl with a shock of red hair, chewing on bread and watching the flames with the grimmest expression Zevran had seen on a child. "She is only twelve, but already she has the poise and patience of a grown hunter."

"Ah!" Rhodri beamed and nodded. "What a fine young lady she is turning out to be. You must be proud."

The man's eyes grew watery. "We are. There is no right age for a mother to die, but these are tender years for a child. They need their mother and their father as much as ever, and we three have always been close."

Zevran couldn't resist stealing a glance at Alistair and Leliana, whom he understood to be as lacking in mothers and fathers as he was. They were sharing a sad little look between themselves, and then their eyes went back to Athras. Zevran went unnoticed, and a pang of loneliness dug at the pit of his stomach.

"We will watch out for her," Rhodri said firmly. "If she is a werewolf, then perhaps once we hunt Witherfang and this cure is found, she may be returned to her usual form, yes?"

"Oh, I hope," he replied breathlessly. "I hope. I have an amulet made by our craftsman here. It's not much, but I would happily give it to you in return for any news of Danyla."

The Wardens– the whole group, really, declined the offer of remuneration but assured the fellow that if there was any news to be had of the lady's whereabouts, he would be the first to know. More pleasantries, hushed 'ma serannas' and 'not at alls' continued in a near-cycle until all participants reached a point of mutual satisfaction and went their separate ways. And judging by the questions Rhodri was asking about winemaking at home as they made their way back to the camp, their way would be in the direction of camp-brewed moonshine unless Zevran stopped laughing and tried a little harder to disabuse her of the notion.