Midday was the worst time to be running along the rooftops of Antiva City, and yet Zevran was doing it. He almost thought to ask himself why, but his legs were pumping effortlessly enough that tiredness had become an exotic sort of concept.

He kept running.

High above, the sun blazed like fury, desiccating the clouds and baking the blue out of the sky until it was white around the edges. Zevran shed his leather chestpiece and waited for the sting of the heat on his skin, but it came more as a kiss than a slap; he could hardly believe his luck, even if he still longed for a little pain besides.

The end of the roof lay a few steps ahead, and beyond it was the ocean.

So why was he still running?

Jump.

No, don't be ridiculous.

JUMP.

But I-

The roof ended beneath Zevran's boot, jabbing insistently into the arch of his foot–

And still, he sped.

A thrilled scream tore out of him as he gave in to the voice (what else could he do at this point?) His toes gripped the soles of his boots, calves straining as the force of the leap jolted up his legs.

And he was up and peeling through the endless blanched air like a lightning bolt. He could have been underwater, in that clear aquamarine sea, and at this height, whether he was in air or water felt like a stupid question. He'd been let in on the great secret that the two were much of a muchness.

And then as quickly as he'd come up, the Maker, or fate, or perhaps simple gravity, reclaimed Zevran, pulled down on the giddy, breathless weight of him to fill his boots like sand. A part of Zevran had known it would. All of him knew it, truth be told. And still he'd jumped.

But now he was plummeting out of one clear blue to a promised meeting with another. Falling was a terrible way to go. The impact was merciful, over in a moment, but the way down!

Zevran's prayer beads burned in his pocket, flaring into his thigh like a branding iron. He plunged a hand into his pocket to take them; surely the best way to invite mercy from the Maker in the next life was to end this one in prayer. The beads ate at his fingers like acid; he yanked the hand back out with a yelp, and Maker that water was coming up to take him, the whole ocean giving a sky-rattling groan as it pulled itself unstuck from the sand–!

Zevran startled into wakefulness as the belly (not his, he noted) under his arm gave a forceful rumble. Reflex kept Zevran's body from reacting to it in any way; even purposefully holding oneself in the same position gave one away, and now was not the time to reveal wakefulness to a mark or, Maker forbid, to a far less defenceless bedfellow. No, now was the time for loose muscles and limbs, unfocused eyes, and slow, deep breaths while he got his wits about him.

And then, of course, his recent recall made a dazzling comeback as the stomach growled again and a familiar voice maffled by his ear. Zevran dismissed all alertness with a grin and allowed both eyes to open. Rhodri's hand idly, seemingly unintentionally, gave his shoulder a sweet little squeeze, and the other hand went fumbling off to the right somewhere, returning a moment later with–

A sandwich?

Zevran felt his eyes pinch into a baffled squint. When had she made that? Not yesterday, surely. Did mages have sandwich-summoning spells? And if so, could Zevran prevail upon her, as her appointed lover, sweet one, precious one, and several darling names besides, to summon him an Antivan-style fried calamari sandwich?

Ideally not to be eaten as they were now, of course. Taliesen, endearingly grotty as he was, ate in bed both shamelessly and prolifically, even as Zevran lay on top of him, and Zevran smiled wryly as vivid memories flashed through his mind of Taliesen grinning and himself tutting as he brushed pastry crumbs out of his own hair afterward. And the way those little flaky monstrosities settled in Taliesen's chest hair, reflecting the daylight like cheap stars! Maker, had Zevran only known he would end up with another in-bed diner, he'd have bought a bib in Denerim to cover his head during mealtimes.

As it was, though, Zevran was draped over the vast expanse of Rhodri's chest, bib-less (or, more probably, himself being the bib) and awaiting the shower of sandwich morsels with a light heart. Unusually light, perhaps, given the way said crumbs, which were even smaller than what pastries produced, tended to be discovered in the most unlikely places some time after.

A soft hum of surprise pulled Zevran from his musings of crumbs and Taliesen. He glanced up to find Rhodri looking down at him with bleary eyes, the untouched sandwich hovering near her mouth. She brought the sandwich down to him.

"Forgive me, dulcis," she mumbled. "I didn't know you were awake. You are hungry?"

He smiled and shook his head. "Not hungry, no. You eat that."

Rhodri took the instruction with a dutiful nod and, to Zevran's surprise, she turned her head away from him to eat, even bringing her other hand under the sandwich to catch the crumbs. He lay steeping in puzzlement and some other, unnameable thing as she ate (with pauses when she asked once or twice more if Zevran was quite sure he didn't want a few bites). Did people really care if crumbs got into hair? They could be brushed out. Would he have been so considerate if the roles were reversed? The whole thing was hard to know.

When the late-night meal had been polished off, Rhodri– carefully– ate the crumbs off her hand and settled her head back down on the bedroll. Her hand went onto his shoulder again and gave it a tender squeeze.

"You'll tell me, won't you," she said gently, "if you get hungry? I'll bring two sandwiches to bed from now on, in case you need something to eat in the night."

Zevran's eyes started to ache and sting. Badly. From tiredness, no doubt. He shut his eyes and nodded, because he couldn't think of anything else to do, and snuggled into her chest, hoping sleep took him before anything more could be said between them.

§

The sound of someone stumbling over something outside stirred Zevran awake again in, if the lack of natural light was anything to go by, what was still the very small hours of the morning. A moment later, a distinctly Orlesian-sounding curse rang through the dark. The speaker– who Zevran finally recalled was also known as Leliana– shrieked her hopes that a bird would faecally defile the favourite shoes, hat, and gloves of the tripping factor, and stomped away.

Underneath him, Rhodri jolted awake.

"I must check on the children, dulcis," she said, her hand clumsily patting his shoulder.

Zevran raised his eyebrows. "The–? Ah. Your students, you mean?"

"Mmm," Rhodri jerked her head toward the source of the noise, "Nightmare. Probably Sylvie." She kicked the blankets off, "I should check on her before– just a moment…"

He couldn't help but chuckle, and tapped Rhodri's cheek to get her attention before she could start sitting up.

"That was Leliana," he said. "She tripped, see?"

There was a pause. "... Leli?"

"The very same. She is not hurt. A little irritated, perhaps, but nothing more."

Rhodri gave a nervous hum. "Well, where are the Templars? Did they hear her?"

"No-o-o," Zevran soothed, letting the hand on her chest rub slow, easy circles there. "They are a long way off, mi sol."

"Good," she rumbled. "Pigs."

He smiled, a little sadly. "Just so. Shall we go back to sleep, then?"

"Mmm."

"Come, then."

Zevran took her hand and gave it a gentle pull. Rhodri went willingly as he turned onto his side, and he couldn't help but consider with a wry smile that the same arms that had once pinioned a Revenant were now closing around him. Over the shoulder, under the arm, ending in wide, warm hands that splayed over his chest and fastened him to the body that had moulded itself around him.

In theory, breaking the hold was highly doable, if it had to be done. There had been the odd mark who thought nothing of bringing elven whores home to murder– after sex, of course. And how astonished, how furious they would look when Zevran, having played along the entire night, effortlessly slipped his bindings and turned their knife on them! And here and now, he had all four limbs completely unrestrained! Child's play, really, was what this was.

A languid kiss was pressed into the back of Zevran's head, and he dismissed the train of thought with a guilty smile. The more realistic happening, of course, would be that she would mistake some adjustment of his for a request to be turned loose, and not touch him again for the rest of the night.

What a strange time to be alive.

From behind him, Rhodri mumbled his name. Zevran settled back into her with a chuckle whose purpose he couldn't entirely explain.

"Sí, mi sol?"

Her voice dropped to a whisper, "You must tell me if you hear the Templars coming."

It was hard not to wonder what sort of a place she thought she was in, if Leliana existed and the Templars roamed close by. Was there another Circle around here?

He nodded either way. "Upon my honour, if I hear any Templar but Alistair, you will be the first to know."

She gave an approving grunt. "Thank you, dulcis."

Zevran chewed his lip a moment as he pondered the name 'dulcis.' 'Sweet one' was hardly a unique term, and Zevran was likely one of a long line of dulcises for Rhodri.

Which was perfectly fine, of course. Who was he to hope for a special name of his own, that none of the other dulcises had been called. It would be sheer hypocrisy; after all, had Zevran not called all of his marks 'amore?' There was no need to create a different pet name for each mark when they all ended up the same way, and Zevran had no right to even the vaguest notion of disappointment at receiving the same treatment himself. There existed no possible timeline in which he, an unspectacular and eminently forgettable sort of person, could differentiate himself from Rhodri's other lovers by something like the name dulcis .

Or by anything else, really. Zevran was a face among faces. That was precisely what he had asked for, and it was precisely what he was getting.

Ah, but it did beg the question, didn't it, if perhaps a little probing would reveal something of his performance as the latest of the dulcis line. It was well to see if he met the standards his predecessors might have set, and perhaps even get pointers on how he might improve! It would be a damned sight easier talking with Rhodri in this state than having to navigate while awake. Sleep talkers were terribly candid, brash folk and the feedback, sneakily earned as it was, could prove invaluable. It was the opportunity of a lifetime.

A healthy drive for self-improvement and nothing more prompted Zevran to ignore the tiny voice of reproach and speak up– in a whisper, of course, lest the sleeptalker's Templars hear.

"Rhodri?"

He got another, decidedly sleepy, kiss on the back of his head and an enquiring hum for his trouble.

"Do you know who I am?"

She hummed again. "Yes, dulcis."

"Ah." He stifled a snort, and unable to resist himself, asked, "Which dulcis am I?"

With a soft laugh, Rhodri nestled into his neck, her warm breath tickling behind his ears. "I only have one," she mumbled.

Was Zevran having a heart attack? Perhaps. There was something decidedly unhealthy going on in his pericardial region. He stilled for a moment to count his heart rate, only to lose track after the hundredth beat. Too quick.

And then, when his morals returned to him, a wave of guilt swept up his chest and curdled in his throat. The urge to ask anything more fled; Zevran pushed a 'good night' through his teeth and forced himself back to sleep.

§

Behind Zevran, Rhodri shifted ever-so-slightly, and then she froze. Her breathing, by his estimate, was too quick for her to be asleep any more. With a grin, he reached up and squeezed the hand that was still spread over his chest. Rhodri let out a squeak of surprise and snuggled into him a little closer.

"Forgive me," she whispered, extracting her arm from under his hand and pressing a kiss into his crown. "Too early for you, dulcis. Sleep again, sic? I'll dress and go, and then I'll come and get you when breakfast is ready."

Zevran's feet twisted themselves around Rhodri's ankles, and a long, languid, 'No-o-o-o,' was falling out of his mouth before he could stop himself. Self-admonishment, at the very least, was warranted for such a display of neediness. Indeed, an internal scolding would have been several syllables in by now had Rhodri's warm laugh not drowned it out. Which probably meant that it was being taken as pillow talk– and most likely how Zevran had intended it, too. Why in the world, he wondered, were minds so terribly fixated on finding the most far-fetched, self-flagellating explanations for everything?

And then Zevran stopped wondering much of anything as Rhodri leaned over, now suddenly smelling of mint and sleep and herself, and kissed awfully close to the corner of his mouth.

"I shouldn't get up, is it?" she murmured. "So no laundering, then? No starting the fire? No steeping the tea so my sweet one doesn't have to wait for it to brew when he comes out?"

Zevran flatly refused to consider the way tea had always been ready for him on waking– and furthermore, there would be no leaping stomachs or weak knees or similar, even on reflex. What Rhodri did with tea was none of his damned business, and without specifying Zevran in particular, who was to know who Rhodri's sweet one might be? She hadn't said it in Tevene, after all. Her 'sweet one' could have been the dog.

Victorious, if a little rattled, Zevran turned around and grinned at her, lasciviously running his eyes along the opening of her nightshirt.

"I can think of a few things we might be doing in here," he purred. "No need to go out into that revolting cold."

Rhodri smirked and raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Such as?"

He chuckled. "I thought you'd never ask!" Zevran ran a hand up her leg and administered a firm squeeze to her rump, making a smirk of his own as Rhodri bit her lip. "I have a way of starting the morning that never fails to put me in a good mood…"

§

Zevran and Rhodri stepped– or, more accurately, swayed out of her tent some time later to find the rest of the party sitting around a still-dead firepit. Alistair and Leliana's eyes snapped onto them and, to the visible disgust of Morrigan and Sten, Alistair let out a whoop as he and Leliana began a vigorous round of applause. Both Rhodri and Levi Dryden, who was in the process of exiting his own tent, looked around in puzzlement and even shared a shrug as they hurriedly joined in on the clapping.

"Why on earth are we applauding?" Rhodri asked Zevran in an urgent whisper.

A wheezy laugh leaked out of Zevran's mouth. Unable to resist himself, he turned to her, held his hands up, and– softly– clapped at her.

"You finally got together!" Alistair shouted. "At bloody last. We've been waiting months!"

"Oh!" Rhodri's eyebrows shot up. Her hands went over her mouth for a moment. "I didn't clap for you and Leliana when you two– oh, my…" She frowned at Zevran. "And I should be clapping for you, too–?"

Zevran just managed a 'No need, my W–,' before her renewed applause drowned him out. A wild urge to laugh overtook him; he gave in and cackled into his hands until his belly hurt.

When the madness died down, Rhodri marched over to the firepit, threw a few logs in, and summoned flames.

"I hope you weren't waiting too long," she said to the others apologetically, for which she received a chorus of head-shakes in reply.

"We just got up," Alistair assured her kindly.

"There was no point trying to sleep any longer," Leliana added with a wink to Zevran that got Alistair giggling. Morrigan, who appeared to have seen this reaction both despite and because of herself, paused mid-mouthful of toast. She glared at the remaining bread in her hands and threw it into the snow.

Rhodri frowned. "Hmm? Something was wrong?"

"Not at all," Leliana snickered. "In fact, from what I could hear, it sounded like something was very right." Rhodri's puzzled look intensified; Leliana, who didn't look the least bit put off, nodded in Zevran's direction, "Your lover has quite the pair of lungs."

Rhodri squinted. Her eyes went over to Zevran's ribcage, and then back to Leliana. "I– well, yes, I'm sure he does. He's always breathed very well, so far as I can tell."

Anticipating a pointed look from the Chantry Sister if he left Rhodri to work it out for herself, Zevran nodded at Leliana and leaned close to Rhodri. From the corner of his mouth, he gently reminded his lover of her attentions to him only minutes before, and the decidedly vocal reactions they had caused him to produce. And, of course, he highlighted the compliment on Rhodri's erotic skillset that was cleverly woven into the remark.

"Ah," Rhodri straightened up with an appreciative nod to Zevran, and faced Leliana again. "Yes, it went well. I'm very good in bed."

Leliana's wide eyes went onto Zevran; he nodded and kissed his fingers with a small flourish. She beamed and opened her mouth to speak again, only to fall silent as Rhodri strolled over to the fire and picked up the teapot.

"Now," Rhodri said, "who's having tea today?"

A wildly eventful moment passed in which Leliana administered a rough nudge to Alistair and gave him a very meaningful look. Alistair was on his feet like his arse was on fire, grabbing and frog-marching Rhodri ('But– but the tea!' she protested) as far away from the campfire as Morrigan's protective re-zoning allowed. Levi Dryden, Morrigan, and Sten, with excuses varying from forgetting something (Levi's), to threats of imminent vomiting (Morrigan and Sten's), left the campfire and returned to their own dwellings. Leliana looked positively delighted by the mass exodus, fixing Zevran with a devilish grin as she patted the spot on the log beside her.

It was a funny thing, Zevran pondered as he wandered over to his designated seat, being wanted to sit beside a– what was Leliana to him? An accomplice? Comrade-at-arms? … A friend? Whatever she was, and whatever he was to her, was immaterial, Zevran supposed, but it was certainly a change from the admittedly lonesome early days when he had been kept at arm's length.

Leliana, as if reading his mind, pinned him with a 'hmm?' as he sat down next to her.

Zevran gave an embarrassed little chuckle, and stuck on a debonair smile. "Nothing at all, dear lady," he assured her. "I was just thinking how far we have come from those days you thought I would kill you all."

"Ah," Leliana beamed, leaned over, and planted a kiss on his cheek with a noisy 'mwah!'.

"You're a sentimental soul, aren't you," she cooed. "Just like me." As if to reward him for noticing her confidence in him, Leliana handed Zevran the bread knife and a loaf of bread. "Now get slicing, and tell me everything. And no sparing on the details!"

He tutted with mock reproach. "Now, when have I ever deprived you of important information, lovely Leliana, hmm?"

She waved the question away as she balanced a plate on his knee. Zevran snickered like a fool.

"Ah, well, I suppose I shall start from the beginning, no? Now, let me see, before or after our clothes came off?"

"A little before."

"As you like. Ah! And I owe you my thanks on that little tip you gave me before…"

§

Leliana overtook Zevran and Rhodri in a few quick steps, fixing them both with a wide, smug grin that didn't dampen even as the snow whipped and billowed around her.

Alistair zipped out and around Zevran and fell into synchrony with Leliana– in both gait and expression, Zevran noted with no small amount of unease. In a bid to keep his concern off his face, Zevran, who up to this point had had his fingers laced with Rhodri's, let go of her hand, pulled out his waterskin, and took a long, deep draw from it.

Maker, this water is bloody freezing.

In the corner of his eye, Rhodri smiled back at Alistair and Leliana– warmly, if with a little puzzlement.

"So, Rhodri…" Leliana crooned.

"... So, Leli," she echoed. "You and Alistair look happy today."

"We are!" Alistair advised enthusiastically.

"Happy for you," Leliana said. Her eyes gleamed with untold wickedness as they darted between Rhodri and Zevran. "So tell us, when is the wedding?"

From behind Zevran, Levi Dryden 'ahh-ed' in delight. "You're gettin' married, Warden? That's lovely."

Rhodri startled as he clapped his hands once, and then scowled down at her boots.

"'Ere!" an oblivious Levi exclaimed, "you could 'ave your ceremony at Soldier's Peak, if it takes your fancy! Great views from the top, I'd imagine, an' plenty of room for guests."

She blinked like someone had thrown sand in her eyes. "Ah… thank you, Levi," she said with a jerky nod. "That's kind of you. A very generous offer, but I'm sorry, I'll have to decline. I'm expected to marry in Minrathous, see."

Alistair and Leliana's eyes grew to the size of a small family home; Zevran's belly gave an almighty heave as the Templar looked between him and Rhodri.

"So… so you are getting married, then, Rhod?" he asked in a hush.

Rhodri, who had spent the entire time frowning either at Levi Dryden or the road ahead, now squinted at Alistair. An unimpressed look curled her top lip ever-so-slightly, showing the briefest flash of teeth. She started with a 'Well, of course –' , only for Alistair to cut her off again.

"So can we come, too?" he asked, gesturing between Leliana and himself. "To the ceremony, that is."

"I– what?"

"We want you to invite us to the wedding," Leliana said, glancing at Zevran expectantly and with every indication that she would be extracting all imaginary details out of him at the first opportunity.

If Zevran's body clenched any tighter than it was clenching itself right now, his lungs would collapse. In fact, how his heart and other organs hadn't simply petrified from the pressure was a mystery. There wasn't even enough freedom of movement in his face to make a glare at Leliana. What a world.

Although, when Zevran took a moment to think on it: what was the issue here? The joke was a harmless one, and there would be one of two outcomes: either Rhodri would brush it off with a gentle 'don't be ridiculous,' or she would surprise them all with a perfectly serious 'yes, that's right,' and that would be the end of that. After all, who was Zevran to jilt a Magister?

And as a matter of fact, on revision, it would be a surprise to everyone but Zevran if Rhodri confirmed their betrothal, if only because he had dragged himself down this train of thought before. And how clever of him it was to have forced himself to think of it back then, too! A moment of otherworldly clairvoyance, perhaps, or yet another occasion of Zevran Arainai being as clever as he was handsome. He could play any part needed, whether it was the disposable lover or the semi-unexpected spouse, and that was a testament to his personal flexibility.

His hands started to shake, no doubt because of the cold, or a side-effect of tight muscles suddenly loosening. Likely both, and certainly not nerves; Zevran shoved his hands in his pockets and kept his eyes on the path ahead.

And then, because he hadn't made a fool of himself enough already, he nearly drew in enough air to burst his lungs as Rhodri chuckled beside him and advised that Alistair and Leliana, and anyone else present who cared to come, were obviously warmly invited to attend said nuptials.

"Though really," Rhodri said, amid thrilled coos from Leliana and Alistair (and indecipherable hums from Sten and Morrigan), "I'm not sure why you're thinking about any of this now. We have a Blight to get through first, then getting back to Minrathous, and then my father has to actually find someone for me."

Organs Zevran hadn't realised were floating in mid-air now fell– crashed, really– back down into place. The ache that accompanied the fall no doubt came from the rough impact; organs were delicate things, and not designed for even the softest of collisions. A wide-eyed Alistair and Leliana stared at Rhodri, both of them looking deeply unimpressed, and Zevran prayed for death as they then turned to him with the most mortifying sympathy in their near-identical expressions.

"Rhodri," Alistair said to her wearily. "You can't be serious right now. You have to be shitting me."

Rhodri frowned. "Well, no, I'm not 'shitting you.' We've been over this before. What, you expect me to just marry without a spouse? Marry myself, is it? Make my own children and then split myself in two?" She chuckled and made a slicing motion down through the middle of her face. "Which half of me will be the father, hmm? Left or right?"

Alistair's head tipped back as he let out a groan. "You know what? Never mind. I don't have the strength. I just…" he sighed and gave Zevran a sad little clap on the shoulder as he and Leliana fell back into place behind Rhodri, who was still chortling at her own joke.