And...Another One!
"What? You're seriously taking the assassin with us now? Does that really seem like a good idea?" Alistair's voice was dripping with disbelief as he stared at Duran, who had just decided to recruit Zevran into their already motley crew.
The dwarf couldn't help but admit that, for a good while, killing the Antivan Crow had seemed like the most reasonable course of action. Yet Zevran had a way of weaving his words with such elegance and wit that it almost made Duran forget the blade the elf had held to his throat mere moments ago. More importantly, Zevran's candid recounting of his upbringing within the infamous assassins' guild struck a chord with the dwarf. For all his charm and suavity, there was an undeniable glimmer of honesty in his amber eyes.
If this had been Orzammar, someone like Zevran wouldn't have lived long enough to utter a single word of explanation—execution would have been swift and final. But Duran wasn't in Orzammar anymore, and the Blight wasn't a foe he could fight alone. If Zevran proved himself useful, all the better. And if he didn't? Well, there were plenty of swords in their group to make short work of him.
Turning to Alistair with a sly grin, Duran shrugged. "Have you taken a good look at our merry little band lately? It's not exactly the pinnacle of stability, is it? A pack of lunatics and misfits. You, of all people, should appreciate that."
Alistair folded his arms, scowling. "I fail to see how this makes any of this better."
Duran raised a finger, his grin widening. "Need I remind you of something you said to me not so long ago? 'The Grey Wardens take anyone—knights, murderers, or traitors to the crown.' Your words, Alistair. Not mine."
"And what's your point?" Alistair's glare could have pierced stone.
"My point, Your Highness," Duran said, his tone laced with mock reverence, "is that those were some wise words from Alistair Theirin, royal bastard of Maric and missfit of the chantry."
Alistair groaned, his exasperation only deepening as he muttered, "I hate that you're always right." He threw his hands up in defeat. "Fine. Take the assassin. But when you wake up tomorrow with a knife sticking out of your back, don't come haunting me about it."
Duran clapped his hands together, grinning like a child. "Perfect! Welcome to the team, Zevran. Don't stab anyone we like."
Zevran, leaning casually against a tree, smirked as if the entire exchange had been a delightful comedy performed solely for his entertainment. "I assure you, dear Alistair, I have no intention of stabbing anyone... who doesn't deserve it."
And so, yet another lunatic joined their ever-growing band of misfits. Duran had to admit, their little group was starting to look less like an army and more like the beginning of a very bizarre joke.