In the early days of their journey, as Naia adjusted to the new and unfamiliar weight on her shoulders, she learned that the only way she could stop thinking about everything that depended on her was to focus on the others—to help them where she could, even if she could only listen. Keeping her eye on their worries and fears helped her ignore her own.
She learned many surprising things about her companions. Serene Wynne was living on borrowed time. Leliana had been an assassin, and had survived torture and the cruelest sort of betrayal. Sten, for all his stoicism, carried guilt and shame with every step. Even Morrigan had her scars, largely left by her mother's strange upbringing.
It was strange, though, to see herself reflected in their eyes. Wynne saw a girl in need of mentoring and the occasional lecture. Sten saw a leader, though his respect came slowly and had been hard-won. Morrigan saw ... well, Naia wasn't sure what Morrigan saw, but it apparently made the sorceress sneer a lot. Alistair and Leliana looked at her and saw a friend—and a hero. That second part was disconcerting, since the more choices Naia made, the more lives she took, the less heroic she felt.
The only person who seemed to really see her was Zevran.
Months after accepting him into their group, Naia still found the assassin a puzzle. He flirted with everyone shamelessly but provided startlingly good advice when things turned serious. He tried very hard to seem frivolous, but he had a gift for seeing straight through to a person's core. He bragged cheerfully about a gruesome past—especially when Wynne tried to lecture him on his lack of morals—but when he told stories about the Crows, they seldom ended with him taking a life.
She teased him about that, once, after he told a story about falling naked into a river during a mission gone amusingly wrong. "You never seem to kill anyone in these stories. I'm starting to think you weren't a very good assassin."
He winked at her. "Ah, my Warden. I fear my tales of skill and success are not fit for such lovely ears."
"Try me," she said wryly. "Come on. Tell me—wait, I know. Tell me about the contract you had before mine. Your last mission for the Crows."
His face went still, all humor gone. "I—that is not a pleasant story, Grey Warden. I would prefer to keep it to myself."
Naia forced herself to change the subject. Zevran's evasion had more than piqued her curiosity, but she understood the wish to keep painful things private.
The more they talked, the more she came to like him. And the more she liked him, the brighter that spark of attraction burned. She'd had a handful of affairs in the alienage; they had been enjoyable enough, but always a bit fumbling and awkward, and—given the lack of privacy in most alienage homes—over quickly.
She suspected things would be different with Zevran. Very different.
Then came the night outside Denerim, when she'd come within half a second of kissing him. She had only stopped herself when she felt the alcohol begin to flood her limbs and brain. Not even a Grey Warden could drink a full cup of whiskey in under thirty minutes without consequences, it seemed, and she didn't want to embarrass herself. She managed to make it back to her tent before collapsing in a heap on top of her blankets, utterly unconscious.
She slept fitfully, and dreamed of the Archdemon.
She woke the next morning with a headache to go with the lingering terror of her dreams. After drinking most of her canteen of water and splashing the rest of it across her face, she emerged from her tent to find Zevran sitting no more than ten paces away, nonchalantly sharpening his left-hand dagger for the day ahead.
"Good morning, my Warden. I would ask how you are feeling, but I suspect I know." He grinned at her, taking in the way she shielded her eyes from the morning sun, wincing at the light.
Naia sat down across from him and rubbed her forehead. "Yeah. Thanks for last night. I think if I'd had any more of that stuff I would probably be blind."
She tried to find words to thank him for everything else he had done—for listening to her, for saying that it wasn't her fault, for pulling her out of the despair she'd felt. For calling her beautiful and clearly meaning it. She wondered if she should tell him that she'd wanted to kiss him, and that part of her regretted not doing it.
But that was all too complicated to put into a coherent sentence, so she just said, "I'll stay away from Bodahn's whiskey from now on."
"A wise choice." Zevran returned his dagger to its sheath. "I believe we are camping here again tonight, yes?"
Naia nodded. "We still need to find Genitivi before we move on."
"Good. There is a clearing nearby, ten minutes' walk or so. Are you still interested in learning a few of my deadlier tricks?"
Naia felt her eyebrows rise. "I—yes. Definitely. But what about the Crows?"
Zevran shrugged. "It occurs to me that they are already angry at me, and if they catch up with me they can only kill me the once." He arched a very suggestive eyebrow. "Besides, now that I know you do not mind, it will give me an opportunity to admire your form in closer quarters."
Naia laughed, feeling a slight blush rise on her cheeks. "It's a deal. I'll meet you here after we get back from the city."
*
They trained in the clearing for several hours that afternoon, until the warm sun had faded into dusk, stopping only for a bit of food halfway through. Zevran's skills were even more useful than Naia had hoped. The Crows taught their pupils to do more than sneak and use poisons—in battle, Zev knew how to find a target's weak spots and cause maximum damage with the first blow. Naia could think of at least a few opponents she wished she'd finished off a bit more quickly. The scar Vaughan had given her was itching again.
"You are quite good at this. I would suggest you seek out the Crows, but I suspect you have better options for your future employment." Zevran was grinning as he packed up his poisons. He'd obviously enjoyed the lesson as much as she.
"So. Any more tricks to pass on?" Naia twirled her dagger idly in her right hand.
"Those are the basics of what I know, the things that have helped me most against the Darkspawn. But I do have something else for you." Zevran pulled a small glass flask from the side of his bag. "As promised. Antivan spirits to replace the whiskey. I found them in a little shop in Denerim, much to my surprise."
Naia took the bottle and held it up against the dying light. The liquid within was completely clear. "Are you sure? It looks like water."
Zevran smiled and pulled out the cork. "Try it."
Naia took a small, experimental sip. Definitely not water. The liquor had a slightly sweet taste, but it burned pleasantly as it slid over her tongue and down her throat. She met Zevran's eyes and grinned. "All right. It's better than the whiskey." She held out the bottle invitingly.
Zevran accepted it and took a sip of his own. He closed his eyes in pleasure, a gesture Naia found oddly charming. It was nice to see Zev content, if even for a moment. "Ah. Now this reminds me of home. I can almost smell the leatherworks."
"The leatherworks?" Naia asked, sitting down on a nearby log and taking another sip. They'd have to head back to camp before it was dark, but they could steal another few moments as the sun set.
"The room where I lived, when I was a young assassin with the Crows, was right down the street from a leather maker's shop. I grew to love the smell." Zevran sat down beside her and took a longer swig from the bottle.
"Do you think you'll go back? Could you go back? It sounds like the Crows more or less run Antiva."
"To tell the truth I have not thought much beyond the task before us," Zevran said candidly. "But it would please me to see Antiva City again. There was a wonderful pair of boots that I had my eye on in that shop."
"If you want boots, I saw some in the Denerim market. They were made from bearskin. Leliana said they looked like ratty blankets tied around a pair of hams."
Zevran laughed. "I am sure they were appalling. But if you asked, I would wear them, wounds to my pride be damned. I have never said no to a beautiful woman."
"You must have quite a history with women, then," Naia teased.
To her surprise, her comment seemed to make Zevran uncomfortable. "Yes, I do have a rather extensive history," he said after a short pause. "And it has not been restricted to women. Does that offend you?"
"No. Did you think it would?" Naia replied, surprised.
Her companion seemed to relax, ever so slightly. "No, I suppose not." He took a long drink of the spirits. "The Crows prefer us to be flexible in such matters. Sharing a bed with the right person is often the only way to gain access to protected targets."
Naia accepted the bottle from him and took a sip. "So you're saying you left out my seduction training?"
Zevran laughed. "Perhaps I did. But somehow I think the Archdemon is immune to your charms, considerable though they are."
The comment had been lighthearted, but Naia suddenly felt a rush of terror as the previous night's dream came back to her.
The Archdemon swung its head and fixed its gaze on her. Its eyes seemed to burn through her armor and her flesh, seemed to see her right down to the bone. Whatever it saw, it appeared unimpressed. Lazily, almost as if it were bored, it swept a twisted claw at her ...
"I meant to deliver you a compliment, but now you look so unhappy."
Naia took a sharp, shallow breath, and shook her head as though that could dislodge the image. "No, I—it's not you. I had a dream about the Archdemon last night."
"Is that so odd?" Zevran asked, taking the bottle from her. "It must be on your mind a great deal."
"It was a Grey Warden dream, Zev. It's different. The Darkspawn can sense us, and we can sense them, especially in our sleep." She knew she wasn't explaining this well, but she babbled on. "It saw me. Looked right at me."
And then it killed me, she added silently. I think I'm going to die. But how can they follow me if they know I won't survive?
She brushed aside that thought by reclaiming the bottle from Zev and taking a large swallow. "Oh well. I suppose it would be too easy if I could end the Blight by batting my eyelashes at the Archdemon," she quipped. "Maybe when this is over, you can finish my training. Who knows what I'll be fighting next? A few seduction skills might come in handy."
"To tell you the truth, my Grey Warden, I doubt you would need much in the way of training to entice a target into bed. A woman as stunning as you can usually just ask."
In spite of her dark mood, Naia felt a laugh burble out. "That's good advice."
The words hung in the air between them for a moment as they sat side-by-side. Naia looked down at the spirits, but suddenly, she didn't want more. She was making a decision and she wanted a clear head for it. This wasn't the time for love or romance, not with almost-certain death hanging over her head, but Zev wouldn't want those things anyway. Uncomplicated sex, on the other hand ...
"You know, I think I should try it."
"Hmm?" Zevran replied, looking at her with interest. "Try what?"
"Asking." Naia set the bottle aside and moved closer to the other elf, sliding her arm behind his back, pressing her side against his. She could smell his scent, a mix of sweat and spice and leather. His eyes met hers, and she smiled slightly to hide a sudden flash of nervousness.
"For example, I might try asking you to join me in my tent. How do you think that would go?"
Zevran laughed softly under his breath. "What an interesting hypothetical. Why, I would say yes, of course. Provided we were planning on the same activity once inside."
"Which would be ..." she prompted, arching an eyebrow.
"It would involve the two of us, and no clothing." Slowly, he raised his hand and stroked his fingertips across her cheek, gently running his thumb across her lower lip. Naia felt her breath quicken as she met his eyes. "And, I hope, a very long night."
"Ah," she said quietly, brushing his thumb with a light kiss. "Interesting."
"So. Is this merely a philosophical discussion?" he asked, leaning closer. "I hope you are not so cruel."
For an answer, Naia slid her hand into his hair and pulled his mouth to hers.
After so many weeks of imagining this, Naia had thought she was prepared, that she had some idea of what it would be like. She did not. Zevran's kiss was warm and coaxing, his breath lightly scented with the Antivan spirits. It filled every fiber of her body with a warm hunger, a desperate need to bring him closer. She closed her eyes and gave in, losing herself to the moment, to the one thing she'd done in all these long months simply because she wanted it.
Some minutes later, Naia shivered as Zevran placed a lingering kiss against her neck, then trailed his lips upwards, his breath warm against her skin. "Any second thoughts, my Warden?" he whispered against her ear.
"Not unless you're having them."
"Hm. No."
His mouth found hers again and he pulled her close, his fingers finding the ties of her clothing. Naia caught his face between his hands and pulled him with her as she lay down on the ground, biting back a whimper as his weight settled on top of her. Want and need were the only things she could feel.
We're not going to make it to my tent, she thought as the kiss resumed.
A snapping twig caught their attention.
Both elves instinctively reached for their weapons, then froze as they realized who had snapped the twig. Leliana and Duncan stood in their little clearing. Both of them looked rather startled.
Duncan panted happily and barked when he realized the person underneath Zevran was his mistress. Naia felt her cheeks flood red. "We, I, uh ..."
"Oh dear," said Leliana suddenly, her eyes snapping away from the two elves to stare into the distance. "I seem to have gone quite blind, and perhaps deaf as well. I see nothing at all in this clearing. How upsetting. Perhaps I ought to consult Wynne. Come, Duncan."
And with that, the Orlesian turned on her heel and walked back towards camp.
Duncan remained where he was. "Go on, boy," hissed Naia. Duncan panted once, then leapt up and followed Leliana.
Naia turned her attention back to Zevran, who was still lying on top of her, although he'd moved his hand to a less scandalous location. He chuckled as she met his eyes. "I fear we may have scandalized our dear Leliana," he said, tracing one finger around the outline of her ear.
Naia laughed. "You'd be surprised. Leliana doesn't scandalize easily."
With a playful grin, she flipped their positions, pushing Zev onto his back, and brushed his mouth with a kiss. "I'm going back to my tent," she whispered. "Wait a few minutes and then follow. I'm not risking any more interruptions."
Zevran's breath tickled her ear as he answered back. "I am yours to command, my Warden."
*
Naia's suspicions proved correct. It was very different with Zevran.
"Maker, Zev," she gasped as he settled into the blankets beside her. She cringed at the sound of her voice, breathless and awestruck as a virgin's. Stop that! You're a Grey Warden, not some lovesick teenager.
She forced herself to regain control, and when she felt more confident, she turned on her side and smiled at the other elf. "I see your boasting wasn't entirely empty," she teased. There. That's better.
Zevran smiled back. "Neither was yours, my Warden." He winked at her. "So I am especially glad I did not disappoint."
Blissfully sated, still riding the wave of physical pleasure, Naia rolled on her back and tucked her hands underneath her head, smiling a smug little grin up at her tent. She hadn't felt this relaxed in—Maker, she couldn't remember ever feeling this relaxed.
She felt Zevran shift at her side, sitting up in the dark, and she looked over at him. He was still watching her, but his smile had been replaced by a thoughtful expression, and an odd little line between his eyebrows.
She blinked. "What?"
"Hm?"
"You're thinking about something."
"Thinking? Me? My dear Warden," Zevran said archly. "You have entirely mistaken my character. I am wounded."
"Don't give me that, Zev," she said wryly. "Out with it."
His mouth opened, but for a moment he did not speak. "I suppose I am wondering something. As the priestess once said to the handsome actor: What now?"
Naia raised her eyebrows. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, what now? What are we to each other?"
Naia had to stop her mouth from dropping open in surprise. "I was going to ask you the same thing," she lied, sitting up to look at him and pulling the blankets to her chest in a very belated fit of modesty. Does he think I'm going to expect flowers and poetry now that I've bedded him?
Her mind whirred as she tried to come up with a response. "Well, we're friends, aren't we?"
She couldn't entirely interpret Zev's expression, but when he spoke, he did not sound unhappy. "Yes, I would say that we are."
"Then why should this change anything? Who's to say friends can't occasionally help each other relieve some tension?"
The assassin laughed under his breath. "Who, indeed?"
He fell quiet. Naia wondered if he was waiting for her to say something more, but she had no idea what. She felt as though she had accidentally stepped onto uneven ground and she wasn't sure how to regain her footing.
Finally Zevran broke the silence. "I will not ask more of you than you want to give, Naia. If you wish this to be a single night, never repeated, simply say the word. But, if you should need to ... relieve tension again, I would be most happy to offer my services."
The nervous little knot in Naia's stomach unwound itself. That's the Zevran I know. "Careful what you promise, Zev. I'm trying to stop a Blight. I think I'm going to have a lot of tension to relieve in the next few weeks," she said matter-of-factly.
She saw a flash of white teeth in the dark as Zevran smiled. "Is that so?"
He shifted his body, leaning forward to brush her lips with a light, seductive kiss. "I hope you will not think me selfish if I say I am glad to hear it," he whispered against her mouth.