Chapter Text
Zevran watched the Warden scrutinise the little golden earring in his big hands.
River was a strange man. Zevran hadn’t known what to think of him when they’d first met and he’d been spared the bloody fate of death-by-Grey-Warden. Naive, perhaps, or unassumingly cunning. Of course, as he’d gotten to know the man better he realised that it was neither, and that River was just, for lack of a better word, strange.
“An earring?” said River. He always took a while to think like that before speaking. It was refreshing in a way and had become endearing altogether, though Zevran had almost neglected to bring to mind the amount of times River piped up with some ridiculous pun he’d come up with or mumbled something unexpectedly snarky. An oddball, the Grey Warden was.
“I acquired it on my very first job for the Crows,” said Zevran nonchalantly. “A Rivaini merchant prince, and he was wearing a single jeweled earring when I killed him. In fact, that’s about all he was wearing.”
River’s face was impassive.
Zevran continued. “I thought it was beautiful and took it to mark the occasion. I’ve kept it since, and… and I’d like you to have it.”
The little earring was turned over this way and that.
They were finally all back at the Arl’s estate after dealing with the political chaos that was Denerim. It had been a while since they killed Taliesen. There hadn’t been much time to talk, not really, between all the fighting and subterfuge at Howe’s estate and then Fort Drakon, so this seemed as good a time as any. Besides, he reasoned, he’d better do it while they were still both alive.
At last River spoke again. “This is a bit out of the blue, isn’t it?”
“Don’t get the wrong idea about it,” Zevran said quickly. “You killed Taliesen. As far as the Crows will be concerned, I died with him.” It was true, but still strange to think about. “That means I’m free, at least for now.”
River nodded and said nothing. Zevran could feel himself beginning to fidget. Still River only stared at the earring, occasionally glancing up at him with those deep brown eyes of his. Damned Warden stoicness, he cursed, though he knew it was really only a River thing considering how Alistair had none of it. Would it kill the man to make himself a little easier to read?
“Feel free to sell it, or wear it, whatever you like,” he ventured eventually, keeping his voice even. “It’s really the least I can give you in return.”
The briefest sliver of disappointment crossed River’s face. “Oh,” he said. “So it is just a reward for helping you?”
“I… look, just take it.” Zevran stammered. “It’s meant a lot to me, but so have… so has what you’ve done. Please, take it.”
He watched as River reached forward, took his hand, opened his palm and placed the earring back in it. He closed Zevran’s hand over the little piece of jewellery.
“It’s alright,” River said quietly. “I don’t need a reward.”
Zevran had not been expecting this response.
“What?” he said.
“You can keep it, Zev.” River stepped back. “I thought… I thought we… that you… it’s alright. You can keep it.”
Zevran blinked. His face was hot. “You are a very frustrating man to deal with, do you know that?” He hurriedly stuffed the earring back into his pocket. “We pick up every other bit of treasure we come across, but not this. You don’t want the earring? You don’t get the earring, very simple.”
He turned and left, feeling very silly.
_________________________________________
River came to him later that evening.
“Zevran?” Zevran felt the man’s hand tap his shoulder gently. “Where will you be sleeping tonight? Would you… er… would you like to share, still?”
“No,” he said, his mouth moving before he could think properly. “I… no. I mean no offense. I simply… no.”
“Oh.” Zevran couldn’t bear to turn and look. River’s sad face reminded him of a kicked puppy. “Zev, is… is something wrong?”
Zevran stared down at his hands. “No,” he lied. “River, there– there are other things for you to focus on besides me, I am certain. Do… do those.”
There was a long silence. River’s brow was probably furrowed the way it usually was when he thought hard about something. Zevran heard a little intake of breath once or twice, the kind someone did when they were going to say something then decided against it.
At last River said, “No, there is not. Zevran, you’re acting… you seem different. Did I do something?”
Zevran sighed. There could be no escaping it, then. He turned himself around on the bench and looked up at the Warden. “No, I just… Are you certain you wish to talk about this? I… I really do not know what to say.”
“Are you…” River hesitated. His usually-taciturn face looked worried, for a change. “Are you having second thoughts? About… about us?”
“No!” Zevran blurted. “I… no, this… I am acting like a child, I realise. I apologise. Let me try to explain.”
River sat himself down next to Zevran. Where he got his patience from, Zevran had no idea.
He looked down at his hands. Sucking in a breath, searching for the right words, Zevran began. “An assassin must learn to forget about sentiment. It is dangerous,” he said slowly. “You take your pleasures where you can when life is good. To expect anything more would be reckless.”
That lesson had practically been beaten into him as a child. He’d always thought he wouldn’t soon forget it. But that little voice nagged at him, saying, if that were true, he wouldn’t be here– and it was right, as much as he’d been loath to admit it.
“I thought it was the same between us,” he continued. “Something to enjoy, a pleasant diversion and little more. And yet…”
He glanced at River. The Warden looked deep in thought again.
“Are you saying…” River licked his lips. “Is it… do you…um…?” He trailed off and looked at Zevran hopelessly.
Zevran managed a smile. At least he was not the only one floundering. “I don’t know,” he said. “How would you know such a thing? I grew up amongst those who saw the illusion of love, and then I was trained to make my heart cold in favour of the kill. Everything I have been taught says what I feel is wrong. Yet, I cannot help it. I…” He sighed. “Since you asked me into your tent, I have been nothing but confused. Do you understand me at all?”
River tentatively took Zevran’s hand. “I… do not think I am any wiser than you in that area, Zevran.”
“All I need to know,” Zevran felt River’s fingers gently entwine with his. “Is if there might be some future for us, some possibility of… I do not know what.”
Zevran watched him think. He’d overheard Alistair ask River once why he took so long to answer questions, to which he’d thought for half a minute and then answered, “so I don’t say the wrong thing.” It was sweet, Zevran had thought then, and then was shocked that he’d had such a soppy thought.
Perhaps one day he’d be ready to admit that the Warden had indeed turned him into the kind of sop he always made fun of.
“I don’t know,” River murmured quietly. “I want there to be, but I don’t know. But I do know how I feel about you.”
Zevran looked into his handsome, earnest face. When he’d first taken the contract he’d expected to die, and then when that didn’t work he thought perhaps it would be fun to get into the man’s bed, and somehow he’d succeeded beyond belief but in a way that had him stumbling along, falling face-first into something he never thought possible for himself.
“I… I still have the earring,” he said, fumbling around in his pocket with his free hand. His fingers closed around the little piece of jewellery. “I would like to give it to you.”
River let go of Zevran’s hand and turned his palm upward. Zevran placed the earring in his hand.
“... as a token of affection,” he added sheepishly. “Will you take it?”
River had a nice smile. It wasn’t a big smile of any sort, not the kind that took up half a person’s face, but it was nice, and his eyes crinkled at the corners ever so slightly when he did. It looked good on him.
He nodded. “I will.”
“Then that is enough for me.” A laugh bubbled from Zevran’s throat. How unbelievable this would all seem to the Zevran of the past. “I am sorry for acting so strangely. I think I will be better now, much better.”
He let River pull him into a kiss. It was a chaste kiss, nothing like the ones they had when they were both pent-up and flushed after a battle, but River still had the audacity to pull back and look shy afterward like a Chantry boy after his first kiss.
Zevran grinned at him. “Such a tease.” He wrapped his arms around the Warden’s broad shoulders and pulled him close, pressing his lips against River’s eagerly.
River laughed against his mouth. “Wait, Zevran,” he said between kisses. “Not here, not here, we’re in public.” He pulled back, wiping his mouth. “Zevran, I… I’m glad we talked,” he said earnestly. “I need to go speak with the Arl. I… er… I will see you later?”
Zevran smiled at him luridly. “Of course you will,” he said.
“Not like that,” River protested weakly. “I am tired today. I just want to… hold you.”
Maker, what had he gotten himself into? Yet he found that he did not mind the prospect so much. “Alright, you soft-hearted virgin,” he said. “Come, kiss me again.”
River obliged, kissing him tenderly. Then he stood up, leaned down to kiss Zevran once more, then at last left after giving him an affectionate little tap on the cheek
Zevran watched him go.
“Ahh,” he chuckled to himself. “I am becoming a love-struck fool.”
But there were worse things to be in the world.