Chapter Text
It could only be supposed that after defeating the blight and helping to kill an Archdemon, regular life would seem a little…boring. Even if your regular life included slowly dismantling your former guild one bloody Crow at a time.
After Zevran had bid the Warden Commander goodbye he had left to return to Antiva, deciding that he would rather face the Crows head on than keep running. He figured that if he killed enough of them, and cut deals with the rest, eventually the seeming cost of going up against him would be too high except for the most foolhardy. Since having a couple of your compatriots after your blood was par for the course amongst the assassins he felt that soon enough he would be able to return to his former life.
However, as he was cutting a swath through the guild, he was already feeling some dissatisfaction with his choice. The entire time he was in Ferelden he had missed his homeland, and he had been delighted to return at first, but soon he noticed he was feeling restless.
Certainly the kill-or-be-killed challenge wasn’t exactly boring, but he couldn’t help feeling his life was lacking something. So when his latest confrontation led him through the Free Marches and he had begun hearing stories about the Champion of Kirkwall he had listened with a steadily growing interest.
Dragons, abominations, a duel to save the city from a powerful Arishok; it all had a ring of familiarity that called to him. The Champion even had a rag-tag group of odd companions, and when Zevran heard that he was accompanied by a “tattooed warrior elf” he had to laugh out loud. Perhaps soon tattooed elves would become standard sidekicks in heroic tales. After all, this Champion had not one, but two, although the second one was a witch and not a warrior. That made Zevran laugh as well, because of course there had to be a witch.
So he listened and he laughed as he found himself growing closer to Kirkwall. In the privacy of his own thoughts he had to admit to a feeling of wistfulness when he remembered being a part of a group who all watched one another backs, even if they didn’t necessarily all like one another. And in an even more private corner of his mind, he had to admit that he rather liked being a hero. Not that he felt any shame at being an assassin. He was what he was, and he had always faced the truth of his career directly.
What he did miss though, was the challenge that solving everyone’s random problems offered. That, and the sense of purpose that came from having an affect on the larger goings on in the world. After all, he had helped save the world, which on the whole rather outweighed helping some Antivan politician gain control of the olive trade through a series of well-planned murders.
When he eventually found himself in a cave on the side of Sundermount, face to face with the Champion and some of his companions, he again had to chuckle at the vagaries of fate. The Champion already had some idea that Nuncio wasn’t all that he seemed, and it wasn’t too difficult to persuade him to switch sides and confront Nuncio. This was good, because Zevran found himself quite distracted by the opportunity to check out this Garrett Hawke and some of his companions.
Seeing his Isabela there was a little bit of a surprise, although not too much of one. What was a surprise was the proprietary air she had towards Hawke, although she seemed unconscious of it. The little Dalish with the lovely vallaslin must be the witch he had heard of; she looked exactly as he had pictured her.
The one who most captured his interest however, was the silent, white-haired elf who stood just to Hawke’s right and slightly behind. Hawke had introduced him as Fenris, and he had given the Antivan a brusque nod. He was wearing unique spiky armor and had numerous white tattoos covering his chin, neck, and arms, and probably more that he couldn’t see. He was also carrying a two-handed sword that was almost as long as he was tall and probably weighed as much as Zevran did. Although he gave an appearance of lean strength, he did not seem bulky enough to be able to wield a sword that big. He was also jaw droppingly gorgeous. To say that Zevran was intrigued was putting it mildly.
So it was with a definite sense of excitement that he headed to meet them at Nuncio’s camp. He couldn’t resist making a bit of a showy entrance, and once the fight broke out he headed straight for Nuncio and took him down quickly, and with as much flair as he could muster. Again, it was a good thing that he did, because a flash of blue out of the corner of his eye captured his attention.
To his amazement he saw Fenris, who was now glowing blue run past and leap high into the air and come down while sweeping his blade downward, cleaving his enemy in two. Luckily Zevran had long since mastered the art of fighting while a part of his attention was elsewhere because he could not stop his gaze from straying to the other elf.
Finally the battle had gotten to the point where their side had already won and there were just a few stragglers to be taken care of. Since they were nearer to Hawke and Fenris he allowed himself to just watch. He saw the glowing elf swing his giant sword with enough force to cut through two men as they faced him, while roaring a battle cry that actually gave Zevran shivers. Good shivers. He had always said he fancied things that were beautiful and dangerous and exciting, and certainly Fenris was the embodiment of all those things.
Afterward, while Hawke was looting all of the corpses (and if that didn’t bring back memories nothing would) he ventured over to Isabela and gave her a charming smile.
“So it looks like you are quite attached to your dear Champion, yes?”
Isabela shrugged and said with an answering smile, “Well, not attached of course, but look at that man! He is a beast, in bed and out!”
“Well, I confess it is your flashy elf-friend over there that has drawn my eye,” he said with a nod towards Fenris.
Isabela laughed and gave him a commiserating look. “Good luck with that. I have tried many times to get him in bed, but he’s…difficult.”
“Oh, how so?”
Before Isabela could answer he heard the elf in question say to Hawke, “If you are done collecting junk, we should move on.” The deep, rich voice seemed to travel straight down his spine to his cock, and something must have shown on his face...he was slipping, what had happened to his training? because she leaned in to whisper, “That voice, I know!”
She turned and walked toward Hawke, saying, “I do so need a drink. I agree with Fenris, lets head back to the city.”
Without any conscious thought he joined them as they gathered together to walk back. They accepted his presence without any comment, and he fell into step at the rear of the group with the Dalish mage, Merrill, chattering away at him. He listened happily with a thrum of anticipation running through his veins. Life felt interesting again.