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“It was a mercy.”
Theron hadn't moved, the blood of the dark spawn sinking into boots as he watched the pool grow.
And Zevran watched him. He remembered the Gauntlet, he remembered how it poked at their regrets, and how Theron, usually so evasive about his past, spoke of an elf named Tamlen.
“Theron.” He announced himself before he reached out, the look in Theron's eyes was lost, but wild, and he'd seen men like that attack the first thing to surprise them. He didn't want to be that surprise.
Theron looked up at him slowly, his movements jerky and his eyes turned to him... but Zevran could see that Theron couldn't see him. Only the blood, and the body of his Tamlen. He reached out to cup his face, and Theron moved with him, as if without will, it took no effort to guide the Warden back to his tent. “Come... let's get the blood off of you.”
They didn't really have time for such things, he could hear the others talking, their camp was no longer safe... but there was healing to be done.
He stripped Theron from his armour and clothing, his touch gentle but clinical, he had no interest in taking advantage of this state. Theron had yet to respond, still staring at something Zevran could not see. So he took a cloth and began slowly to wash the blood from Theron's skin, there was nothing that needed saying, nothing that would reach Theron's ears, so Zevran did what he could, wiped the pain that Tamlen caused from Theron's flesh, and made him lie down. Then he began with Theron's armour and weapons, cleaning until all that was left was memories.
It was just after Zevran finished with Theron's boots that he roused. His voice was soft and weak, and his eyes were haunted, but they saw him when they looked at him, and Zevran counted it as improvement.
“Zevran...”
Sometimes Zevran forgot how young Theron was. It was easy enough to do, the Warden had a darkness in his eyes that came with the horrors he'd seen, the things he'd had to do. But here, curled on his bedroll, shaking and pale, Zevran couldn't help but be reminded. “Here I am.” He started to smile, then stopped himself. This wasn't his past. He was allowed to play down his own pain, it made it that much easier... but he couldn't do that too Theron, not while he looked so small and vulnerable.
“I... I killed Tamlen.” Theron's voice sounded so shaken, Zevran could be nowhere but at his side.
“You did.”
“I thought I could save him.”
“There was nothing left to save.”
“I loved him.”
That gave him pause. He had no right to jealousy, and truly he hadn't believed himself Theron's first...
“Of that, I have no doubt.” He remembered this pain, and couldn't help mirroring it with his own. He knew full well what it was to have the blood of your beloved on your hands.
“I should have saved him.”
“No.” He was no good at this. He should have brought Wynne, to philosophise on the nature of regret, he couldn't deny Theron's while he clung so tightly to his own. “The burden of this guilt will do you no good. Keep him in your heart if you must, but let him go before he haunts you.”
There was an instant of indignation flickering over Theron's eyes, and then he was back. His full lips drew into a tight line and he nodded, then he looked around the tent as if seeing it for the first time. “I need to bury him. It is his right...”
“And yours, I'm sure your beast of a dog will help you do so.”
Theron snorted and shook his head. “Yes, he probably will. I've already attended his funeral... but this last right I will give him.”
“How can I help.”
“Can you... find me a seed?”
“Easy enough done.”
“Thank you.”
“But of course, I live to serve.”