Another drabble in attempt to rid myself of my writers block. I adore the Dragon age games, super excited for Inquisition later this year, and I LOVE Zevran. I'm not really sure if I managed to properly portray him, but I hope I didn't butcher him too much.

I do not own anything, obviously.

Constructive criticism is always very welcome. Please enjoy.

Zevran Aranai was not an idiot.

It was just that, like the black bird whose name he once shared, Zevran had an unquenchable love for shiny things. For pretty things. So when a young noblewoman passed, golden hair waving and jewels sparkling, how was a poor elf supposed to resist. So he follows, moving through Denerims buzzing marketplace with ease, unnoticed like a shadow at midnight.

And if a few pockets happen to be empty once he had passed...well, that's nobody's business. Zevran Aranai was no idiot. But the young woman's guardsmen in silvery armor were so shiny, and so terribly lazy. They didn't react until the lady got offended when he tried to get in under her dress, and by then her shiny jewelry were long gone, stuffed into the safety of his own pocket. The guards were of course not really a problem, more like a welcome exercise break in an otherwise dull week. Though the sword that flew by his head could have been a problem if not for the fine dodging reflex honed by a year of avoiding the flying staff of a disgruntled senior mage. Ah, how he missed Wynne and her lovely bosom. No, Zevran Aranai was no idiot. Though, idiot or not, thinking about lovely bosoms during a fight is one of those things that get you knocked out and arrested by the city guards. So maybe Zevran was an idiot after all.

Now, being put up for public execution was not how he had imagined he'd go to meet the Maker. Though then again, he was hardly surprised that his claim to be both somewhat close friends with their new, and pretty, king as well as lover to the Hero of Ferelden was seen as a blasphemous, desperate lie. Well, blasphemous enough to warrant a hanging it seemed. And here he was, telling the truth for once.

The rope is coarse against his neck, pulled uncomfortably tight, iron shackles tearing and bruising at his wrists and, for all the leather in Antiva, he can't see a way out of it this time. Not this time.

"Do you have any last words, Elf?" The guard, a remarkably ugly man in his late forties, pulls the nose tighter. Almost as if daring him to speak. And Zevran did never quite know how to hold his tongue. "Well, I must say that I never imagined being caught by a fine gentleman such as yourself. It is a shame we will never get the chance to drink together, truly." The nose tightens and he chokes, sneering at the man. "Please do send my regards to your King when he throws you to your beloved dogs!"

"That's it!" The guard turns, waving his hands at the executioner. "Let's get this over with." Zevran stares out over the gathered mob; this was bad, really, really bad. And to make matters worse, the fall would probably not be enough to break his neck, he would suffocate. Slow and painful. He had seen his fair share of hangings, and there were certainly more gracious ways to die. Like beheading by raging Warden, food poisoning by bastard prince or maybe squished by annoyed golem. Even heart attack by naked drunk dwarf would be preferable.

"Don't you dare!"

The voice thunders through the air with righteous rage and, if not for the vicious growling mabari coming his way, Zevran would have laughed.

Raging Warden it is.

The crowd scatters in panic, fleeing out of harms way as the giant red dog descents with a fury on the paralyzed executioner. The screams are cut agonizingly short. Through the chaos of screaming civilians and stunned guards moves a presence few have actually seen. The Warden strolls with slow, determined steps. Painfully small and fragile looking without the many layers of heavy armor, unbearably alone where a strong band of companions once sauntered.

But the wrath emanating from the delicate human felled the Archdemon itself and Zevran shudders as the murderous intent flood over his senses.

Zevran Aranai is no idiot, so for once he keeps his mouth shut as the Warden stops in front of him. Arctic eyes move over the bloody skin on his wrists, the reddening bruise around his neck before settling on his pale face. Fear gives way to shame as the rage melts away to heartbreaking relief. He had made his Warden worry, again.

"Fancy meeting you here…" The usually strong voice, the voice that commanded armies, is soft to almost a whisper as nimble fingers untie the rope. Zevran risks a small smile, enjoying the weapon callused hands as they gently examines the abused skin. "Indeed, would you be offended if I said I fancied you?" It earns him a light slap, but the grin dancing on the others lips is all the forgiveness he need. "We better hurry my dear, unless you'd like to exercise a bit." The Warden snorts. "Is that how you ended up here? Exercising? Cause if that's the case I'll hang you myself." The heavy shackles fall with a clatter and they are both moving, throwing themselves onto the roof of the nearest stand and from there forward onto the next house just as the now very angry guards closes in.

Zevran can't help the exhilarated laugh as they sprint over the rooftops like shades and the Warden snickers, worry and rage temporarily forgotten in favor of the hunts undeniable thrill. On the streets below the red mabari follows with wide strides, barking in excitement and scaring skittish citizens.

The hunt is disappointingly short as the guards don't have a souls chance in the fade to catch up to the two fighters as they sprint through the city. They don't stop until Denerim have faded into the distance and they come to a staggering halt among the giant trees. Zevran leans against the closest pine, ignoring the ruff bark against his back as he gasps for breath. The Warden, equally winded, sits on the ground attempting a glare just as the mabari bursts into the clearing in a slobbering, excited mess, landing on the exhausted human with a happy bark. "Andrastes ass you unbelievable fur ball, get off me!" The dog answers with a smug huff, settling with a wriggle on its cursing master. Zevran grins. "Looks like the fur ball has finally decided to take my side, I knew he was fond of me."

The Warden finally gives up and collapses under the heavy weight. "That's only cause you sneak him treats under the table when I put him on a diet, are you gonna help me or not." The elf just smirks as he saunters over to lie on his stomach just out of reach from the seething human. "I always though you pretty like this, flushed and glowing with rage, it's delicious." Zevrans grin widens at the rosy blush spreading over his Wardens face.

"I'm not pretty."

"Well, that's for me to decide, isn't it, my dear Warden."

Zevran Aranai, was no idiot, nor was he a sentimental fool. Zevran was brave, loyal and practical. And he knew, with precise certainty, when it was time to run instead of leaning in for a kiss.

The joyous laughter and angry shouts echoed between the trees as the sun started to set, it was a beautiful evening and Zevran were content. Maybe he would allow the angry Warden to catch up later, when flying knifes was changed to grabbing hands. But for now, the running and witty remarks would have to do.

Over the years the world would shift and change around them and duty, or death, would one day force them apart. But of all the stories of the Wardens loyal companions, the one of Zevran Aranai, the Crow assassin, were the one most frequently, and lovingly, told.

For what could be sweeter than a love that should never have existed at all.

In truth, for a chance to be by your side I would storm the dark city itself. Never doubt it.