"It is a curious thing, my Warden. It has been what … a dozen weeks, and I have yet to come to terms with a city that is not the one I left a year ago."

"Make no mistake, it is pleasant to walk the streets without fear of the ground shifting beneath me and a mass of filthy beasts boiling up from the breach. More pleasant yet that the Masters seed the bands of fumblers they send after me with the odd challenge—I had some concern that my skills might deteriorate without the daily quota of howling demons."

"The familiar trills of the minstrels' lillo flutes accompany me as I skim the rooftops, reacquainting myself with some old friends, leaving gifts for others. I savor the spice and heat of a stolen cup of chowder as I catch my breath in a forgotten alcove, but some note—some flavor or tone—eludes me. The young hombres and chicas strut and display themselves like so many rare birds, but leave me unmoved."

"Do not smirk so, tesoro, it is most unbecoming. It is in your mind, no doubt, that it is I who has changed, grown, gained perspective while exiled in your rustic land. Such fantasies, tch; save those for richer fare. Shall I describe what I am wearing?"

"Z."

A smile briefly lit Istan Mahariel's drawn face as he flipped back to the first page of the letter. There was a brief knock on his door, and Alistair entered with Seneschal Varel. All three men were armed and armored—not typical garb for a fealty ceremony, though prudent when the last lord the nobles had sworn themselves to was Rendon Howe.

"I'm still not sure that it's wise to put me forward as your second, Alistair." Istan frowned. "With the conflicts between some of the farmers and Keeper Derii's clan, it sounds as if we may have enough trouble with the bann and the minor lords without forcing them to work with another Dalish."

"I'm afraid that the attitudes of the lesser nobles are much influenced by the greater, and the Howes have ruled Amaranthine since the days of Calenhad," Varel added. "With the exception of Warden Nathaniel, the Howes were … a bit hidebound."

"Well, Alistair, it sounds like it's up to the Warden-Commander to put his friendly human face forward as much as possible tonight. It wouldn't do to have the nobles believe their arling is being taken over by wild, heathen elves. Good thing you had a bit of practice during the Landsmeet and Anora's coronation."

"Wonderful. For future reference? Not my happy face."

"Look at it this way—the odd day here, or every day in Denerim."

Alistair brightened. "Perspective is a marvelous thing."

Istan refolded Zevran's letter and placed it with his other personal papers, fingers tracing over the seal before sliding the drawer closed. He straightened, schooled his wandering thoughts, and followed the the two men out the door.

~oOo~

"I have heard much of Amaranthine and its heroic Wardens of late, querido. A friend at the compound here in Antiva claims you have recruited into your ranks a host of maleficarum, the walking dead, even one of your cousins, whom the Commander's feral Dalish second takes to his bed with a bevy of her nubile clansisters. I'm not entirely sure whether to feel pride that you contented yourself with but this one failed, stunningly handsome assassin throughout the entire Blight, or aggrieved that you did not encourage me to delay my departure for a time, that I might participate in such activities before attending to my former colleagues. We have much to discuss when next we meet, my Warden."

"Your humble Crow has had not the opportunity for such diversions, I am sorry to say. We have drawn many of the disaffected to our cause, but with each conflict, the toll is high. Of my lieutenants, only Salvail, Amande, and Tabora are still with me. Two Masters have fallen to our blades, and two to our arguments; the remaining three barricade themselves behind walls they believe impregnable."

"Even for one such as I, there is a point beyond which it is disturbing to tread. The … carniceria, the butchery, it is not … Ah, but that is not for these brief notes. Picture me at your side, on the bank of some sun-dappled, hidden cove. Use your imagination."

"Z."

"... but we'll need at least two or three additional squads to keep our numbers up, to make up for those wounded protecting the farmers. Amaranthine has no men to spare, so I'm sending inquiries to Highever and Denerim," Alistair finished.

"Hm."

"Also, one of the miners struck Old God yesterday, and it's demanding sacrifices. I offered Velanna, but it didn't want that one. I wonder if Anora might be making a progress any time soon?"

"She didn't say anything at the Lands… What?" Istan shook his head. "Sorry, Alistair. You were saying something about more soldiers?"

"I was, but I think that's enough for one evening." Alistair dropped the report back on his desk. "Istan. Would you like to talk? About anything? You're working from dawn to dusk every day with no ..."

"I don't think so. It's what we sign up for, isn't it?" He paused at the door. "Thank you, my friend."

~oOo~

"We were betrayed, of course. It is expected in our line of work, though you cannot always sense it when it closes with you. Master Ezequiel is dead, but at a very great cost. Ignacio is dead and we are implicated, though we know very well from which direction that arrow flew.

"I am not one to speak plainly, my Warden, but recent events have … braska! It is you in my mind and my heart, carino."

"Z."

"The outer gates are breached! The outer gates are breached!" A group of blood-soaked soldiers led by Garavel limped through the inner gates just before they were closed and barred. Over the confusion and shouting, Istan could hear and feel the pounding approach of another armored ogre.

"Nate, how is Velanna?" Istan could see that the dressing around her upper arm had soaked through, and she was only semi-lucid.

"She'll be all right, if we can spare someone to keep her quiet. I've got the break splinted, and the bleeding has stopped." Nathaniel was bloodied and battered, but the brief rest had restored him.

Despite a blow to the head from an ogre that would have likely killed any of the rest of them, a healing draught and a long pull from his hip flask had Oghren pacing and cursing in his anxiousness to get back to the battle.

"All right." Istan motioned the two men to follow him. "This will be a little interesting without spells or healing, but we had better get to it."

"That's the spirit, Warden!" Oghren bellowed and took another swig from his flask. "Let 'em come. Ol' Oghren has something interesting brewing just for those ugly bastards!"

~oOo~

Several months of burning, grieving, and coming to grips with the devastation on two fronts, and the arling was starting to rebuild. It had been as long since Zevran's last, terribly brief letter.

Alistair had suggested, cajoled, and finally resorted to a direct command for Istan to take a rest day. He paced his office instead, pausing frequently to monitor the progress in the courtyard and watch for riders from the city. He turned from the window at a knock at the door. "Where is that damned letter courier? It's been a week since …"

"Expecting a missive from an admirer, tesoro? Something lurid, I imagine."

Istan froze for a moment, cataloging the changes that a year had etched on Zevran. Impressions of pain, exhaustion, sorrow, and myriad others lay under a granite-hard control that Istan had seen only echoes of previously.

"Your hair is longer," Istan blurted, and winced. After a year of aching loneliness and fear, his lover was suddenly close enough to touch, and Istan could only stare and mumble inanities at the man whose absence had left him desolate.

Zevran's eyes softened. "I have been too long from your side, my Warden. Your lascivious words, they shock me anew."

Istan choked and without conscious movement, found himself in Zevran's arms, clutching at him desperately and repeating the same two words over and over. Eventually he drew back slightly. "You're here."

"As you say, carino. And have, repeatedly." Zevran smiled. "That I am here at all is something of a surprise to me as well, I assure you. It has been an interesting year."

"Can you … stay?"

The smile dimmed a fraction. "For a time. Let us speak of it later."

"Of course. I want to hear everything."

Zevran kissed him gently. "You do not want to hear everything, cielito," he whispered, "but I will tell you most."

"Zev, I didn't think I'd …"

"I know, my Warden." He kissed Istan, desperate and demanding. "But we agreed later was for words, yes?"

"Yes. That's … yes. Later is … yes."

~oOo~

"I couldn't quite manage a 'sun-dappled cove'." Istan stretched and turned onto his side, lazily tracing the black tattoos that curved over Zevran's bronzed cheek. They had ridden out early, laden with blankets and food for a quiet day away from the Vigil.

Zevran half-opened his eyes and smiled. "With you in that fine state of undress? Everything else is merely backdrop." He breathed in deeply. "A cool, misty morning deep in a fragrant evergreen forest. It is enough to make me wish to go for a brisk hike, catch some fish for our dinner, or something equally industrious. Fortunately, I am exceptionally well-trained, and these urges recede if I simply lie down for a time."

"Truly you are a man of restraint, lethallin."

"So good of you to notice, at long last." It was quite pleasant to do nothing more than rest at the side of his Warden and listen to the birds and the chittering of the tiny forest rodents. "In Antiva we do not have the very large trees, nor the cool mists that cling to the forests. It can be harsh in the summer, when all is parched; the grape vines and olive trees must twist and dig into the rocky ground for traces of water to survive. But when the rains come, and the hills burst with color … Ah, you must come see how beautiful it is."

Zevran caught the play of emotion on Istan's face before he looked away. "I did not mean to …"

"It's all right, Zev. You know I would go with you if I could." Istan rolled on his back, his eyes moving with the scudding clouds. "I didn't ask for this duty, but I …" He stopped and shook his head. "We've talked through all that already, and I don't want to ruin this time with you."

Zevran smiled and snaked an arm around Istan's waist. "My Warden, nothing could ruin this time we have. I am, however, finding myself a bit chilled. Perhaps we should build a fire to warm ourselves?"

Istan suddenly rolled Zevran over and pinned him to the blanket. "A fire is the first thing you think of to warm yourself? Tch. You were the one that enjoined me to use my imagination, emma lath. Where is yours?"

"That is not my imagination, querido."

~oOo~

Istan woke ten days later, alone in his bed. Zevran stood at the window; armed, armored, and silent.

"You're leaving."

"I am leaving," Zevran agreed quietly and turned to face Istan. "I have delayed as long as I might. As your duty compels you to stay, mine compels me to return and see this through. We are changing a country, and that is not a thing lightly done. Even for one so ridiculously awesome." A ghost of a smile faded quickly into the cool mask that was once again in place.

"Zev …"

"I have some hope that the situation will be more settled in a year. Perhaps then we might …" He straightened. "Come. See me off, my Warden."

Alistair rode with them as far as the Amaranthine gates, claiming business in the city. Knowing his friend, Istan knew it was more likely a simple offer of companionship, so he wouldn't need to ride back to the keep alone.

At the dock, Zevran pulled Istan close for a last heated kiss. "Algun dia." He walked to his ship, not looking back.

"What are you doing, Istan?" Alistair appeared at his side.

"What am I … what?"

"Why are you letting the best thing in your life sail away from you? Letting duty that you never asked for keep you from living the life you deserve, after giving more to that duty than anyone could ask? This after two years of patiently helping your best friend become a semi-competent Arl and Commander who can perhaps, just perhaps, stand on his own?"

Istan gaped at him.

"And Morrigan said I was the stupid one. Go! Off with you!"

"But …"

"Right. I'll draft a letter for the Antivan Warden-Commander and forward it to you to present to him. A liaison between the Fereldan Wardens and those of the northern countries is vital if we are to rebuild our order. If the Antivans or Rivainis happen to have an excess of recruits, send them our way." Alistair dug at his belt purse, pouring the coins into Istan's. "That's all I have on me. You have your armor and swords, I'll send everything else and say your good-byes. Don't forget to write, and have a nice … Maker! They've slipped the hawsers—go!"

Istan embraced his friend and raced for the ship. Halfway there, two seamen started to pull the gangplank until Zevran noticed Istan and pushed them both away. In his haste, Istan tripped as he jumped to the deck, landing in a tangle with his assassin.

"Always the graceful, cat-like reflexes, my Warden. Will we need to dodge pursuit from our handsome templar?" Zevran kissed him and laughed.

"Quite the opposite. I may need a loan for the shipment of Manchego I'm planning to send him when we make Antiva, however."

"I think you'll find my rates quite reasonable." Zevran smirked.

"Oh? I was rather hoping for unreasonable." Istan pulled him down for a more extended greeting.

"I think we can work out the details, amor, at long last."

~oOo~

"Dreams are strange things, my friend. I could not have imagined mine—if I had, I doubt I would have thought to add wall-clinging lizards and projectile perspiration—but it seems all the sweeter for that. I wish you all the best with yours.

"Zevran sends his 'affectionate greetings'. No, I don't think you should dwell too long on that, either."

"I."

This was a gift for the very talented artist/writer Ventisquear for the CMDA 2012 holiday fiction exchange. I had a great time with my first Zev outing, Vent; Merry Christmas!

Many thanks to mille libri for the sharp betaing and suggestions.