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“Let me set the scene for you.” Zevran held up both hands, as if to cradle a stage between them. “A beautiful, strong, capable woman of great bearing is travelling on one of Ferelden’s many dusty roads. It is here that she is to meet her Maker at the hands of a dashing young Antivan assassin. The two meet. The two parlay. Blows are exchanged. Suddenly, the assassin is in danger, for this young lass is a warrior of great renown, capable of besting even the quickest and most skilled of bladesmen.”
Dagna chuckled. She wanted, so very badly, to look away from Zevran and out at the breathtaking, rolling hills that stretched to the south of the city, filled with neat rows of olive trees and grapevines. Zevran had chosen an inn with a rooftop seating area – a feature common to the inns of Antiva City, by Dagna’s estimation. It drew revelers and conversationalists alike from the thick, confining walls of buildings and out into the thick, humid air.
“She, ah, destroyed me, one might say,” Zevran continued. “I could lie and say that I was distracted by her good looks, but you were looking for the truth, and I should not disappoint. I followed her for the next year, even to the great walls of Orzammar, where you and I first made our acquaintance.” Leaning forward, he lowered his voice almost dramatically. “Now, I am no storyteller. I prefer conversation and banter. I might ask you the question that you have travelled many months to ask me – what was your first impression of the Warden-Commander?”
Dagna found herself caught off-guard by the question, but not unpleasantly so, for she didn’t feel the slightest bit disturbed by it. Frowning in a thoughtful manner, she stared up at the bright blue sky. “Gosh, it’s been a lot of years.”
“Come, come, come.” Zevran clicked his tongue. “The Warden-Commander made a profound impression on your life. Could you not summon her, like a powerful and lovely familiar?”
“Do you know how some people seem taller than they really are? Some people carry themselves so well that they could be the same height as you are, but they just seem imposing?” Dagna continued to study the sky as she spoke. “That was my first impression of her. She was massive.”
“I know exactly what you mean!” Zevran pointed a finger at Dagna. “Yes, this is true. I forget that you never had a chance to truly know her. The more that you become familiar, the less the size. Or, greater, depending on the circumstances.” He wiggled his eyebrows.
Looking back to him, Dagna chuckled again. “Oh, you. You’re just dying to tell me about your relationship with her. I can see it.” She hesitated, suddenly, out of the horror that they were about to embark in a discussion concerning the relationship between Zevran and someone that was now deceased. Would he be upset by this turn in the interview?
It did not seem to be so. Zevran let out a small, rumbling laugh, but the joviality did not leave his face. “I’m not a man to kiss and tell…what am I saying? Of course, I am. She gave me the best sixteen years of my life. Not just in the bedroom, mind. My days were filled with adventure, danger, and the intrepid exploration of dark places. My nights were filled with dark places, as well, but they were not so fearsome.” A smirk touched his thin lips. “I’m joking. Sort of.” Then, slowly, concern seemed to sweep across his face. “Pardon me, but is something the matter?”
“Oh, it’s nothing.” Dagna forced herself to smile, despite the quavering that had begun to occupy her stomach. “I’m just sort of surprised – well, my partner was a Grey Warden, as you know. You look back at your memories with such –“
“Fondness? Joy?” Zevran tilted his head. “I have a horrible habit of always looking on the bright side of things. Even when I was, shall I say, under the forced employment of the Crows, I remember always finding something to amuse me.” Reaching for her hand, he took it in both of his. “I fell in love with my Warden knowing that her time in this world would be short. I chose to make every single day a great one, worthy of the most heroic tales – and some of the most romantic, as well. All things come to an end. I made that end a brilliant finale to the greatest love story ever told.”
Dagna laughed. There was something wonderful in the way he spoke, something that cheered her up and entranced her all at once.
Standing up, Zevran tugged at her hand. “Come here. I want to show you something.” He allowed her hand to drop, and moved swiftly to the wall that surrounded the rooftop. Leaning on it for a second, he hoisted himself up and onto the top, then sat with his legs dangling off the side of the roof. “I won’t let you fall. Trust me.”
Hesitating for a moment, Dagna slowly mounted the wall as she would one of the shorter horses that she had chanced to ride in her lifetime. It was only after she was seated comfortably next to Zevran that it occurred to her that the fall, if one were to occur, would be a nasty and rather steep one. Below them, the streets of Antiva City bustled with people of all races, along with a number of carriages and riders on horseback.
“Does the height bother you?” Zevran turned his head to look at Dagna.
“Nope.” In truth, it was fascinating. Even in Orzammar, before she had ever had a chance to see the sky for the first time, she had always found herself enthralled by great drops into dangerous conditions, usually into lava. “Everyone looks so small from up here.”
“One of the glorious parts of my profession is sitting in places like this.” Zevran smiled as he looked down at the street. “I can show you every gargoyle and rooftop statue in the city. I’ve been on them all. Gives you a new perspective of life, doesn’t it? Danger included, of course.”
“You can see everyone,” Dagna noted. “If my hearing was a bit better, I could probably hear conversations on the street.”
“Ah, yes,” said Zevran with a nod. “I used to take the Warden-Commander up onto every rooftop we could find. Vigil’s Keep had a particularly expansive one. There was one night that it was warm, too warm for armor, and Nathaniel Howe discovered us –“ Trailing off, he let out a chuckle. “Well, then. Would you like to know one rooftop I’ve yet to mount? The Argent Spire.”
Cocking her head, Dagna’s face gained a rather sly smile. “Is that some kind of dirty joke?”
“Ha!” Zevran threw back his head, and let out a cackle. “No, it wasn’t, but now that you mention it, it was an appropriate slip of the tongue. I have not spent much time in the Imperium. Not as much as I wish.” Leaning slightly forward, he rested his slender hands on his knees. “She always wanted to see the Imperium. She loved the sea. She knew very little about boats, mind, but she always wanted to sail one on her own. One day, we bought a boat, a small one, no bigger than a fisherman’s ship. Not even room for a bedroll, let alone a bed. But it brought her great joy, sailing that boat around the Amaranthine harbor.”
“You know,” Dagna said, her voice muted with rapt fascination, “in all of my accounts of the Warden, I never once heard any of this.”
“Well, now you know a unique story for your book.” Zevran beckoned toward her. “I have an idea. Let’s go look at the boat.”
“You mean, it’s here?” Dagna’s gaze shot toward the harbor in surprise.
“Of course it’s here. It was ours.” Turning himself around, Zevran slid off the wall, his booted feet landing lightly on the rooftop. “Come. The weather is perfect for sailing. You can see what she saw, and smell the salty sea and air. You have the chance to place yourself in the very shoes of my beloved Warden.”