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“You know, all things considered, another round with the archdemon would be preferable.”
Zevran fidgeted with the hilt of his dagger on his belt like a worry token, as he and Theron waited for Ashalle outside the Keeper’s aravel. Theron smiled and took the assassin’s hand in his, instead.
“Don’t worry, vhenan. You are not the first city elf to request acceptance into our clan. Besides...” Theron puffed out his chest. “I am the Hero of Ferelden. They couldn’t refuse me, surely.”
Zevran managed a laugh, despite his nervousness. “What good is a title if you can’t throw it around now and then, hm?”
Ashalle approached them, and Theron rushed over to give her a big hug. He’d missed her so, during his travels, and his heart had been so full when he’d seen her at the coronation. He would never forget the look of pride on her face, when the new King and Queen of Ferelden had bestowed new lands on his people, at his behest.
Ashalle giggled at his enthusiasm. “Aneth ara, dear. It’s good to have you back.”
“You remember Zevran, Ashalle? I introduced you briefly, at the coronation.” Theron gestured to his partner, who bowed.
“At your service, my lady.” Zevran gave her his most charming smile, determined to win her over, though he did not have to try very hard.
“I do, indeed. But why have you summoned us this evening?” Ashalle looked concerned.
“We have something to discuss with you and the Keeper,” Theron explained. He knocked on the door of the Keeper’s aravel, and entered when they heard her call, “Come in!”
Her aravel was neat, almost sparse, as Theron suspected. There was a sense of order throughout it, everything squared away and in its proper place. A open trunk to the side contained heaps of jars and vials of unknown ingredients in them, all neatly labeled. Her bedroll sat in the corner, folded up and tucked away to give them more room.
“Welcome home, da’len.” Keeper Marethari embraced Theron, then held him at arm’s length to inspect him. “You look as though you are thriving, despite all that has happened. I am sure hahren Paivel will be telling the children your stories for many moons to come.”
She gestured for them to gather around a low table, then sat cross-legged herself, pouring tea for each of her guests from a little pot. “Thanks to you, we have new lands we cannot be chased from, that belong to us, where we may build a permanent home. Yet, I fear your time away from us has not come to an end.”
Theron shook his head. “I’m afraid not, Keeper Marethari. I am Commander of the Grey now, and I oversee the Grey Wardens of Ferelden. We must rebuild in the aftermath of the Blight.”
The Keeper seemed to have expected this. “The Creators had grand plans for you, from the day your path diverged from ours. It broke my heart to send you away, but I knew you would find your way back one day.” The Keeper smiled at Theron, taking his hand in hers across the table. He squeezed it back. “Now, you wanted to see me about something?”
To her surprise, it was Zevran who spoke. “We come to ask for your blessing, Keeper Marethari. We wish to be bonded in the eyes of your clan.”
Twin looks of shock registered on both her and Ashalle’s faces. They looked to Theron for answers.
“Zevran fought by my side during the Blight, and together we defeated the archdemon. Somewhere along the way, well…” Theron looked to his beloved, and saw in his eyes the same wonder he felt. That out of so many paths, this was the one they walked together. “It would seem fate intended for us to be more than just comrades in arms. The Creators have witnessed his love for me, and so have I.”
“Well… unions of two men or women are not unheard of,” Ashalle mused, pensiveness lining her face. “In the past, such couples who could not produce offspring of their own could take guardianship of those who had lost their parents, such as I did for you, da’len.”
“Indeed.” The Keeper nodded. Theron did not like how sombre her expression was, like grey clouds spelling rain. “Bonding with another who is not Dalish, however… I cannot remember an instance of it in our clan.”
“If it helps at all, my mother was Dalish,” piped up Zevran cheerfully.
“Besides, we have accepted plenty of flat-ears into our fold. Look at Pol! This isn’t any different,” Theron argued.
Ashalle studied the silver-haired man before her, and the fierce determination in his eyes. To her, he would always be her little hunter, but he had grown into a battle-hardened leader in a blink of an eye. She looked to his companion, who was gazing at Theron with the same love and pride in his eyes that she had for him, too.
“Keeper Marethari, please.” Ashalle laid a hand on her arm with an imploring look. “Let us not have history repeat itself.” Theron knew she meant his parents, whom he barely knew at all, except that their tragic ending had led to their clan losing its Keeper, and left a child without his family. “Is the fact that they have weathered so many terrific storms together not evidence the Creators wish it to be?”
“I suppose your circumstances have always been extraordinary, da’len, as have you,” the Keeper conceded, but her gaze was no less steely.
Then the Antivan spoke, more serious than Theron had ever seen him. “I know I am an outsider. But my loyalty lies only with the Warden-Commander, and by extension, the Dalish. In fact, I was intending to renounce the name Arainai, as I no longer have any allegiance to the House of Crows. However, if I may be permitted to…” Zevran paused, taking a deep breath and looking to his beloved, his gaze tender yet steady. “I wish to take the name Mahariel instead.”
With a little choked gasp, Theron stared at his partner in astonishment. Ashalle clapped a hand to her mouth with a squeak. Keeper Marethari looked thunderstruck.
“Are you sure, Zevran?” the Warden whispered, grey eyes wide with shock.
“More than I have ever been, amore,” was Zevran’s reply. “I have been giving it a lot of thought.”
“You understand,” Keeper Marethari warned, her tone even graver than before, “that you are pledging yourself to the Sabrae clan by doing so?”
Zevran bowed his head in deference, something he had never done willingly before. “I understand.”
“Very well.” Keeper Marethari let out a heavy sigh. “That leaves me with little doubt as to your dedication to our son. I will give you my blessing.”
Ashalle had her hands clasped to her chest, her eyes wet already, her laugh joyous. Theron’s heart leapt, and he felt he would burst at the seams with affection for each of them. He, too, bowed his head in respect. “Ma serannas, Keeper Marethari.”
Zevran reached over and locked hands with his Warden, grinning from ear to pointed ear. “Thank you, Keeper.”
“Da’len, do you still have the ring I gave you, when you parted with the clan?” The Keeper asked, to Theron’s surprise.
“Of course.” He reached into his tunic, and pulled out a ring that hung from a leather cord around his neck, detaching it. It was a band of engraved silver, with foxes and hares dancing around it. Keeper Marethari picked up her staff, and waved it over the ring. It glowed for a moment, then subsided.
“It is traditional for the Keeper to bless a ring intended for the betrothed, to ensure a long, healthy life,” Ashalle explained to the Antivan, then beaming at her ward. “Go on, da’len.”
Theron took his beloved’s hand in his, lifting it to his lips to press a kiss to the back of it, and slipped the ring onto one of Zevran’s long fingers. His heart had never felt lighter than it did, in that moment, as he looked up into his lover’s amber eyes, and saw them shining with emotion.
“I feel healthier already,” the assassin murmured, in a voice like warm honey. He turned it this way and that, smiling dreamily as he watched it glimmer in the candlelight, unable to take his eyes off the new adornment on his hand.
The Keeper stood. “When the time comes, I will preside over the bonding ritual. Ashalle can help with the arrangements. Until then, you are welcome to stay, of course.” Theron rose to embrace her, and she hugged him tightly. “You’ve made us so proud, da’len,” she told him. “After all that you have done for us and everyone else, you deserve to be happy.”
“There is... just one more thing…” the Warden added reluctantly, with a sheepish grin, as the Keeper regarded him, puzzled.
“Where is he? He should be here by now.” Theron shifted his weight from foot to foot, unable to keep still.
“Relax, amore. He’s a big boy. He can take care of himself.” Zevran rubbed a comforting hand across his partner’s back.
Theron, still, could not quiet the worry in his mind. “We could send out a search party if he’s not here by sundo-”
“Lethallin!”
Junar came running up to them, and they knew he could not have left his guard post by the entrance for no good reason.
“Lethallin, there’s a shem outside the camp. He says he knows you. We would have shot him on sight, but he bears the shield of the Grey Wardens, like you said.”
Zevran could not stop the smug grin that spread across his face. “Told you, did I not?”
“Speak of Fen’Harel and you summon him!” Theron clapped his hands together in excitement, and the two followed Junar to the outskirts of the camp at a jog.
A bearded, shaggy-haired traveller, dressed in a simple tunic and cloak and clutching his bedroll defensively, stood surrounded by several Dalish elves. They all had their bows still in their hand, and looked ready to impale him with arrows at any moment. The only sign that he was not a common peasant was the metal shield upon his back, with a griffon emblem engraved on it.
“Alistair!” yelled Theron, who charged towards his friend, nearly tackling him to the ground in a hug.
“Missed you too, buddy,” grunted the commoner, swinging his shorter elf friend around.
“That is quite a good disguise, my friend.” Zevran watched on, the corner of his lips turned up in amusement as he took in their comrade’s appearance. “I hardly recognised you under all that… hair.”
“Oh, come here, you,” Alistair said, and seized Zevran in a big bear hug. “It’s been ages! I almost missed your Antivan sassiness.”
“And I almost missed the way you smell, like old cheese.” The assassin giggled as he tried to wriggle his way out of the warrior’s grasp.
“Was your journey a good one?” Theron asked, as the Dalish guards finally stood down, now that there was no danger.
Alistair waved a careless hand, letting go of the Antivan. “Oh, just a couple of darkspawn stragglers. Nothing I couldn’t handle. Anora liked your Keeper’s idea of going incognito. I think she expects me to cause some sort of diplomatic incident. Anyway, she didn’t think I should travel alone at first. Wanted me to come with a whole contingent of bodyguards. Which would have defeated the purpose of laying low, honestly.” Alistair rolled his eyes. “It was nice not being king, you know, roughing it for a bit. Reminded me of old times, really. I told Anora I’d be fine. I did help slay an archdemon, after all.”
“I love playing that card,” sighed Zevran. “I win so many arguments that way.”
“Well, I couldn’t miss my best friend tying the knot, could I?” Alistair chuckled, as they walked back to the Dalish camp. “I got one of the Circle mages to enchant my appearance. I quite like the long hair, but I’ll need to shave my beard if I’m to look presentable for the ceremony.”
“Or you could have Oghren braid it for you, eh?” Zevran teased, elbowing his comrade.
Alistair brightened. “Oh, is he coming? He’s great fun at a celebration. Remember the coronation?”
“I don’t think that dwarf would pass up the chance for free booze, do you?” Theron smirked, putting an arm around his friend. “Speaking of booze, let us have some. We have a lot catching up to do.”
“Lead the way!” Alistair declared, clapping the two of them on the back so enthusiastically it made their armour shake. Laughing, reunited at last, the three old friends headed for the couple’s aravel.