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Zevran sat by himself in his room. It had been a long time coming and he was normally so invested in distractions he refused to afford himself any time to just think. He was always moving forward, always taking that step. Throwing himself into action, into danger, into adventure and pleasure and world strife. Yet here he was, forced to sit on his hands and realizing how much he detested his own company. It was driving him a bit crazy.
He hated that he could remember how there were times of calm where he could pretend he was content, but now.. now all he felt was a void. It has been over six years, but still that hole ate at him when he wasn’t forced, scrambling to fill it with something, anything. The hunt, a kill, gathering information, learning some new skill, running, jests, flirting, sex… anything.
Bowing his head a moment he cursed under his breath and rubbed his hands slowly but furiously against his brow as he roughly wiped away tears and then simply held his head in his hands. Clasping moist palms over his reddened eyes. They wouldn’t be stopped and he only became that much more frustrated with himself.
The Antivan didn’t want these doubts, these realizations and questions to come. A weapon, that was all he was good for, that was all he needed to be. No matter what his friends had said otherwise. Sex and death were his token methods and he was exceptional at both. Even more so in the years spent haunting his brethren and aiding Leliana and the Inquisition every so often. Perhaps he thought he had come to some understanding and acceptance during his travels with the Grey Wardens. Yet his affections for such allies remained, he found it still a struggle to truly relieve himself of his unwillingness to open up to another. And he in turn hated that as well.
“Zevran?” a voice he knew, but hadn’t expected to hear, especially in his own room. He hardly ever lingered in the room he borrowed during his rare visits to skyhold, but he ended up here at that moment in the end regardless of that fact. The elf’s hands moved swiftly to wipe the evidence from his face, but even so his eyes shown the redness around the whites faintly. He knew this as well and stood to cross the room and deal with something that would give him another moment to compose himself. Perhaps long enough to appear good as new before he faced his guest.
“I-I’m sorry I didn’t mean to… are you alright?” she asked, obvious concern and awkwardness stopping her short. Whatever she had come seeking him out for, it was briefly forgotten in the wake of walking in on seeing the crying assassin.
“Ah, I am fine my dear” he cleared his throat, finally turning his head enough to look over at her before turning around. Maybe the distance and dim room would make it less obvious his eyes were still red.
“What can I do for you?” at last, something to do. Something to take him away from his thoughts and the bottomless pit he felt nearly constantly. Dagna seemed hesitant, but she crossed the room and with every bit of sweet concern the dwarf seemed possible in naturally mustering, she hugged him.
Zevran hadn't expected that either. The sudden affection warmed him a little though and it forced the air from his lungs. He silently choked on his words, even if he tried to speak, nothing would come. Tears filled his eyes again though and after a moment to hold them back, a few fell like heavy weights from him.
He hated himself all the more in that moment and he struggled to not push the well intentioned dwarf away. He felt anger at letting himself cry even a little when he could be seen. Crying itself was nothing to be ashamed of, but these were not tears he wished to share.