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Being an Antivan Crow means that Zevran has always been a priceless asset and absolutely disposable at the same time. As long as he does his job and makes himself useful he's somewhat safe—as safe as one can be as a hired assassin.
If he stepped out of line or got killed, he would have quickly been replaced by someone else and no one would have shed a tear about him. Zevran decides not to dwell on this fact for too long because being depressed is counterproductive to his survival.
Being in the Warden's company has meant a lot of tiptoeing, making himself as useful and desirable as possible—to little success.
Nerian Mahariel never seems to need anything and his stoic demeanor betrays the sexual attraction of a brick wall at most. Whenever he says "Thank you" after Zevran hands him something or asks if Zevran is alright after a fight, Zevran jokes about it despite feeling decidedly weird.
He's hardly more than a prisoner. At least that's what he thought. It's the deal Zevran made with Mahariel after his failed assassination attempt. Mahariel though seems not at all interested in treating Zevran like a prisoner or a personal guard dog.
No.
In fact he goes out of his grumpy, stoic way to treat Zevran with respect.
An absolutely insane move on Mahariel's part, but Zevran can't help but be intrigued. So far Nerian has offered to mend Zevran's pants ("If you wanted to see me out of my pants you need only ask, dear Warden."), keeps bringing him food whenever he's done cooking ("I know they say that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, but I assure you there's no need to charm me with stew") and asks his opinion during group discussions ("You know me, I like being ordered around").
None of Zevran's sexual innuendos are ever perceived with any flicker of either annoyance or interest.
Nerian oftentimes just shrugs, nods and carries on with his life.
Zevran has no idea how to deal with it.
He knows how to secure his survival through means of seduction and that has always worked for him. Up until now.
This respectful behavior on Nerian's part distracts Zevran more than it should, especially when they're in deadly combat with a whole group of abominations.
Zevran is covered in blood, templar intestines and gunk and usually he doesn't mind much, but the smell of this entire tower overrun by demons is horrendous and the impending possibility of getting his mind controlled by one of them doesn't much appeal to Zevran.
Nerian's face is grim and determined as he fires arrow upon arrow into their opponents. Zevran knows that his bow means a lot to him—as one of the few connections to his clan. It's covered in blood now, much like Nerian himself.
Zevran stabs one of the abominations into what used to be a human's face and the shriek it gives off reverberates through the hall like a cacophony of death and misery. It takes more force than Zevran anticipated to get the dagger out of the torn flesh.
"Zevran!"
He lets go of the dagger immediately to swirl around and raise his second weapon, but there's no need. Nerian has interposed himself between Zevran's back and one of the other abominations, his bow discarded on the ground and armed with nothing but a hunting knife.
Something very weird happens inside of Zevran's ribcage but he has no time for sentimentalities, because the abomination rakes its claws across Nerian's chest and throws him to the side. Zevran doesn't hesitate to swing his short sword, tearing through the abomination's torso and making it fall backwards.
He's at Nerian's side before he can check if there's any more abominations left.
"What would you do that for?" he asks, quickly rummaging through his pack to find one of the healing potions. Nerian huffs as he holds the claw wound on his chest, his warm blood seeping through his fingers.
"You're not disposable, you know," he grumbles and takes the potion.
Zevran doesn't know what to say. He can't even make a joke. The so important bow was discarded without hesitation, as was Nerian's own safety. Just to keep Zevran from taking a hit to the back.
"I suppose thanks are in order," he says and does his best to ignore the slight quiver in his voice. Nerian nods.
"It's not a problem."
Oh, Zevran thinks foggily as his heart stomps in his chest like a mad bronto, but it absolutely is.