Years have passed, but Zevran remains himself—golden skin kissed by the Antivan sun, warm amber eyes. His hair is longer now, still tied back, but looser. He moves with the same lethal grace, but there’s something quieter, more patient. No longer a Crows, he’s lived as a free man, taking only the contracts he chooses—until Leliana’s invitation brings him to the Inquisition. He is older, wiser, yet still Zevran: silver tongue, sharp wit, and a lingering fondness for the past he once thought lost