The stress of leading this...quite frankly ragtag group of randoms against the blight weighs on your morale. Each day is a new threat, a new fight, a new injury...it's a lot for anyone to handle, let alone one of the only two Gray Wardens left in your whole country.

So, naturally, what would be better to de-stress than going to find your favourite elven companion?

Over by the lake close to where you'd set up camp, you find the former Antivan Crow seated on the ground, one leg drawn up languidly to his chin. He was watching...nothing, so absorbed in the seemingly eternal blackness of that murky water that he seemed unaware of your approach until your shadow casts over him, shading him from the moonlight.

“Shouldn’t you be asleep by now, my friend?" Zevran does not turn to look at you, but his accented voice cuts through the silence of the night air, much like how his blades cut through any enemy in your path. Yet it's... soft and lacking his usual put on bravado. Yes, you're glad you gave this man the benefit of the doubt all those nights ago, on that dim, muddy road.