"She...there were children among their number." Frightened children. Zevran was no stranger to such things- he's slaughtered man, woman, child, babe in the cradle and in a mother's arms as a Crow but... they were meant to be better than the Crows, their merry band. Not pure and good and just, no, that was expecting too much. But noble enough to see something done and done well.

To avoid pointless slaughter.

Zevran paused again, bags dropped, forgotten as he turned to face Alistair. To reach out to him, up to cradle his face between his palms, thumb smoothing along the bruised skin under his eyes. "Alistair-"

The calling. A song that was beautiful and terrible, a song that caused nightmares. If only he could, perhaps, share his world, his life with Alistair. The year that changed so much for him- and in that moment something caught hold of Zevran. Settled in his blood and his hands, a twisting warmth that radiated from the back of his skull and pulled memory from his mind to play through as though it were an Antivan Opera.

Their meeting, the ambush, the clemency. Jonas handsome and charming and very uninterested, Alistair wary and petulant and suspicious until he wasn't. The tower and it's terrible choice made less, Connor's rescue, Wynne's assistance and meddling, the wolves, the dwarves, the Deep roads and splash of acid Alistair bore for him without thought or complaint. Meeting with Taliesin, saving Anora, the Landsmeet, the battle, Loghain's execution- the victory atop Fort Drakon. All of it- from his mind to Alistair's.