I intended to conquer, to tear down, this language

It was comforting, familiar in a way Patlani would never admit, that he knew was foolish to let himself grow attached to. How many times had they done this? They would meet, drink, often end up in a bed, though on more than one occasion they were both too impatient to make it there. Some nights though, they would just sit together, talk.

Zea did most of the talking, she always did, she was a natural storyteller, sometimes she could even get Patlani to smile. And it’s not like Patlani had much to say. What could he tell Zea? How could he tell her about his life? He couldn’t subject her to that.

Patlani only half listened as Zea idly strummed her lute, having finally relented on trying to teach him, told him about what she had been doing before coming to meet him. She had visited her clan, her family. Her smile was so radiant as she told Patlani about her newborn niece, how happy she was to be an aunt, how beautiful the naming ceremony was the previous day. She still had flowers tucked behind her ear.

The previous day Patlani had been in the middle of a contract. Some minor noble who crossed the wrong person. He had a penchant for young elven men, part of why Patlani had been chosen to do it. He didn’t like taking contracts that were too hands-on, but he was the only man who wasn’t already on a contract and the client had paid enough to ensure there would be no delay. It’s not like Patlani had a choice, he was used to it by now. Patlani had felt nothing when he saw the fear in the nobleman’s eyes when he slit his throat, left his body crumpled on the bedroom floor as he slipped out of the window. He still had bruises from where the man had held him.

Zea didn’t need to know that. So Patlani didn’t tell her. The same way he didn’t tell her the hell he faced those years ago when she convinced him to spare her friend. (She had seen the scars, she called them beautiful once, if she had known…)

Patlani looked over to Zea, she smiled at him, offered him the bottle. Her fingers lingered on his for a moment as Patlani took it from her, before she returned to playing her lute. Patlani took a sip, eyes still on Zea.

He wanted to relish this, be present at least for this. For the sight of Zea lit by moonlight, the content expression on her face as she looked out over the water, the elegant way her hands moved as she played. Her skirts, her loose shawl fluttered in the gentle breeze. She looked serene, comfortable, beautiful.

“I wish I could be like you,” Patlani said, longingly, wistfully.

His own words startled him, stomach twisting as Zea stopped her song, looked over at him curiously. 

Patlani didn’t even fully know what he meant. He hadn’t been able to name it, dissect the feeling in his chest when he saw Zea. He didn’t want to, he told himself, tried to dismiss it. 

His words could have meant anything, he told himself. That he was envious of her abilities; her music, her magic. Maybe he was envious of her culture, the connection to the Dalish that Patlani had been denied (sometimes at night he wished she never told him, that he never knew, but he would never tell her that). Maybe Patlani reasoned he was simply vain, jealous of her beauty. Zea was beautiful, one of the most beautiful women Patlani had seen. On occasion people had called Patlani handsome, he certainly didn’t feel that way, but he was handsome enough it seemed, it was an asset to the Crows, the fact that he was a decent looking man—

Patlani hadn’t realized Zea had moved until he felt her hand on his arm, warm, gentle, reassuring. She had touched him countless times, it’s why they met up half the time, what this meeting was likely going to lead to. This touch was different though, the look in her eyes different. Patlani couldn’t name the expression on her face.

“You don’t have to be a man,” Zea said softly, “You know that, right?”

He should have. How much of Thedas had he traveled, how many people had he met from all walks of life, long before he met Zea? He understood the concept, it wasn’t hard to grasp. Zea had known him for years now, they were close, she didn’t mind bringing up stories from when she was younger, before she was the woman Patlani knew. But—

“I—It’s not the same, it’s different, I’m not—” He floundered, like a fish out of water, “It’s fine—I’m not—I can—”

I can live with being a man, he wanted to say. The words wouldn’t come out. He wanted to say it. He knew how to lie, he was exceptional at it, he wouldn’t have been allowed to survive his training if he couldn’t. The truth didn’t matter, his feelings didn’t matter, nothing mattered. He was a Crow, an assassin, a heartless killer.

Under Zea’s soft, knowing gaze, Patlani felt naked. No, not naked, she had seen him naked countless times, countless people had, it didn’t bother him for the most part. He would much rather be naked, much rather just go to bed with Zea like he always did and imagine these last few minutes never happened, at least that would be familiar.

“You don’t seem fine,” Zea said.

That at least Patlani couldn’t argue with.