"Of course." Hammered flat and not at all hurt. He knew it from the moment Alistair began humoring him. Hand or no hand, here or Rivain-

The wardens came first. The wardens always came first. Such is the way of things, there will ever and always be something more important, someone with more meaning, than Zevran. He knew this. He's known it since he was a child. It doesn't sting like it used to, but that thorn is old and well burrowed and it still does twinge a little when he leans against it. "Perhaps they shall make you Inquisitor in my absence. It would make sense to have a warden face him."

Not an elven assassin. He is meant for shadows and blood- not sunlight and war.