Seeing him like this is a shock.
After his coronation she’d left the country, unable to bear the sight of him any longer. They’d seen each other only rarely, but promised each time that when the Calling came, they would face it together - if they could not have each other, they could have this at least.
Yet for all his vows he stands before her now, pale and gaunt, the taint crawling up his neck, and knows that had she not heard the rumours, he would have left without her. She doesn’t ask him why he kept it secret. She suspects it might be for the same reason she hasn’t told him about the way the Old Gods whisper in her dreams.
He pulls her close and sobs quietly into her hair. It seems unfair how it is only now, so close to death, that he finally allows her to touch him. So long has it been that she’s forgotten the feel of warmth at her back, or the roughness of his hands. She’s forgotten what it is to be loved, and it is so achingly bittersweet she wants to cry.
Reminded and inspired to draw by someone’s recent illustrations about their Warden and Zevran suffering something similar :)