Zevran is surprised when he wakes up to the tight, course burn of rope around his wrists, a sharp ache throbbing in the back of his skull. He thinks he was hit with a sword pommel but isn't sure, remembers fighting, the sudden drop in his stomach with the realization that the Warden would not be so easily taken. Then darkness in the wake of pain as it knifed into the back of his skull.
It's not the rope that surprises him. This is hardly the first, nor even the tenth time he can remember waking up in such a state. Neither is it the notion he was hit over the head. Again, that has happened far too often. No, he thinks as he draws in a ragged breath, squinting up at the Warden looming over him, his companions fainter shadows behind him. He is rather surprised he woke up at all.
He can see the Warden's surprise when he introduces himself, then proceeds to lay out all the information he can offer; who hired him, where he came from, what his intent had been. Although that last one is a bit obvious, it can't hurt to spell it all out. It isn't as if he has anything to lose by this point. He is a dead man walking, or rather, lying down; was the moment he failed to kill the Warden.
Zevran tells the Warden everything and then waits for the sword to fall, knowing that this time he will feel the blade, and there will be no waking up. He is at peace with that, knew the outcome when he first agreed to kill the Warden.
The Warden's appearance surprises him however, dark hair and light eyes, his face framed by sweeps of faded ink that slice across his cheek bones and sweep down to disappear beneath the line of his jaw. He is quiet, the Warden, listening and asking questions without the outrage that Zevran expected. Attempted assassinations are hardly pleasant and while there is anger there, it is banked behind the man's cool gaze, contained in sardonic questions and the tight grip of his hand on the hilt of his sword.
It is the Warden's control and whatever quirk that led him to preserve the life of his potential assassin that prompts Zevran to make his offer. Part of it is reflex, a conditioned response against overwhelming odds to ensure survival. The rest, he wishes he knew, curiosity maybe. He lets his tongue work its magic for what might be the last time and waits to see what this mysterious Warden will do next.
He blinks when the Warden accepts his offer, gathers his wits enough to cover his sudden intake of breath with a wide smile. When the rope is cut and a hand offered, it occurs to him that where there is an ending there are also beginnings, and death comes in many forms.
He takes the Warden's hand and gets to his feet, wonders how this gamble will pay off in the end. As he follows his new companions he doesn't look back, instead considers the Warden and the power of second chances.