[ Once in a rare, rare while- Zevran is capable of great solemnity. Of gravity and seriousness when it is required of him. Aside from the cultural requirements of any Antivan- Zevran has never spared much thought of faith. Life and death slip past too quickly for any assassin to meditate on such things-

But in truth when he was at his lowest point, when he lost all faith in all things- seeing Leliana have her own and act on it, live through it? Gave him hope in people in nothing else. Renewed his faith in those he cared to keep around him through choice or circumstance.

To see her struggle so cuts at him more than he thought possible. ]

There is faith- and there is fear. There is greed. There is justification and pontification used to smooth over crimes; you and I know this better than anyone in Thedas I should think. [ He circles around the downed dragon, dagger going into it's sheathe as he approaches her. ] I know little of faith as you well know. I care little for those that murder and cite the Maker as cause- if you wish someone dead? Kill them and hide it, or kill them and own it. But I do know this, Leliana. When you agonized over what path to choose and Jonas left you to it- you allowed your faith to guide you. You trusted in your own resolve. That more than anything else is what saw you through the bight and seen you thus far. Question the Chantry, for it is made by men. Question the Maker for his absence. But do not question yourself on your worth because of what you have done in the name of your faith and your resolve.

[ He reaches out, then, blood on his gloves as dark as the blood on her hands. He takes hers between his and looks up into her eyes, lips crooked in a smile. ]

For in this? I have never met your equal.