Toss him around
When the Crows had taken over more territory, Zevran hadn't exactly been entirely surprised. Individually, they were power hungry weasels. Together, they were one monstrous ego that couldn't be satiated. On the other hand, it wasn't entirely bad for Zevran and The Vultures, as they now had even more potential allies towards their goals, and Zevran appreciated having allies he could trust. He wasn't sure he felt the Rivaini rebellion would be successful, but if he could offer any help well, that had been his goal of this trip. Meeting with some lower level contacts amongst the ranks of the rebellion and it had gone over well, or as well as expected. 

By the time he finished it was late, and as much as he'd rather sleep on a nice comfy been in a tavern, he traveled for a bit and then set up camp in an out of the way spot off the beaten trail. Of course, he was a cautious sort. There were still plenty of Crows that wanted him dead. He made sure to set up various traps all around the perimeter of his camp.

After making a fire, he was leaning up against a tree and started to doze off. Next thing he knew, he was sound asleep and dreaming of brothels and leather gloves and fighting a blight with his friends. He really needed to give Lana and Cullen a visit. It had been far too long. He was quite sure Morrigan probably forgot his existence as soon as they parted ways and Loghain was dead now, he'd heard. Alistair wasn't king anymore, so he'd lost track of him. It was always sad when one lost track of one's friends.
He’d been scouting the area for days looking for the blasted ruin yet it continued to elude him. Ruth was pissed, tired and irritated that he hadn’t been able to locate the cavern on his latest hunt. He should have taken Megara’s advice, but that would mean admitting defeat and hiring a potential mook who’d sooner bash his head in and loot his corpse. A gander in the brush was the perfect place for murder.

Slipping around the countryside alone was preferable. Though if collared by either side they’d likely not believe he wasn’t a spy of the other. He was taking a chance either way, the only identifying thing he had was an old Inquisition pin, but it had been a few years since he’d ventured to the fortress in the mountains. All of that was moot though if he didn’t find a viable place to set up camp and catch some sleep before beginning his search anew in the morning.

He drew out from the trail, but before his nose could register the hints of a dying campfire the noose tightened around his foot. Blue eyes blinked downwards, “Ah fuuu-” gravity shifted violently, the elf’s body swinging into the air, “ck!” His pack slipped from around his arms, crashing to the ground beneath as he, himself hung upside down. Layer of clothing fell over his face, muffling a groan, “oh this is just perfect.” Bare chested, the dalish swung aimlessly arms floundering for a moment before giving way to a resound sigh.

“I could use a little help… if it’s not too. Much. Trouble!”
Zevran woke with a start. Someone was calling out. Then his expression turned to a grin. Someone had fallen into one of his traps. He jumped up and grabbed one of his daggers, then went over to his trap near a cluster of trees he'd used for the trap. Zevran paused and looked up at the elf that had fallen into the trap, tipping his head slightly. He noted the pack on the ground. The man didn't look all that threatening.

How is the view from up there? He asked, sarcasm his third fluent language. Just because they didn't look suspicous or threatening, that didn't mean they weren't. Zevran walked around the man. Why should I help you, how do I know you aren't a threat, I could let you go and you could try and slit my throat. I'm far too pretty to have my throat slit.
His head shifted in the direction of the voice, the fabric covering his face shaking with the movement. Fucking Antivan’s, he groaned irritated. “Oh, it’s sublime. I love the up close smell of sweat and despair.” Ruth was well aware feeling in his tethered leg was going numb as his body slowly spun. Attempting to see his potential rescuer or, likely the dealer of his demise, the elf tried to pull back enough of his layers.

“Well for one thing, I’m unarmed.” A complete lie, but as brows shrugged towards the pack still laying on the ground, Ruth continued. “Have a few knives, sure, but I’m a healer and a researcher. You hold all the cards, though, I’d argue I’m prettier.” His grin flashed smugly before his body spasmed in the trap, falling to a grimace. “This is entirely uncomfortable. I’ve lost sensation in my foot.. fuck.”
Zevran raised an eyebrow. He wasn't sure he agreed with the prettier part, though from what he could see and hear, the man certainly sounded attractive. Then again, was Zevran really the best judge of that? Probably not. To him, everyone was pretty and worthy of his flirting. He pulled his knife out from his belt and walked closer, shame; it was a waste of a perfectly good trap, but he had a feeling what the man was saying was true, he was no real threat to Zevran. 

Well, perhaps it is time to pray to whatever god you worship... He said as he walked up to the man, giving no sign if he planned to free him or kill him. As he got close enough, he smirked and reached up to cut the man loose. And thank them for your fortuitous luck. Of course, he hadn't factored in gravity, but the man had said he was a healer, right? Surely, a few bumps and bruises from hitting the ground were better than the alternative.

I'm Zevran, by the way. I figure I've had you in my trap. You might as well know my name.
Ruth’s grin only widened with the questioning brow. From this angle a nug could look handsome, but the healer was nothing but confident that his appearance to some was more than satisfactory. His mouth had equally gotten him into and out of trouble and one couldn’t knock a man for trying, especially at this disadvantage.

Even as Zevran approached and made his comment about prayer and gods, Ruth scoffed. “And if I said some lovers have called me such, what then?” Though it tapered off to a mumble as his captor approached. Ruth had less than a mere second to prepare himself, the clean cut of the rope sending him hurtling downward, head first. He just managed to save his head from bouncing off the ground with a hand. “Motherfuck- …”

From a pile of layers a blonde head poked out, blue hues crying foul words behind them. “Rut’theran. Ruth… Well thank you Zevran. Usually rope isn’t on the cards until the second or third round, someone knows a good time.”
Once the man was on the ground, Zevran took a few steps closer and leaned in offering his hand. Well, I do like to keep things spicy. He said with a grin. He hadn't planned on company for the night, but as it was fairly late, he figured he couldn't just let Ruth go without an invitation. 

Well Ruth, I'm Zevran, it is a pleasure to meet you, despite the circumstances. Could I offer you a place by my fire. I don't have much, but the company would be nice. He'd have to reset the trap, just in case. After everything he and the other Vultures had done to dismantle House Arainai, he wasn't exactly a favourite person with the Crows, and then there was his work with the Red Jennies, he couldn't be too careful when he made rest for the night, not if he wanted to get any sleep.

Sorry about the traps, side effect of my profession. He said with a shrug.
Ruth eyed the offered hand briefly before taking it. Yet Zevran was proving to be almost equal, even with his witty tongue. His smirk curled, unable to help himself. “Don’t threaten me with a good time now.” He’d chuckle, eventually shifting his gaze to dust himself off, ensuring none of his belongings were damaged in the short drop.

Again, his motions would pause, drawing his head to study the other elf briefly. Ruth doubted the other would take offence at such scrutiny. The roads were treacherous and the motives of most were not always so chivalrous. “Sure.” he finally sighed. Shoulders shrugged heavily. “Why not? You let me down and didn’t slice my throat, so I suppose your company can’t be that bad.” Plus, he’d maybe actually get a good night's sleep with Boobytrap-Mageee.

“Given I’ve met them up close, I’m guessing your profession is rather messy at times.” Ruth smirked, not fazed in the slightest that his companion may have ended lives whereas he was in the business of saving and prolonging them. “Your type keeps my type in business, so… we’re colleagues in a way.”
Zevran understood the hesitation, Ruth ha just fallen in his trap and he didn’t really know anything about Zevran, not reallly. Once Ruth agreed, Zevran turned his attention to going back to his little campfire. He was tired and wanted to be off his feet for a bit. Zevran laughed at the comment about the traps and his profession being messy at times.

Well, I’m not quite the man I used to be, not since the fifth blight and my failed attempt to kill the hero of Ferelden. Since then I’m rather picky who I kill, mainly crows hellbent on ruining lives and dominating all of Thedas. I mean I couldn’t imagine my life as anything other than an assassin, I just like to think that my moral compass is perhaps fluctuating at least a little bit more towards north. Zevran poked at the fire a bit and then added a couple of more sticks to it.
Zevran wouldn’t be offended by his caution. In any interaction the healer had there was a level of suspicion that never fully vanished. Keeping to oneself was the only true way of avoiding any real consequence of attachment and those he did place some trust in, only held a piece of it. Still. A fire and company was safer in this place. In the morning they’d go their separate ways and that would be the end of it.

Ruth took a seat near the fire. Despite the warmth Antiva offered, the nights were still cold and there was nothing more that the Dalish despised than the frigid weather. The well-travelled pack was pulled into his lap, ears listening as the assassin spoke. “Agreed. Some of those in power deserve it, though not all of us are quite as stealthy.” Could he do it? Perhaps, but it depended greatly on the circumstances and who. “I’m not one to indulge in such… permanency, but to inconvenience? Oh most certainly,” he’d chuckle.
Well, we all do what we’re good at, at least, that would be the ideal case. I did know this one Crow, terrible at it, but he was the son of a Talon so it was expected of him. Couldn’t lace his own boots without falling over and hurting himself, let alone get the right side of the dagger aimed in the proper direction. Zevran shook his head and added another stick to the fire. Sometimes people that wanted to be assassins were terrible at it, and sometimes people who never wanted to be one turned out to be quite good at it.

I do some work with the Red Jennies, so my work isn’t always about the killing. Occasionally I dabble in the inconveniencing, depending on the job of course and the way it plays out. Sometimes you can go into a job with one thing in mind but the circumstances force your hand. Zevran grabbed his pack looking for something. He used to kill indiscriminately simply because he was told to, but these days with his moral compass, he took much more care to consider the marks before deciding upon their fate.
Ruth gave out a small chuckle. “Better cannon fodder than an heir then. My father probably thought the same about me. Good thing I left. His idea of training was going to get me killed.” Blue eyes narrowed on the flickering fire, watching the sparks fly as Zevran tossed more wood into the fire. His grin became restrained for a brief second, relaxing again as the memories flashed in the back of his mind.

“Ah, so you’re not completely heartless then.” With a snicker, Ruth would pull out his bedroll, rolling it out alongside him. “I see more skeletons these days,” not really, “I’ve been… collecting relics, books, returning stolen shit.” He paused. “Wonder what that makes me now? The book thief? Tomb Raider? What I’m good at is being a pain in someone’s ass, and sometimes that includes my own.”  He wasn’t sure there was a strict title for that. Well. Perhaps, Shit-Head, but only on Sundays.
The Crows have a similar sense of training. It’s a bit like learning how to swim by being tossed off a pier and told to swim. Not something I would recommend, but sadly my dear mother died with debts and selling me to the Crows was apparently the best way they could think of to get their money expediently. He said with a chuckle, life with the Crows wasn’t much better than slavery really, only you were required to go out and murder people. Sure a life he turned out to be good at, but that was neither here nor there. Then Zevran chuckled at the names Book Thief and Tomb Raider.

Well it seems perhaps we have something in common. we both leave fairly solitary lives on the road. I feel like I spend more time travelling than I do ever staying in one place. He paused and then grinned. Well, might I say, what a nice ass to be a pain in. He didn’t really mean to be flirty, well he did, but it was more something that just oozed off him. Basically if Zevran wasn’t being flirty, people might wonder what was wrong.
Ruth couldn’t help but stare at the assassin a moment. “Huh,” he chuckled bitterly. “Life’s funny like that. Mine died too.” Yes, she’d died. Because of.. Stupid shitty circumstances that he wasn’t going to share with a stranger. “Only way my dear old Da’ was able to nearly kill me on occasion.” Yet, Ruth had overlooked something entirely. He’d blame it on being kept hanging upside down, sitting up a little straighter. “You said Crows. Arainai. You don’t know Shaw then?” You moron, Ruth. “Pretty hard to miss, big, grumpy, lumbering Kossith.”

It didn’t matter if he intended it as a flirtatious comment or simply the way Antivan’s generally were, the healer’s grin would turn incredibly smug. “Oh I know, but few get that privilege.” Snickering, Ruth settled back into the pack behind him amusement splattered across his face. They were of equal humour, good. It settled his suspicious mind some that his companion equally hid behind a confident, and often impulsive front. “Company only gets in the way, or they attempt to nanny when they are unwarranted.” Not strictly true, he kept terrible care of himself. “Though I can be whatever company you like, Zev.”
Zevran considered asking about the man’s mother, but it felt like too personal of a question for someone he just met, he assumed if Ruth had wanted to elaborate he would have, and it wasn’t like Zevran had said much about his mother’s death. Not that there was much to tell.

When Ruth brought up a familiar name, then Zevran grinned. My what a small world it was, how two people could happen upon each other by sheer coincidence and end up having a person in common with each other.

Ah yes, my dear Shaw. Without him dismantling House Arainai would simply not have been possible, or the continued work against the Crows. I honestly do not think I would have made it this far in life without him. He raised an eyebrow at the comment about being whatever kind of company that Zevran liked. He was torn, part of him wanted to keep flirting, but another part of him was exhausted and starving. He finally found what he was looking for in his pack and pulled out a smaller bag that was inside, that looked filled.

Ah ha, here we are. It’s not much but I have the vegetables and herbs to make a stew. No meat sadly. Then he pulled out a pot and used magic to fill it with water. Little trick I seem to have picked up ever since the veil fell. Not that Ruth had asked, but Zevran had felt like sharing. Everything had gone a bit wild after the Veil fell.