It whistled on the air, the wooshing warning almost unheard above the cries and clash of steel. Kylyn whirled, spinning aside just in time, gasping as the arrow grazed her cheek. The genlock, though, was not so lucky, crumpling before her as it scrabbled at the shaft still quivering in its throat. Gritting her teeth in frustration, she touched the wound, wincing as her fingers came away wet and red.

"Zevran!"

His laughter echoed across the clearing, grin splitting wide as he fitted another arrow to his bow. Pinching the string between two fingers, he swept his free hand round to blow her a bowing kiss.

Smirking, she ducked wide.

The ambush had been sloppy, but darkspawn always seemed to make up in numbers what they lacked in finesse. Whirling again, she spotted their leader – their alpha – looming horned and terrible. As it charged toward her, Kylyn smiled.

But Alistair was there then, his shield taking the beast in chest, throat and head. It staggered overpowered, giving him the opening to thrust his blade through its middle. His back was to her as it fell, his shoulders heaving breathless as he watched it writhe. Bending quick, he slipped his blade cross its throat, merciful even here.

"Don't I get to kill anything?"

For a moment he seemed surprised to find her there, that strange battle-grace fading as he turned. The shrug was awkward beneath his heavy gear. "Sorry."

She rolled her eyes, but Alistair was already moving toward her, that crooked smile faltering. "What happened?" His hand hesitated beside her cheek, the wince coming before she could stop it.

She would kill Zev, she truly would. "Nothing. I'm okay."

There was worry there, though she doubted he would guess its cause. Still his hand lingered, falling instead to brush against her own. So flushed he was, hair slick across his forehead, tensed and quivering and—

"Perhaps if you two spent more time concentrating on the darkspawn and less time on each other…"

Kylyn spun, the stinging warmth on her face redoubling, but Wynne only smirked. Still one of the hurlocks stood between them, its breath coming in a clouded hiss as the very air around it seemed to crystallize. Striding toward them, the mage paused to blink up at it before shattering the beast with an offhanded rap of her staff.

"A simple enough matter, but if we are to continuously endure your battlefield flirtations—" She staggered, falling heavy to a knee.

"Wynne!"

Alistair was there before her, bending to slip a shoulder beneath the old woman's arm.

"I am fine. Take your hands off me."

"Or you'll what? Turn me into a toad?"

She arched a delicate brow. "Perhaps."

Looking behind them, Kylyn shook her head. Six, seven of the creatures lay still, cool and unmarked. She had warned Wynne not to overtax herself, not to—

"If the lady requires an escort…" Zevran had slung the bow across his back, bowing now with a wicked grin.

Pushing away from Alistair, the mage folded her arms. "Absolutely not."

"Oh no?" The pout was playful, but he turned to Kylyn now, eyes widening in mock surprise. "Dear Warden, you are wounded!" He made as if to cup her cheek, a strange mirror of Alistair's gesture, but there was a scowl behind his hesitation. "Tsk. How sloppy."

Her retort would have been witty, certainly.

But the sound broke around them, the shriek piercing, keening, throbbing behind her eyes. Kylyn pressed hands to her ears as the world spun, her sword falling forgotten to the ground. There was a strange sensation of falling as the creature appeared before her, of being pushed aside as something slipped between her and the shriek.

Zevran had moved quick, knees buckling as he drew his blades, twin daggers crossing before him to tangle in the beast's claws. There they seemed to remain suspended, matching strength for strength. But the shriek reared, the force of it sending them both toppling backward.

Her head was clearing now, but she couldn't spot Zevran beneath those thrashing limbs.

Alistair's shield took the shriek in the side of the head, the scream rising again as it rolled aside. Diving for her sword, Kylyn slammed a boot to the creature's chest, pinning it down as she thrust the blade home. The screeching ended in a bubbling moan.

It was echoed behind her, the elf struggling slow to his elbows. His leathers were torn from shoulder to chest, red already welling in the gashes. There was something of the darkspawn there too, that strange blackness smearing his arms and face. Zevran touched a finger to the wound, pulling away a strip of the ruined armor with a wincing hiss. "Ahh, such a stink."

She offered an arm, but he waved her away, coming stiffly to his feet.

"What were you thinking?"

He snorted. "Very little apparently." But he was holding her eye now, that practiced calm returning.

She turned away as Wynne pushed past her, already rummaging in her pouches. "Stay still."

"I am fine."

"There is much we do not know about the darkspawn. Shrieks in particular have been known to carry…"

Kylyn would not have had the nerve to argue with the mage's glare, but Zevran turned away, moving across the clearing. "A scratch, nothing more. Come, it is time for traveling and the murdering of villains and… Ah." He paused, stopping short.

"Zev?"

"Braska." With that, he collapsed.

She watched the flames now, the showering sparks fountaining, glaring, dying. She could have caught them if she wished, sat close enough to stretch her hand into the fire, to let the flames lick across her fingers. Why then, did she not feel warm?

Behind her Alistair stirred, laying a sleepy kiss against her hair. He had carried the assassin back to camp, stepping gentle as he could beneath Wynne's harrying instructions. Zev had looked so small there, limp and unmoving, the rise of his chest barely perceptible beneath those ragged tears. His face, too, had turned a pallid grey, so gaunt without its accustomed smiles. Into his tent they had taken him, the old mage strangely protective as she shooed them away.

Leliana and Oghren had sat with them for a time; even Morrigan had ranged closer, though what help she could hope to offer, Kylyn couldn't guess. But all was still now, quiet. Too quiet.

The bard had played for them, the song low and hopeful, different from the one that she had played after Ostagar. No, not that. Not yet. But it hadn't been enough. Still they had heard the stifled cries rising from the tents, those deep and bitten screams. Oghren had passed her his flask. For once she had almost considered it.

But it had been Alistair who pulled her close, hushing every flinch as he rested his chin against her shoulder. There had been stories - something about an overweight cat, about spending the day locked in a cage – all for her benefit, all in the hope of making her laugh. Perhaps she had smiled once or twice, if only for his efforts.

Now, though, the others had retired, making their excuses as the night fell quiet. And still there was no sign of Wynne.

Alistair sighed, one arm slipping round her waist. As she turned to look up at him, he blinked. "You should have Wynne look at that." Gentle fingers tucked a stray hair behind her ear. He had wet a cloth for her upon their return to camp, but still he had hesitated, unwilling to touch the wound.

"It's fine. I'm fine."

"Riiight. Very convincing." He pulled her closer, hand falling over hers, crushing, protective, her own. "It's not your fault, you know."

"I know that."

"Uh huh."

She sighed, letting her head loll against his shoulder. Her free hand curled against his chest, worrying the cloth of his tunic between her fingers. "What if… what if she can't…?"

"Hey. Hey." He tilted her chin up to meet his eyes. "No. You don't have to think about that right now."

"Don't I? I took him under my protection."

"Yes and I still don't entirely understand that, but the way." He snorted. "But maybe, y'know… maybe he figured he owed you."

"For what?"

"Um, hello? Tried to kill us? And yet you, you just…" He trailed off, the old sigh bitter.

"This is not the time for that."

It was so strange, strange to see him angry, strange to reconcile that with the quiet smiles, the sheepish grins. She had pulled away, she realized, his hand on her arm drawing her gently, inexorably back.

Whispered kisses traced her unmarked cheek. "Right. You're right. I'm sorry. I know you two are… close." The smile returned then, flushing deep. "Let's just go to bed."

She only shook her head. "I can't. Not yet. I just want to… check on them."

Still there was something searching there. He could not know the reason – she hadn't had the heart to tell him – but he knew enough to sense it. She summoned a smile, making sure he saw the promise in her eyes. "Go. I'll meet you there."

Worry faded, sliding into a crooked grin. He stood, hand lingering on her arm as he helped her to her feet. "Don't be long."

Hugging herself beside the flames, she watched him go. So cold now.

The tents sat some distance from the fire, the assassin's pitched on the opposite side of the ring from the one she shared with Alistair. Only Morrigan's sat farther away. Strange that she hadn't noticed before.

It was silent now, the dimly flickering shadows the only sign of movement. She should be grateful, she knew, but this new stillness was unsettling.

Bending low, she pushed the flap aside. The air within was close and warm, thick with the heady spice of Wynne's poultices, the cooling sting of her salves. Laying a steadying hand against her knee, Kylyn took a shallow breath.

The mage raised tired eyes, placing a warning finger against her lips. She sat back on her heels, more pale and drawn than she had been before, but there something almost satisfied behind her weary smile.

Zevran was naked to the waist, the frayed blankets scattered sodden and twisted. The wound had been bound with a swath of stiff white linen that wrapped round his chest to fasten at the shoulder. It looked so strange, pale against his skin, a stain marring the strange, dark designs etched there. But it rose as she watched, the breaths measured and steady. His head rested against the old woman's knees, one arm thrown wide in sleep to trail against her leg.

Wynne's fingers had been working smooth circles across his forehead, but they paused now as she smirked. "Breathe a word of this to him and he won't be the only one needing my attentions."

Kylyn almost had to grin, holding up her hands in mock surrender.

The mage, though, only sighed. "The worst is over. I was able to draw off most of the poison… though that is not exactly the right word." She shook her head. "There is still much to learn about the darkspawn, about the taint."

"But… he'll be alright?"

There was a sternness there, a familiar tight-lipped smile. "I have done what I can. He needs to rest."

"I could say the same about you."

"These bones are weary, yes. But we do what we must."

"And now you must sleep."

Again, she smirked. "Is that so? An order is it?"

"It could be."

Wynne shook her head. "He needs watching. I'm not entirely certain—"

"I can do it. You go."

There was something curious behind that stare, but also something like relief. After a moment, she gestured for Kylyn to sit beside her. "Here. Sit in my place."

"Why?"

"It has taken most of the night to quiet him. He needs his rest. Now hush."

Gently she lifted the elf's head, sliding carefully aside as Kylyn moved into her place. He settled there, warm and tense, curling against her knees with a mumbled sigh.

"You sure you just don't prefer him unconscious?"

The old woman sniffed.

"That thing… that you were doing with your hands…" Kylyn's fingers fluttered uncertain, the hair now falling cross his eyes. "Do I need to…? I mean, is it part of the…?"

"Magic?" She chuckled. "In its way, perhaps. Mostly it just feels nice."

"Oh."

"Don't fret, Warden. You don't have to do anything. Just watch. I will be back soon enough." She stood then, stooping for the closeness of the tent.

"Uh, Wynne? Could you tell Alistair…?"

"That I am a poor old woman, so very weary, and you have been kind enough to relieve me."

"…Yeah."

"Certainly." Her gaze was searching, the warning there unspoken. With a bow of her head, she ducked beneath the flap.

Settling back, Kylyn blinked, the sudden gust of air doing little to relieve the heat. Still the tang of the medicines lingered, but there were other scents here too, almost buried, the smooth musk of leather oils, the too-clean sting of crushed deathroot leaves, a strange and smoky spice that she could not quite name. He had visited her tent before but this was a place that she had never thought to be.

Shaking her head, she chuckled. "You can stop. She's gone."

"Mmm? What?" Even beneath the fallen hair, she could spot that grin, the yawn gaping wide.

"It would serve you right, you know. If I told her. She'd turn you into a toad for sure."

He rolled stiffly onto his back, blinking up at her as his head settled against her thighs. "Ahh, but she is a marvelous woman, is she not? And such a tender touch."

At her snort, his grin split wider still.

"I did hear her giving you tips, yes?"

"Get off."

She slid away, too quick, too awkward. His shoulder fell hard against the blankets, his breath escaping in a hissing gasp.

"Oh, Maker! Zev, I'm sorry!"

Even with eyes pinched shut, he managed a wincing smile, waving her away as her hands strayed near. "Perhaps it would take magic to teach you to be gentle."

"I said I was sorry."

He stared up at the canvas now, something of the calm returning despite his deep and ragged breaths. "Ahh, but I like it."

"Great." She curled her knees to her chest, watching the rise and fall of that swath of white, listening as the breaths became even, shallow. It was soothing, she realized.

After a time he shifted, struggling to his elbows.

"No." She found herself leaning over him, pushing him back down. But her hands had moved instinctively below the bandage, mindful of the wound, pressing instead across his abdomen, against the muscles tensing there.

He blinked up at her, the wince only half hidden. "I can be quite stubborn, you know. You may need to tie me up."

"Can I gag you?"

The grin turned wicked. "As you wish."

Still she forced him back, hands pulling away in surprise as he acquiesced. Was it relief that she saw there? Frustration certainly, but Wynne had said nothing of the poison's actual effects… of the pain. Still she could hear those screams. "Is there… is there anything you need?"

The whispered laugh was bitter as he turned his face away. "There is much that I need, more still that I desire, but that is neither here nor there, as they say."

"Why did you do it?"

"We are fighting darkspawn, yes?"

"You know what I mean. It was stupid."

"And yet you seem surprised." Turning his head, he met her eyes. "Tell me, were it Alistair laying there, dashing and noble as he is, would your brow be so unfortunately creased?"

"…No."

"I, on the other hand, do not seem the self-sacrificing type."

"You seem… smarter than that."

He sighed.

She had slipped closer again, she realized, meeting those upturned eyes. His hand moved quick, twisting her wrist, pulling her down. He chuckled, the breath coming warm across her lips.

"So what is it? A kiss for my life then?"

Her hair trailed across his face, his free hand rising to sweep it back, lingering cupping against her cheek. Still it was sore, but there was no sting now. "A kiss for a kiss."

"Yeah, about that. Remind me why I'm not hitting you."

"That, my dear Warden, is a question to ask yourself." The stillness was sudden, his eyes darkening above the softening grin. "And that is what worries you, yes?"

She sat back quickly. "Zev… if you think you can… if you think this will…"

"Keep you alive another day? Ahh, yes. Such a dastardly plan."

"You know what I mean."

"Do I? What I know is that you are of more use to me alive than dead. That, so long as you live, I am safe… from the Crows at least. Surely this you can believe."

"So it's a matter of practicality, then?"

The smirk twisted as he stared toward the ceiling. He only chuckled.

Sliding closer, she lay a hand on his arm. "Zev…"

"You set your traps well, Warden."

"It's not a—"

His head rolled toward her, eyes shining even in the dark. "I would rather not see you dead. Can this not be enough?"

"'Would rather not?'" She snorted. "Just like you made 'no claims on me?'"

"Ahh. So we come back to that." Again, he turned his gaze to the canvas above.

"No, I… Maker, I'm sorry. It's just…"

She made as if to slip away but he caught her arm, twisting as he spun onto his knees and pinned her beneath him. "You see? I am fine."

"Really." One hand rose, trailing over the bandages, pressing just enough to…

"—Ahh!" She rolled with him, pressing him onto his back, sitting cross his hips to hold him there.

He coughed, the chuckle rasping as he blinked up at her. Rough hands again found her wrists, twisting, jerking her arms above his head, bringing her face a hairsbreadth from his own.

"You need to rest." Again it came to her, that deep musk, the crispness of the herbs and beneath it all, thicker, darker…

He rose up to meet her, lips finding hers as he struggled to get his elbows beneath him. It wrapped around her now, the taste, the scent familiar… and dearly missed. It was a long moment before she realized, a long moment before she felt him tremble.

She pressed him back, trailing lips along his cheek, nibbling at his ear. "Stay down."

Her push was perhaps a bit too forceful, but there was something more than pain behind his moan. As he collapsed beneath her, her hands slipped light over the bandages, playing at their edges, seeking out every inch of unspoiled flesh. Lower now they moved, his back arching involuntarily, the breathless hiss coming sharp.

"I said stay down."

One eye opened, something of that playful smirk returning. "As you wish."

It spread almost instantly, his sudden stillness unsettling, but still his chest rose ragged, breath quickening as he warmed beneath her touch. A game then. She smiled.

She shifted lower, sitting back against his thighs, one finger playing along the edge of his breeches. His eyes were open now, the hand that encircled her wrist gentle but insistent. There was something searching behind his gaze. "You owe me nothing."

"Hush."

Rocking forward, she pressed along the length of him, lips grazing his as her fingers worked his laces. Again he hissed, the air between them sucked away, but there was a welling moan behind the cry, eagerness behind the pain. As her hand slipped beneath his leathers, his teeth dug hard against her lip.

His hands were on her back now, drawing her closer, lower, deeper. Beneath her he stirred, driving the ache against her hips, bringing a new sort of gasp. She fell sideways, toppling awkwardly as she scrabbled at her own breeches, his fingers clutching at her ankles as he helped her pull them free.

Such warmth, such heat, and through it all that scent. She could feel her cry welling with the shock of it as she wrapped her legs round. But again he paused, blinking up at her, for one strange moment uncertain. His hand rose quick, cupping against her cheek, against the dull ache there. Instead of turning away, she leaned into it, welcoming the pain as she lowered herself.

He did wince now, eyes falling closed. Hands found her hips as he drew a deep and ragged breath, pulling her closer, deeper. Slow she rolled against him, careful, watching for any sign that it might be too much. But there was only the lolling of his head against the blankets, the play of his lip between his teeth, the desperate concentration twisting his features as his hands slipped higher.

She hadn't expected it, hadn't been ready. His arm wrapped round her back, crushing her to him as he rocked forward onto his knees, the scream bitten behind lips gone white.

"Hey! No—"

It was all she could do to wrap her legs tighter, to keep them from falling. But one hand was sliding up her back now, tangling in her hair as the other again strayed to her hip, guiding her as she rose against him. Her head fell back, lingering against those rubbing fingers as she rose and fell.

"Ohh, Maker…"

"You see…?" He chuckled, but the words were long in coming. "…I am fine."

Opening one eye, she braced her hands against his shoulders, pushing up and away. "You're not."

But the threat was meager, the encircling arms again crushing her to his chest as he buried his face in her neck. "Mmm?"

"You need to be… laying… down…"

Pulling back to meet her eyes, he grinned. He rocked forward, laughing as she gasped in surprise, depositing her back amongst the blankets. One hand snaked low to trail along her thigh, pulling her leg upward as he leaned over her. Again he paused, again he smiled.

Slow he leaned, the feel of him against her so close, but teasing still. His lips found her ankle, trailing cross her calf as his hand slipped along the curve of her thigh, flitting lower still. He was watching her round the curve of her knee, smiling as his teeth found the tender flesh there, eyes lingering as his fingers plunged deep.

At her moan, his hand slipped aside, the emptiness sudden, painful, but he was there then, warmer, deeper than before. Low he leaned, back arching as his arms fell hard to either side of her, buckling, straining. Lips found her cheek, tracing again along the wound, fluttering light. An apology... and a regret.

Her own fingers curled against his chest as she gasped. There was resistance, wrongness, something that shouldn't – shouldn't be there. Too hard she pulled, too late she realized.

"Zev." It was a moment before her eyes would open, before she could move those lips from hers. "Zev."

"Mmm." He was curling lower now, trailing kisses cross her chest.

It was only in taking him by the hair, cupping a hand to either cheek, that she was able to bring his eyes to hers. But there was no disappointment, only the same soft smile. Calm, unpained. She could not remember the words.

But he was watching her now, bemused, expectant.

"I… uh." She gestured to his chest, holding up a torn and twisted piece of bandage.

"Why Warden, you may just be the death of me yet."

"It's not funny."

It seemed to return to him then, his eyes pinching closed as he slipped from her and sank heavy onto his side. She rolled with him, peeling away the remaining pieces of linen to peer beneath. The gashes were deep, red and angry still.

He caught her wrist, drawing her to lay beside him. His fingers traced her hair, sweeping it back from her face as they again lingered along her cheek.

She shook her head. "I-I'm sorry."

"Now that is funny. Or tragic, for my part."

"You know that's not what I mean. You're… I shouldn't have…"

But still there was that quietness behind his gaze, that half bitter smirk. She couldn't tell who moved first, she or him, but she suddenly found his arms around her, her face buried against his chest. There was that acrid smell, the too-sharp wrongness of the medicines, but still there was something more, deeper, richer, undiminished. She breathed deep.

"I guess I'm not much of a healer, huh?"

He chuckled, hands tangling gentle in her hair. "You have no idea."