Alright, so. New story, in a series I haven't written for in a while. Main reason for the AN is I have a proposition for you: I'll be taking requests for story ideas. Try not to make them crossover AU's, seeing as I don't really do that kind of thing, but modern AU can probably work. Just PM me for the request, or leave a review. Dragon Age, Doctor Who, Pokemon (maybe), and Soul Eater are mainly what I write for, but I'm open to most anything, if I can find the time to watch/play it, or if I even have access to it.

Down. The Archdemon was down. Creators, if she was going to do anything, now would be the time. She scanned the battlefield, looking for something more useful than a foot-long dagger to kill the infernal thing with. There, a sword sticking out of a darkspawn. Good for killing things with or so Oghren says. The deed had to be done quickly, before the Old God revived itself, but she needed to say goodbye. It would only take a couple of seconds, a minute at the most.

She found him near Leliana, surrounded by dead darkspawn and covered in blood she dearly hoped wasn't his. It was a wonder he didn't catch the taint. She bent over and nudged him, trying to revive him, but to no avail –he remained stubbornly unconscious. Ah, well, perhaps it is better this way. She kissed him twice, once, softly, on the forehead, and once on the lips. She lingered a moment, and pulled back. Creators, he was beautiful. Shaking her head, she pulled herself away from his face and pulled back his vest. Into an inside pocket she had made for him –one of the few times she sewed– went two things: a letter and a dagger. The dagger was of Dalish make, and her most prized possession; she had declared on more than one occasion that she would never be found without it, even in death. Creators forgive her for her lies. With one last glance and a wordless goodbye he would never know, she turned away from him.

A deep breath. Creators help me. A step forward, then another, and another until she was in a dead run. A sword in her hand –a yell from behind: his voice, her name. A towering figure –she had taken too long in her goodbye; the slick sound of steel through flesh. A scream: the demon's. Another: hers.

Laughter around a fire, singing, tattoos flashing in the night–

His lips on hers, hands down her sides and in her hair–

Incense burning, candlelight, a coy voice from behind–

Rage—

Anger—

Pain—

Zevran I—

Nothing.