A/N: This story began as a one-shot and ended up evolving into something much larger...I always liked the depth and complexity of the Zevran romance in DA:O and wanted to explore that in greater detail. I use events and dialogue from the game to guide and propel some of the action. As always, I'm open to constructive criticism; I'm relatively new to fan fic and want to improve my writing, so do reach out if you feel like it!

Another thing: Let's agree off the bat that I *know* that dialogue is supposed to be indented. Let's pretend it is formatted like that here! My spacebar and fingers thank you in advance for your generosity.

PS- No Shale. Sorry. I didn't get to Shale until later playthroughs of the game because I hadn't gotten my hands on the downloadable content (I know! But in my defense- no indent, either! We have established my relative incompetence in certain technical matters). It didn't feel as natural to write her in, even though I liked her bunches.

PPS-I rated this as "M" just in case. Things don't get really explicit- much of what goes on between the sheets is implied or hinted at, but I like to have options. Wait...where are you going?

Hope you enjoy reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing it! Cheers!


"I fold," Jayne Cousland announced, placing her cards down before her. Neither Zevran nor Leliana seemed to notice.

Serves me right for thinking a game of Wicked Grace with two trained assassins would be 'fun.'

She liked to play cards— it was a regular pastime for her growing up and it always had been entertaining. She'd picked up a deck of cards during their travels and back in the early days, when it had been only Morrigan, Alistair, and her, she and Alistair used to play the occasional game for distraction, to delay sleep and the inevitable darkness that encroached on their dreams.

"Would you like to play with us?" she'd asked them amicably. The more, the merrier, she imagined.

She couldn't have been more mistaken.

"Wicked Grace?" Zevran asked, sitting between Alistair and her.

"Orlesian rules," Leliana demanded.

"I would have it no other way," he deferred charmingly.

"Good! I have a deck back in my tent."

"Errm…What are we playing?" Alistair asked.

"A betting game. You'll learn quickly!"

Alistair glanced sideways at Jayne, who shook her head, just as puzzled. They'd been playing the usual games she'd played as a teenager: Fox's Den, Carillon, Siege. Leliana returned with a square wooden box she set down on the blanket which they were all seated upon. She flicked the lid open and handed the set of cards to Zevran.

"These are beautiful," he complimented her, inspecting the cards.

"Thank you," she grinned. "They were a gift, long ago."

"They're in remarkable shape…no blood stains even!" he teased.

Leliana smirked. Alistair's eyes widened.

"So! How do we play?" Jayne asked.

Before her were elaborately painted images depicting snakes, daggers, angels, musical notes, and warriors clad in armor.

How intriguing! she had foolishly thought.

They played a few innocent matches together, as Zevran and Leliana explained the rules. Five cards per player. One card discarded per turn. One card added. The objective was to have the highest number of matched cards. Angels were the most valuable suit, Daggers were the least. The musical notes were Songs. The warriors were Knights. When the Angel of Death— a card framed with a swirl of tiny black roses and a winged skeleton holding a scythe— turned up, the game was over and all players had to reveal their cards.

I think I am getting the hang of this! Jayne remarked to herself, organizing her cards by rank in her hands.

"Shall we make a little wager? To make it more…exciting?" Zevran suggested casually, placing two coins at the center of the blanket.

That had been almost an hour ago. They hadn't been playing for twenty minutes before Alistair declared himself out of the game by tossing the cards down in distress.

"How is this possible? Can you explain this? I tossed out the Serpent of Avarice, Leliana tossed out the Serpent of Decay…but you had all four Serpent cards when the Angel of Death came up. That is cheating, in my book!"

"Did you see me cheat?" Zevran asked amiably.

"No— but…it's obvious!" Alistair blurted out.

"If it were obvious, then you would have seen me do it, no?" Zevran replied.

"Alistair— Winning at Wicked Grace takes more than luck. It's a game of skill," Leliana attempted to explain.

"When you say 'skill,' what exactly are you referring to?"

She glanced at Zevran as if hoping he would step in. He grinned lazily, flipping one of his newly earned coins.

"Would it be 'cheating,' by any chance? Is that what you mean by skill?" Alistair insisted.

Leliana tilted her head and shrugged innocently.

"How…How is that fair? Can someone tell me?" he complained. "Isn't it a better game when you leave it up to chance?"

"Some of us would rather make our own luck," Zevran winked.

Alistair marched off to his tent in a huff.

"Wicked Grace indeed! Stupid gallows game—" he could be heard mumbling.

"Warden?" Zevran nodded, dealing her a card. She hesitatingly plunked down three coins. "Ah," he grinned approvingly.

Now, after a few rounds, she had been humiliated down to one coin. She inhaled deeply and wondered which of the two before her was more ruthless: the Antivan raised by whores and murderers on her left, or the Orlesian schooled by corrupt and unscrupulous nobles on her right. Down to two players, the game had acquired a frenetic pace. Zevran and Leliana flipped cards faster than her eyes could follow. Cards flew on and off the small mounds before them, yet the discard pile never seemed to increase significantly.

Zevran pulled yet another card from the deck, stared at it, and pointedly turned it over.

The Angel of Death.

"Ah, the time of reckoning."

The small fan of cards Leliana held contracted in her agile hands into a slim row she cleanly splayed across the blanket.

Four Daggers.

Just as she finished revealing her cards, she swiftly caught Zevran's hand midair. He'd attempted to pull a last card from the discard pile.

"No, no…" Leliana censured him sweetly. "Let's see your cards now."

Zevran sighed and tossed the cards down, as if admitting defeat. Leliana ventured a triumphant smile.

Four Knights.

Her eyes narrowed as Zevran let out a victorious whoop before grabbing the coins at the center.

"Jayne, would you please shuffle the deck for the next round and deal the cards?" she suggested, eyeing her lost gold, dragged to Zevran's corner of the blanket.

"Again?" he cried amusedly. "I'm game," he grinned, leaning in.

I can't follow any of this, Jayne sniffed, grabbing the cards and clumsily stacking them into a disheveled vertical pile. Both expert players watched her with pained expressions as she sloppily attempted to split the mound in half and shuffle the cards awkwardly and slowly.

"Shall we bet in earnest now?" Zevran proposed, languidly rubbing his neck as he observed several cards spill out from Jayne's mixing pile.

"Why not?" Leliana replied jovially, gingerly pinching the last column of her glinting coins, placing it squarely in the middle.

Zevran pretended to be preoccupied with counting his earnings before looking down at the wager.

"What is this?" he scoffed. "Even Hurlocks carry more gold than that."

Jayne turned to Leliana.

"Perhaps we should call it a night?" she asked appeasingly. But Leliana shot him a dismissive glance.

"I presume you have something worthwhile to put up, then?"

He stretched and reached beneath his shirt as if to scratch his chest, but instead reached into the small pouch he carried around his neck at all times. When he pulled his hand out, he was holding a small shiny object.

"I've had this for many years," he explained, twirling a delicate golden earring between his fingers. Little diamonds encrusted in the small gold hoop sparkled in the firelight. "It's striking, isn't it?" He raised it to their eye levels.

"Are those yellow diamonds?" Leliana asked, her curiosity piqued. "May I see it closer?"

He offered it to her, but just as she reached for the earring, he quickly dropped it down between his fingers into his fist. It reappeared less than a second later in his other hand. Jayne audibly gasped and for a brief moment he was distracted by the expression of amazement on her face. He shook his head at her and laughed.

"Warden, the face you are making right now is too much," he finally said, pausing to catch his breath. "Here," he stretched his hand towards her and casually tapped the bottom of her chin with his fingers. "Close your mouth. I like you more as the fearless Gray Warden than the impressionable Fereldan bumpkin."

Jayne shooed his hand away irritably. Leliana rose, lightly brushing off her legs and told them she would return, as she made her way back to her tent.

"That's right, Lelibella…go dig through your valuables…and don't come back with some tacky Chantry trinkets," he murmured as he waved.

He sprawled across the blanket, propping himself up on an elbow.

"Do you want to play a quick hand while we wait?"

"I have nothing of value left to bet. I am down to one coin!" she complained.

"Oh, but you do…" he offered suggestively.

"Please spare me. Do you really think I'd wager myself? Especially when I have seen how the two of you play?" she asked him bluntly.

"Wager yourself?…" Zevran appeared to be mulling the possibility. "I hadn't thought of that…but I like it," he responded with false naiveté. He grabbed her foot and squeezed it. "I will put myself up for our wager, too! It's a win-win. Shall we just skip the game altogether and go back to your tent?" he purred.

Jayne exhaled audibly from her nose as she shook her head. She avoided his stare, his warm amber eyes, filled with mischief. She wished she could match his nonchalant flirtatiousness, but she was well aware that she had never been good at bluffing— at any games.

Leliana came back with an ornate red leather sheath. She pulled an elegant black dagger from it and displayed the weapon before Zevran's covetous eyes.

"It really is quite a weapon," he remarked sincerely. "Why do you never use it?"

"I was saving it for a special occasion," she replied enigmatically.

"What? You plan to stab me after I win it?" he teased.

Leliana raised her eyes at him.

"What makes you think you will win this time?" she inquired defiantly.

"Just a hunch," he answered, running his fingers provocatively through the modest pile of coins he had amassed.

"Put your money where your mouth is," she challenged him, tossing the scabbard at the center. The mood shifted. Zevran cupped his gold and dumped it next to the scabbard. He turned to Jayne and offered her the earring.

"Would you hold this for me, Warden?" He faced Leliana again and declared, "May the best man win."

"Wherever he may be—" she quipped back, annoyed.

He took the deck and offered the cards to her.

"Please," he gestured encouragingly.

She calmly collected the cards and fluidly riffle shuffled them a few times. She then proceeded to deal the new hand. Jayne pulled her legs up to her chest and hugged her knees with her arms.

This is not going to end well, she worried. How did this escalate so quickly? she wondered, glancing at Zevran out of the corner of her eyes.

She had to admit he was fascinating to watch. Whether he was executing his deadly attacks in combat, or simply gesturing during a conversation, his movements were fluid and graceful. At that precise moment, he was absorbed in his cards. Her eyes ran over his chiseled face, the full lips, long lashes, then the light, sandy colored hair that had been casually arranged into a short, lopsided ponytail. He wore a plain white undershirt and she could make out the outline of the small pouch beneath it, hanging from the length of rawhide around his tanned neck. She became aware that she was openly staring when he looked up and caught her, his bright amber eyes blinking in slight surprise. She lowered her gaze, feeling her face flush and braced herself for the inevitable teasing that would ensue, but he said nothing.

They were rapidly discarding cards and just as deftly replacing them. Jayne attempted to keep track of their movements, but she couldn't trust her eyes: cards moved strangely, slipping beneath piles when they had been tossed on top, disappearing between fingers and reappearing as if pulled from a fresh pile. Zevran had just plucked a replacement card when Leliana suddenly grabbed the dagger and plunged it forcefully at what appeared to be his hand.

"Brasca!" he shouted, startled, as Jayne had futilely tried to grab her arm.

The dagger landed exactly between his splayed indicator and middle fingers. Zevran took pause and faced Leliana with a puzzled expression.

"Put it back," she replied coolly. "Don't cheat so brazenly," she chastised him. "It's insulting."

He snickered, raising both palms at her appeasingly. The Angel of Death was tucked between the edge of his sleeve and the bottom of his wrist. Leliana pulled it out hastily and handed it to Jayne.

"Put it somewhere in the deck," she pointed to the large, unturned bunch of cards. Jayne attempted to cup her hand over the stack to conceal her motions as she tucked the card back into the bottom of the mound.

Merciful Maker, is this even a card game anymore? These two are going for each other's jugular and I will have to intervene before they succeed.

Both players appeared to redouble their efforts and the flashy sleight-of-hand spectacle continued, with one or the other pausing only to consider options or confirm a decision. She noticed Leliana's stern expression ease slightly. Just as she wondered whether or not she had a hand she was pleased with, Zevran pulled a card from the top of the deck and announced, "I have the Angel of Death. The game is over."

Jayne and Leliana stared incredulously.

What? I placed it at the end of the deck!

Leliana frowned as she pat the edge of the blanket near her cards.

"How is that possible?" she asked with alarm. "I thought I had—" but she stopped herself from saying anything further, much to Zevran's amusement.

Had what?

As Zevran stared back down at his cards, Leliana glared at Jayne in frustration. She allowed her to watch as she deftly pulled the card she had hidden beneath the blanket and added it discretely to her hand. She showed it to Jayne, a grimace on her face. It was the Song of Autumn.

Jayne suddenly understood: Sometime between plucking the card from Zevran's sleeve and handing it to me, Leliana palmed the Angel for herself to use and handed me a different card! Very devious! She looked at Zevran. But somehow, before Leliana took the card from his sleeve, he managed to swap it out for a different one. Doubly devious.

Four Knights were aligned in the row Leliana had laid out before them. She raised her eyebrows expectantly. Zevran nodded thoughtfully and pondered the hand he held closely before his face. He breathed in deeply and reached for the earring in Jayne's hand, contemplating it silently. He shook his head sadly and Jayne could see suppressed excitement begin to manifest itself in Leliana's face.

Zevran collected his cards, tapping them on the blanket. Jayne expected him to fold, shake his head some more, make some pesky comment to diminish Leliana's victory.

Instead, he leaned towards Jayne, and showing her only the back of his cards, asked, "Can you blow on them, please? For good luck."

Jayne wondered how that would help and blew on them hesitantly. Zevran turned back to Leliana, who was as curious about the little spectacle as was Jayne. He proceeded to reveal his cards:

The Angel of Charity.

The Angel of Fortitude.

The Angel of Truth.

The Angel of Death.

The four Angels: the toughest— and most valuable— combination to achieve, since the Angel of Death was the card that would end the game.

Leliana finally snapped, "You cheat too much!"

"How is that?" he said sharply.

Leliana opened her mouth to protest, but sat back, her arms crossed. In order to expose him she would have to admit she had tried to palm the Angel. Instead, she composed herself, and after a quiet moment, pulled the dagger from the ground, sheathed it, and wordlessly offered it to Zevran.

He clasped his hands together and grinned patronizingly at her.

"How about this: tell me what you know I want to hear and I won't collect my winnings."

She was taken aback.

"What do you mean?" she asked earnestly.

"Say: Zevran, you truly are great…The better of the two of us."

Leliana frowned.

"Goodnight," she replied crossly, seizing the dagger and storming off to her tent.

The campfire cast flickering shadows all around them. Zevran sighed.

"I couldn't have done it without you, my utterly gorgeous Warden."

"What are you talking about? I still don't know what just happened."

"It is very simple," he explained, collecting the cards and neatly dropping them into the box. "It was magic. You are magic— you blew on my cards and I won, just like that," he spoke to her in a low voice, sweeping a strand of hair away from her face.

Command yourself, Jayne, she ordered herself, when jolted by his fingers as they brushed against her cheek.

"I still don't get it," she grumbled. "You cheated…She cheated…Why bother?"

He moved his face closer, peering into her eyes.

"Who cheated better, though?"

It dawned upon her then. It had never been about the wagers, the winnings. It had been about skill. Leliana had said so, hadn't she? Wicked Grace was a game of skill: who was faster, who was more cunning, who gauged the opponent better, knowing when to strike and when to defend?

That had been no card game! That had been a duel! And Leliana had retreated to her tent to nurse her wounds, now that the pecking order between them had been established.

The eyes before her were those of a skilled predator. Clever, calculating, and determined. She stared into them.

What about this easy playfulness, the affectionate teasing?…Could it be fake? All lies?

She remembered his words, days ago, recounting stories about his Antivan past: I grew up among those who sold the illusion of love…

Is he playing a game with me? Why?

"Warden?" he said, sitting back, a tinge of concern in his voice.

Jayne could not respond. A sickening hopelessness began to overcome her, as if one sad thought was strung to another, and another, until the floodgates threatened to burst. His brows furrowed almost imperceptibly, but then he smiled impishly.

"I can think of something else you could blow on that would be quite magical…" he stated with perverse delight. Her hand shot out instinctively, seeking to slap him on the head.

"Aiie!" he interjected, deflecting her attack. " I was only trying to be helpful! Since you are such a disgraceful card player, I thought perhaps we could stick to the basics…"

The strange spell had been broken and she felt safe again, the outrageousness of his words bringing her back to a familiar place between them.

"I'm going to bed," she announced, standing up. One look at his arched eyebrow and she added emphatically, "Alone."

"Is that a lament? Perhaps…an invitation?"

"A warning," she added tartly.

He laughed.

Back in her small tent, she went through the motions of preparing herself for sleep in the dim lighting before lying back into her bedroll. It was fruitless, however: sleep eluded her. She found she slept less and less. Her slumber was restless. Instead of finding herself falling asleep, it was as if everything she struggled to keep silent within breached whatever defenses she had propped up. The deep-seated fears, worries, grief, and hurt all brimmed up, drowning any logic or rationale. At first she had blamed the Taint. The visions of dank, putrid burrows, and ancient words hissing through her head haunted her in the beginning. Alistair had explained it was their connection with the Darkspawn.

"You can let it crush you or you can use it to your advantage. You'll learn to block it out."

For the most part, she had. What Alistair couldn't teach her was how to still her mind from racing back to Highever or Ostagar. Lying there in the tent, she relived hell, again and again. A sharp cold chilled her from within and she shivered. Gathering her blanket around herself, she emerged from the tent seeking the warmth of the campfire.

Zevran was still sitting outside, a blade of grass tucked between his lips as he turned his head over his shoulder to watch her walk towards him. He observed her with curiosity. She settled next to him and they remained in a comfortable silence for several minutes, staring into the fire.

"No sleep again?" he finally asked.

She wanly shook her head.

"This won't do. You'll be so tired, I'll have to prop up your arms when you fight the Archdemon," he grumbled. He wiped his hands on his black breeches. "Would you allow me to do one thing for you? It will help you sleep."

She searched his face for the customary mischief, but he was being sincere, as far as she could tell, and waiting for her permission.

"No tricks," she answered. He reached for her shoulders and carefully pulled her down on the blanket they were sitting on, resting her head sideways on his leg. He placed one hand on her arm.

"Close your eyes," he whispered, looking down at her. She shut her eyes tightly, her heart beating rapidly. He caressed her arm soothingly, reassuringly. "Is this alright?" he asked.

"Yes," she admitted. He cleared his throat and began to sing very softly in his language. It was a lilting song he sang rather badly. Jayne stifled a giggle and he paused abruptly, flicking her on the forehead.

"Sssh!" he cautioned her. "Rude Fereldan. I'm serenading you."

"I'm sorry," she chuckled. "It's… a lovely song."

"You lie like a fishmonger at the end of the market day…That's fine, because this is a very dirty little Antivan song, and you don't know that," he grinned and resumed his singing.

Jayne smiled. The warmth of the fire, the gentleness of his touch, and even the faint singing, were a shield, a barrier of sorts against the despair that threatened to close in on her soul.

Illusion or not, she thought, as she drifted off, I'll take my chances with whatever this is.