A darker m!Cousland story, set after DA:A. A rather angry Aedan cousland tracks down Zevran, his lost lover. M/M, non-con, violence. Spoilers for Awakening plotline, and for the ending when you complete Awakened if you had a relationship with Zevran in Origins. Bioware owns the characters and setting.

25/05/10 - reformatted to make it easier to read.

Antiva was strange to him, too hot and dry, the language too quick to follow, nevermind learn. He'd had to purchase two guides, the first having run off with the couple of coins he'd given in advance. His current guide however, seemed accepting of the months of trudging round the towns and cities, asking the same questions over and over, and did so under the agreement that payment would come after they found their quarry, and not before. The guide, some unpronounceable name he mangled so often they had both agreed on Jik for short, did not seem to mind his stern employer, even though he was focused to the point of obsessive. He did as he was asked without complaint, but in secret he prayed for the safety of this elf that the nobleman was so desperately seeking. He did not think anyone would survive Aedan's wrath should they find 'Zevran' in anything less than one piece, and suspected that even his faithful service would not protect him, should Aedan lose control of the quick temper he had so far managed to master. Jik had noted that lately, with increasing concern, that Aedan was finding it harder to rein in the anger that burned behind his eyes. He had not cared to find out who this elf was, or why Aedan Cousland was so intent on finding him, figuring on leaving the questions unanswered rather that risk inciting Aedan into a fit of rage. Aedan, when he did speak of the object of their quest, seemed torn, referring to Zevran both in soft caring tones, as well as venomous resentment.

Jik had come to learn Aedan's moods, and could feel the tension start to build. there had been incidents in their past miles, where bottles and tables had been smashed, under no more provocation than someone getting too close at the wrong time. To give his employer some space, and to ensure that he himself was out of harm's way, Jik had suggested that Aedan take a day to rest, as they had been traveling and searching for several days without a break. He had left him at the inn while he would go and make enquiries, gently explaining that people would be more forthcoming if there was not a foreigner standing over them. Aedan, at a loss to response, had grudgingly agreed.

He knew his temper was wearing thin, frustration and desperation twisting in his mind constantly, draining his patience and tolerance.

The trail they followed had not grown cold, nothing was cold in this accursed land. The air, the ale, even the nights held a stifling heat he could not get used to. No, the trail had simply never been easy to follow. Sightings of someone who might have been an elf with black tattoos, vague recollections of a name that sounded a bit like 'Zevran'... these few glimmers of hope were all that kept him going. Aedan did not like to admit to himself the possibility that Zevran had fallen foul of his past employers, or worse, that the assassin did not wish to be found, but these doubts had plagued him ever since he had found Zevran missing.

He'd come back from being paraded around as the hero of Ferelden, even though it was Alistair who had made the final sacrifice. He talked with his companions, each free now the blight was over. He resented them, begrudged them that they were not bound by darkspawn blood as he was. That night, when he desperately needed a friend, someone who was not already making plans to scatter across the whole of Thedas, Zevran was not there. A pair of gloves lay on his pillow, neatly folded, Dalish, and heartbreaking.

In the morning, already packed and ready to go, he announced his plans to chase after the assassin.

Anora, still seething over her father's execution, asked him to reconsider, and instead travel to Highever to rebuilt the grey warden order. He had refused, partly because he was through with the overbearing weight of duty, partly because he had no desire to be sent back to the scene of his family's massacre, but mostly because he wanted Zevran, needed Zevran. The queen had pressed the offer, and had made it clear that he was to be given no choice. She dredged up Alistair's name, wondering aloud how he could disrespect his fellow warden so, the wicked gleam in her eyes making it clear that this was his punishment for Loghain's death. He was forced to accept, and then thank her as the collected noble audience applauded.

He left for Virgil's Keep, alone save for a grey warden hopeful shadowing his steps, and his own churning resentment.

He had cut an angry swath through the lands of Highever, blood running freely as he found the darkspawn threat still present. He was a different man than the one who had fought the blight. While he had always done what was necessary for success, such as enlisting the stronger werewolves over their Dalish enemies, and allowing the use of the anvil to craft magnificent slaves for battle, his actions were no longer tempered by the approval of his companions. He shed no tears as Ser Mhairi choked upon darkspawn blood, and had demanded to execute Nathaniel Howe himself for the crimes committed against his family. He ignored the whispers in the halls of Virgil's Keep, that this could not possibly by the hero of Ferelden, not this savage man. He did not care that even Ohgren avoided him, the berserker's temper no match for his own, and he hardly noticed that Anders ran off the first chance he got, fearing his new warden commander more than any Templar. Any noble who tried to speak out against him was either cut down, or imprisoned for treason. He had terrible bombs made, and seemed not to care if his allies were caught in the blaze in the heat of battle.

He burned Amaranthine to the ground when it was attacked by darkspawn, despite the cries of the people trapped within. Virgil's Keep was only just left standing, held together by strong dwarven craftsmanship, and by the time he brought the Mother's gruesome head to the gates and announced his departure, grey wardens had become a dark order, spoken of in hushed and fearful tones. Fergus Cousland, traveling to Highever too late to confront Aedan, found that his brother had managed what Arl Howe could not, he had destroyed his family's name.

Aedan did not ask permission to go this time, did not give Anora the chance to stop him a second time. He set sail for Antiva, again alone, but this time because he had no friends or allies willing to accompany him.

Restless, the heat prinking his skin, Aedan decided to head out. He took no armor, even light leathers too heavy in the climate, and a small purse of coins. He made sure his sword was visible, to deter pickpockets, though there was a small boy in one of the neighboring towns missing a hand after he had tried to thieve from Aedan Cousland.

He set out to the markets, something about the way he stood granting him space in amongst the jostling crowds. It was through the gaps in the throngs of people, nervously avoiding the dark brooding stranger, in amidst colourful banners and cheerful bartering, that he caught sight of his prey.

His hair was longer, the braids less well tended than the last time he'd seen him and falling down his shoulders. The darks lines down his face were the same though, and the flirtatious gestures as he chatted to the stall owner unmistakable.

Aedan felt his heart start to pound within his chest, after almost one long year, he'd finally managed to track down the assassin.

Without armor he was quiet, his footsteps masked by the chatter of the marketplace. He knew Zevran well enough to see him stiffen as he came up close behind him, and when the elf spun round with dagger in hand, Aedan was ready for him.

He grabbed the wrist, bringing it down onto the stall counter with enough force that Zevran could not keep a grip on the blade.

"Zevran..." his voice surprised him, low and warning. Zevran blinked, then smiled.

"Ah! You caught me off my guard, that almost never happens. I must be somewhat out of practice." His accent was stronger, and even though surprised he could catch the faintest hint of uncertainty as the elf eyed the noble, absent from his life since last year and unexpected in his sudden arrival.

Aedan did not let go, couldn't bring himself to release the elf, not after so long, but he did manage to relax his grip so it would not be so painful. Zevran's face did not betray him, but his voice held an uncertain waver.

"Aedan. If I give you my assurances that I will not run off, will you let go?"

Reluctant, Aedan withdrew his hand and Zevran bent down gracefully to retrieve his dagger, which he replaced on his belt. The Cousland noble could not help but notice that Zevran's hand lingered by the hilt.

They stood, silence sweeping beyond them to the stalls beyond. Some stall holders had already gathered their things and left, others were keeping their heads low and tongues still.

"I know that it is long overdue, but I am sorry..." Zevran's voice was quiet, his tone serious. Aedan felt his lips twist into a sneer.

" 'To the gates of the black city...' you said... When we were facing the archdemon, you said you would follow me to the very gates of the black city." his words were bitter, spat at the assassin.

"I did say that... and I meant it."

"Filthy liar... Should have known that a murderous backstabber like you could not actually bring himself to care about anyone other than himself."

"Stop it! Let me at least explain myself..." Zevran threw up his hands, as if to block the accusations. Aedan's face was a mask of rage, of unleashed fury pent up for far too long.

"It is too late."

Zevran lowered his eyes to the floor, and so did not see Aedan's hand strike out and clutch him by the neck of his tunic. The dagger came upwards, instintive, and barely a hair away from Aedan's face. Aedan had his own sword in hand, but it was no use against the dagger when in such close quarters.

Zevran tried to twist from Aedan's grasp, but the nobleman was stronger than the assassin, and had fought enough rogues to know their tricks. The dagger however, hung in the air, Zevran pressing it against the exposed throat, applying just enough pressure to warn against any counter attack. The elf could have claimed his life then, flicked the dagger and be done with it. Assassins did not deal in warning blows.

Zevran's eyes, fighting against Aedan's painful hold upon his tunic, softened. It did not matter that Aedan's mouth was twisted into a snarl, that there seems to be no reasoning with the rage filled man he used to know, he could not bring himself to hurt Aedan. Despite himself, he still felt for the grey warden, the year apart had not changed that, no matter how much he might wish for the longing to lessen.

He lowered his dagger, letting it drop to the floor as a sign of defeat.

"I cannot..." he said, willing Aedan to remember the time they'd spent together. Long nights soaked in sweat, tight embraces that blocked out the rest of the world and whispered words meant for only each other.

"More fool you." Aedan was swift and brutal. He yanked hard on Zevran's tunic, forcing the elf to bend and then brought the hilt of his sword against the back of his head. Zevran slumped, and Aedan threw him over a shoulder, his sword raised against anyone who might question him.

The market was deathly silent as the grey warden stalked off towards the inn, and it was serval minutes before the usual chatter resumed. Even then, it seemed muted, and nervous, as if fearful the strange man who spoke in foreign tongues might return should they mention his presence.

Jik knocked on the door, to find Aedan sat upon a chair, staring at a figure on the bed. It was an elf, with tattoo'd markings he had described countlessly without actually ever having seen. There was rope around his hands, and he seemed to be sleeping deeply, or unconscientious. Aedan, without lifting his eyes, pointed to a pouch of coins on the table by the door.

"Your services are no longer required."

Jik, carefully took the pouch, and looked inside. He gasped when he saw gold, far more than the price they had agreed on when Aedan had first enlisted his aid as a translator and guide.

"My lord... this is most generous..."

"Consider the additional coin a bonus for your hasty dismissal."

The clipped words, and the sense that something very bad was going to take place caused Jik to leave with nothing but a respectful dip of the head. While he was pleased with the coin, he couldn't help but feel sorry for the poor elf bastard still in the room with Aedan. He decided to get out of the city as soon as he was able.

Zevran groggily opened his eyes, to find himself on a bed. His hands were tied, familiar knots he recognized as Aedan's handy-work from their first encounter. The grey warden himself was sitting upon a chair leaning forwards, staring down with a dangerous look.

He made a small groan of pain as his head remembered where it had been struck.

"Ah... Aedan. It would appear that our reunion has not gone as well as I would have hoped..."

"You wanted a chance to explain. I will grant this to you. You have my complete and undivided attention, Zevran. Now tell me why you found it necessary to abandon me."

Zevran started to pull himself up to a sitting position, but a heavy hand upon his shoulder held him down.

"Would you believe I did it for your sake? No? I didn't think so, but that was my reason.
"The archdemon dead and bleeding on the battlements, Lieanna already composing some tripe about valiant battles of good over evil, and I was awaiting your return from the council chambers. Anora was making grand speeches, and I had no patience to stand and be told how wonderful it was that Alistair had sacrificed himself. I decided to wait in the main hall, and had our escape route already planned out for when you were finally allowed to exit. There was a table laden with foodstuffs, I remember it, because there was a cheese board, and all I could think is that it was a shame that Alistair was missing it." Zevran smiled sadly at the memory.
"Next to the food, almost hidden by the amount of meats and breads, was a dagger. A Crow dagger. It's an old tactic, where you unnerve the intended victim with carefully placed threats, driving them to fear and distraction. Effective, with little risk to the perpetrator. After all, there is no law against forgetting your dagger on a dining table."

Aedan frowned. Zevran was speaking without his usual confidence, possibly due to his current vulnerable state. It lent his voice an air of sincerity. Aedan wanted to believe the elf, wanted to accept that it was not spite that caused Zevran's sudden departure.

"Go on." His voice was flat, and Zevran felt a rising panic that Aedan could be so emotionless.

"The dagger was for me, Aedan, and there have been countless others since then. I could not put you at risk, I cared for you too much. So I decided to let you go. I elected to disappear in the night, and take the Crows with me. I figured you would be happier, that with all of Ferelden singing your praises you would soon forget about me."

"Why didn't you tell me any of this? Why didn't you even say goodbye?"

"I was afraid you would convince me to stay. It would not have been hard, I fear. Seeing you might well have broken my resolve."

Zevran sighed, remembering how hard it had been to walk away from the grey warden. Nearly drank himself to death trying to forget Aedan, and forced himself to believe that he had done what was necessary. That if he had not left , Aedan would suffer the same fate as Rinna. He cared too much to let that happen, to risk Aedan's life while he still had a crow contract on himself.

So he had come back to his homeland, and set about finding out who had renewed the contract to kill him. It was not surprising that the crows would not give up, there was a twisted form of honor at stake. The assassins who came after him, he easily bested. He knew the ways of the crows, and battling an army of darkspawn had honed his skills to a vicious edge. He offered them their lives, offering them a small bag of coin and the opportunity to leave the crows' service. Some spat, and bore their teeth, and proclaimed they would not betray their masters. These he dispatched. The others fled the city gladly, and soon the crow order began to fall apart. Those under servitude learnt that you could leave the crows, as they no longer had the numbers to track down every stray assassin.

Further contracts were placed on Zevran, vast sums of coin offered for the head of the elf. This, Zevran had also expected.

What followed was a string of murders, each skillfully carried out but no trace of the assassin responsible. The only link, was that every body had put money forward for the death of the infamous excrow. Some had been significant members of the crow organization, other, mere pawns with debts to the assassins. A crude message, perhaps, but clear at least.

As far as he knew, he had been successful, there was currently no contract against him. Yet, when he had heard of a local man asking about him openly, by full name and with an accurate description, he had decided not to linger. He had been on the move ever since, and now after long months of rootless wandering, he had found who had been hounding his footsteps so avidly.

Part of him wanted to rejoice, revel in the fact that the man he had come to love would care enough to find him again, despite his sudden departure. There was a more cautious part of him however, that coldly noted the rope binding him, and the darkness in Aedan's eyes.

Hands together, he reached forwards, and touched gently upon Aedan's knee, offering an apologetic smile. He could see the last year had not been kind to the nobleman, new scars marred his skin, and his face seemed ragged. Nevermind the absence of humor, of emotion save for anger.

"Please, Aedan, my dear Aedan... please forgive me. I did not mean to hurt you so, I did not think I meant as much to you... Leaving was the only way i could think to make sure you were not murdered by the crows for being someone i cared for. Be satisfied that I left for your sake."

Aedan moved then, shifted his knee from Zevran's light touch and brought his face up to the elf's. His lips were curled into a sneer, his eyes narrow.

"It has been nearly a year since I was last... satisfied..." Aedan's voice was little more than a dangerous rumble. Fingers under Zevran's chin lifted until the elf felt his neck stretched uncomfortably, and tightened so that he could not turn from the fearsome intensity of Aedan's expression.

"I intend to remedy that... no matter what lies you might spin for me."

The last time Zevran had lain, hands tied in front and at Aedan's mercy, after the infamous failed assassination attempt, the nobleman had reached down and cut the bonds, offering a hand to help the elf to his feet. This time Aedan pushed Zevran's head down between his elbows, as he pulled himself on to the bed, trapping the elf under his body.

"No! Aedan, no!" Zevran bucked, struggling against Aedan's intentions and anger. He could feel the nobleman shift over him, pushing his legs apart with his own, and grabbing the fabric of his trousers, pulling his hips upwards. Thrashing, panicked, Zevran tried to twist, tried to make eye contact with Aedan, to dissuade him from crossing this line.

"Do not do this... please... Do not do this to me..."

A heavy hand moved under his arms, and fingernails dug into the flesh of his chest, just over his pounding heart. The elf writhed in Aedan's grasp, but the nobleman had the strength of position, and held firm, growling low over Zevran's protests.

Zevran felt his trousers being yanked down, tearing, and Aedan's hot body press against his rear. He fought against the hand rubbing between his legs, searching for his entrance. Aedan gave him a frustrated shake, as Zevran's muscles refused to loosen, despite an insistent finger. Teeth bit into his shoulder, hard enough to pierce through the skin, and he heard Aedan snarl in impatience, mouth bloodied like a wild animal. The noble man forced a finger against him, movements rough and hard, and soon Zevran felt his body submit under the assault.

Aedan was panting, and chuckled darkly around heavy breaths as Zevran shuddered when he withdrew the finger. Zevran felt Aedan start to stroke his manhood against him, hot and hard, and slicked with what he thought would most likely by blood specked spittle. Zevran, his voice lost in his shock and disbelieve, shook his head, his hair hanging in loose strands over his face. If Aedan noticed, he gave no sign of heeding, set upon his coarse of depredation. Zevran gave a soundless cry as Aedan plunged into him, merciless and sudden, the pain and the realization that this would be a torturous experience, a punishment, flooding through his body. His knees lost their strength, but Aedan's grip upon his hips held him up, even as the Cousland started to thrust.

He hissed as a hand gripped around his manhood, tightly pumping him to erection, invasive and dominating. The elf bit down sharply on his lip as he was brought to a jarring climax, roughly, without a chance to recover. All the while having the constant jolts of penetration pounding into him.

Aedan forced himself past Zevran's pain threshold, his raw desire driving deep and destructive. Zevran could hardly breathe, his gasps soundless as Aedan pounded against him, filling his body with heat and pain and despair. Soft flesh was rubbed till raw, his inner core burning as skin was repeatedly stretched to breaking point by the sheer force of Aedan's lust. He felt a sheen of water cover his eyes, and squeezed them shut so that Aedan would not see. His jaw clenched, Zevran tried to shut off the creeping cold feeling that wound itself inside his chest. The grey warden, his grey warden, was no longer present. If there was anything left of the Cousland nobleman, who had smiled by campfire light and spent nights softly stroking against his skin, he was lost in the raging beast set upon violating the bruised elf, over and over until he felt a final defeated sob burst from his battered body.

With a resounding smack of sweaty flesh, Aedan released, his hot salty seed stinging as he let the elf fall onto the bed, face first and trembling. Zevran would have stopped himself, not granted Aedan the sight of himself so broken, but he found his heart had no strength to draw upon. He lay, body quaking from the onslaught, as Aedan lay down beside him. Zevran did not resist when he felt a steady hand tilted his face, and Aedan's hot breath so close he could hear the ripples of pleasure still lingering in his shallow breaths.

"You are mine, and I will not let you go a second time. Know that I will always find you, no matter where you run..." Aedan's voice was soft, and he whispered directly into Zevran's ear.

"Should it come to it, I will hound you to the very gates of the Black City..."