Author's Note: Special thanks to my beta, 'varelishawt' on dreamwidth-dot-com. I decided to edit and add content to make the character's history and motivations more apparent earlier in the story. Since the chapters became quite long, each former "part" of the first release has now been separated into two chapters. Feedback is welcome. Thanks for reading, and thank you to all who've previously reveiwed.
Rating: Overall story is AO, some sections NSFW. This chapter rated MA
Word Count: ~6800 (original version posted to LiveJournal on 30 NOV 2010)
Summary (AU): A very stressed-out Tenniel Cousland decides to vent to Zevran when she has a bad day. He decides it can't hurt to listen... or can it?

Chapter One

Kill, don't think. Her mentor's words echoed in the back of her mind, goading her on well past the point when she should have stopped raising her arms, stopped striking, slashing, dodging, kicking… Close your eyes, feel the next move. Own your body, own the battlefield. You are your only enemy.

Her fellow warden went down, and that's when the rage started to claw its way free, tearing out of her body with more pain than the hurlock's mace against her arm. She screamed and turned, a fountain of dark crimson gushing from the creature's neck and onto her shoulders instead of her face.

Stab upward, twist. Crouch down, block. Pull back stone blade quickly, strike with sky. Time slowed. She was spent, her arms shaking with fatigue. Arms up! You wield two blades, they don't wield you!

She knew she should stop and run towards the rest of her party. Won't they just come after me? Her own small voice was all that was left. The acrid, horrible smell of darkspawn assailed her until she felt she was almost choking on rotten flesh and burnt cabbage. And she finally gave in to it, euphoria dulling the edges of pain as the icy rage that had been ripping her up from the inside for weeks since she last stood on the castle grounds freed itself.

Why do I even bother trying to fight it? Her last coherent thoughts became ash against the storm as her body instinctively spun around and she felt laughter bubble up at the sight of another two dozen darkspawn clamoring up the hill after them. Her blades flew, again and again.

He had been with her up until the moment he heard her scream, realizing the shriek and two genlocks that he was contending with had shifted his focus just enough for a hurlock to slip in between their backs. And that's when he lost her, and his blood ran cold with thoughts of what he would do if she fell, because he had sworn an oath.

The assassin shivered in fear as he saw her run towards the horde and heard, of all things, her laughter. As if they were of one mind, the seething mass of darkspawn turned their full attention to her and he looked down with trepidation, and then awe as her swords started to dance. She was a wild, eerie, beautiful, possessed thing, laughing as she stabbed and sliced through their pursuers, blood showering all around her. It was surreal, it was horrifying, it was amazing and she… she was still laughing, even after the last creature fell and she could find nothing else to sink her blades into. Is this something peculiar to Wardens?

Zevran looked to Alistair and found that he had fallen, both Morrigan and Wynne attending to the young man's bloodied leg as Leliana fought off a lone genlock. He turned back to view the Warden, about to walk towards her when he was forced to cover his ears. Her mabari howled, a mournful keening sound that seemed to cut into his very soul like the feel of Morrigan's frost spell... and the Warden finally stopped her maniacal laughter. She sat, no, fell down on her backside in the middle of the darkspawn corpses, hands still gripping her swords, her eyes staring into nothing as the dog slowly approached her. The elf crept down the hill, closer to her side, and watched as she began to twitch.

"Tenniel." He whispered soothingly, approaching her with caution, as if she were an injured but feral beast. He had seen men suffering from battle-sickness after particularly tough missions a few times, but this… this went beyond any normal traumatic response. She twitched again, eyes staring at nothing, refusing to respond. What's wrong with her? I've never seen her like this… how can I protect her from this?

The mabari gave another bark, sharp and quick and a little more quiet this time. And he released a breath he didn't even realize he had been holding as she finally turned her head and looked at the dog.

"Tenniel," he repeated, still receiving no response. "What's wrong with her, Terri?" he asked the war hound, because she was apparently not talking. Zevran slowly moved his hand, reaching out to touch her shoulder when she brought the Green Blade up with a quick swipe to the left. Years of training didn't fail him as he hastily sidestepped, to avoid having his arm slashed by her blade. He crouched down then, thinking that being eye-level with her might help.

"Tenniel. Look at me. Listen. It's me, Zevran. Your assassin, remember?" Another twitch. Finally, her eyes seemed to focus and she looked at him instead of through him. Her arms dropped, but she refused to release her blades and she started shaking. But at least she had done that much.

"Brasca! You gave me a scare, woman." He carefully crawled toward her, pushing a headless genlock out of the way until he reached her side. The Antivan slowly pried her fingers off the pommel of her swords, wiped the blades on the back of the corpse and slid them into the sheaths she had on her back. Terri started licking her hands, and she shook her head and groaned.

"Can you talk?" Still no response. "Can you stand up?" Zevran crouched in front of her and grabbed her arms to see if he could coax her up from the blood-soaked grass. Thankfully, she rose. He didn't relish the thought of having to carry her up the hill, but he knew he would do it if required. He wrapped his arm around her waist and wrapped her free arm around his shoulders, forcing her to use him for support. "That's it, amiguita, one foot in front of the other. You're safe now. Let's go."

"Now what're you staring at me for, Zevran?" Tenniel grumbled at the assassin, arms crossed over her chest. She felt like a sucker for agreeing to let him 'stare luridly' at her in return for answering a few questions the previous day, and in her current mood, she had no patience for his perverted little comments. "Really! Have I sprouted two heads? And wipe that smirk off your face before I do it for you… you… elf!"

"Oh-ho, feeling saucy now, aren't we?" He had removed most of his armor already and was clad in a set of plain but comfortable linen tunic and breeches. Zevran leaned casually against a tall oak tree next to one of the many feeder streams for the lake, one hand on his hip in a defiant display of cockiness as he twirled a dagger with the other. As handsome and muscular as he was, it in no way detracted from his masculinity.

Tenniel thought he was beautiful, but in her mind, beautiful meant trouble. Trouble and heartache that she no longer had the time or luxury of pursuing. And considering how boastful he is, he probably has a little penis, to match his cute little pointy ears, she thought. Why, oh why did I even bother sparing his life? "No, we are not feeling saucy at all. I am feeling like I could rip something in two. Those darkspawn were pathetic… not even worth my time."

"Well, my dear Warden, considering you cut through thirty of them while the rest of us just watched, I'd say it was worth our time. How often do we lowly followers get the opportunity to see such a skilled and effective fighter demonstrate how to make quick work of the filthy creatures, hmm?" Zevran tried to tease and charm her into conversing with him, because it was clear to him that her mind had gone blank for the few minutes during and after her fight with the pursuing darkspawn. This sort of thing cannot be good for her health. Do the others even realize what she did?

"Ah, uh, what?" She started to feel a bit guilty about leading her team into the fray. Alistair had tried to take on a hurlock on his own but had gotten injured after being ambushed by a genlock. Now they had been forced to make camp already when it was barely noon, and Wynne and Morrigan were both tending to his broken leg and stab wounds. Wait… how did I get back here? Did I really kill that many of those creatures? I only remember fighting six or seven of them.

"You are an artist, always insisting on completing your masterpiece alone. Yes, yes. A beautiful, graceful artist with fire in her eyes, dancing with two swords…"

"Hey, cut it out! Why do you always do that?"

Zevran pretended to ignore her interruption "So irresistible… hair whipping around seductively in the wind as you turn to make yet another kill, drakeskin armor barely containing your ample bosom…."

"My what? Oh, you are so not talking about that right now. Shut. Up. Now!" She angrily kicked the tree next to him with the heel of her boot for emphasis, and then bolted away to dodge the pine needles and feelings of embarrassment that came showering down upon her at her rude outburst. Just because another handsome man named Lucien had affianced her, lied to her and left her feeling a little bit more jaded did not mean she should take her frustration out on Zevran. Once again she had overreacted, simply because it reminded her of what someone else had done to her long ago.

"Yes, I suppose she was a good enough lay, and her daddy's money sweetens the deal. But by the Maker, her tits are huge! I mean, there is too much of a good thing, after all. The poor girl can't even see her feet when she stands with those great big mounds of flesh. I bet I could knock that cow up and she'd make enough milk to feed all the hungry children in Thedas!"

It wasn't as if Lucien's words themselves had cut so very deep. She knew her breasts were quite large, especially for her age. And everyone was entitled to their own preferences. No, it was the fact that he had claimed to be her friend and confided to her about how insecure he felt around beautiful women that grated on her nerves. Tenniel had almost begun to feel a sort of camaraderie with him, and it wasn't as if she was some cringing virgin bride-to-be. So she had bedded him willingly enough. But he had completely shattered the illusion of them having a bright future together just a few hours later that night. His words had proved that he was just another lying, backstabbing, no-good nobleman with a hidden agenda. Just like the rest of them.

Tenniel grabbed her pack and a tinder bundle she had placed on the ground earlier and stomped away in a huff, eager to get as far away from camp as possible. I have no idea why I've got so much pent-up energy lately, but I wasn't lying about wanting to rip something in half. The Warden walked faster and finally started jogging upstream, following the brook for about three miles until she came upon an area where water cascaded down from a cliff into a pool before continuing its way downstream. It was a perfect spot to spend some time alone and take a short bath, so she started gathering dry wood, lit her tinder bundle and had a fire started after several minutes. She quickly pulled off her boots and socks, unlaced her leggings, unbuckled her armor and breathed a contented sigh when her chest was no longer constricted by the tight drakeskin. Zevran was extremely observant; almost to a fault. The armor was a bit too snug up top, but then again, it wasn't as if she had the time or enough coin to order a custom-fitted set yet.

The Warden unwound the tight leather cord that kept her long blonde hair in a neat braid and rummaged through her pack to find her brush. She pulled out a wide but shallow wooden bowl and a bar of lavender-and-mint scented soap out of her pack, taking a moment to close her eyes and breathe in an aroma that reminded her of the luxuries of home. Tenniel brushed her waist-length hair impatiently and then experienced a stab of painful regret when the sun glinted against a gold ring encrusted with diamonds and emeralds that had fallen out of one of her pack's many pockets.

It was Lucien's ring, the promise ring he had given to her almost four years ago. She squeezed it in her left palm until the metal bit into her skin as the tears squeezed past her eyelids. Memories assailed her, broken and confused; just like the way she felt after today's battle. It seemed so long ago, things that happened to another girl in another world when her family had visited Orlais and she had become infatuated with the Duke's son. He was suave, debonair, handsome, and cocky – just like Zevran in so many ways. And she remembered how Lucien had bedded her, and then crushed her heart when she overheard him bragging about it to his older brother and another male noble one evening in his study.

Tenniel didn't bother to stick around to hear the rest of the laughter and the jokes. She simply left in a carriage the next day with her family, without even saying goodbye. Bryce Cousland looked at his daughter with a puzzled expression as they faced each other in the carriage that morning. One of her hands had a death-grip on the seat cushion, and the other was holding the silverite longsword she refused to part with. Tenniel hated carriages. The feeling of being trapped in a velvet-lined, flimsy bucket of bolts travelling at breakneck speed over the old Tevinter roads set her teeth on edge as they bounced along. No wonder her mother constantly complained of headaches.

"Are you alright, Pup?" he asked as he folded his arms underneath his green and gold brocaded doublet.

"Hmm? Yes, I'm fine. It's a little late to be asking after my health, don't you think?" She added, almost as an afterthought.

The Teyrn's brow furrowed even more deeply. "And what exactly is that supposed to mean, young lady?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all. Forget it. I'm just… tired." She glanced over at her mother, who was out cold. At least the Teyrna was smart enough to have a potion made for her that would let her sleep until they arrived at Val Foret. Tenniel sighed and wished she was still able to travel in the wagon with Terri, Regina and their supplies. It was slower, but she could have looked out on the open road that way.

"Yes, well… I think we've all had quite enough of Orlais for now. Are you sure you're alright with the betrothal? You know, you can call it off anytime."

"No, it's alright, Father. I'll do my duty. I'm no child. No more complaints." She smiled ruefully, suddenly feeling awkward. He never talked to her for more than a few minutes. Bryce Cousland was her father, but he was not her dad. Still, it never hurt to be polite. And they certainly had plenty of time to spare for idle chit-chat.

"You'll always be my little Pup, my daughter. And I won't stand for it. Not if you're unhappy, that is."

"No, I'm not unhappy. I just… I can't wait to go up to the Frostbacks again in a few weeks. Val Royeaux is nice… but it's… the people are not so nice. Like streets paved with broken glass. Really pretty to look at when the sun's shining, but it hurts to walk amongst them. You know?" She sighed and rubbed her thumb along the pommel of her sword, wishing she could free it from its sheath and cut her way out of the carriage.

The Teyrn looked more closely at this daughter, seeing her in a different light in more ways than one. "Aye, Pup. That's very… insightful." The carriage hit a particularly nasty bump and he reached for his wife, pushing her sleeping form further into the couch cushions as they continued to speed along towards The Heartlands. "So, what do you plan to do the next three years, until your wedding?"

The golden-haired teenager laughed and shrugged. "I plan on dodging mother's stupid salons as much as possible. And hand-to-hand combat training as much as I can. I know… I know I can't be a knight. But it's not such a bad thing to aspire to, is it?"

Bryce laughed at his youngest child's audacity. "No, it's not so bad at all. The Gilmores have trained you well. Your friend Roland's going to be knighted at the summer festival, by the way. "

"Really? That's absolutely wonderful, Father - he'll be so thrilled! Ah, you're so cruel! You know I can't tell him, and the festival is three weeks away!"

She looked at her mother's sleeping form again and the way her head lolled against the pillow on her father's lap. "You still love her." She changed the subject abruptly.

"What? Of course I love her. Eleanor and I… we've been through a lot together. I know I'm not home as much as I should be…"

"She misses you." She wanted to say that they all missed him, but she felt they were past the point of no return when it came to that topic.

He patted his wife's head and smoothed her hair away from her face. "Yes, I know. I miss her too. I will always love her, no matter what. And I know she feels the same way."

"So, is that the way of things, when nobles are married? Will I have to look elsewhere for my discreet comforts and hope it remains unnoticed… and watch Lucien do the same?" Her father had to have known she wasn't talking about sleeping potions.

Bryce Cousland stared at his daughter and continued running his fingers through his wife's graying hair. "It's no wonder people forget you are only sixteen, Pup. You see and know too much. Much more than your brother did, at that age." He sighed and watched as she finally set her sword against the side of the carriage, in between her leather seat cushion and the door. "Don't worry over such things. It's not your place. Besides, you and Lucien seemed to have gotten along famously. With any luck, you'll be doting over each other like Fergus and Oriana." The cleverly artful diplomat was quick and subtle with his approach, changing her focus like a bard changed his chords to subdue a room of angry guests.

Even though she despised the idea of marrying a nobleman, especially when it was for purely political reasons, she had agreed to court Lucien so her mother would stop pestering her. Tenniel had always kept Lucien's ring close at hand. It reminded her to be strong, to never trust a handsome face, and to never let her guard down. This of course meant that she didn't get many offers for marriage after he died, which had frustrated her mother to no end. No one in her family understood the real reason why she was so hesitant to let anyone get close to her. No one ever really understood why Lucien had been the first and the last noble she ever agreed to court.

It was true that most of the Fereldan nobility respected her family's political influence, but unfortunately, most of the eligible males were also afraid of her fighting prowess. No one else had ever trained under the deadly master archer and swordsman, Ser Walter Gilmore, for more than a few months. She had been under his tutelage for well over six years. It was obvious to all that she was no spoiled aristocrat with a passing fancy for swordplay. She was quiet and somber, never even cracking a smile at any of their attempts to flirt with her. The Teyrna had finally turned to her Orlesian friends to find a suitable match for her daughter, with no thought as to why Tenniel seemed determined to remain unmarried in the first place.

She shook her head, trying to get out of the fugue that had enveloped her senses. Why am I thinking about these horrible memories right now? Tenniel looked down at the ring again, glinting brightly and cheerily against the sun. Is this thing cursed?

It took a while to earn their trust, but after the first few battles with Ser Walter at her side, she had been asked to settle countless border skirmishes amongst the banns the next five years on her own merit. She had made quite a reputation for herself as a thorough and efficient bounty hunter, good at enforcing the stiffest penalties on any ruffians who dared to prey on freeholders or noblemen in the northwest section of Ferelden. The youngest Cousland had even bested her brother and all of his friends at both archery and hand-to-hand combat in the last two festival contests, relishing her mother's look of surprise as she stood victorious.

Tenniel chuckled to herself, wondering again why none of the banns or the knights ever thought to question why someone so young could be such a ruthless fighter and executor of justice. In actuality, she just liked hunting and killing people. Why bother being a felon when she could do it with the sanction of the Bannorn, without having to worry about her mother's pinched frown of disapproval at her unladylike behavior when she trudged home, her armor caked with layers of blood and road dust? Actions speak louder than words. To this day, they probably think I'm the same age as Regina… She stopped herself from reflecting further along that line. Thinking about those she lost in the castle would only lead to more rage and more bloodshed, and Terri was nowhere near to help calm her down.

All the other strange things that had happened to her after she returned from Orlais and after the harvest season when she was sixteen had laid the groundwork for her later successes, triumphs and the bitter remorse of today. Tenniel had almost forgotten what it felt like before she was a Warden, before she was a dragon-hunter with strange blood flowing through her veins, and before she ever rescued a set of Dalish twins from bandits.

But now there would be no more happy memories of travelling along the riverside with Terri in Val Royeaux, no more silk coverlets, no more rose and lilac-scented baths, no more drunken parties and staying up late with the guards, no more teasing Nan or playing practical jokes on Mother Mallol, no more baiting Roland into betting his monthly wages in a game of Wicked Grace, no more arguing with her mother about why she didn't want to marry or even meet some friend of a friend's son, and no more lively festivals in Castle Cousland. No, her tears weren't for Lucien. They were for her, her family, all the senseless deaths at Ostagar, and the life that had been so violently ripped away from them and the younger ones. Stop now, before the bad… rage… returns.

Tenniel raised her head up as the memories faded away. But her reflection left more questions than answers in her mind. What am I fighting for now? Why am I fighting, when everyone and everything I cared about is gone? If I'm the best fighter in all of Ferelden, why couldn't I save them?

She grabbed a twig off the ground and started making spirals in the moist dirt. The same spiral pattern she had scratched again and again onto the stones in her room at the castle, the same repeating patterns that had disturbed Nan and made the old woman mutter about being 'touched'. But she wasn't 'touched', not by a long shot. She would make the perfect spiral one day, and all of the people who kept saying that she had to save them and she had to do it 'just so', would all go away. Perhaps then she could run up to the mountains and live out the rest of her days in peace, killing dragons to calm the rage-thing that was always threatening to overtake her, its angry tendrils coiling tighter with every heartbeat.

Maybe that's why she had saved the assassin, after all. She was angry and tired and just not in the mood to see yet another life torn apart. Well, that, and the man was such a flirtatious smooth-talker. But at least he was up front and relatively honest with her, unlike her one and only fellow Warden. Terri said that everybody in her camp smelled like hidden traps. Everyone except for Zevran. The Antivan had told them he had been hired to kill them, that he had wanted to escape the clutches of the Crows, but expected to die by their hands anyway, and he was looking for a new beginning. His words were laced with colors of past sadness and much regret, but they had shined like truth.

She wished she could have a new beginning, one of her own choosing. Instead, she had been forced to become a Grey Warden and now had to grow an army out of nothing. The funny thing was, the same people who resented her reputation as a killer now gave her even more grudging respect, simply because she drank a few gulps of disgustingly rank, tainted blood.

How could Alistair not understand why she would be upset that he hadn't told her he was really the King's brother? Did he not realize how deadly the game of politics could be, and what sort of position that put her in? The boy was beyond simple-minded. He was a blind fool; first with his hero-worship of Duncan, and now with his refusal to believe that Arl Eamon would have nothing but the best intentions whilst making plans for them once he was healed and apprised of the situation. But she had grown up amongst the nobles and understood how things really worked all too well.

Alistair had betrayed her by withholding the truth about his parentage. It was his fault that she was in such a foul mood, and now he had gone and hurt himself, making her feel guilty about being mad at him. No, it was her fault for letting her guard down again, for actually believing for one second that someone out there could really care about her as a person and as a friend.

She wasn't meant for this. She hadn't even been able to mourn her dead loved ones. She was the very last person who should be playing the part of the hero, pretending to be calm and polite and thoughtful. Pretending to care. What would they say if she woke up in the middle of the night and started killing her party members? So much for stopping the Blight. Oi, archdemon! Come on up here and get us, 'cause Ferelden is ripe for the plucking!

Tenniel laughed, wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her free hand, stood up and took a deep breath. She unclenched her left fist and looked again at the gaudy trinket, then faced downstream and threw it as hard and as far as she could into the creek. It hit a rock with a sharp cracking sound, and then it was gone.

Zevran was watching from the shadows a few feet away. He couldn't help but follow the woman, telling Leliana that their Warden seemed to be in a foul mood, and he was looking after her 'for her own good – just to make sure she didn't run into any trouble'. The mabari had seemed to bark in agreement; he had let the elf pet the top of his head right before he left the safety of the camp. And a peek or two of such a gorgeous creature enjoying a bath wouldn't hurt anything either.

But now he felt a twinge of regret for having witnessed her intimate moment. She looked so sad, and so vulnerable; he had almost given himself away right then. A woman like Tenniel should not be so unhappy. She had spared his life, listened to his bawdy stories and blatantly flirtatious remarks, and treated him as an equal. Tenniel had even given him a gift of the most perfectly molded little gold bar. How had she even known I would like something like that? Zevran often marveled at the depth of her intuition and foresight. The woman listened to everyone, even that idiot Chantry-child's pathetic grievances. Who was ever there to listen to her?

For the past two days, she had become increasingly irate, snapping at the slightest thing. Of course, it may have been the lack of sleep and all the undead they had to slaughter back in Redcliffe, or maybe it was having to travel all the way back to the Circle Tower to fetch the mages and try to save that possessed boy, Eamon's brat. Today's episode with the darkspawn probably hadn't helped her already tenuous mental state. Even so, he hadn't been joking when he praised her blade skills and her bosom. He just wanted to cheer her up a bit, but it had backfired terribly, and now she was out here all alone and looking forlorn.

Perhaps he was starting to care a bit too much about this Warden. But you gave your word. The tattooed elf sighed and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind his ear, then stilled as he saw her stand up. Had she heard him? Zevran held his breath as he saw her glance downstream, her eyes glistening with tears. She threw a sparkling gold ring into the creek, and he watched it bounce off a rock and land in a crevice against two larger boulders several yards away. Then she surprised him even more when she started screaming at the top of her lungs. Just as she was pulling her shift over her head and poised to jump into the water, he sauntered towards her.

"What in Thedas are you doing out here?" Tenniel was so angry, she was past the point of pretending to care about modesty. She had spent too much time in the field with her soldiers the past couple of years to worry about it anyway, so playing the prim and proper noblewoman was not on her agenda.

"My dear lady, I was simply concerned for your safety. So I followed your trail and came running when I heard the screams. Are you….well?" He was having a hard time keeping his eyes focused on her face.

"Mmhmm. Likely story. Well, you can see I'm fine." She reached down to fill the wooden bowl with water, and placed the soap and a small cloth inside it. Then she bunched her hair up, twisting it into a knot at the crown of her head with a defiant glare at the assassin. He simply crossed his arms in front of his chest and glared back at her.

"Does the fair Warden wish to be left alone?" He stared at her luridly and tilted his head to one side with a smirk.

Dear Maker, why does he have to look so sexy when he gives me that look… she thought to herself. She stared back at him for a long moment, then slowly reached behind her back to unfasten the stays that were holding her bandeau in place, looking intently at him the entire time. He raised his eyebrows and smiled a little more, almost like a contented cat. Then she promptly turned her back on him, pulled her smallclothes down and waded into the cold, clear waters of the stream without even making a splash.

The forest was very quiet except for the crackle of her fire and the dull roar of the distant waterfall. "If you want to accompany me while I take a bath, you should get in now, assassin. The water is far too cold to linger."

"Normally I wouldn't be able to resist such an invitation, but alas – I have already had the privilege of having my limbs nearly frozen off once today. One dip into your frigid Fereldan waters is more than enough."

"Ah, so the great Zevran admits defeat at the hands of a refreshingly cold Fereldan bath?" She chuckled a little and stepped deeper upstream into the pool of water so her entire body was covered, then quickly returned to the side of the stream. Never let them see you grimace.

"Never! I am simply sneaking off for the time being to continue the fight another day. And perhaps have a mage heat up the water for me. Surely you do not enjoy such torments?" He was admiring the way her taut, rosy nipples looked, and his manhood started to rise to the occasion as she lathered her body. If she kept heating up his desire, he'd probably have to take another dip after all. But for now, he would wait and see what sort of game she was playing. There was no point in trying to control his body's reactions. He always had done well enough by letting a woman know how much she was wanted and appreciated.

It was her turn to raise an eyebrow as she caught a glimpse of the bulge in his breeches. But now was not the time to gawk. She dumped the remnants of soapy water onto the rocky bank and waded into the pool again for a final rinse. "Would you be so kind as to get my drying cloth for me, assassin? It's rolled up in the bottom of my pack."

"But of course, my dear Warden." He looked down at the strange whirl-marks she had scratched in the dirt, then quickly rummaged through her pack and found the soft cloth. As he unfolded it, he wondered why she was suddenly content to have him perform the tasks of a servant. She had adamantly refused such behavior earlier, insisting that he was another fighter and would be treated as such, which meant they would all have to take care of their own chores and no one else's. The Chantry-child had scowled at this, probably thinking they would be better off if the elf were relegated to the role of a weaponless servant. Truth be told, that one could use all the help he could get in the way of cleanliness and hygiene.

She hurried out of the pool, shivering a little as she approached him where he stood near the fire. As he wrapped the large, warm cloth around her, she gave a contented sigh and closed her eyes, trying to savor the moment. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close for a few seconds and she leaned into him, letting her head rest on his shoulder. Tenniel suddenly started giggling.

"Zevran, why do you smell like my lavender-and-mint soap?"

"Oh, that was yours? Then I apologize for not being able to contain my curiosity. I always wondered how you Fereldan noblewomen were able to keep from smelling like wet dog."

"Why, you!" She pulled her arms out from under the towel and poked him playfully in the ribs. He laughed with her and then pulled her close again. Tenniel surprised them both by wrapping her arms around him and returning his hug. She pressed her forehead to his, then kissed his ear and rested her head on his shoulder again.

"What you said earlier, before I left the camp… you were right. I always insist on doing things by myself. Perhaps it's time for me to let go a little and trust someone else to help. Thank you, Zevran." She whispered and closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling of the warmth of his body against hers.

"There is no need to thank me. I am your man, remember?" The assassin wasn't quite sure where this was going, but he was starting to feel like he wasn't in control of the situation after all. At first he thought this would be a simple game of seduction, but now… he felt like there was more to this moment than just the desires of the flesh. Perhaps it would be best if I just followed her lead for now.

She raised her head and looked into his golden hazel eyes. "No, no. I want you to know, I really do appreciate you, Zevran. You're always there to make me laugh, even when I'm feeling my worst. I apologize for snapping at you earlier."

"And there is no need for apologies. I did not have to hear you scream a little while ago to know something has been preoccupying your thoughts lately. Do you wish to tell your assassin what has upset you so? Come now, I promise not to stare luridly at you the entire time." The smile he gave her was sincere and open, and she rewarded him with a vibrant smile of her own.

This woman is an enigma - she curses like a sailor and feels comfortable walking around naked, but she acts like a bashful maiden when it comes to the game of seduction. She fights like a fiend, makes scratches in the dirt like a crazy person and knows how to direct each and every fighter on her team with advanced battle tactics. Well, if she wants to find out more about me, I'm going to return the favor. Because Zevran, you are either seriously blessed or seriously doomed. And this is one woman that you don't want to piss off.

Tenniel found she couldn't stop herself from talking as she dressed in clean smallclothes and a fresh shift and washed her soiled garments. He listened as she told him about the situation with Alistair and her own fears regarding Fereldan politics, and the expectations people had for her as a noblewoman. Zevran helped her get back into her armor again, slowly freed her hair from its knot and then kissed her softly on the lips.

The Warden returned the kiss eagerly at first, melting into him as their tongues intertwined. But just as suddenly, she stopped and pulled back a little. "Zevran. Thank you for listening. You are a good friend."

He froze for a moment but continued to look into her eyes. "Oh? A friend? What if the opportunity for something… more should arise?"

She smiled at him again. "I'd like that. But… perhaps it would be better if such an opportunity would arise in a nice warm bed with four sturdy walls around us instead of a cold and dingy forest, hmmm?"

He winked at her knowingly. "Ask and you shall receive."

They would arrive at the Lake Calenhad docks soon, and he would do everything within his power to ensure they could get a private room for at least one night. Zevran was eager to explore his Warden's soft curves. It would be a delightful torment to watch her move around for yet another day, knowing he could not touch her until the right conditions were met and she gave the word.

Tenniel gathered her pack and the sack of clean clothes to hang-dry later and then headed back towards the camp. As they passed a cluster of larger boulders, Zevran stealthily retrieved a jeweled ring and placed it in his pocket. Such a trinket would fetch a handsome price and could be used to get supplies, after all. The Warden didn't like the idea at first, but soon assented to his wishes.

"You're right. I'll let you handle the haggling, though. I think that thing might be cursed."

"Nonsense. Curses are only transferred when you give the item to someone else. But I found it here, so you have nothing to worry about. I will make sure we get the best price for it, my dear Warden."

"Oh, I have no doubt you will. And, Zevran?"

"Yes?" He stared at her again. The sun's rays were filtering through the trees, making her look like a golden-haired goddess.

"I really do appreciate you. From now on, I will always think of you every time I take a bath. Thank you." She laughed at his puzzled look.

"There's no need to thank…." Zevran started to protest.

"Enough of that, assassin. If I want to thank you, you should simply accept it… if indeed you're 'my man', as you say, right?"

"I, ah… Fine. You're welcome, Warden."

"And it's Tenniel."

"You're welcome, Tenniel." Zevran smirked at first, but couldn't stop himself from smiling.

"There, that's better, Zevran"

Antivan words
Amiguita= girlfriend