Elspeth sat staring at the firelight flickering dimly through the walls of her tent, sleep eluding her as it did so often these days. She sighed. On nights like this, with weary muscles and half-healed wounds reminding her of every battle fought, she longed desperately for sleep, but when it came, uneasy and nightmare-haunted, she almost missed the insomnia.

A cool breeze whispered across her cheek as the tent flap was pushed aside briefly and allowed to fall closed. She didn't turn to see who it was. There was only one of her companions who would slip into her tent so silently in the middle of the night, "Zev."

The elf looked down at her where she sat with her back to him. Without her usual heavy armor, dressed in only a plain cotton tunic and leggings, she looked so small and almost fragile. He felt an odd, unexpected twinge of some nameless emotion that had absolutely nothing to do with his purpose in her tent tonight. Firmly squashing the inconvenient feeling, Zevran observed happily that he now stood at the perfect angle to look over the warden's head and down the front of her tunic. He smiled, then observed, in a tone of mock worry, "You look so tired, my dear."

Elspeth sighed, and smiled ruefully up at him, "Can't sleep."

"Hmm," Zevran pretended to ponder as he knelt down behind her. "I think I know what you need," he cupped his hands gently around her shoulders. "May I?"

Elspeth leaned into his touch, and as he worked the knots out of her weary muscles, and gave a small, contented sigh. "That feels nice."

He chuckled. "One does learn a thing or two, growing up in an Antivan whorehouse," he reminded her.

"I suppose one would," He could hear the smile in her voice. It was a lovely sound.

He moved his attention from her muscular shoulders down to the small of her back, and was rewarded with a low groan that set his pulse racing with anticipation. He leaned closer, never quite letting his chest touch her back, breathing in her warm, smoky scent, and slid his hands slowly under the hem of her tunic to caress the silken skin of her waist.

Her breath caught, and Zevran felt her tense under his hands. "What's wrong?" he breathed into her ear.

"Zev, I…I'm not sure about this…" she stammered a little unsteadily.

He laughed softly. "What is there to fear, my Grey Warden? You deserve a little fun, do you not?"

It was with some annoyance that he felt her body thrumming with the tension he had just worked so hard to rid her of, but she did not pull away from him. "I'm just not sure I'm ready for…that…yet," she sighed, and her shoulders slumped miserably. "Maker, I sound stupid. I'm not saying no; just…not yet…please?"

He'd almost had her. He could hear it in the tremor in her voice, feel it in her body, straining as much towards him as away from him. Even now, he knew that one more well-chosen word, one more seductive touch could probably change her mind. But something, perhaps the same strange, almost protective feeling that had struck him when he first entered her tent, made him withdraw his hands and get to his feet, pausing only to brush one feather-light kiss across the skin at the nape of her neck. "Another time then," he murmured huskily. "If you're lucky."

Then he was gone, and Elspeth sat, staring at nothing, her knees drawn up to her chest, her skin still tingling from the touch of his lips, the air in her tent suddenly cold with his absence.