A/N: This is a spinoff fic, based in the "Lyra Cousland" universe. If you have read "The Teyrn's Daughter and the King's Son" and "Seeds of the Future", you will be familiar with the characters mentioned herein. This story will follow Zevran in that universe, and new chapters will be released concurrently with "Seeds of the Future" as needed to further flesh out Zevran's personal storyline.

With that said, if you are not familiar with those stories, you might be a touch confused as to what's going on here. For those who would like to follow this fic independently of those stories, I will do my best to add in enough explanation to keep it clear without having to rehash too many details. I hope you enjoy. :-)


Chapter 1
The Firebird

She'd returned. At last, after months, his firebird had flown back to the nest. Leliana was home.

Zevran had never expected to fall for her. He'd intended a single night of pleasure, nothing more. From the moment he'd met her, there was attraction, but when he'd learned that she preferred women to men, he'd been intrigued. Could he turn this vixen?

They'd been friendly, had conversed at length, had discovered many things in common. He'd begun to seek Leliana out, above and beyond their other companions, for the sheer pleasure of her company. And then, just when he'd thought it wouldn't, it had happened.

"I have always detested a man's face... who wants to be rubbed raw while kissing? Your face is... as soft as a woman's, Zev..." Leliana said, and leaned forward to brush her lips along his jawline.

Of course, by the time he'd snagged her, his feelings were more than casual. Somehow, the hunter had turned prey, though he doubted Leliana had intended to capture him. He'd kept her words in his memory, convincing himself that he was different, that she could feel the same way he felt, even if he wasn't her traditional choice.

The weeks that followed were nothing short of wonderful. He'd never felt like this - not since Rinna, and even that paled in comparison, now.

Before she'd gone, he'd offered her his earring, and she'd turned him down, saying that she needed time to think. He'd wondered a bit at her decision to go with Lyra and Alistair on their honeymoon. It was true, the Wardens had requested that Wynne accompany them, and knowing now that Lyra was expecting, it only made sense that they'd wanted the healer with them. Leliana had told him she was going purely to keep Wynne company. But a small part of him doubted, was sure that she'd left because of him.

So, now that she was back, he needed to talk to her.

Zevran strode down the hall, palms sweating. Her door was the fourth on the left... he raised a hand, knocked, waited, his heart pounding.

The door cracked open, Leliana's brilliant hair shining in the lamplight. "Zevran…"

"May I come in?"

That beautiful face took on a guarded look. "I am quite tired-"

"I will not take much of your time," Zevran insisted, edging closer to the entry. "Please…"

With a slow nod, Leliana pushed open the door, sidling away to allow the assassin into her room. Zevran stepped through; his senses overwhelmed for a moment by the scent of her… the sweetness of Andraste's Grace, that was his Leliana. Always did she smell like this – he'd teased her about it on more than one occasion. Many women used perfumes, oils, adorning their bodies with fragrance to allure men and captivate the mind. His firebird never seemed to bother with these things, and yet the scent clung to her, light as the air. More than once, it had made him dizzy. Now, with her so close after their long separation, it threatened to bring him to his knees.

Leliana's pack sat in one corner, half unloaded, her bedroll spilling from its ties. The lute she'd received from Alistair was propped on the bed, resting upon a pillow – a place of honor. The instrument itself wasn't all that special, and yet in Leliana's capable hands it became a work of art. She could stir the very soul with her music, the poetry that fell from her lips as shining as silver, the fluting lilt of her voice more breathtaking than a nightingale…

Leliana shut the door behind him. "What is it, Zevran?"

Not 'Zev', no. Not now. Now it was 'Zevran'. His eyes pressed shut, the pain of that realization burning a hole into his heart. "So formal, my firebird?" He kept his words light, forcing a smile. "I thought we meant more to each other than that."

Leliana turned her face away, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. So shapely, those fingertips – made to coax a tune from the crudest instrument, or bring the flush of goosebumps to her lover's skin. The thought made his mouth go dry, a hollowness pitting his stomach. If he could only tell her – make her see how much she meant to him. Surely she would change her mind.

"Tell me of your journey." He settled himself into a chair, throwing one leg over an arm, his hands clasped over his abdomen. "Something very exciting must have happened, to bring Lyra to Denerim's gates at sunrise, and without her handsome Templar in tow."

"Darkspawn," Leliana said as she sat upon the bed, and told him the story of their last few days, ending with a sigh. "She's frightened, and I don't blame her. This child is the hope of Ferelden. The idea that he or she will be hunted is not comforting – and what's worse, we have no idea why."

"And yet she spoke with me earlier about the security for a Satinalia ball," Zevran said, one eyebrow lifting. "Will it not be dangerous for the nobility to travel to Denerim for such a frivolous event?"

Leliana shrugged, a passive smile playing over her lips. "Life goes on, does it not? And it was her mother's tradition."

"Perhaps," Zevran mused. "Or perhaps she needs a distraction."

They sat in silence for a moment, the fire snapping in the background. Leliana took up her lute, fingering the strings. "You did not come here to ask me about Lyra's plans for Satinalia."

"No?"

"Zevran, I know you," Leliana said softly. "And you know me. Must we dance like this?"

Swallowing, he basked in her presence, afraid of what the next few moments might hold. Leliana possessed wisdom beyond her years, a depth that most women lacked, even if she delighted in playing the vapid innocent. It was a game he knew well – people tended to look past those who seemed of little threat. Assassins lived longer if they could blend. They lived even longer if they could observe, and his firebird outstripped any he'd ever worked with – or even known. Truly, she was a woman of many talents, with the body of a goddess, the face of an Orlesian noble, and the heart of a Chantry priestess.

Throughout their travels, Leliana had claimed his being, sewing him up piece by piece until he was bound more firmly than he'd ever thought possible. He'd felt this way once, but that had faded - Rinna was a memory, nothing more. Leliana was his world now, the light that awoke him each morning, the shining star he wished to look on as he fell asleep each night. With Leliana at his side, he would live a happy man, more blessed than one of his ilk had ever dared dream of.

What would he do, if she refused him?

"Leliana," he began, his voice rough with longing. "You cannot know how I have missed you."

A flush rouged her cheeks, and she studied her lute. "I have missed you too. But we must talk of this."

He rose, risking a step toward her. "Please… I would sit beside you."

Those crystal eyes clouded, but she set the lute aside and gestured to the bed, tucking one leg beneath her body. As if she were a mouse who might startle, Zevran kept his movements slow, cautious. She watched, so guarded, as he lowered to her side, drawing her hand away when he touched it with his fingertips.

"Zev…" she whispered, the sound so filled with pain he hated himself for it. Had he the ability, he would change his name, turn it to something more pleasing… laughter should be the only thing to touch those satin lips.

"Leliana…" There was no more control. It was a muted groan that echoed as he swooped in, unable to take another moment. If he could only taste her, he could show her – pour the well of his love into her, prove just how much he needed her, how much she meant to him. She'd become his drug, and the withdrawal had gone on for too long.

She gasped as their lips melded, his fingers carding through her hair, her heady scent swirling around him as he breathed her in. Mother of Mercy, how he'd missed this! Her lashes brushed his cheek as he glided his tongue along her lips, pleading for entry. How many nights had they spent together, beginning just like this, with a simple kiss? Her hands rose to wrap around his wrists, and then he was shoved back, unfiltered shock widening her cerulean eyes.

"Zevran, no-"

"Please, my firebird," he begged. "I-"

She placed a soft finger against his mouth. "You can't, Zevran. Please. Please!"

"No, Leliana, I must say it." Zevran's voice cracked, as inelegant as a raw boy, but there it was – in her hands, he became innocent once more. His fingers closed with hers, his skin thrilling to their touch. "I cannot be without you. When you left, my world stopped." She'd gone still as stone, fear pinching her eyes. Zevran squeezed her hand, tumbling the words out before she could halt them. "I thought this would be little more than a passing diversion, a way for us both to take the pleasure we needed, with little need for anything else. We promised nothing, but that is no longer my desire."

"Zev, no-"

"Among the Crows, love is nothing but an illusion for those too blind to see," he uttered, his voice lowering with meaning. "I was trained to make my heart cold, in favor of the kill. But you, my firebird..." he raised one hand to caress her cheek. "You have warmed me in ways I did not know I ached for. Say the word, and I am yours. Please, Leliana. If you will just give me a chance, let me prove my devotion to you-"

One hand flew to cover her mouth, a choking sob held back. Shaking violently, she sprang to her feet and sprinted across the room. Zevran's heart crumbled as he watched her fumble with the door handle. Throat burning, he rose to give chase, speeding after her as she flung it open to make her escape.

Leliana tore down the stairs, and Zevran halted just outside the door, his gaze following her as she fled. His eyes fell shut, heart withering... her choice was clear, and he wouldn't hound her. Just how many times would he let this woman make a fool of him? No. He was done.

Dragging himself into the hall, he shut the door behind him, unsure of what to do now. Perhaps he should seek Oghren… some of that brew that Alistair had tried one night might just knock him out for months. If he were lucky, when he awoke this sick twisting in his stomach would be gone, and his body would no longer feel as though it were aflame – the memory of her sultry lips warring with the knowledge that she'd rejected him so thoroughly.

When he turned to go in search of the dwarf, it was with a sinking heart that he saw Lyra standing in her robe in the hallway, clear witness to her best friend's flight, and with his rock-bottom luck, having heard every word.


A/N the deuce: Thanks so much to my lovely betas - FenZev, csorciere, and Jaden Anderson! These lovelies made sure Zev sounded like Zev, and polished this chapter to a soft sheen. Heart you, darlings!