Note: This is from the dragon age k!meme. I'm toning it down slightly to post here. :)
The Vigil
"The... what?" Delia Tabris sputtered, her mouth dropping open.
"The Dark Wolf," Varel repeated. "He's something of a shady character operating in Amaranthine, or so I've heard." He shrugged noncommittally. "Perhaps just a local legend, but people say he is a thorn in the side of the nobility. A sort of Ferelden Black Fox. You're familiar with the story?"
Delia fumed silently. "Yes, the Black Fox was an Orlesian lord who was forever disrupting some plots of another Orlesian lord."
"I can ask around and see if we can find this... Dark Wolf character. He might be able to help you figure out who the conspirators are."
"I hardly need help with such a matter. I..." she trailed off. It was too early to trust Varel with such things. "I suppose I will be rather busy. I could use the help. See if you can find this Dark Wolf."
She could barely suppress the scorn in her voice. She and Zevran were the Dark Wolf! How dare someone else usurp the title. She wanted to meet this Dark Wolf. If for no other reason than to school him to not steal other people's nom de guerre.
Denerim, The Blight
"Fuck!" Delia cursed. She threw open the locked chest after deftly picking the lock. "There's nothing here, Zev."
"Brasca!" he swore. "Did Slim set us up, amora?"
"It was too easy to get here," she said, finally realizing what should have been obvious. You don't have an estate full of painting and antiquities without a heavy guard.
The scrapping of metal boots and sound of swords leaving their sheaths alerted them to the trap. The two rogues hid quickly, wrapping themselves in shadows and slipping out behind the guards. They worked their way silently down the corridors, carefully disarming all the traps on the way, neutralizing a guard or two. Finally the exit was in sight but they'd never get past the final group of guards... Where had they been when they entered? Delia threw a stone to distract them. They turned, predictably, and Delia clocked one, Zev got the other. The mage saw them and was nearly cast on them but Delia's daggers took him in the throat and the gut.
Delia headed for the sewer that would lead them to the aqueduct running under the city.
"Wait!" Zevran hissed at her.
"Oh for fuck's sake, Zev, what?"
He smiled rakishly and rummaged through her pack. He pulled out an old wolf skin she had forgotten about.
"Every good cat burglar leaves a calling card, no?"
Delia grimaced. "A moldering old wolf skin?"
"Times are hard, dulce." He drew a vial out of his own pack and dribbled the contents in a pattern. Then he lit it on fire. A "D" was burning into the back of the wolf skin.
"Let's go, the smoke will draw them." She shimmied down the ladder to the aqueduct and they ran until they were certain they had lost any pursuit. They climbed out of the aqueduct. Dressed all in black, as they were, and staying to the shadows, they wound their way through the alleys of Denerim to the Market District nearly invisible. Zevran pulled her back as she was about to cross the square to the tavern. Someone was talking to Sargent Kylon.
"Listen," he hissed at her, his hands against her shoulders, pinning her to the building at her back. She strained her ears trying to hear what was being said. Zevran kissed her neck, ran his tongue up to her ear. They were only a few yards from Sargent Kylon, any sound would draw attention to them.
"Bann Franderel's estate has been burglarized," the man speaking to the Sargent said. "There was a murder. One of the Bann's servants died in the burglary."
Zevran's hand worked up Delia's cuirass and he teased her nipple with his hand. She couldn't help the small groan the escaped her.
Zevran put a finger to his lips. Then he put his hand over her mouth and pinched her nipple the way that always made her squeal. She bucked against him, flexing her hips into his growing erection. It was becoming very difficult to listen in on the conversation.
"... a flaming initial on a wolf pelt. A 'D'."
The danger of discovery, the challenge of being perfectly silent, not to mention their earlier escape, excited her. She pressed herself hard against the assassin. The only sound she made was the soft hiss of her breath through her nose. Zevran shifted his hand from her breast to the laces on her leather breeches. He undid them just enough that he could put his hand into them. His finger slid across her, finding her surprisingly wet and excited. He collected her moisture on his fingers and rubbed around her nub, teasing her.
Her breath came faster and her eyes narrowed but she held his amber eyes with her black ones. She bucked against his hand, wanting more. He smiled at her, the moon shining on his pale hair, watching her eyes grow unfocused and glazed. Then he gave her what she wanted, the pressure and the friction along with nearly painful bites on her neck. He still covered her mouth with his free hand and her breath seethed through her nose as her body seized up with a final buck against his hand and the tiniest sound escaped her throat but was stifled by his hand.
"Very well," Kylon said, "I will be by shortly to take a look."
Zevran kissed her ear and whispered into it. "Let's go. I've caught a cat burglar and I intend to have my way with her until she begs me to turn her into the guard."
A sly smile twisted at Delia's mouth, catching onto his game. "Have mercy, milord!" she whispered back. She quickly laced up her breeches and they crossed the square to the room they shared at the Gnawed Noble.
It was a secret they kept from the others, their work with Slim Couldry. It was easier that way. Alistair and Wynne would complain endlessly about their larcenous adventures. Delia loved it. There was nothing so rewarding as robbing, or outsmarting, a shem noble.
Zevran said her voice was magical. She could talk nearly anyone into anything: Ser Nancine, for instance. It had been a challenge she couldn't resist. The woman had a terrible cough and she had convinced her it was something potentially fatal. She took her acting to absurd lengths and actually convinced the woman to hyperventilate until she had passed out. Then they stole an elaborately bejeweled ceremonial sword from the stupid shem. When they had gotten back to their room, barely suppressing their laughter, she had ravished Zevran.
Being an outlaw agreed with Delia.
Amaranthine City
Amaranthine City was mess. The Wardens cleared out a nest of smugglers. Delia found herself wishing she were one of them, instead of the law coming down on them. She missed those days in Denerim with Zevran. Never had she imagined that she would end up being the Warden-Commander and responsible for an Arling. The position fit her like a pair of pants three sizes too small. It chaffed, to say the least.
She was anticipating spending some time in the tavern with her fellow wardens. The mage was ... interesting. Somehow she never would have thought a mage could look manly in a robe, and yet he did. His arms were huge, they strained at the short sleeves of his robe, and the robe contoured his torso, revealing a broad chest and narrow hips. She estimated it wouldn't take much persuasion to find out if the goods matched the packaging. So to that end, she was looking forward to ale and seducing the mage.
She followed her Wardens, just about to set her foot inside the tavern, when a young boy accosted her.
"Message, my lady!" he piped at her, his voice a prepubescent soprano. The urchin pressed the note into her hand and ran away before she could question him.
Fuck! Delia swore to herself. She'd made some headway on cleaning up her language lately, however her internal dialogue was salty still, to say the least.
Alley behind the Chantry. Now. Come alone. - Dark Wolf
"Go on ahead without me," Delia told her recruits. "Get rooms for the night. We might as well stay, we have a lot to do here yet."
Seeing the message made her irritation rise again. The Dark Wolf, indeed! Her sense of pride demanded she do something about this impostor but her better judgment warned her that revealing who the true Dark Wolf was was imprudent at best, dangerous at worst.
She walked down the alley behind the chantry. The chantry blocked the sun, it was rather dark in the alley even during the afternoon. She was ready to grab her daggers at the least indication of anything amiss. This reminded her of Denerim and her adventures with Zevran. Even the thought of it now, after all these months, made a twinge of excitement lance through her belly.
She might have been reminiscing a little too much, or perhaps she was just out of practice, but hands grabbed her from behind had her on the ground and disarmed and immobilized before she could even twitch.
"My apologies, Warden-Commander," a gruff voice said. "One can't be too careful."
A gag went into her mouth. Her arms and feet were tied and a sack was pulled over her head. She was thrown over someone's shoulder, like a sack of potatoes. She never even saw his face.