Baldur and Zevran ducked into the alleyway Zevran had shoved them into earlier in order to catch their breath and pull on what remained of their clothing so they weren't streaking all the way back to the inn. They dressed haphazardly and had to dart back down the street to retrieve several items they missed after checking that Calysia was nowhere in sight, but Baldur was missing a boot and Zevran's tunic and leggings were nowhere to be found. Zevran shrugged off their loss easily.

"Truthfully, I rarely wear trousers with my armor anyway. I only had them so I didn't freeze my most priceless jewels off when we were traipsing up and down a mountainside."

"Don't you...you know," Baldur said awkwardly, paused with his chainmail hiked up under his armpits. "Chafe?"

"Ha! No. My armor has a layer of leather sealed to the underside so I am usually protected and insulated even if I have nothing on underneath. It is quite liberating, not to mention the easy access."

Baldur recalled Zevran's fighting style and the way he favored high kicks and leaps, and wondered how many of Zevran's opponents had been defeated simply by the shock of being flashed by him unintentionally. Or, knowing Zevran, quite intentionally. Certainly the sight would have given him pause, and the imagery suitably distracted him from wanting to berate Zevran for their current predicament.

They made a detour into the market to buy new clothes to replace the ones they had lost or had been meaning to trade before their incident in the bathhouse. The rain had finally let up, but Baldur's bare foot was wet and filthy from something unmentionable he had stepped in, thinking longingly of his spare boots back at the inn that would have to suffice until Wade's armor for him was finished. They bought a half dozen meat pies and watered down wine to tide them over until they met for dinner with Leliana, then Baldur tracked down the liaison for the Blackstone Irregulars mercenary group to confer payment over minor jobs Baldur had completed for them while on his journey.

He wished there was a more efficient way to contact others while on the road to make transactions and the exchange of information easier. He worried that his group would become separated indefinitely if someone was detained and unable to let the rest of them know their location. Alistair and Bastion were to meet them a fortnight from when he'd sent the letter a week prior, picking up Sten along the way so the entire group could finally meet their newest members and formulate a plan from there. He was nervous about introducing Zevran as his âzyungâl, if only because that exposed a vulnerability which could be used against them both, but never because he was ashamed or worried what others would think. If Zevran had been a dwarf or had an occupation other than assassin, Baldur wouldn't care for him any more or any less than he already did. He was wrapped in a pretty package, that was certain enough, but he could have also been hideous and Baldur would have only seen the exquisiteness of his soul that resonated so completely with his own.

Once they were finally ensconced in their room at the Dancing Wyvern, Baldur had time to recall with discomfort how utterly at Zevran's mercy he'd been at the bathhouse, not realizing how susceptible he was until put in a situation where he had to chose either Zevran or his life, which was no choice to him at all. Baldur would have been punished severely for his indiscretions had he still been in Orzammar's military and acted with a fellow soldier the way he was carrying on with Zevran. Fraternization during an active campaign was forbidden, if only for the practical reason that soldiers would become distracted and let down their guards, never mind internal jealousies or abuses of power that could lead to discord within the ranks.

There were allowances made for spouses or pairs officially courting to be Bonded, and military officers tended to turn a blind eye to carnal celebrations after difficult battles in which they had been triumphant. The king's army was perhaps the most lenient towards relations between same genders as there was no official punishment for sodomy between two men or two women, but the societal stigma was often enough to smother all but the most tenacious couplings. The gender imbalance made it so that male dwarves who showed an indifference or even an aversion for dwarrowdams, especially when females were outnumbered and desperately sought-after, were considered to be lesser. There was a heavy expectation to reproduce, ergo even more pressure on females to bear children, and dwarrowdams who refused a suitor in favor of a monogamous relationship with another dam with no desire for either to take a donor faced the worst ostracizing of all.

Fortunately neither he or Zevran had to worry about reproducing, despite what Shale thought.

Another memory that stuck out to him was how discomfited Zevran was admitting he hadn't been seducing Baldur for an endgame, but was simply unable to keep himself from actually liking Baldur back, for all that the dwarf had been absurd and bumbling about his own growing infatuation.

"You must have thought I was ridiculous back in Haven, carrying on like I was a smitten cat and you were hiding sardines in your pockets," Baldur muttered as he sat on the edge of the single bed and washed off his dirty foot before finding his spare boots that were made of leather and nearly worn down through the heel, glad that he hadn't thrown them out earlier. He was embarrassed by his own unsubtle fascination with the elf even now, especially knowing Zevran had seen right through him at the Temple of Andraste when Baldur was literally falling over himself to get into Zevran's good graces.

"I do like cats," Zevran agreed readily, picking up the thread of conversation without Baldur needing to elaborate as he combed out his hair with his fingers since he hadn't gotten the chance before they'd been kicked out of the bathhouse. "Although... perhaps not so much after... Well." Zevran was conscientious of Baldur's anger over the situation in Honnleath, allowing a demon to walk free in a little girl's skin. "But no, I do not think you are ridiculous. Honestly, I felt rather foolish myself mooning about over a Grey Warden, of all things."

Baldur raised his eyebrows in surprise. "It's the Grey Warden part that's strange to you? I rather thought it would be the fact I was a dwarf, or sullen where you are outgoing and personable, or that I'm so...inexperienced...in matters of physical affection. You could have anyone you wanted begging for a chance to warm your bed." Anyone who wasn't in Baldur's company, that was, and Zevran had even propositioned Shale a few times even though the golem would squish him like an insect.

Zevran gave a tiny bow of his head, conceding the points without argument.

"I imagine you don't know what it's like to be on the opposite end of your sword, or fighting beside yourself in battle. You are," Zevran took a deep breath, letting out the next word in an awed exhale, "magnificent. All that ferocity and aggression, and then you are this sweet, quiet thing when the danger has passed and you can relax knowing you have protected your own."

Baldur coughed and dropped his head to tie his laces, feeling the bed dip when Zevran sat down beside him. He took one of Baldur's hands in his own.

"You, my grounding stone, heart of my heart, are absolutely terrifying when bloodlust has overtaken you. I was rather glad when I thought you would spill my blood and leave my corpse as fodder for the birds that I would meet my end at the hands of such a great and skilled warrior. My type are usually done in by knives to the back, jealous husbands with straying wives, or by mishaps with our own poisons. I felt perhaps redeemed that I would receive a clean death at the hands of someone so capable, who bested me fairly in an unfair attack. Alas! I was a goner from the moment you showed mercy to a lowly assassin when you had no discernable reason to believe I honestly wished to terminate my arrangement with the Crows and join you instead. You spared my life and then allowed me to stand at your side, even knowing who and what I was. Acceptance like that when I had to scrape and steal and take everything I wanted my entire life..."

Zevran shook his head, at a loss for words for once before he eventually found his voice again, low and with a hint of a rasp.

"And then you gave me presents on top of everything else, when I was no more than a man you knew could fight, but didn't even know you could trust!" Zevran laughed in disbelief, a little hysterically, and Baldur wanted nothing more than to take him into his arms and soothe his frenetic energy. "Baldur, if you cannot understand why I am madly, passionately enamored with you, then I'm afraid I will have to make it my very life's mission to demonstrate every waking moment that you are very much cherished until you believe it yourself." Zevran cupped Baldur's stunned face in his hands, gently leaning their foreheads together.

"If you willed it, I would write sonnets dedicated to your gorgeous eyes, how they appear like two perfect stones beneath the clear waters of a river bed. I'd detail every curve of your enchantingly soft lips, how tender and hot they feel against my skin; your fingers, strong and skillful as they take me apart from the inside out and put the pieces of me back together again. And then I would hire a bard whose sole duty would be to scurry after our little group and serenade any and all in the vicinity with tales of your brave exploits and skill with a sword on the battlefield, as well as in bed..."

Baldur choked out a laugh at Zevran's ridiculous suggestion, except, to his horror, the sound came out as a sob before he even realized he was weeping.

"Oh, my love. Why do you cry? This is a joyous occasion! Unless I completely misread the situation, which I have been known to do," Zevran said with a worried, uncertain laugh, gently brushing away the tears that streamed down Baldur's cheeks with his thumbs.

Baldur shook his head mutely, unable to speak and overwhelmed with emotion, but he leaned up and took Zevran's mouth in a wet, sloppy kiss and hoped he would understand.

Zevran murmured his approval against Baldur's lips and moved in a sleek, soundless motion to straddle Baldur's lap, cradling his face as if Baldur were something precious and breakable. The thought was laughable - Baldur had endured more injuries the past few months than he had his entire life and shook off each one with the stubborn tenacity of a dwarf warrior.

Baldur nipped gently at Zevran's lips as he slid his calloused hands under Zevran's hauberk, caressing the warm, smooth skin of his thighs and glad that Zevran had ended up losing his trousers. Baldur's desire for the elf had been utterly transparent from the beginning, and as a result his company had been witness to every excruciating exchange whether they wanted to be or not. He pulled Zevran against him and then further as he tumbled them backward onto the bed. Zevran caught himself on his hands and laughed into Baldur's mouth, their legs tangled and half-hanging off of the bed. Neither were in any hurry to move, and gradually Zevran sunk down onto his elbows, pressing his chest into Baldur's as they traded alternately leisurely and passionate kisses. Their armor clanked and jostled together noisily, and there was a number of times where a link of chainmail caught against an edge of armor and they were literally stuck together until they could get unhooked and then undress entirely.

The light was starting to fade from the day, but they lit candles and Baldur explored the intricate tattoos he had glimpsed earlier in the bathhouse but now used his fingers and tongue in place of his eyes, checking whether the tattoos tasted any differently than Zevran's unmarked skin. He would need several passes to reach a definite conclusion, but Zevran was a willing and responsive test subject and Baldur was in no hurry.


"How you came to have such a low opinion of yourself, I'll never know," Zevran sighed as they lay in a sweaty and pleasantly exhausted tangle atop the bedclothes. He combed his fingers through Baldur's clean but slightly damp hair, for once not catching on tangles. "You are a true paragon amongst men of all races. Even I had no idea a tongue could do that."

Baldur bowed his head with a faint blush at the praise, pressing a kiss to Zevran's shoulder.

"I have...had...brothers," Baldur said hesitantly to Zevran's first statement, even though he doubted Zevran had expected a response. He wanted to tell Zevran though, tired of hiding in the shadow of his past even though he still felt a familiar pang of loss and anger whenever he thought of his family.

"Oh? Do tell! I was an only child, so I always wondered what it was like having siblings to get into mischief with."

"With anyone else's siblings, I would agree with you," Baldur said as sat up with a groan, Zevran's fingers sliding out of his hair and trailing down his arm to twine their fingers loosely together as Baldur gathered his thoughts.

"However, as the second son to the...to a very powerful man in Orzammar, there was much feuding regarding the issue of inheritance. My elder brother, Trian, was the natural choice to inherit, but he had an unpleasant countenance and was quick to ire; he feared I would supplant his position, as I was more popular with the lower classes, or so I'd been told by our younger brother, Bhelen."

"I am given to understand, and correct me if I'm wrong, that squabbling is only to be expected between those raised in the same household?"

"Squabbling...was only the beginning. I refused to believe Bhelen when he came to me with information that Trian had plans to murder me to make sure that I did not usurp him. I was on an errand from my father, and upon my return I found my brother Trian slain." Baldur paused, collecting himself in a moment of anguish that he hadn't expected after all this time. Zevran didn't rush him, stroking his thumb soothingly over the back of his hand until Baldur found his voice again.

"As I knelt over my brother's body in horror and grief, Bhelen came upon us leading guards and our father to 'catch me in the act' as it were. The soldiers I was with immediately turned on me and claimed that I had killed Trian. Nothing I said could convince my father otherwise, and so I was imprisoned and stripped of all rank and title."

The wound was still raw and bleeding, Baldur realized with his retelling as he fell silent. But he was sad and confused more than anything. If Bhelen had only told him of his desire to rule, Baldur would have done everything in his ability to support him and would have gladly stepped down if he had been voted into kingship in place of either brother. Leading no more than handful of individuals in a fight against the Blight was more than enough responsibility for one person to handle, never mind ruling the entirety of Orzammar during wartime.

Zevran squeezed his fingers and looked up into Baldur's face with open compassion.

"I cannot even imagine. And I had thought my childhood was difficult! I know you found a way to escape and join the Grey Wardens, since you are here now, which I am beyond grateful for. But do you know what become of your father or Bhelen?"

Baldur frowned and shook his head slowly. "Father was...not well when I was banished. I was told he had taken ill after my apparent involvement in Trian's death, but I would not be surprised if he was poisoned so Bhelen could have his title sooner rather than later." Speaking badly about his family sat bitterly at the back of his tongue like foul-tasting potion, and even after everything that had happened back home Baldur was disinclined to hate Bhelen for his choices and only hoped, bitterly, that his brother found whatever it was he hoped to accomplish with all of his family out of the way.

"I think that's why I admire the idea of Leliana's Maker, as I am no longer considered a Child of the Stone and will not be welcomed back into Her embrace when I pass on. If my own creator, Mahal, will not accept me, then I'd like to believe another may take pity on this tarnished soul."

Zevran sat up swiftly, grabbing Baldur's hand in a fierce grip that actually hurt, heedless of the bandages.

"Any deity, the Maker or Mahal or Odin himself, who would not gladly welcome you into their halls with feasts and treasures to pile at your feet in thanks for all of your sacrifices is a fool! I would gladly show my blades to any who would dare say otherwise!" Zevran actually bared his teeth in rage, and Baldur was taken aback by his lover's vehemence.

"I should rather hope you won't need to storm the halls of my forefathers demanding retribution in the afterlife, but I will not stand in your way if you are determined to defend my honor." Baldur ducked his head with a tiny, helpless grin, and Zevran huffed and pressed a hard kiss against his temple.

"Damn right."

Baldur had ceased all thoughts of returning to Orzammar and fighting to prove his innocence the moment he had passed Duncan's tests and survived the ritual to become a Grey Warden, severing the last ties to his past as thoroughly as his people had done everything in their power to erase his very existence. He was considered less than even the casteless dwarves who had been banished or went willingly to live aboveground, stripped of their titles and rights. That shame had hung heavily until he'd met Alistair, who had seen the same visions of evil that Baldur was plagued with in his dreams and waking hours, and hadn't lost his conviction that it could be defeated. Morrigan had scoffed all ideas of there being a higher power that she must be held accountable to, and Leliana was the stark opposition with such a firm belief in the Maker that her own visions had driven her away from a secure life in the Chantry to seek out and defeat darkspawn with Baldur and his companions.

He assumed Zevran's beliefs were more along the lines of Morrigan, but asking felt too invasive, and didn't necessarily matter. They would likely all find out what was waiting on the other side for them in the afterlife sooner rather than later if Baldur didn't find a way to defeat the dragon and find the Urn of Ashes to heal the Arl before tackling even greater enemies. They would need the Arl's help if Baldur planned to pull together an army to defeat the darkspawn, knowing that he would need numbers on his side rather than naively expecting to make any leeway with only the few people he had under his tenuous command. He'd already secured the promise of help from the Dalish in the Brecilian Forest, few in number as the elves were, but he was afraid he would have to invoke the Right of Conscription sooner rather than later to build up the ranks of Grey Wardens that had nearly been decimated in Ostagar, save for Alistair and himself.

They laid in comfortable silence for a long while, content to simply enjoy a quiet moment alone, until the rumbling of their bellies reminded them they had a dinner date with Leliana, which they would be late for if they didn't get out of bed and dressed.

Leliana had also seen to getting herself cleaned up and put to sorts when they joined her at a table in the corner she'd already secured. He and Zevran were late despite their best attempts not to kiss and touch each other to distraction while getting dressed, even though they were only a hallway and staircase away from the conveniently located tavern downstairs that offered a veritable selection of food and drink, and more questionable entertainment that was currently comprised of a very bad juggler who spent more time chasing after his balls – literally and figuratively – than actually managing to keep them aloft.

"Thank you," Leliana said with a polite smile to the serving girl who set down tankards of ale in front of them while they waited for their dinner. "So," she started after she took a sip of her drink and took her time looking them over. "You seem to have settled in well."

"We have," Baldur agreed, his eye lingering on the swell of a bruise from a cut on her cheek, but it was an older injury and one that she would have seen to already without him being a mother hen. Being alone, relatively speaking, with Leliana when they weren't cold and huddled around a campfire was jarring, although seeing her now recalled Baldur of their first meeting in Lothering where they had fought side-by-side against Loghain's soldiers in a tavern much like this one before even being introduced.

"We spent a good portion of the day procuring new items of clothing to replace those lost gallantly in battle," Zevran expounded with a completely straight face, while Baldur had to hide his own in his tankard, swallowing so fast that he nearly choked. "I found several gorgeous tunics in a flattering cut and shades other than grey or brown for our dear Warden here."

"How lovely! We have many things in common, Zevran, other than an appreciation for finer things," Leliana said conversationally as she gazed across the table at Zevran who had his arm draped over the back of Baldur's chair. He occasionally brushed his fingers across Baldur's neck or down his shoulder, causing Baldur to shiver slightly but not pull away.

"Other than our purity and beauty?" Zevran asked with a guileless expression.

"We both spent many years in places other than Ferelden. You are an assassin, and I a bard."

"Then you were called upon to kill," Zevran concluded.

"Often," Leliana said regretfully, a small unhappy frown gracing her lovely features. "I didn't like it, but I did it anyway."

"You didn't like it? You didn't like the thrill of the hunt?"

"I suppose...I did like that. The hunt, not the killing."

"The killing just signals the end of the hunt. Without it the chase just goes on. You killed your marks cleanly, I hope."

"Whenever possible."

"Good. When the prey is caught it deserves a good death. A clean death." Zevran paused a moment and stroked his thumb along the curve of Baldur's ear, looking contemplative when Baldur met his eyes, a soft, slightly wistful smile pulling at his lips. "Perhaps you are right. We have much in common."

Baldur settled back with his drink and listened to Zevran's and Leliana's familiar chatter which only paused when the serving girl returned, arms laden with delicious-smelling food. She set down a hunk of bread and sharp cheese along with several bowls of lamb stew, thick with gravy and vegetables – the latter which Baldur picked out and transferred into Zevran's bowl as the other man spooned some of his meat into Baldur's. Leliana watched them with amused fondness before digging into her own fare with enthusiasm. Baldur couldn't remember the last time any of them had a meal that consisted of more than stale waybread, hare or squirrel skewered on a stick, or bland tubers foraged from the woods. Dwarves weren't meant to eat green things, and if Baldur never saw another vegetable again it would be too soon.

"I heard the strangest rumors today," Leliana said idly when they had decimated their supper and they were all full and satisfied. Zevran perked up, always interested in the latest gossip.

"Oh? And what would that be? Nobles exposed in an affair? Politicians accepting bribes? An assassination, perhaps?"

"There is word going around that an elf and a dwarf were seen running from the local bathhouse with a small elven girl chasing them down the street...au naturale. I suppose you wouldn't know anything about that? Hmm?"

Baldur choked, nearly coughing up a lung in his surprise. Zevran gave him a hearty slap on the back with one hand as he calmly slid over his untouched tankard to Baldur with the other, who gulped the entire contents down thirstily, not planning to come up for air anytime soon.

"What an odd rumor!" Zevran agreed, rubbing small circles on Baldur's back soothingly. "I could see how one would reach certain conclusions considering you are a particularly close acquaintance with both an elf and a dwarf, one of which who is a prolific deviant. But tell me, Leliana, could you really see Baldur of all people ripping off his clothes and running naked down a crowded street? He doesn't even remove all of his armor during more amorous activities, and trust me when I say there are some places pommels should just not go."

Baldur sunk down in his chair, face bright red as Leliana laughed.

"I suppose you are right. Anyway, it is getting late and I for one cannot wait to sleep in a proper bed. Thank you both for dinner. I hope you sleep well."

"Oh, we will!" Zevran assured her cheerfully, ignoring the fact Baldur was practically under the table from mortification at that point. They made their farewells and after a final nightcap they paid for the food and dragged themselves back upstairs, the day catching up with them both.

"It's good to know we're making an impression already, no?" Zevran said cheerfully, stripping down to bare skin with relish.

"That is not the kind of impression I wish to make, Zevran," Baldur said irritably, wresting his tunic over his head and discarding the shirt over a bedpost, too tired to bother folding and storing his clothing in his pack as he normally would.

"Oh, but really. Think of the stories people will be able to tell to their grandchildren about the time they saw a Grey Warden so petrified of a girl that he ran stark naked down the street in the middle of the day! It is definitely a tale fit for the history books. Or a tawdry novel. Same difference, really."

"Don't forget you were there too."

"Mm, yes. But I, sadly, will merely be a footnote in the great exploits of Baldur the Grey Warden who single-handedly defeated the Blight."

"And runs from elf children."

"They will appreciate that story in the Alienage at least."

Baldur sighed, rubbing the space between his eyes with thumb and forefinger. "Come to bed, Zevran."

"Si, mi amor. Con placer."

Baldur extinguished the small oil lantern they had been using to see by and climbed under clean, crisp sheets, nearly moaning at the unusual sensation of not having rocks and roots digging into his back for once. He hadn't gotten a chance to truly appreciate the luxury of laying in a proper bed earlier, and Zevran was apparently in agreement judging from his soft groan as he sunk into down-stuffed mattress and curled against Baldur, their heads sharing the same pillow and the narrowness of the bed forcing them close - to the disappointment of neither man.

"Sweet dreams, cariño."

"Goodnight, Zevran."


"By the Stone, it's Trian!"

"It must have been a darkspawn attack."

"This doesn't look like darkspawn. No bites, no scratches, no mutilation..."

"Someone's coming!"

Instead of running, Baldur dropped to his knees next to Trian's lifeless form as the other men fled, crushed by grief as he placed a clenched fist over Trian's heart, which no longer beat.

"Hurry, Father! Before it's too..." Bhelen's voice, tight with urgency, dropped off as he led their father's force to where Baldur was knelt over Trian's body. Endrin shouldered Bhelen aside and approached the illuminated dais, steps heavy with trepidation and sorrow. Baldur looked up at his father in placation and then stood to meet him, eyes stinging with tears.

"By all the Ancestors, what happened here?" Endrin asked, his voice low and crackling.

"It seems we weren't fast enough. Bhelen was right," one of the king's guards answered.

"My son. Tell me this isn't what it looks like," Endrin begged, kneeling next to Trian with all the weight of his years and sorrow pressing upon him.

"It isn't. I assure you," Baldur said, stung at the very idea.

"He killed Trian. Just as Trian said he would!" Bhelen accused, staring right at Baldur with eyes full of venom and distrust.

Baldur returned the look in kind, his heart leaping in his chest as he fought the urge to go for his sword, disbelieving of what Bhelen proposed. As the guards in his company denounced Baldur and cast him to the wolves, Baldur felt a slow crawl of rage pour through him and his right arm moved to reach over his shoulder, withdrawing the longsword from the scabbard strapped to his back. His lips peeled back on a snarl as he leapt at Bhelen while he spilled his poisoned words to their father, watching from afar as a second mouth opened up beneath Bhelen's chin. Bhelen staggered back, clutching at the gaping wound in his throat as blood gushed down the front of his chestplate and he stumbled, falling next to Trian while gurgling for breath or to shout...

Baldur whirled and decapitated Frandlin Ivo where that traitorous bastard stood, gutting the other guard before he could scramble away. Gorim reached out to stop him, and Baldur didn't hesitate for a moment before he cut his best friend nearly in half. Bodies dropped around him in a whirlwind of violence and screams, his rage only growing with each kill until none were left standing.

His chest heaving, Baldur turned towards his father, who had remained frozen to the spot on the floor, too horrorstruck to move. Endrin, eyes wide with terror and his pale face and beard spattered with the blood flung from Baldur's sword, rose his hands in supplication, as if that much could protect him from his son.

"You should have believed me. Now everyone is dead," Baldur snarled, raising his sword.

"Baldur, no!" his father cried, and Baldur's sword arm came down.

"No!" Baldur screamed, shooting up out of bed and dislodging the body laying across his chest.

"Baldur?" Zevran groaned with groggy alarm, tensing and immediately going for the dagger he had placed under his pillow before falling asleep. "What's happening? An attack?"

"Ai-rusê!" Baldur cursed, casting aside the bedclothes as he struggled out of bed. He stumbled over to the window, knocking the shutters open and bracing himself on the window sill, taking large, sucking gulps of the chilly night air. He was shaking but didn't feel the cold from the wind as it cut like a knife and whistled through the open window. Events hadn't transpired as he had just dreamed down in the Deep Roads after finding Trian's body. Bhelen and Gorim and his father still lived. Baldur had to tell himself repeatedly they hadn't been cut down by his own sword, even though he could feel the echoing reverberation of steel hitting against bone in the tremors of his fingers. He raised his left hand to cover his face, surprised to find his skin wasn't sticky with blood.

"Baldur..."

Zevran's voice was as soft as his approach, but his hand was a warm reassurance against his shoulder as he stood next to Baldur's side and waited patiently for Baldur to catch his breath, sweat chilling on his skin.

"I didn't kill them," Baldur whispered urgently to himself, both a reassurance and almost a question. "They're all fine...they aren't dead..."

"I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific, cariño. It is rare that anyone who crosses us leaves our meetings alive."

Baldur lifted his head and scowled at him through his fingers. "You're not helping," he complained, but Zevran grinned unselfconsciously and shrugged a shoulder.

"It is true, is it not?"

Baldur sighed, lowering his hand and turning back to stare outside at the blue-black of the night sky, the scent of rain heavy in the air. He would have to make a visit to Gorim soon to prove to himself that he hadn't struck down his best friend, needing Gorim's reassurances that Baldur had been innocent in this particular case. His hands were certainly stained red now, but he'd tried to preserve as many innocents as possible, knowing that he hadn't always succeeded.

"Come. Let us go to bed and I will warm you up - you're nearly frozen solid," Zevran said gently, taking Baldur's hands in his own and drawing him back to their rumpled bed.

Zevran held him close and quietly brought Baldur off with his hands and mouth, waving off attempts at reciprocation and merely wrapping his arms and legs around him like a second blanket while Baldur still thrummed with the pleasure of his release. Baldur didn't intend to fall asleep, but the steady rhythm of Zevran's heart beneath his ear and the comforting weight of his arm around his waist lulled Baldur into a restless slumber until the morning came.

Baldur woke with the sun out of habit after he somehow managed to find sleep again with the vestiges of the night terror echoing hollowly in his chest. The nightmare was likely provoked by bringing up the whole sorry affair with Zevran, but for once there was no urgent need to get up and on the road as soon as possible and Baldur was perfectly content to wallow. He was still tucked against Zevran's side with his cheek pressed against Zevran's chest, head lifting and falling with each gentle breath, sound asleep. Baldur rested a hand between Zevran's shoulder blades and didn't try to wake him, appreciating the warmth of his lover at his side, a soft bed beneath him, and a stomach only slightly hungry rather than trying to consume itself from near-starvation. He could rarely recall having felt so rich in all of his life, even when he spent days in Orzammar's vast treasure rooms filled from floor to ceiling with countless marvelous workings of gold and jewels.

The day seemed calm and no urgent missions or obligations needled at him for once.

When Zevran woke they had slow, languid sex face-to-face, Zevran's eyes still squinty from sleep and hair mussed on one side, and Baldur almost couldn't bear to look at him, he was so beautiful. The gentle exertion chased away any lingering traces of the dream, and they fed breakfast to each other in bed after a second round when they were both more coherent. Baldur was actually able to enjoy lazing about with Zevran and not worry about the time he was wasting when there were no pressing appointments or reason to get out of bed save for the very basic needs, which were quickly tended to before they languidly resumed their tangle of limbs under the covers, trading lazy kisses and gentle smiles.

The entire day was spent in a indolent manner and Baldur stubbornly refused to feel guilty when the light outside faded and simple tiredness rather than bone-deep exhaustion took hold and nearly cracked his jaw with a loud yawn. Zevran laughed softly into the back of his neck before releasing his own yawn and snuggling closer. They breathed together in spent and companionable silence until their breaths slowed into sleep, and blessedly Baldur didn't dream.


The next few days they only ventured out of bed when there was a need. They cleaned their armor and mended what they could salvage, replacing what they could not with the coin Baldur had accrued from odd jobs and looting corpses – not that merchants knew, or cared to know, the difference. Baldur located a woman who sold a variety of scented oils in the market and purchased several vials, storing them in his belt where they wouldn't get mixed up with Zevran's poisons. He also checked on Master Wade's progress with the armor, which was coming along with seemingly impossible quickness.

"He hasn't slept or eaten since you brought those damnable drake scales!" Herren moaned, his hair sticking out in odd directions as if from gripping his hair in despair. "He has forsaken all of his other commissions and nothing can convince him to be pulled away from your armor otherwise. I suspect it will only be a day or two, if that, before he is finished. Forgive my saying so, but I'll only be too happy not to see you again anytime soon distracting the Master from his other obligations."

Baldur ducked his head and grinned in apology, but he was pleased. The armor should be ready by the time Alistair was due to meet them. He dropped Zevran off at an apothecary and scurried off to meet up with a blessedly familiar face in Denerim. He purchased a pair of dwarven hair clasps from Gorim on impulse as they caught up, taking advantage of the rare moment when he and Zevran weren't glued to each other's sides to buy a gift that he wasn't certain he'd actually have the nerve to present to his beloved.

"Congratulations, my friend! I hope you are very happy with your special someone," Gorim said as he neatly wrapped the silver-plated clasps and handed them over to Baldur, waving off payment. "Consider it a Bonding gift from me and the missus." Baldur protested and blushed scarlet to his roots, Gorim chortling his familiar gravelly laugh, and for a moment it sounded like home.

Baldur stopped in at a nearby tavern to soothe his nerves with a drink, but the bard warbling out terrible love songs from a corner of the nearly empty room wasn't helping matters, especially when Baldur could relate to every single saccharine lyric. Zevran slipped into the seat next to him when his mug was nearly empty and leaned down to kiss Baldur after signaling for two more drinks to be brought to their table, looking pleased. Baldur didn't bother asking how Zevran had found him – there was only one Grey Warden in Denerim, after all, and no others who were a dwarf.

Zevran took his hand when they walked down the street after leaving the tavern as if the gesture was now second nature, and Baldur reddened helplessly, unable to keep from glancing up at Zevran every few moments and think of the weight of the small gift tucked away in his tunic, protected by his chestplate.

"Message for you, Ser." A boy of about nine or ten planted himself directly in front of Baldur and Zevran's path and held out a letter to the dwarf, distracting him from nervous contemplations over the box currently digging itself into his sternum. The boy stuck out his hand with a sealed envelope for him to take and Baldur accepted the letter automatically, bewildered.

"Wha-?"

The urchin was gone when Baldur looked up from the envelope addressed to the "Grey Warden" written in an unfamiliar scrawl.

"Summons from your lovers whose broken hearts pave the streets of Denerim," Zevran surmised with a teasing glint in his eyes. "I do hope they left a return address so you can let them down gently." A knife suddenly appeared in Zevran's hand with a showy twirl. "Or not so gently..."

"It's a request for a meeting," Baldur said numbly after he broke the seal right there in the street and stared down at the letter, "from the Crows."

The knife hit the cobblestones with a ringing clatter and the parchment crumpled beneath Baldur's too-tight grip, his voice coming out strangely disconnected and hollow.

"My presence is requested at the Gnawed Noble Tavern. Tonight."

Baldur paled and looked up at Zevran helplessly, but Zevran only appeared grimly amused as he crouched in a fluid motion and retrieved the knife, sliding it very pointedly back into a hidden sheath.

"At least you will look presentable when I introduce you to my employers, no? Do you have a preference for the blue tunic or the green?"

"Whichever will have bloodstains washed out the best," Baldur said darkly, baring his teeth on a snarl.


Baldur lost whatever appetite he might have had and spent a good portion of the time before he was due to meet with either the Crows or their liaison pacing in their room back at the Dancing Wyvern, a thousand thoughts running through his head.

"Most likely they will try to ambush us, if that is their plan," Zevran said calmly where he reclined on their single, narrow bed, his dusty boots resting on the patched coverlet. "Whoever they send to have a meeting with you will be a more expendable member. They are casting out their feelers and if they find you are not so...agreeable...to what it is they are offering, a casualty or two would merely be collateral."

"Why are they asking for me? I thought it was you they were after?"

Zevran's husky laughter filled their small space, momentarily derailing Baldur from the path he was trying to wear into the floor.

"Because you have survived an encounter with one of their best! They would be fools not to offer you a job when you have already proven yourself to be both capable and cunning. Necessary traits for an assassin, I am told."

"They want to hire me?" Baldur asked incredulously, stopping directly in his tracks and staring at Zevran in disbelief.

"That is only my guess, of course. But I do not think I am wrong. You are very desirable, my heart. I do not blame them for seeking you out especially when you seduced one of their own over to the light..." Zevran's tone became low and suggestive as he stretched languidly on the bed to showcase his best angles.

Baldur resumed pacing.

"Leliana and Morrigan should be there when we go. I'll send word for them to meet us here before supper and possibly send Leliana to survey the tavern and note any suspicious patrons. She and Morrigan can take point as sentries should anyone try and rush in while our backs are turned."

"That is all very well and good, but we have hours yet until that time. I may have a suggestion to take your mind off the meeting until then."

"I need to see Gorim," Baldur said suddenly and Zevran sat up swiftly, offended.

"Who is this Gorim?" Zevran asked dangerously, but Baldur was already slinging on his belt.

"He's my best friend and second in command. Or, at least, he was in Orzammar before we were both cast out. Now he's a merchant, and if I recall from my last visit in Denerim he had a manual detailing how to unlock one's berserker state. I need that manual."

"Have you lost your senses entirely?" Zevran exclaimed, grabbing for Aodr before Baldur could secure the blade to his back. "You want to learn how to lose yourself to a blackout rage and kill everything in sight just for a meeting?"

"It's not just a meeting!" Baldur shouted, snatching his weapon out of Zevran's grasp with a thunderous glare. "They threaten you by coming after me. They threaten us. I will not stand for it, and you can either come with me or stay here until I get back, but I'm going to see Gorim."

"Of course I am coming with you," Zevran said, wounded. "I would not leave you to the Crows alone."

"Fine," Baldur said shortly, buckling his bracers and grabbing his leather purse before storming out of the room, not waiting for Zevran to follow.


Leliana was stationed right outside the doorway to the room indicated for the meeting and Morrigan was left at the entrance to the tavern to glower threateningly at anyone who entered the establishment behind them. Baldur and Zevran were armed to the teeth, the clink and rattle of metal announcing their approach.

Master Ignacio, a soft-spoken merchant from Antiva Baldur had spoken to earlier just that week, was there to greet them.

"You hear about a note?" Ignacio said in his distinctive Antivan accent. "Maybe we have some things to talk about."

Baldur perhaps should have realized the man was a Crow sooner, but Zevran hadn't recognized him as anyone familiar in the marketplace, and it wasn't as if Baldur could assume that everyone from Antiva was automatically an assassin. But maybe he should.

"Let's keep this civil. If this is a trap..." Zevran started as he took guard behind Baldur's right shoulder.

Ignacio flicked cool eyes over to the elf, his pleasantly neutral expression unchanging.

"Zevran, is it? You are Taliesin's responsibility. Other Crows may try to kill you, but as far as I am concerned you are already dead. But the Warden here, he is of great interest."

"What is it you want?" Baldur demanded, unable to feel exactly relieved that the man before him had no desire to kill Zevran, but that did not mean the rest of the Crows would not try and take their shot at a later time. The bathhouse had been a monumentally stupid idea. There were members from the Crows right there in Denerim, and they'd practically painted a target on their backs cavorting like they had. They were extremely fortunate they hadn't been killed while they were distracted and unarmed, but it seemed likely that this good luck was a calculation on the Crow's part if they wanted Baldur, at least, alive.

"As someone who's crossed our path and survived...perhaps a Grey Warden could be an asset to the Crows. Make some coin. Everybody wins."

The idea of working for the Crows, for the group that had purchased Zevran when he was a child and turned him into a killer, who would then see him dead for failing to assassinate Baldur... Baldur had known the offer was coming due to Zevran's warning beforehand, but actually hearing the proposal filled him with so much rage that he couldn't even think to draw his sword in that moment. However, if Ignacio so much as twitched in Zevran's direction Baldur would see him beheaded before he could even finish blinking.

"And what would this entail exactly?" Baldur replied dangerously, wanting to keep the man talking long enough to figure out what the Crows' plans were and stop them in their tracks. He would see every last one of them dead for what they did to Zevran.

"I hand you a scroll. You read it, you learn about someone interesting. If you find out something happens to him, something unfortunate, I give you money for letting me know. If you don't like what's on the scroll, then someone else will tell me all about it."

Baldur was tired of all the cloak and daggers and poorly cryptic speech - must everyone from Antiva speak in circles? - before Ignacio had even finished. He had no interest in anything further this man had to say, unless it was to inform Baldur they no longer planned to send someone to kill Zevran failing in his mission and defecting.

"Not interested," he said darkly, shifting his weight as his right hand hung loosely at his hip, ready to dart up and unsheathe his sword in an instant. "Don't contact me again."

Ignacio gazed between him and Zevran knowingly, not even glancing at their displayed weapons.

"Zevran is very good at seduction and lies, I have heard. It is a shame he was unable to kill you, as he would have been an incredible asset to the Crows. Perhaps even a leader in his own right one day."

"We're finished here." Baldur's hand moved towards his hilt and Zevran already had his daggers unsheathed.

"Of course, no offense meant," Ignacio said smoothly, eyes back on Baldur's with a hint of amusement. "We knew it was a long shot, but you are very good at what you do and have caught the interest of more than just the Crows. If you change your mind, you know where to find me."

Ignacio brushed past them, knocking Baldur's shoulder with his own, but the dwarf was like a mountain rooted to the earth miles below the surface and didn't budge, glowering and furious.

Then they were left alone in the room.

"That went way better than I expected," Zevran said jovially, putting away his daggers as Leliana and Morrigan slipped into the room after checking that the area was all clear.

"Fuck!" Baldur roared, grabbing a nearby ceramic bowl and heaving it against the wall where it shattered explosively and dented the painted surface.

The untested berserker rage he had accessed in an unheard of amount of time flared up with a vengeance, threatening to consume him from the inside out. He punched the wall hard enough that his fist went through the plaster and let out a yell of frustration, unable to feel whether his fingers were bruised or broken. He slammed his forehead against the wall once, twice and left it pressed there, shuddering through the waves of violence and heightened senses that detected three raised heartbeats, not including the hammering of his own.

"Leave us," Baldur distantly heard Zevran say, and he was grateful when Morrigan and Leliana obeyed without protest for once, afraid that he would attack anyone in his way at that moment regardless if they were friend or foe.

"Can you teach others to be an assassin?" Baldur demanded of the wall, unable to turn and face Zevran, who - Baldur knew without even looking - was waiting and watching him speculatively.

"I could teach others...but not yourself," Zevran said regretfully with a calmness that was jarring considering what had just transpired. "Assuming you had the years of training required to become adept at just the basics alone, making a career of being an assassin would suit you poorly, my love. I mean that in the best possible way. Cold-blooded murder is not for the beautifully tender hearted such as yourself, and I would not see you changed so drastically on my behalf."

Baldur made a frustrated growl, ripping his hand free from the wall to yank at fistfuls of his clean, untangled hair that Zevran had groomed so diligently and he had no doubt gotten covered in dust and plaster. He looked around for something else to throw.

"However," Zevran continued before Baldur could go on a rampage and start overturning tables and breaking the furniture, "I could teach it to someone else who has experience in stealth and other rogue talents that are needed to become an assassin. The Crows are already furious, no? I shall enjoy tweaking their nose further."

"Then do it," Baldur snapped, already thinking of Leliana and her soundless footsteps and ability to pick almost any lock. The more leverage they had against the Crows, the better.

Baldur's blood was boiling and he couldn't calm himself in the usual manner of killing darkspawn or some really, really deserving people. "Let's get my armor from Wade and get out of here. I want to be gone from this town."

Baldur stormed out of the back room to the tavern, barmaids scattering out of his way from the murderous expression on his face. Zevran hurried to catch up, and Baldur thought someone may have been speaking to him, but the rush of blood in his ears was drowning out any sound.

"Baldur!" Zevran shouted, grabbing Baldur's shoulder and yanking him around.

Baldur's fist was clenched and flying before the motion even fully registered. Fortunately, Zevran was extremely quick and had been expecting some kind of volatile reaction, sidestepping easily so that Baldur's fist clipped the edge of a doorframe instead, sending splinters of wood flying and imbedding several slivers into his already damaged knuckles.

"Son of a beardless mother!" Baldur swore vehemently, enraged and appalled at the near miss. "Mahal damn you, Zevran! I told you not to... I could have taken your head off!"

"And what a tragedy it would be to damage a face as devastatingly handsome as mine, but as you can see I am fine. You, however, are very much not fine."

"How can you be alright with everything that happened back there?" Baldur demanded plaintively, wanting to weep at the injustice of being sought after by the Crows as a recruit while Zevran's every step was shadowed with the inevitability that another assassin would come after him and not stop until Zevran had his lifeblood spilled out upon the ground.

"I found it amusing more than anything else," Zevran admitted with a shrug. "And now I know Taliesian himself will be coming for me and him I know how to handle. So you see, there is no reason to be concerned at all. Let us focus on bigger problems, hm?"

Baldur wanted desperately to believe in Zevran's confidence, but it was maddening to think the elf wasn't as concerned for his own life as he was for Baldur's mental state of being.

"Who's Taliesian?" Baldur asked, grasping at straws.

"Ah. That is a story for another time, I believe. It is a riveting tale full of mystery and passion and murder, I assure you, but I will need the proper settings and ambiance to give the telling the justice it deserves."

Baldur took this answer as Zevran's long-winded request to drop the subject, and while he wanted to demand answers right that very moment, Zevran could clam up tighter than even Baldur when he was pushed.

"Come. What you need is some rest and perhaps a mug of ale or two. Or five, who's to say? And later, if you are amenable, we can continue what we started several times in that delectable little bathhouse, which we have no doubt been banned from indefinitely. Such a shame! I rather enjoyed the bubbles myself."

"Are you certain it is wise to stay in town when we know the Crows are here?" Baldur asked dubiously, feeling agony begin to pulse behind his eyes as the rage finally began to subside. A soft bed in a dark room while wrapped around a warm and breathing Zevran sounded like bliss despite the danger staying even a night longer presented.

"I am certain it is not. But if the Crows wish to find me, they will do so whether we are sleeping on the cold ground fifty miles from here, or in a nice warm bed in the room we have already rented for the night. It would be such a shame to let it go to waste..."

Baldur knew it was a bad idea, but as the adrenaline-fueled rage finally began to dissipate he started to crash hard. They had ways to lay traps and barricade themselves inside their rooms, however they would need to inform the inn staff that they were not to be disturbed under any circumstance. Baldur didn't try to delude himself that the idea of finally having Zevran in a proper bed while they still had the chance was direly appealing, even if he would be unable to manage more than a clumsy kiss before he passed out against Zevran's shoulder.


Baldur didn't remember the walk to the inn. He also didn't remember being stripped of armor and clothing, or having his hand carefully removed of splinters and bandaged. He only came to when he felt the warm, comfortable weight of Zevran settle over his thighs, his lover very much nude.

"Mmrh?" Baldur's questioning sound was muffled by the pillow buried in his face, aware that he was laying facedown on their bed and had not a stitch of clothing on him as well.

"Shhh. You may sleep if you like - I will do nothing untoward with your body. I prefer my partners conscious and writhing with pleasure. It is good for the ego."

"Mm," Baldur agreed, closing his eyes and relaxing back into the mattress when Zevran's slick hands ran up his sides and across his back, kneading the painfully tight muscles with almost clinical efficiency.

Baldur didn't know how much time had passed when he woke up again, but there was a candle halfway melted and flickering on the beside table and no light coming through the shuttered window. Zevran was humming quietly to himself, his hands steady and even as they worked on Baldur's taut shoulders. He must have located a pressure point because in one swift moment Baldur was hit with an excruciating pain at the base of his neck that sucked the breath right out of him. Before he could yell at the sensation of a white hot poker stabbing directly into the back of his skull, Zevran let go and unspeakable relief immediately flooded down his spine in the most intense pleasure he had ever felt. All of the agony and tension from his migraine was suddenly, blessedly gone, and Baldur sobbed at the foreign feeling of being entirely without pain for once.

Zevran seemed to expect such a reaction, because his aggressive massage smoothly flowed into feather-light caresses all over his body, easing Baldur through the worst tremors until he gasped into his sodden pillow, entirely rung out. Zevran leaned over him and curled his arms around Baldur's broad torso until his chest was flush against Baldur's back, kissing him tenderly behind the ear with hot lips.

"Forgive me for being so crass, my dearest, but I find that I need you quite desperately," Zevran murmured against the side of his neck. He rocked his hips meaningfully, the long, hard line of him riding the cleft of Baldur's arse, and Baldur jolted with realization of what Zevran was asking.

"I-" Baldur started, gasping when Zevran pressed against him again, fire trailing from every point of contact. "Oh Ancestors," he breathed, arching his spine and lifting his face from the pillow with a soft moan as he pushed back against him, shuddering. "I've n-never..."

"I know, mi corazón. If it helps, think of it as another kind of massage, only from the inside."

"I...Yes."

Zevran pressed another kiss to his neck and then unexpectedly moved off of Baldur entirely. He immediately missed the man's heat and weight holding him down to the bed, but Zevran only shifted back and not completely off the bed, his hands an anchoring point on Baldur's body the entire while. Zevran gently grasped Baldur's hips and tugged back on them, coaxing Baldur into a sort of half-kneel with Baldur's face and shoulders pressed into the pillow. Cool air brushed against a place that never saw daylight, Zevran's sword-roughened hands gently spreading him open and exposing the most secret part of him. A warm, wet touch replaced the puff of air and Baldur jerked as if he'd been hit by lightning.

"Zevran!" he gasped, scandalized and desperately, desperately aroused. "You can't-"

"Oh, I think you will find that I can," Zevran chuckled, his voice dark and rough like smoke. "And I will." His tongue returned before Baldur could protest, pressing and licking inside with obscene, wet sounds that became sloppier when Baldur cried out and lifted his hips into the illicit sensation, chasing after Zevran's wickedly skillful tongue and immensely relieved that he had maintained his hygiene since the bathhouse.

Baldur lost all sense of time and space, his entire focus tunneling down into a single point of contact. He didn't even notice when Zevran worked an oil-slicked finger into him, licking around the digit hungrily, but he certainly felt when he slid two inside, the burn and odd sensation of fullness completely foreign. Zevran stayed with two fingers for a long while, clearly in no hurry as he drove the tip of his tongue between his fingers until Baldur was sweating and thrusting counterpart to his touch.

"If only you could see how sweet you look right now," Zevran said as he nipped lightly at Baldur's cheek, dipping his fingers in and out of him with no resistance and tugging experimentally at his rim. He retrieved the massage oil and drizzled a generous amount between the gaps in his fingers, squishing lewdly when he pushed back inside.

"Zevran," Baldur moaned again - the only coherent word he'd been able to produce since this entire endeavor started.

"Hush, love. Patience is a virtue after all. I will give you what you need soon..."

Baldur sobbed, spreading his knees apart and arching into the touch when Zevran started working three slender fingers inside, his pace relentlessly unhurried despite the way Baldur cursed and cried for him, clawing at the bedclothes. He'd never felt anything so strange or so good in his life, helpless against the wave after wave of sensation pulsing through him. When he was certain he would go mad with need, Zevran repositioned himself behind Baldur and the now-familiar stretch of his fingers gave way to a blunt pressure at his entrance.

Zevran didn't immediately start forcing his way into Baldur, for which the dwarf was simultaneously grateful and frustrated. However, for each shuttering breath Baldur took Zevran inched incrementally deeper inside, simple gravity and physics pulling them together at a nearly imperceptible rate, so slow they seemed locked in one position indefinitely. When Zevran's hips were finally, finally flushed against Baldur's backside, they were both sweating and shaking. Baldur let out a ragged moan when Zevran collapsed on top of him, covering him like a living blanket. Baldur hadn't realized how much he missed being thoroughly surrounded, having been born as a Child of the Stone and subsequently lived his entire life under miles and miles of rock in endless tunnels. Zevran's arms wrapped him in a tight embrace as he buried his face against the curve of his neck, licking at trails of sweat that poured off of him.

If the inn came crashing down upon them at that moment, Baldur would not have noticed. He trembled all over and strained momentarily against Zevran's weight just to see if he would move, but he cried out and collapsed like his strings were cut when Zevran rocked his hips, once, and then stilled again.

Baldur went through feverishly revolving sensations, becoming so worked up and jittery that he was certain he would crawl out of his skin. He clenched brutally around Zevran and mewled his frustration when the other pinned him to the bed to prevent Baldur from thrusting back upon him. Alternately, when the tension finally peaked and Baldur could stand it no longer, there was a shift in his brain that suddenly felt like falling off a bottomless cliff, an infinite descent slowing and slowing until he was finally suspended, floating in a dreamy haze.

His breathing and heartbeat gradually evened out, tense muscles slowly relaxing once again beneath Zevran's unyielding presence within him, safe and secure. Baldur wasn't asleep, but neither was he awake, bound so thoroughly by Zevran's body and the anchoring, unmoving firmness of him within that he could finally just...let...go...

Baldur didn't know when Zevran began to move within him, the gentle rocking so, so slow and infinitesimal that he may as well have not been moving at all. He may have fallen asleep or lost awareness again for minutes or hours at a time, blissfully disconnected from his own body and mind, but when he drifted to the surface again Zevran seemed to know and would ease him back under with his body and wordless, soothing murmurs every single time. When morning light finally penetrated through the haze and gradually started bringing him back into his body, Baldur found himself in an enormous wet spot. He must have come off half a dozen times throughout the night in order to create the sodden area beneath his hips. Zevran was awake, if he'd even slept at all, heavy and warm on top of him and still connected intimately inside, although he too seemed to finally be spent.

Baldur felt refreshed and clean, for all that they were tacky and stuck together like two mating Mabari. Zevran kissed his cheek and carefully peeled himself off of Baldur when they lingered as long as they could, his fingers gently inspecting where Baldur was gaping open, wet and sore. Zevran wiped him down with cool water and a rough flannel after Baldur apparently passed muster, gently working to unstick the crust in the corners of his eyes from sleep and all the crying he had done. When Baldur was clean again, Zevran gently turned him over and kissed him fully awake, even though Baldur struggled against the thought of having to step a foot outside and willingly subject himself to pain and fear and the pressure of the world upon his shoulders. Already tension was starting to seep back in, but Baldur was determined to enjoy this moment for as long as he could, not knowing when their next reprieve would come.

They eventually disabled the wards that Zevran must have had Morrigan set the night before and shared a quiet breakfast of poached eggs, sausage, crusty bread and tea that Zevran requested from a flustered servant while scantily clad in only a bedsheet wrapped loosely around his hips. They leaned against each other while seated on the edge of the bed as they ate, carefully avoiding the telling stains that Baldur would have to tip the inn staff extra for having to clean.

When breakfast was done, they washed their teeth, faces, and dressed in new tunics and stiff leather breeches that would need to be broken in. Even Zevran pulled on a pair, stating the weather was still a bit too cold to go without just yet, to Baldur's mild disappointment, both of them saving the heavy, uncomfortable armor until the very last. Zevran settled on the floor between Baldur's legs for the brushing-and-braiding that had become their ritual in the mornings. Baldur stretched the stiff fingers of his bandaged hand, grateful they didn't seem to be broken, but he was frustrated that he wouldn't be able to plait Zevran's hair well enough to his own exacting standards with the minor injury.

He spent a moment carding his fingers through the fine, silken strands, awed and more than a little humbled at the easy trust Zevran had with Baldur at his back, not even considering that he would make a mess of the attempt. He lifted the comb he had purchased as an indulgence earlier that week, although Zevran claimed it was very definitely a 'need, you dwarven heathen'. He started to run the tines through Zevran's hair and was struck with a wave of nostalgia as he abruptly recalled an old, previously forgotten memory of his parents doing this very thing.

The memory was hazy, but Baldur remembered every morning his father would reverently brush waves and waves of his mother's shining black hair while she was seated regally at her gilded armoire. Baldur would climb into her lap, surrounded by her scent and loose hair, to curl around the bulge of his baby brother or sister still in her belly while Trian played with his wooden blocks on the floor at her slippered feet. His father would braid her hair into the most intricate, swirling loops Baldur had ever seen, the movement of his large fingers in her dark hair quick and deft with years of practice. The loops were held in place by gold clasps and ornaments and then woven with strands of precious gems that gleamed like starlight against the midnight black of her hair. Baldur had been told several times as a youth that he resembled her, while Trian and Bhelen had inherited their father's fairer coloring. He didn't remember her face or her voice, especially after all the royal portraits of her had been taken down and stored away on the king's orders after her death and Endrin forbade any to speak of her.

They had been so happy as a family, deliriously so, before his mother had died in childbirth with Bhelen. The closeness and affection the two older boys once had in abundance vanished instantly in the wake of the queen's death, the loss of their mother eclipsing the excitement of a brand new baby who was sent off to a wet nurse while Trian and Baldur were turned out to their nursemaids and tutors to keep out of their father's hair, shorn nearly to his scalp in mourning. Endrin's devastation hardened the king's heart and all tenderness was set aside for raising hard, efficient sons who would someday lead a nation and achieve greatness at any cost.

"I have something for you," Baldur blurted, clutching the fine-toothed ivory comb so hard its teeth nearly broke through the skin of his palm.

"Presents before Feastday? I must have been a very good boy," Zevran smirked as he twisted around to watch as Baldur slid down off the bed and dropped the comb to tear open his pack, searching frantically.

"Mahal's beard, where is it?" Baldur cursed as he overturned his pack when he couldn't find the small package he had yesterday, knowing it would take forever to put everything back in order so his gear would all fit, but he didn't care at that point. Baldur had nearly reached the bottom of his pack and was ready to tear at his hair when Zevran's voice smoothly interrupted Baldur's increasingly frantic search.

"Is what you are searching for small and box-shaped, perhaps?"

Baldur's head snapped up, sending several coins and small vials scattering across the floor where they rolled into cracks or corners, but he was focused on the package in Zevran's hands and didn't notice.

He paled.

"How did you- Did you open it?" he demanded, stumbling over the mess he'd made on the floor to snatch the box out of Zevran's hand, dropping to his knees next to him with a jarring 'thump' that rattled his teeth.

"Though I am a very skilled procurer of valuable items - which I may sometimes borrow indefinitely - I do not make a habit of stealing from my companions."

"That wasn't what-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply..."

"I'm sure you did not," Zevran agreed magnanimously, but there was a frosty edge to his voice that caused Baldur's stomach to twist violently, barely managing to hold onto his breakfast. "I found the package when I was undressing you last night and it seemed to be of importance. I set it aside so that it would not get misplaced. Usually you are more of an eager participant in the event of divesting ourselves of clothing, but I understand you were not well and may not remember."

Zevran did not meet his eyes as he shifted to rise to his feet, hair loose and unbraided.

"Wait!" Baldur blurted, shamefaced and reaching out to grab Zevran's arm before he got up. "Please, I'm sorry. I'm doing this all wrong."

Baldur must have looked so distressed that Zevran hesitated, nodding his head in an indication to continue before settling back on the floor with a politely interested expression on his face.

"Are you going to make me guess what is in the box then? Alright, I will bite. Is it a detonation device that is rigged to blow up the entire inn once opened while we make our dramatic escape from the Crows? Somebody's fingers you are having delivered as a threat to a politician's family? Or perhaps a priceless gem for a secret lover of yours?"

"Stop saying that!" Baldur snarled, and Zevran's lips pinched together in a tight, unhappy line before he schooled a neutral expression back into place. "Just...stop. There is no lovestruck man waiting for me at The Pearl, no perfumed letters from secret admirers, or trails of broken hearts scattered all across Ferelden! So stop implying that I'm not completely yours! There is only you! It's always going to be only you!"

Baldur was yelling, but he couldn't make himself calm down, much like his berserker state, except he was more scared and hurt than actually angry. "I know you wouldn't steal from me because you couldn't. Everything that belongs to me, everything that I am, is already yours. I would let the entire world burn for you, and if you can't see that-"

Baldur was shaking, his jaw clenched so tightly no further words could possibly make their way out. Instead, he shoved the damned package into Zevran's hands and crossed his arms over his chest, pretending that the sight of Zevran so wide-eyed and stunned didn't tear him apart.

"This is...for me?" Zevran asked hesitantly, and Mahal damn him for still sounding so surprised at being given a gift without prompting. Baldur was doing a poor job in his duty as a lover if Zevran didn't take for granted being showered in gifts and attention regularly and accept it as his due.

"I meant to give it to you yesterday, but then the letter from Ignacio came and, well..."

"May I...open it?"

"Please," Baldur said tightly, certain he'd expire from nerves if Zevran waited a moment longer.

He tried not to watch as Zevran carefully, meticulously unwrapped the twine and brown paper, but his eyes kept returning to Zevran's hands and then his face, unable to look away. He held his breath when Zevran finally removed the lid after what had to be nearly a decade of making Baldur wait, possibly as punishment for his earlier behavior, staring down at the contents blankly.

"It doesn't have to mean anything," Baldur blurted as all his breath rushed out of him, suddenly panicked and wanting to snatch the box away and hide until either the world ended or he was old and grey, whichever came first. "You don't have to accept them if you don't want... I can take them back..."

"Baldur," Zevran said sharply, and Baldur fell instantly into silence, twisting his bruised fingers together brutally and distracting himself with the pain to keep from incriminating himself further.

"Baldur. These..."

Zevran's voice was strange, and Baldur couldn't tell if the sorrowful echoes he heard were from pity or rejection. He wanted desperately to be ill or cry, and had to swallow repeatedly to keep from doing either. He knew he should allow Zevran to finish, but he couldn't stand the thought of hearing the end to their relationship crash and burn around him, wanting to selfishly hold onto the memory of waking up in Zevran's arms every morning, braiding his soft hair, and listening to him laugh and try to get Baldur to respond to his increasingly ridiculous flirtations.

"I know it's too soon and sudden, and you don't feel the same way, but I thought I would just... I don't know how elves Bond, but dwarves only have one true love in their lives and will have no others after. Ever. It doesn't matter that we've only known each other for a short time, and it's not fair to put that pressure on you, but I wanted you to know that what I said before is true. You are and will always be the only one. There will be no one else for me after you, whether you choose to accept me or not."

Tears were rolling down Baldur's cheeks and into his beard, weeping silently and without sobs. He imagined this all-consuming despair was what his father must have felt when his mother had died, bleak and without hope, with only persistent loneliness to look forward to for the rest of their very long lives. Zevran wasn't dead, but Baldur didn't know if that was better or worse knowing he was alive and somewhere Baldur couldn't reach... No, that wasn't true. Far better that Zevran was alive and happy, even with someone else, while Baldur loved him quietly from afar and did everything in his power to protect him from the Crows and Baldur's own enemies that would exploit this weakness in an instant.

Zevran didn't respond, still looking down into his hands with a haunted, hunted expression on his face, and Baldur couldn't wait for the death knoll to ring out signaling the end of his very heart and soul, even if his body still had to keep fighting once he left this room. He scrambled to his feet, tripping over the mess of his pack and not caring, leaving everything behind as he stumbled to the door. He spared a moment to be both grateful and resentful that they had already removed the warding that likely would have stunned, if not outright killed him trying to force his way through. He could find new weapons and equipment. He could start again from nothing as he had done once before, except he now had Leliana and Morrigan and Alistair and so many others on his side when before he had no one.

Baldur didn't make it to the door.

Zevran grabbed him and had him flipped onto his back with his head slamming against the hard wood floor in a move so swift and brutally disarming that Baldur hadn't even heard him move from his seated position on the ground. Zevran swung a leg over his hips and pressed a hand hard against Baldur's throat before he could think to shout, stunning and pinning him down so efficiently that Baldur couldn't use his greater strength to force his way free. He could breathe – just barely - but he couldn't talk, which he suspected was Zevran's goal.

"Don't you dare say these don't mean anything or presume to tell me what I feel!" Zevran hissed venomously, his short nails digging into Baldur's skin on either side of his neck. "You don't get to take that back!"

Baldur's throat worked under Zevran's fingers, knowing the assassin could feel his frantic heartbeat, if not hear it as well. He could only look up at Zevran, helpless and completely at his mercy. Even spitting with rage he was the most beautiful thing Baldur had ever seen and he loved him so much, even if he could never say those exact words to Zevran.

Zevran glared back at him, vibrating with rage even as Baldur's body responded to the familiar weight and presence of his beloved even when he was certain Zevran was so angry that he would gladly throttle Baldur right then and have no regrets later. Zevran clearly noticed Baldur's interest, seated as he was with his backside directly over the dwarf's groin. His eyes narrowed dangerously and he rocked his hips in a deliberate motion, drawing a strangled hiss from between Baldur's clenched teeth.

Zevran smirk wasn't kind.

"I've had sex with a mark before," he said conversationally, his fingers easing up slightly on Baldur's throat, just enough to let him gasp for air but not so loose as to allow him to lift his head or break free. "I still killed her after, but I had her begging for release of either kind after I kept her strung at the end of my cock for hours. I gave her both, of course. Never let it be said that I cannot be gracious, too."

Baldur didn't know why Zevran was telling him this unless he planned to kill or fuck him to death. Why now when he didn't in the bathhouse with a razorblade pressed to Baldur's jugular, he didn't know. He'd had no better opportunity than when they were both alone, Baldur unarmed and baring his throat to Zevran, unless Baldur had infuriated him past the point of reason. The situation wasn't helped by the fact Zevran continued grinding against him painfully, the leather of their trousers chafing and heating from the friction and causing all coherent thought to flee Baldur's brain.

"Don't move," Zevran warned, a knife suddenly in hand and his tone brooking no dissent. He dragged the tip of his knife down Baldur's damp cheek in a curved echo of his own markings, the touch too light to break skin but not too light that Baldur couldn't feel the drag of the blade less than an inch from his eye, a cold sweat breaking out all over. The knife gently traced Baldur's bottom lip before scraping through his beard and resting against the tip of his chin. Zevran's head tilted consideringly.

"I wanted to kiss you from the moment I saw you, standing over me with the blood of my companions still wet upon your face and your sword leveled at my throat." The knife traveled down and Zevran removed his hand with a lingering caress to Baldur's throat, resting the edge of the blade against his larynx in counterpoint to his story.

"You could have killed me - or had me - right there in the dirt surrounded by your friends and the bodies of your attackers, and I would have begged for release myself. A fitting end for one such as I, no? But then you stupidly decided to trust me and offer me a hand in friendship and a place at your side. You are fortunate I was too astonished by these actions to kill you that very night, guards or no, and take my chances with the Crows. They would never have to know that my first attempt to assassinate you failed, especially since you so efficiently took care of anyone who might have wagged their tongue to Ignacio or some other informant."

The knife moved again, this time plucking at the lacings to his tunic, the new one dyed in ultramarine that Zevran had insisted that he buy as the color brought out the mixed blues and greys of Baldur's eyes. "But you interested me, so I stayed my hand and bided my time for however long it was until you no longer amused me. Then I could kill you and disappear where the Crows would never find me.

"I've never met anyone so blatantly, pathetically in want of me before and not take the opportunity when it was presented over and over again. I was tempted to greet you in your bedroll at the temple, naked and leaking from my desire so there was no possible way you could deflect or adorably blunder your way out of the conversation without either clear dismissal or taking what was yours by right."

Baldur burst into a miserable flush at the reminder that Zevran had seen right through him from the beginning, humiliated beyond reckoning for the way he'd acted back then. The way he was acting now, helpless at the end of Zevran's knife and hard enough to split his seams as the other rode at him relentlessly.

"You were more interested in getting yourself killed by a dragon than in fucking, though, so what was a man to do except save you from your stubborn, irrepressible self? I swear, I have never met someone with such a blatant disregard for their own life. You drive me crazy," Zevran growled, leaning forward with the knife in a white-knuckled grip in his hand.

Baldur felt the bite of steel slice into the vulnerable skin beneath his collarbone, flesh parting with sharp sting followed by a bead of warmth that gathered and rolled down his chest.

"Mierda!" Zevran suddenly cursed, ceasing all motions of his hips at once and causing Baldur to groan at the loss, his hands, which had been inert at his sides, scrabbling for Zevran's hips. "Oh fuck me, are you alright, Baldur? Damn it!"

Zevran flung the knife away and pulled at the front of Baldur's tunic, snapping the laces and shoving at the fabric to inspect the tiny cut that was barely bleeding, but Zevran looked so horrified that it may as well have been a mortal wound. Zevran made a frustrated sound and tore a strip of fabric from the hem of his own tunic, pressing the material over the injury.

"Amor. Baldur, I..." Zevran looked down at him helplessly, all of his former anger vanished at once. "Oh, Maker, forgive me. I didn't mean-"

"Why did you stop?"

Zevran paused and stared at him, his hand pressing painfully hard against Baldur's chest, even though Baldur did not protest the rough treatment. Zevran seemed to understand what he was asking, and closed his eyes with a long, slow breath.

"I never knew how you felt back then..." Baldur said quietly, stroking his thumbs against the bare skin over the jut of Zevran's hipbones, just above the edge of his trousers. "I still don't, even now. I always feared that I was only an amusing challenge for you, someone who didn't fall immediately into your bed and beg for a chance to please you, even though I wanted to do exactly that. Desperately. I feared that I would only have one night with you, ever, more than I ever worried that you would slide a knife between my ribs, which would have been a kinder act by far."

Zevran shook his head sharply, his mouth tight and eyes still closed, but he didn't speak. He seemed unable to form words, so Baldur hesitantly continued, less afraid after he had bared his soul and the worse had already happened.

"I'm terrified of falling in love with you, but I'm even more afraid it's too late. I think I'm already-"

"No, Baldur, please stop," Zevran begged, laying his fingers over Baldur's lips and opening his eyes to look down at him with so much anguish that for a moment Baldur couldn't breathe. "You can't-"

Zevran broke off with a frustrated growl, removing his fingers and replacing them with his lips in a crushing kiss. Baldur's arms immediately went around him and held him close, afraid of ever letting go. He opened his mouth to Zevran's demanding tongue, bucking upward when Zevran lowered himself again and began riding Baldur in earnest through their clothes, painful and not enough friction and the best thing Baldur had ever felt. Baldur let out a sob of relief when Zevran scrabbled at the lacing of his breeches and then his own, freeing them both and taking their matched need into a dry hand, jerking them together roughly. Baldur cried out into Zevran's mouth as he spilled within a few strokes, Zevran not releasing him as he used Baldur's seed to slick his own way before he was shooting over Baldur's tunic, gasping out his name.

They were trembling against each other when Zevran finally let them both go, wiping his hand off on his ruined tunic as he slowly collapsed against Baldur's chest. He made a tiny, hurt sound when he saw Baldur's cut anew, licking gently at the split skin until the bleeding stopped and he nuzzled gently underneath Baldur's chin like an overgrown cat. Baldur ran his hand down Zevran's back accordingly, his mind blank and blessedly free of chaotic thought for once.

Zevran, however, seemed to have most of his brain cells in working order, which was unfortunate since Baldur was more than content to lay there in companionable silence and never move again.

"I am not a nice or a good person, Baldur," Zevran said quietly into his throat, grazing his lips against the stubble that was beginning to grow back from the close shave a few days ago. "Not like you. I find satisfaction in taking another's life regardless of the kind of person they were - good, evil, or neither. I am good at my job and I worked hard to be someone the Crows trusted - as much as they ever trust anyone - to take out the remaining Grey Wardens. How you would want to bind yourself to someone like that, I cannot understand."

Baldur was quiet for a long time.

"I was banished from Orzammar for killing my older brother, Trian, which you know. I was set up, but a part of me knows that if Trian had been the one to attack first I would have relished the chance to take his life myself. He tormented me for much of our lives, and I think I may even resent Bhelen a little for taking the opportunity away from me. A 'nice' or a 'good' person wouldn't think these things about their own family. And I've killed too, even when I didn't have to simply because it was easier than trying to talk my way out of a situation. There's a reason the berserker rage came to me so quickly - it only amplifies the bloodlust and rage that's already there."

It hurt to finally voice his darkest thoughts, to have the ugliness within him laid so bare and exposed. Yet telling Zevran these things was an unexpected relief too, the other man just as broken and twisted as he was. If he still wanted to be with Baldur after everything he heard, even only as an ally instead of a lover after all, then perhaps Baldur wasn't so irredeemable.

"What a fine pair we make," Zevran muttered with dark amusement, and Baldur's lips twitched wryly, leaving his hand pressed against the small of Zevran's back and holding him there.

"Oh, dear. I do hope we aren't interrupting," Morrigan's voice came from the doorway, and Baldur jerked his head back to see her and Leliana surveying the disaster of their room with interest. Baldur's things were flung from his pack and scattered everywhere; a bloodied knife on the floor near the door, and Zevran and Baldur sprawled atop each other on the ground.

"Were you attacked? The wards were down when we came up."

Baldur let his head drop back with a hollow thud and sighed. He pinched Zevran's side hard when the assassin shook with laughter against him, thankful that their bodies hid the more damning evidence of what had transpired between them. Zevran cleared his throat and lifted his head when he regained control over himself, grinning smugly.

"What you are witnessing right now is the aftermath of a very enthusiastic honeymoon, I'm afraid. I apologize for our indiscretion, but as you can likely surmise we were a little...overcome...with emotion."

Baldur jerked in disbelief and stared up at Zevran, stunned.

"You could have gotten yourselves killed," Morrigan said disapprovingly as she stepped into the room, raising her eyebrow at the state of their bed, which was proof in itself that Zevran was speaking the truth.

"Congratulations!" Leliana exclaimed with obvious joy for the both of them, apparently uncaring of their current state of dishevelment. "I do wish you would have told us so that we could have pulled something together for you with the others. I am trained to officiate weddings, you know. Although...I am unfamiliar with either elven or dwarven ceremonies, I'm afraid. I don't think it's ever been done before, but I am certain we could find someone to oversee either ritual, or both even."

"That would be lovely. Thank you, Leliana," Zevran said with obvious pleasure before he glanced down at Baldur and winked, his smile soft and affectionate.

Baldur...didn't know what was happening.

"Leliana and I were on our way to get breakfast and last minute supplies. You may join us if you wish, but I suspect you will need time to pack if we're to leave before noon."

"A fine idea," Leliana agreed, opening their window enough to allow some fresh air into the room without making them vulnerable to an attack from an archer. "Shall we pick up anything for you? Oh! I remember there was a merchant selling flowers and scented oils down in the market. Perhaps I could-"

"N-No! Thank you. We'll just... We'll be ready to leave within the hour. You may go," Baldur choked out, utterly mortified.

"Very well," Leliana said, a little disappointed. "I will confer with the local Chantry sister here about who may be able to see to your Bonding. The Alienage may have someone, but I do despise the way the elves are treated there and I'm afraid much of the culture has been lost."

Leliana seemed genuinely saddened at the thought, and it was a testament of how far removed Zevran was from his own Dalish heritage that he didn't bristle at the reminder that his kind were essentially kept in cages and treated poorly by their human keepers. Baldur had thought most of the looks they received on the streets were partially due to the strangeness of seeing a dwarf as a Grey Warden, but he now suspected many of prejudices against elves were alive and strong, especially towards one as clearly armed and free as Zevran, although no one had been idiotic enough to confront them on their obvious relationship, thankfully.

"Come. We will pick up your armor from that strange blacksmith with an apparent fetish for drake scales. Consider it a gift."

Baldur didn't bother to mention the armor had been paid for beforehand, but he suspected Morrigan already knew as much. He was eager for them to go so that he could hurry and die of mortification in privacy, hyperaware that he and Zevran's trousers were undone and they were still pressed together intimately between their sticky bellies. He found himself beginning to stiffen again helplessly despite their audience, and Zevran quirked an eyebrow as he glanced down at him and shifted minutely, his grin filthy.

"Do not get distracted by each other's dicks," Morrigan warned in complaint as she stabbed a finger at them, and Baldur had the decency to look abashed. She snorted and quickly reset their wards before slamming the door behind her and Leliana with a loud reverberation and hum of magic.

"Alas. I would suggest another go in celebration for our apparent upcoming nuptials, but I'm afraid Morrigan would skin both of us and use our pelts as new draperies."

Zevran pecked a kiss to Baldur's slack lips in consolation before dragging himself off of Baldur with a groan. He stripped himself of his torn shirt and used a section to clean them both up with before tossing the garment into the corner to be disposed of, retrieving his knife and starting to put the room back to rights while Baldur laid there like a beached starfish, utterly bewildered by the entire past few minutes.

"Did you really mean..." Baldur started and then stopped, feeling a coward for not wanting to know whether Zevran actually meant to be Baldur's intended, or if the entire conversation had been a ruse to throw Leliana and Morrigan off the trail from what had really transpired between them.

"Hm?" Zevran asked, not looking up from where he set aside two clean tunics for them to change into before kneeling to arrange Baldur's equipment neatly and quickly into his pack with no apparent misgivings about handling Baldur's belongings.

Baldur had meant what he'd said about everything that belonged to him was also Zevran's, meager though his possessions were. He could and would have given Zevran treasures and weapons and wealth beyond counting as his Royal Consort, were they in Orzammar and Baldur still in possession of his inheritance. He grinned mirthlessly to himself at the idea of his father entertaining an elf for a son-in-law, much less one of low birth and no station. If Baldur hadn't been disowned then, he certainly would be now. Then again, if events hadn't transpired the way they had, he might not have met Zevran at all, and the thought was too unbearable to contemplate.

"Nothing," Baldur said, dragging himself off the floor and grimacing at the damaged state of his shirt, stained with bodily fluids of all manner and beyond saving.

He was sticky and filthy from rolling about on the floor, but they hadn't time for anything more than a quick rinse with cold water from the basin. Baldur resigned himself to weeks without a proper bath once they were on the road again, having missed the feeling of being clean. They had at least scrubbed the layers of dirt and blood from their armor and polished the metal to a high shine while they lazed about in their room the past week, taking the opportunity to do the necessary repair and maintenance they wouldn't have time for later whilst in the thick of battle. He picked up the soft forest green tunic Zevran had laid out on the bed for him, starting when he saw the ivory comb that was hidden beneath.

He picked the comb up delicately, as if it would shatter as easily as Baldur was certain he would in that moment, a strong breeze likely enough to tip him over. Zevran reached for his own tunic after securing Baldur's full pack, his own already put together the night before and waiting at the foot of their bed. He paused when he saw the comb in Baldur's hand, and Baldur felt dizzy with the choices before him.

Neither of them said a word, unwilling to break the tension between them, or not knowing how.

Finally, Baldur turned toward Zevran and held the comb out with a sad, resigned smile, his gaze fixed to the other's collarbone rather than meeting his eyes. Zevran accepted the comb from him and Baldur's heart sank without knowing exactly why, except that he felt like he was giving up more than just a comb. He turned quickly away to change into a fresh top and begin to assemble his armor, his leather breeches thankfully sturdy and none the worse for wear after a bit of spot cleaning.

Zevran cleared his throat, startling Baldur into dropping his chestplate with a clang, and Zevran gave him a strained, apologetic smile.

"You should do it," Zevran said quietly, and Baldur's eyes widened in dismay, immediately thinking of that sentence being completed along the lines of anywhere from "you should join the Crows" to "you should let me go," neither of which deemed considering. However, if Zevran wanted to leave, Baldur wouldn't be able to stop him from going.

"My hair, that is," Zevran clarified as he held the comb back out to him, and Baldur stared at the implement uncomprehendingly. "It's a complete disaster, I'm sure. I wouldn't want the others to think I've let myself go already now that I'm a kept man. Unless," Zevran faltered, seeming to catch Baldur's expression and began to withdraw his hand, "you don't want...?"

"No!" Baldur said too loudly as he grabbed the comb away from Zevran before he could take it back, causing them both to jump. "No, I want to. Please."

Baldur wanted everything Zevran was willing to give, except he just couldn't tell what was actually his to have thanks in part to Zevran's jesting nature. He couldn't presume anything, and felt like he was taking several steps back from the progress they had made while in Denerim, overly cautious about every word and move he made once again.

Zevran smiled at him, bright and warm and perhaps relieved, but he turned too swiftly for Baldur to be able to tell and settled at the floor by his feet. Baldur seated himself on the edge of the bed, managing not to be too ungainly as he had to hop a little to reach. He soon lost himself in the familiar rhythm of coaxing out tangles until he could easily glide the comb through Zevran's hair without snagging just for the pleasure of the motion even when his hair was smooth and shining once again. Baldur finally gave up the comb and twisted Zevran's hair into the familiar two braids pulled back from his temples, wildly tempted to work in a Bonding knot while he was there, but he refrained. The silver clasps were nowhere in sight, and Baldur swallowed down his disappointment and didn't ask after them, instead fixing the braids together behind Zevran's head with a strip of leather.

Zevran joined Baldur on the bed to do his hair for him after Baldur was finished, plaiting quickly and not lingering on the simple braids. He gave a quick kiss to Baldur's cheek when he was done, murmuring in his ear. "There. Now you look like a proper elf."

That startled an unexpected snort of laughter out of Baldur and Zevran chuckled in response, rubbing their cheeks together briefly before he pulled away and stood, lending Baldur a chivalrous hand down even though it wasn't needed. Zevran didn't let go of Baldur's hand when he was standing again, both of them only having their armor left to put on before they could go. Instead, he leaned over and raised Baldur's hand to his lips, pressing a light kiss to his still-bruised knuckles from where Baldur had picked a fight with a wall and then a doorframe, obviously not coming out the victor in either scenario.

"I am your man, completely and without reservation," Zevran murmured as he fixed Baldur with an intent gaze through his lashes. That particular phrase was beginning to mean more than just an oath of loyalty between them, but just how far the promise extended Baldur couldn't even begin to fathom a guess.

Before Zevran could straighten back up and take himself out of range, Baldur stepped forward and slipped a hand around the back of Zevran's neck beneath the fall of blond hair, drawing their lips together for a chaste, close-mouthed kiss that Zevran melted into and returned without hesitation.

"I told you they wouldn't be ready when we got back! Is every morning going to be like this?" Morrigan complained as she barged into the room with Leliana following more sedately behind, the bard's eyebrow raised in amusement at Baldur and Zevran's proximity and clear lack of armor. Neither man had noticed their approach, and their companions were not wrong to be concerned about successful assassination attempts. Baldur and Zevran were dreadfully easy targets lately with a questionable sense of self-preservation.

"They're sweet. Leave them be," Leliana scolded and Morrigan scoffed.

Zevran bumped their foreheads together very gently with a smug grin and Baldur sighed, blushing to the tips of his decidedly non-elvish ears.

"We'll be right there!" Zevran said, bussing a kiss to the rounded end of Baldur's pink nose before moving away and strapping on his armor in only a handful of minutes. He was already sheathing his daggers by the time Baldur was only just beginning to move to shrug on his chainmail.

The weight of the steel as it settled over his shoulders was just as heavy as he remembered.


Âzyungâl – Lover (Khudzul)

Si, mi amor. Con placer. – Yes, my love. With pleasure. (Spanish)

Ai-rusê! - Upon the filth! (Khudzul, swear)

Mierda! – Shit! (Spanish)