Title: Snow and Ice

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Sexual content, minor language, violence, blood, use of alcohol

Summary: Once upon a time, a maleficar had stopped the blight. Afterwards, she'd left for the colder North, leaving love for a life of loneliness and wandering. No one was to look for her. So why was Alistair calling her back? Zev/Surana

Author's Note: Thank you for reading. Review please.

Chapter 14

She stumbled upon him reading in the library, flipping through a very large textbook on a desk somewhere obscure in the back of the room. He glanced up at her immediately and was on his feet as she flew into the room. Wax from the candelabra splashed everywhere. She nearly ran into him.

"What is wrong, my dear? Or were you just so eager to see me, you couldn't help but sprint down here in nothing at all?" He certainly appreciated the way the black nightgown hugged her slim hips and small breasts, falling delicately over her thighs. Still, he kept his eyes on her face. Paler than usual, she had a frightened look in her eyes. That made him pause.

"You..." she paused, gathering her thoughts. "You were not...by any chance, just in my room? Running your hands all over my body?" Truly, it was the wrong thing to say to the Antivan assassin. Zevran would never take advantage of an unwilling, sleeping woman and she knew that. He didn't have to. Not only that, but it was stupid because there was no way that he could possibly have been in her room and gotten back into the library in the dark before she did. Also, even if he had, there was no way he could be sitting in the back of the room reading a book with papers spread out all over the desk as a clear sign that he had been working all night.

Zevran grinned. "Dreaming, were you?"

"Be serious!" she snapped, losing her temper. "I have just been violated, you fool."

All teasing faded. Suddenly, it was the cool, collected assassin standing before her. Grabbing a single candle from the stretching arms of the brass instrument in her hand, he lit three candles on the desk and a torch on the wall. A little more light in the room allowed her to see the insomniac visage he was adopting. Setting the wax down on the desk when he was finished, he gestured for her to sit. She refused. He stood in front of her, arms crossed. "Start at the beginning. Was there someone in your room? Did you see anyone?"

"No, I-" she cut off, slowly letting out a breath. Setting the candelabra down with a shaking hand, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I cannot explain it. It's like someone was touching me with magic. With electricity, not fingers. At first, I thought it was a dream, but I woke up with my clothes all bunched up around my waist."

"You couldn't have rolled around? Bunched it up yourself?" Zevran asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I-" she paused. That was a distinct possibility. "Yes, I suppose I could have. But it wasn't a dream, what I felt. Someone was touching me, Zevran. I swear. Someone with magic, power."

He stared at her, thinking. Grabbing her hands, he forced her to sit in a chair across from him. "I know it's late. I know you've had a scare, but I need you to tell me about the demon that you conjured in Halisk."

She wrinkled her nose. "Halisk? How do you know about that? You don't think it was Ikilai who was in my room?"

"Ikilai?" Zevran prompted.

Against her better judgment, she began the story. She told him why she had conjured Ikilai in the first place, how she had done it. She explained how he had grabbed her from behind and pulled her into the pentagram, kissing her and stealing a bit of her essence. Zevran didn't understand how this mean he could find her wherever she went, so the mage ended up explaining that, too. She showed him her hand, the one that had been so badly damaged, and told him of the templars that chased her. Apparently, the templars had reported to the king that they'd felt a surge in magic at the heart of Halisk, and that was how Zevran knew about the demon in the first place. Zevran took it all in stride, understanding necessity. He didn't lecture her. Of course, she didn't expect him to. Zevran never judged her. No matter what she did. Even if she tried to kill him.

"Based on what you've told me, and on the fact that he both kissed you and called you his 'queen,' I think that it must have been the demon in your room tonight," Zevran said when she finished.

She shook her head and spread her hands helplessly. "But Ikilai is not a demon of Desire. He is a powerful Pride demon, one of the most powerful. This does not make sense."

"What makes a demon a demon?" he asked.

"Demons are spirits that are corrupted by their desires. Ikilai was a spirit that fell to his own pride," she explained, still disbelieving. "There is no reason he would come after me."

"You're a mage," Zevran said. "Maybe he wants to possess you? Turn you into an abomination?"

She shook her head. "I have made enough deals with demons to ensure that never happens. Besides that, he had me in his arms in that pentagram, and he let me go. That would have been the perfect time. He could have devoured my soul."

"So why didn't he?"

"I do not know," she replied, sighing. "Maybe he has a bigger plan?"

Zevran growled. Clearly he was agitated. "This speculation is getting us nowhere," he said, standing up and beginning to pace. The sun was just coming up over the horizon. Though there were no windows, she had an internal clock that could not be denied. Life was stirring in the recesses of the apprentice quarters. They would have to leave soon.

She spread her hands. "Ikilai is a demon that I hardly know anything about. I sought a powerful demon in the Fade to make a deal with, and he just showed up. I wish I knew more. If he is making sexual advances on me, it must mean that he is being corrupted by more than just his pride. He will make a dangerous enemy."

A hand came down on the desk. Zevran's eyes bore into hers. "But how did he get out? Aren't demons confined to the Fade unless they find a mage to possess?" It was bothering him that he knew so little about the situation, she could tell.

She hummed, biting her lip in the exact same place as her not-quite-scar. "When he stole my essence...well, it may have given him enough of a form to get out of the Fade. Or perhaps he has used the life force of another mage. I told you, the form that was touching me did not feel human. There was something...he was still part shadow. Not tangible."

"How strong can he be, then?"

Owain was opening the stock room. Elda sighed. "At night, I am forced to wander the Fade and fight demons until morning. I know the strength of every kind of demon. But this...this power. I have never felt anything like it. Even as a shade, he could probably have stolen my life force."

Stopping his pacing, Zevran ran a hand through his short, blonde hair. Since their reunion, she found herself at times wishing his hair was still long. Though she could the see the logic in changing his identity if the Crows still sought his life. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and relaxed, the tenseness of his shoulders melting away. Sitting down across from her at the desk he'd been working at before this sudden speculation began, he folded his hands on the desk and stared into her eyes. "You know more of the Fade than I ever could, having spent more time there than I think you'd like to admit. As much as I'd like to appear confident and teasing, I am afraid I find myself worried about the mother of my child,"-she stared guiltily down at her hands for some reason- "However much I would like to protect you or console you, this...demon is something you brought upon yourself. I know shadows and the dark depths of the human soul; I know death and destruction and chaos, but I do not know magic." Here he spread his hands helplessly.

The words sunk deep and penetrated her cold heart, startling it and forcing it to skip a beat. Zevran had most definitely changed from the man she once knew, the man who would tell her wild stories by the fire at night when a battle at dawn might claim their lives. Talking with him had shown a growing maturity, an incomplete thing. Where he would have teased her once, he was a bit more serious. She had known both the sarcastic, funny son of a whore and the deadly assassin hidden behind the mask. Looking into his eyes, she could feel the truth in his words. He wouldn't tell her not to worry because she should worry. He wouldn't tell her he could protect her because it wasn't true. She was not the only one who had hardened over the years, and she felt that truth sink straight into her soul.

She stood abruptly, palms flat on the desk, staring down at her feet. "You are right. This is my fault, and I will deal with it." The sudden coldness in her eyes as she straightened and turned around was not lost on him. She called back over her shoulder, "You should get ready, Commander. The king will not wait forever, and we should depart soon."

Zevran groaned, rotating his shoulders to rid them of their stiffness. He wasn't quite sure that one night of roaming haunted hallways was enough to destroy all of her figurative demons, but he would not ask her if she was all right. No one who was raped, beaten, watched, tormented, and betrayed in one spot was ever all right when in that spot. He tilted his head back, leaning the chair and propping his foot up on the desk. Scattered rays of light fell from some crack in the high ceiling. Sometimes, Elda was as tough as wood, and the only thing he could do was cut away the rough bark to get at the smooth center. He'd spent months trying to crack her exterior before, and he had no doubt that it would take the same amount of effort if not more to break it a second time.

Andraste was in a foul mood that reflected her mistress's own personality perfectly. After saying her goodbyes in the tower and packing up all of her things, Elda had refused to even speak to Zevran, not responding at all to his prodding and gentle teasing. She wasn't sulking, just deep in thought with her shoulders hunched over. Elda was trying to rack her brain for too many things at once. She needed a way to deal with Alistair's problem quickly so she could be on her way, destroy Ikilai and whatever foul scheme he was planning, maim or kill Zevran for kidnapping her in the first place and being so smug about it, and get the damn collar off her neck so as to be able to do at least three of those things in the first place. So far, the collar had proved to be completely irremovable by the wearer. That was the most important problem. With no other choice, it had to be dealt with first.

Theron rode up beside her, his mare's blonde coat shining with sweat from the hot sun. He smiled at her, "So how was the tower?"

She looked to the sky. Two birds circled overhead. Scavengers. "Full of bad memories."

"Surely there were some good memories, too? I hear mages spend their entire lives in that tower. It can't have been all bad," Theron argued, brows furrowing.

No, it wasn't all bad. The bad memories had swallowed up most of the good ones, but if she tried, she could remember sweet times. She could remember the time she and Jowan had snuck into Owain's shop and got into the paint at a young age. They'd come out in four different colors and stood there for an hour while Irving lectured them, all the while holding hands. Or when Jowan and she were caught kissing in a storeroom by Cullen. The poor boy couldn't possibly have been any redder. "No," she said, "there were good times, too."

"Glad I am to hear it," he replied.

Feeling a bit better, Elda nudged Andraste's sides carefully until she sped up. When she was at Zevran's side, she slowed down. "I can smell water around here. The horses need water, Zev, and we need to get out of this..." Heat, she finished. It was the smile on his face that made her trail off. "What?" she demanded, scowling.

"Nothing at all. You're right, of course," he patted his horse's neck. "We'll stop for a break until midday passes." The sun was directly over them at that point.

Elda fell back, allowing the guards to pass her until she was at the very back of the group. She replayed the conversation over and over in her head, catching nothing that would make him smile.

"The horses need water, Zev."

She nearly fell off her horse in fury at his immaturity. Really? Her attention gave him way too much pleasure. How was she supposed to hurt him when even her fists made him smile? That was the same way it was before. And just when she had thought Zevran had grown up just a bit, he did something so childish. Bristling, she ushered Andraste into a gallop and got to the river up ahead before any of the men did.

She dismounted and led Andraste to the bank, not bothering to tie her up. Flopping down beside the river, Elda removed her leather shoes carefully and inspected her toes. Then, she had to stop and wonder why she even bothered. It was hot outside, a searing heat actually, and she was checking her toes for frostbite. "Old habits die hard," she muttered, amused at herself.

Dipping her toes into the silty riverbed, Elda closed her eyes and let the coolness of the shaded region wash over her. One could hear the chirping of birds, the playfulness of fish in the stream, and the whistle of a soft, sleepy breeze. She was careful not to put too much pressure on her injured arm. A demon not long ago had ensured she healed quite quickly, but it was still painful. The collar still chafed against the fragile wounds already present on her neck. She vowed never to collar Syn again.

"It seems I've found a river nymph," an accented voice declared.

She groaned, and opened one eye. "Can you not leave me alone for a moment?"

"Staying away from you would involve pain. I have never been much of a masochist."

"I'm beginning to think you are," she sighed. "How can you put up with my company when I am so cruel to you?"

He laughed, carefree. "You are not quite as mean as you think you are." Zevran sat on the ground with much more grace than she had. Sitting at her feet, he managed to pull one of them into his lap, removing the leather shoe.

Her fingertips curled around a flower and pulled until the roots caved in. "Do not play with me," she warned, leaning up to slide the petals across his throat, tossing it to the ground.

Pointed, elven teeth gleamed at her as he smiled. "I'm quivering with fear, Miss," he promised, fingers massaging her foot.

Unused to any physical contact at all, beyond the occasional hug of her daughter's small body and the curling up at night in order to keep warm, it wasn't a surprise to anyone when she tensed. The muscle in her leg contracted as if ready to jump up and away. Her entire body went rigid even as he moved his fingers up and down her foot, simply massaging. Instead of jerking away from him, however, she thrust her chin aside and refused to look at him.

Meanwhile, he was inspecting her toes. "Amazing that you have all of them still," he commented. "And no tattoos down here. I know you've got them on your calves."

She sneered, "And how would you know that?"

Laughing, he gave a playful tug on her ankle. "Do you really wish me to go into detail with the guards standing just over there, hmm?"

"I only had one tattoo on my right thigh, then," she argued. "My calf tattoos were done in a Dalish tribe to the North. Matching because I met twins who saved my life."

"My dear, the first day you woke up in the castle, you changed right in front of me," he chuckled. That was true.

Elda gave an exasperated sigh and let her arms give out, flopping onto the ground. The sky was a straight blue that day, not a cloud in sight. She had to admit it was nice to simply lay there and take in the soft whistling of birds and trees. Nothing but howling wind could be heard in the frozen wasteland, along with the occasional sound of a barking wolf. The sun seared her flesh where it cut through the trees, and she reveled in it, sighing contentedly and closing her eyes. Zevran's fingers worked on her smooth feet, separating her toes and forcing her to relax. It wasn't long until he started on the other one. Thankfully, he didn't speak at all.

She fell asleep under his ministrations, and Zevran felt it when her entire body relaxed. He smiled softly, leaning over to brush a few stray bits of hair out of her eyes. Six years, and she hadn't aged a bit. Six years and her skin was still just as smooth, just as supple. He picked her up and began gesturing for the guards to pack up. It was time to go.

Zevran paused at the stream, a horribly mean thought coming to him. Riding with her on his horse would mean that someone would have to take care of Andraste. Also, when she woke up she would likely throw a fit. He couldn't just wake her up by shaking her awake. Instead, he padded to the edge of the stream, raised her up over it, and dropped her like a dead weight.

In record time, she surfaced with a look of murderous fury plastered onto her face along with her hair. "Zevran, you son of a bitch!" she shrieked while he laughed on the bank. Her clothes were entirely soaked through, the water deep enough to go just up to her neck. If her magic had worked, he most certainly wouldn't have been standing there still. At least, not alive. Ducking under one last time to get the hair out of her eyes, she stood up and charged at him.

Zevran caught her slow strike with one hand, still chuckling to himself. She pulled back with the other fist, forcing him to turn his back to the water, and let it fly forward. Lazily, he ducked low, hands going about her waist and yanking her forward. Then, he propelled her up so that she was over his shoulder, dumping her right back into the water. She landed with a smack, going all the way under. The guards were looking at them curiously. Theron appeared slightly worried.

"Commander, maybe you shouldn't antagonize her like that," he warned, unsure. She hadn't resurfaced quite yet. Zevran straightened and shot him an amused glance.

"I know how to treat what's mine, boy," he replied. Elda's hand shot forward from the stream, clasping about his ankle with a cold, wet grip. With all the strength in her body, she yanked on his ankle. He overbalanced, but before he could catch himself, she leaped from the water and hooked her arms about his waist, dragging him under. Water splashed over the earthy bank. He landed backwards, right on top of her. While he was still in shock, she slipped out from beneath him (her robes were less heavy than his wet armor) and launched herself at him again. Zevran's head was underwater, but he didn't seem worried.

Underwater, her strikes were even slower, so he had time to dodge. Her fist met with silty river bed as he turned his head to the side. The water resistance was huge, but even wet she weighed nothing. His hands went back to her hips, picking her up. She fought this time, though. Before he could make it to the other side of the stream, she kicked him right in the knee. He fell on his back, hitting his head on the dirty ground. That didn't slow him down, though. This time, he rolled them so that he was on top, wiping the water from his eyes. Both of their legs were still in the stream, but the top half was on the dirty bank. Droplets fell from his hair onto her face. She was glaring, her sharp fingernails digging into his shoulders. One leg was wrapped around his. Mirth danced in his golden eyes, the heat of the sun on their back already attempting to suck the moisture from their clothes and skin.

Suddenly, they were all alone. She stared, panting, into his eyes as he stared into hers. Mages didn't fight with their hands. She had no chance, but she fought so hard. He admired that about her. Before he could think about what he was doing, that there had been a six year gap that kept intimacy with her at bay, he tucked a strand of hair behind her delicately tipped ear and kissed her mouth.

Posting not too bad, right? I was a bad girl and focused on this instead of my book, but I did write three or four pages! Hurray! T.T I am so dead.