Everyone is comfortable at the castle - everyone except Ilina. She misses the stars in the black sky. The midnight heavens are stories of ancient legends and romances that span an eternity. It is lovers that cry rivers of tears to reach one another and beautiful warrior-women who earn special places in the heart of the Maker with their bow skills. So although the castle is warm from the fire in her chamber - and although she lies in a soft bed with Hilde at her side -and although she is clean from a hot bath - Ilina misses sleeping outside.
And she aches for Zevran's touch, his soft whispers and strong arms - longs to smell his spicy breath and feel his soft kisses on her skin. Her heart physically grieves for the loss of him. She's been his just once, completely, and now is regretting the wasted nights of chatter. A contraction in her chest squeezes tears from her eyes and she wipes them away with rough hands. Loneliness is brutal and empty and she wonders how one can be filled with something and yet so desolate.
Alistair will be king in a few days, and she feels the physical pain of that too. Dear sweet Alistair, who held her the night they left Cullen a broken man with dead eyes. Ali, who somehow filled the void Jowan's betrayal left.
She turns and hugs her pillow. Jowan…another decision she'd had to make today. First Alistair as king, then the Landsmeet and then they'd brought in Jowan. Dears sweet Jowan, whose crimes multiplied tenfold when he left the tower. Why had they asked her what to do with him when they had no inclination of listening to her? They wanted vengeance, she understood that. But Maker, hadn't there been enough death? Hadn't they all lost enough? When was everyone going to stop paying for Loghain's crimes? She saved their son and they repay her by imprisoning Jowan.
What's left for me now? Stop thinking of yourself –selfish! I promise I'll come for you Jowan – I promise.
Silence. It hovers in the air like fog, smothering voices and thoughts alike. The room is a coffin with grey stone lining.
Ilina concentrates on the fire in the hearth, the crackle and pop of embers flying upwards, escaping into the winter night. She's so focused on the fire she misses the door opening and Alistair entering.
"Hello, Mouse," he whispers softly, climbing into bed beside her. Mouse, something she probably won't hear again after he's crowned. A cherished nickname given from her adventures in the Fade. One more loss. Should she start keeping count – or would the tally be too high for sanity?
"Ali," she sighs, turning and resting her head on his chest - listening to the soft beats of his heart. She breathes again and traces patterns on his tunic. His heart races faster and she frowns with confusion. He wraps one hand around her shoulder and gently strokes her hair with the other. His heart slows again and she relaxes in his embrace.
"Feeling sorry for yourself, Mouse?" His voice was teasing, but it was a reprimand. His finger slid under her chin urging her eyes to meet his. She pasted a smile on her face and looked at him. His finger touched her nose playfully and she grinned.
"It hasn't all been terrible. I know it feels like that now, but it hasn't."
"It's going to get terrible Ali. I feel it. Can't you feel it? It's this darkness - this damnable oppressive murky feeling that is like drowning while breathing air. You will be king and raise beautiful babies with some lovely princess from … from … Orlais or Antiva. And yes, I'm happy about that." She rose and stood by the fire. "And so damn envious. And I hate that. I hate that I'm jealous! Oghren has someone, Shale and Wynne have been talking about traveling with Leliana – if you mention Morrigan I'll pop you in the nose. And I can't do this on my own."
Alistair grins and crosses his legs on the bed, resting his head against his hands. He looked so pleased and comfortable while she was in turmoil that she wanted to crack him in the nose just for spite.
"You'll always have me, Mouse." He gives her a knowing smile. "And you have Zevran."
And there it was - what she'd been avoiding for weeks.
"Zevran does not love…anyone." She said quietly, wrapping her arms around her waist - suddenly feeling cold and empty again.
"Zevran loves you, it's not possible to not love you Ilina." He laughs without mirth. "Damn if I don't love you, Mouse."
She whips her head around and gapes at him.
"Don't look at me with such surprise. Did you think I would let you walk about in dazes or fall over things constantly - or do something stupid like letting an assassin, hired to kill you, join our ranks - if I hadn't been so stupidly in love with you?"
She flops in a nearby chair with a whoosh having no idea how to respond to this declaration.
Hilde whines and, deciding they need privacy, leaves the room.
"But you never…it's not…Why did you never say anything?" She stares at the fire again. It's her second declaration of love in a year, the first being Cullen. And wasn't it some kind of divine irony that both of those men end up destroyed because of her? One a reluctant king and the other a – no, not thinking about that.
"Mouse, look at me." He's off the bed, hands at her shoulders, turning her to him. "By the time I wanted to do anything it wouldn't have been fair – to either of us. You're beautiful and perfect and so many wonderful things, but you're still a mage. And if you want me to be a good king, you know that anything which happened between us would end terribly."
A mage. The words hurt, but she knew them to be true. Alistair would change how the world viewed mages, but more importantly he'd be good for the country – for people and elves. Zevran.
She throws her arms around him and squeezes. "Oh Ali, I'm terribly sorry I'm such a dolt. You'll be a grand king. And that princess will be more beautiful than you can imagine."
"With big…" She punches him in the stomach, cutting off his air.
"Ow. I was going to say eyes." He chuckles, rubbing his belly.
"Yes, quite."
"I didn't come to talk about this, however. He took a deep breath. "We need to discuss the Landsmeet and… Andraste's ass, Ilina, you have to start behaving like an adult."
She blanches and sucks back tears. Oh, how that hurt, but again he was right. He was always right. Yes. Quite," she repeats, softly.
"I'm sorry, Mouse, but you can't look to me for answers in the next few days. Everyone will be looking to you. I will help as much as I can, but you took charge at the beginning when I was … preoccupied – and now they'll expect you to be strong." His voice was quiet, softening the blow, as it were. She understands.
"Great. Wonderful. Get out," she says with a smile.
"That's my girl," he whispers, and to her shock grips her cheeks in both his hands and brushes his lips across hers.
She still has her eyes closed when the door clicks shut.
Zevran sleeps naked. This is the first thing she realizes when she enters his room and sees the outline of his lower body under the sheets. He also sleeps very soundly, is her second thought, although she has been very quiet – walking on tip-toe, and carefully shutting the door. She stands quite proudly, for a moment, and then the light of the fire whisks over his bare chest and arms and she gulps back the saliva that forms in her mouth.
The rooms in the castle seemed designed to reflect light from the fireplaces just perfectly. It leaps and quivers in flares of quick illuminations, teasing her senses with the potent beauty of his sun-bronzed skin. Powerful, that describes him utterly. Every moment she looks at him, her heart beats a little faster.
Her body can't contain the sheer joy and hunger at just watching his slumber. Passion rushes through her - a flood of fiery blood which collides into the center of her being like a tidal wave enveloping a ship.
"Deciding whether to kill me?" His voice sounds amused, but there is a dark storm brewing in his eyes. He sits up and the sheet falls to his hips making her lick and bite her lower lip. "Or perhaps your king didn't satisfy your needs?"
Ah, so that was it. She wasn't going to have this conversation every day. "Zevran, Alistair is like a brother to me. And this particular discussion is over."
Zev raises an eyebrow and lowers his lids to half mast. She counters with a double brow raise, and is pleased when her back stiffens in resoluteness.
"Very well, Ilina." Her name on his lips sends swirls of butterflies into a tornado of flight in her belly. He leans back casually on his elbows and she feels the growl come up her throat like a wild beast. The muscles of his torso tighten, causing every hair on her body to prickle in awareness.
He smiles, knowingly.
"Rules." She manages to say between choppy breaths.
"Oh? This should be good."
She's going to wipe that cocky grin off his face. "Your arms stay on the bed. You do not speak or move. Agreed?" She sounds like an officer speaking to his men, she realizes, with a mental giggle - but that's only because she can barely speak.
He tilts his head slightly and seems to be sizing her up. Finally, he nods and lies back down, arms at his sides. His smile is now nervous.
Trust. Love. Learning. That is what tonight is about for Ilina. She moves to stand next to the bed.
"Close your eyes." And she's surprised when he acquiesces immediately. She'd been prepared for an argument. As his eyes flutter against his cheeks she lets herself study him. Her other examinations had resulted in a frenzy of blushing and eyes squeezed shut.
He has a scar – well he has many scars, but this one is enormous - wide and long it trails from his collar bone to just above the shoulder. She traces it softly with her finger. His breath speeds up, chest rising and falling, rapidly. She smiles and wonders if he feels this way because of her hand - would any work the same magic?
Her finger continues its journey, over the soft curly hairs of his chest and swirls around the hardened peaks of his chest. Zevran, her mind whispers in awe. What would drive you into desperate heaps of passion as you have done to me? She scrapes her nail over his nipple and his fingers grab and release the sheets. Oh. She smiles.
Dragging her nail along his stomach, over the hard ridged, muscles, which twitch under her finger, she reaches the top of the sheet and slowly pulls it down. Her breath hitches in her throat as she takes in every detail of his body. His breathing becomes ragged.
The fire is a soft movement of light which flickers over his skin, opening it up to her scrutiny. The ropey muscles of his lean calves and thighs, the contrast of light golden skin of his legs to the dark browned skin of his chest, the hard flesh of his shaft stirring against her touch – they mesmerize her.
Her finger moves along his hip and over the velvet softness encasing him. He jerks and sucks in a small hiss of air. She is barely touching him and his control was slipping.
She climbs slowly onto the bed and pushes her knee between his – something she learned from him. Sitting back on her heels between his legs, she takes an uneasy breath. Am I crazy? She couldn't – shouldn't…
Shush! Tonight I am fearless – powerful - the warrior that everyone thinks I am. Tonight she doesn't care what is allowed, she only cares about claiming every part of this man as her own.
She wraps her hand around his swollen flesh and watches in shock as his hips rise up on a moan. Leaning over she moves her tongue over the soft, purple tip. Zevran's fingers grip the sheets so hard it pulls them from his body completely. Bolstered, she slips the whole of his tip into her mouth and is rewarded by a deep, husky moan.
Her fingers reach up and scratch the length of his stomach and his body arches magnificently into her touch. His breaths are fast and hard and she focuses her efforts as he grits his teeth. It's fantastic – this sense of power – and she revels in how she drives his breathing, the way his body jerks and arches as her mouth moves over him. Each swirl of her tongue compels him to squeeze the bed linens tighter in his hands or buck against her mouth. He pulses once in her mouth and she halts briefly before excitement overcomes her and she moves her mouth faster.
"Ilina, Ilina, Ilina." Her name is a frantic whisper on his lips, breaking their code of silence, and this too delights her - spurs her. And there it is, the moment he reaches his heights and he's screaming her name in a succession of thrusts, bucking wildly. He pushes into her mouth in a final, feral thrust and pours himself into her. He flops back down on the bed, breaths uneven and hoarse.
She rises to her knees, overcome by the power of his orgasm, and sits there in awe, marveling at her own power. It's a savory moment cut short when he grabs her robe front and pulls her on top of him. His hands dive into her hair and he leans up pressing his lips against hers.
She opens her mouth, allowing his tongue to meet hers, the pads of her fingers lightly running over his chest. She smiles against his mouth and melts into his kiss.
"My turn," he whispers. He trails kisses along the curve of her ear, and she feels his fingers slide up her inner thigh.