As always, many thanks to all those who've added this story to favorites/alerts and taken the time to review. Your comments are greatly appreciated. And thanks to my beta, brownc0at. I'll get those pesky commas under control, yet.

Zevran Arainai

I rose, keeping my eyes on his while he stepped back, his weapons loose in his hands, waiting. The hard lines of tension were softened, but his body still hummed with it. A flick of his wrist, and his sword twirled in his hand. His smile deepened, and he took another step back, teasing me into pulling off my own shirt and drawing my blades.

So simply was the matter of bedding settled between us. No coy games. No dickering for favors or advantages. I found it quite refreshing. The cracks in the stones around my heart widened further, becoming gaps I could pass my fist through. Training told me to push the stones back together, but it seemed…pointless.

He moved to the center of the small grassy clearing beside the stream. We started with slow steps, testing each others reflexes, warming up to the main event. This was different from the session in the indoor practice room at the castle, even the one in the herb garden. While both times he'd fought well, he'd seemed distracted there. Here…I smiled. Here he was focused on me, and on how we moved together. Perhaps because the issue between us was settled, and he was no longer distracted by uncertainty.

I laughed, and while a question crossed his face, he never faltered, never hesitated as he lunged forward in earnest. His dagger intercepted my blade on an overhand stroke.

"What's so funny?" he asked, before skipping back, our blades drawing sparks as they slid past one another.

I pressed forward with small lunges, nothing beyond his ability to easily parry. Then I whirled and came in close, my sword blade sliding down the length of his, till hilt met hilt. So close, our bodies almost touched.

"I know what this dance is," I said, and laughed again before backing off.

He came back with a series of overhand cuts. "And what is that?"

I came in low, and he blocked my sword, while my dagger pushed out his. I leaned in till his lips were a whisper from mine.

"Foreplay."

His pushed me back with a surge, but he was smiling. We continued the dance till I felt sweat snaking down my spine, soaking the waistband of my pants, and trickling into my eyes. Our blades chimed and sang as they kissed one another, sometimes teasing, sometimes drawing sparks. It had been a long time since someone had pushed me this hard for this long. He was magnificent. And when he stepped back and signaled the end of the dance by lowering his weapons, his sides heaving, I will admit I didn't want it to end.

"I can go all night," I said between pants.

He laughed as he slipped his blades back into their sheaths. "So can I, but night is falling. I prefer to dance in the light where I can see."

"So do I."

"I'll keep that in mind," he said, then scooped up his shirt and bowed to me before heading back to the camp. I stared at his retreating form, fading into the tree shadows. I laughed, to hear my own words returned to me, and then followed him back to camp.

After setting up camp for the next few nights, we retreated to an open area nearby, my Warden and I, and danced between the lengthening shadows. He taught me how to fight darkspawn, and as I'd promised, I continued teaching him what I knew of sword play - at least the steel kind. I was content to wait for the other. Anticipation can be sweeter than the act itself. After the dancing, we would talk before heading back to the camp, sitting so close we touched, his arm draped around my hips…and mine around his. Well, I did most of the talking. I told him stories about life in Antiva. Some made him blush, but all made him smile. And I was glad for that. Frowns did not suit his nature.

To my relief, and I'm sure my Warden's, the bickering between Wynne and Morrigan shifted to cool courtesy. The beautiful witch retreated to her fire at the edge of camp after dinner every night. Sten still seemed to disapprove of our destination, but he said nothing. As for Leliana, she smiled and played her lute. She really was quite good, a pretty voice, clear and pure as spring rain.

As for the ex-templar, well, he still watched me like a cat sizing up its prey, the way he watched me now as my Warden and I returned from our practice. Alistair frowned, and then returned to polishing his shield.

"You know," I said -as I settled on a log- "you keep doing that, and you won't have to ram your opponents. Just flash it in their eyes."

Darrian moved past me and placed his weapons inside his tent before returning and pouring some mugs of hard cider from a jug we'd bought from a farmer that morning.

Alistair glanced up from his polishing. "I believe in fighting fair, not…sneaking around."

I chuckled. "When someone's trying to kill you, my dear ex-templar, there's no such thing as a fair fight. Or hadn't you noticed that your fellow Warden also...sneaks around?"

He frowned, then sighed. "All right, point taken. And I'll admit that it can be…effective. But, it still doesn't seem fair."

"Yes, well, life is hardly fair now, is it? So, why not make use of anything that offers one an advantage?"

Darrian came up and handed me a mug, then sat beside me, the firelight picking out the jewel-like flecks in his eyes.

"Because the Maker wishes us to be better than we are," Leliana said, coming up behind us. With her skill at playing and her beauty, I sometimes forgot the bard had once been a lay sister, a profession that seemed most unsuited to her nature. Her fingers moved across her lute strings, and she started playing something sad and sweet that sounded vaguely familiar.

"Do you recognize it?" Leliana asked me.

"Should I?" The cider was sweet and cool going down my throat.

"It's Antivan. I found it in a dusty corner of the Arl's library. I recognized the language, but I couldn't read the lyrics. The melody is so sad and sweet, it must be a love song, no?" She glanced at my Warden and a faint flush, not from the exercise, touched his cheeks.

"I…there are many songs from Antiva. I am not familiar with that one. Now, give me a good drinking song or one about bedding a lusty woman, preferably two who-"

"Whoa…don't need details," Alistair said, his cheeks turning bright pink.

"It's quite lovely," Wynne said, gliding up to stand closer to the fire. "Maybe Zevran could translate it for you."

"Ah, one lovely woman offering my services to another. How could I refuse such a generous request?"

Wynne shook her head. "Child, you are shameless." But she was smiling when she said it.

"Hmmm, you're not the first woman…or man, for that matter, to tell me that."

"And I probably will be far from the last," she retorted in good humor.

I laughed. I love a woman with spirit, and not afraid to show it. Darrian, cradling his cup in his hands, glanced at me and smiled, then turned his attention back to the fire dancing in the circle of stones before us. Inwardly, I sighed, dramatically, I'll admit, at the prospect of another night sleeping alone. Well, only one more. We would be in Brandel's Landing before lunch tomorrow.

"Ah, here it is," Leliana said, looking up from her pack. She held a heavy piece of cream colored paper in one hand.

"You stole it?" Alistair said, looking very offended.

"No, no, no. I made a copy." She laughed, like wind chimes. "I stole the paper I made the copy on. Lady Isolde will never miss it."

Alistair laughed as he put aside his polishing. "Well, that's all right then."

Leliana rose and skirted the fire to hand me the paper. When she returned to her seat she started playing a drinking song.

I drained my mug, and then set it on the ground before looking at the lyrics penned in her clear, neat hand. Darrian leaned over to look at the sheet. So close, and so far. My heart still quickened.

The language was old, but not so old I couldn't read it. Leliana's instincts had been right; it was a love song, a tregedia, popular in the expensive brothels that the nobles in Antiva favored.

My face never changed, but the cold hollow feeling I'd had following Rinna's death returned as I scanned the lyrics. My fingers tightened on the paper. I willed them to relax. The song told of a woman who'd thought her lover had betrayed her. After she kills him, she discovers the truth. I wanted to burn it, but I only stood and handed the paper back

. "I'm sorry, my fair Orlesian flower, but this is a very old song. Too old for me to read. Perhaps some scholar in Denerim can help you."

"Oh, I had been hoping…ah, well, it's still a pretty thing, no?"

I forced a smile. "Yes, very pretty."

Then I turned and gathered up my blades and headed for my tent, next to Darrian's at the edge of the firelight. I stowed my blades and when I turned back to the fire, I found him just a step away from me, Tam sitting on his haunches beside him.

I smiled. "Well, have you-"

"What did it say that upset you?" he asked, very softly. "I saw your hands tighten when you read the lyrics. But only because I was right next to you."

I waved my hand, as if the matter were of little importance. "As I said, it's an old song." Maker, he was perceptive.

This far from the fire, I could barely see his features. The mabari leaned against him.

"I asked Leli if she knew any Antivan songs. I thought…" His fingers brushed the back of my hand. "You seem to miss your home. I thought you might like to hear something…from there."

The cold knot in my belly loosened, and then it moved, inexplicably, from my belly to my throat. I sank down onto the ground in front of my tent. He followed, his fingers slipping between mine. I swallowed the knot in my throat. Between us, on the ground in the shadowed darkness, our fingers lay entwined, where only we could see. Well, us and that 'flea-bitten mongrel,' as Morrigan was so fond of calling him.

"I appreciate the thought," I said, and he squeezed my hand. "Perhaps our lovely bard will find something more suitable in Denerim. Antiva has quite a collection of…hmmm; I think it would translate as 'songs of the road.' They usually involve drinking…and bedding pretty women, of course."

"Of course." I didn't have to see his face to know he was smiling. We talked then of home, his and mine, of the good things that we both had left behind. And even for me, there were some. When we were tired of talking, we just sat, our fingers still entwined, and listened to the sounds of the lute drifting through the darkness.