Explicit content. You have been warned ^_^
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That night, everything about his Warden felt wrong.
No, if he thought back on it, something about her had felt off for the last two days. When she smiled at him, her eyes were clouded. An aura of tension hung over her, a shadow ever present in each of her expressions. He'd been present at every one of her and Alistair's discussions about the Urn, so he did not think it had something to do with that. Agreeing to search for it was a hard decision to make, but Arian had made it with grace, weighing their options carefully and convening with all of her companions to make sure they were in agreement. Unsurprisingly, the only one who objected to the quest was Sten, but after speaking his mind once, he did not offer an opinion again.
Now, it was the eve before their departure for Denerim to search for a man called Father Genitivi, and Zevran found himself more restless than ever before. He should have been thrilled. They were finally going somewhere where they might see some combat; his body was sore from languishing all these days. But, he couldn't think of that now. His instinct tugged at him, warning him that something was amiss. He'd been following Arian in Elissa's form for hours, but when she ducked into the library, he changed directions. He let his feet guide him, for his hunches were rarely wrong. He may not have excelled at planning ahead, but he had plenty of intuition to ensure he knew when someone was about to stab him in the back.
His gut tightened when he stopped in front of Arian's chamber door. He picked the lock without difficulty and slipped inside. It was dark, the air stale. Her scent did not linger. She hadn't been here for most of the day, at least. He walked to her bed, his gloved hand sliding over the carefully made sheets. Something on her bedside table caught his eye. A pile of opened letters and parchments. A quill submerged in a crystalline vial of black ink. He picked up a few documents, scanning them. Correspondences from some Ferelden nobility. Some addressed to her, some to Alistair. The stamp of the Cousland seal sat, unused, by a trough of cold brown wax.
Zevran shook his head. What was he doing? This wasn't any of his business. He had sworn to follow Arian anywhere, and that was what he would do. Asking questions wasn't part of his job description. He'd spent enough of his life around politics to understand that he wasn't cut out to meddle in them. He smirked. Unless, of course, some pompous politician or potbellied noble needed gutting. Then he was the man for the job.
He almost walked away, but a familiar scent tickling his nose stopped him. He turned, a cold dread washing down his spine like a bucket of ice water. Sifting through the pile of letters, he gingerly pulled one out from beneath a stack of blank parchment. He recognized the broken seal immediately, bringing the envelope to his face. Taking a slow, deep, breath Zevran inhaled the scent of poison. A very specific toxin used rarely and only for very special occasions. The ingredients were nearly impossible to find, and the price frequently outweighed the need to use it. Yet, whomever had sent this hadn't been stingy with the powder. He read the letter twice then crumpled the parchment in his hand.
She'd gone alone, likely thinking she could handle anything the Crows threw her way. She could not have known that it was more dangerous than she believed. Zevran recognized the careful handwriting in the letter which leaned just a little too far to the right. It was Taliesin's. So, his old comrade had finally come for him - volunteered most likely - and it looked like he'd planned out the Cousland's demise much better than Zevran had.
Zevran had faith in his Warden. She could best Taliesin in combat. But, unlike Zevran, Taliesin had no morals to speak of. He would not swear himself to Arian, and he would die before he surrendered to a mark. He was an accomplished actor, though, and a deceitful creature. He would see Arian's kindness and find a way to turn it against her.
The poison, the letter, capturing her companion. Zevran could already envision what Taliesin had planned. That, above all, was what spurred the assassin into a run. As he ran, he prayed. He hadn't killed anyone recently, so perhaps the Maker might listen to him just this once.
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By the time he reached the docks, his heart was pounding like a war drum. Adrenaline kept him going even though his body screamed for rest. He'd melded through the shadows far past his limits, and his bones and muscles felt torn and mangled. He paused only when the docks were in sight, just for a moment to regain his focus.
Just another beating, Zevran - he told himself. Just another test.
Sucking in a breath to steady himself, he propelled his body forward once more, giving the docks a broad radius and circling back around until he could make out silhouettes standing near the water. Night had fallen, and it was pitch black outside.
He recognized Strezark's massive black form right away. The creature was chained, but looked unharmed. A few figures in heavy black cloaks and robes stood nearby, their faces covered with familiar bone white masks in the shape of crows' beaks. They appeared to be unarmed, but Zevran knew better. Were his eyes not trained to see in this kind of murk, he wouldn't have noticed all the details. He saw the first hidden shadow on a rooftop just above the scene. His palms sweaty, he climbed the side of the building and emerged just behind the assailant. Drawing his dagger soundlessly, he crept up behind the man, covered his mouth, and slit his throat. As the body fell, he caught it against him and slowly lowered it to the roof.
Confirming the kill, Zevran tore the bird mask from the man's face and put it over his own. He removed the man's cloak and threw it over his own back. Fresh magic washed over him, runes and incantations inscripted right into the cloth and carved into the bone. He sheathed his dagger and looked to the next rooftop where an archer aimed an arrow at the figures on the docks. Some ropes connected the buildings, used to hold up various decorations left over after last week's celebrations. He wrapped the cloak around his waist and climbed on the ropes. Balancing on the balls of his feet, he made his way across, using the magic in the cloak to boost his agility and speed.
On the other side, he climbed to the roof, his lungs burning as he struggled to keep his breathing silent and even. Sweat beaded on his brow and soaked the back of his neck. He cursed inwardly when his hand almost slipped and he had to rub it on his clothes to regain his grip. As he climbed again, one of the shingles slid sideways, releasing an echoing grinding shriek.
He stopped breathing. Stopped moving.
For a moment, he hung from the wall, his heart pounding in his ears, praying that the archer hadn't heard him.
A beat.
Then ten more.
Nothing.
He gritted his teeth as he pulled himself over the edge. The archer hadn't moved. He was still focused on the figures down below. It was his final mistake. Zevran vaulted himself over the edge and landed on padded feet. Like a snake, he slithered through the murky darkness until he stood behind the archer. With one hand, he gripped the one holding the bow. With the other, he snagged the man's hair and twisted his head around, snapping the bones of his neck. The weapon nearly misfired, but Zevran caught it just in time. He didn't flinch when the string snapped against his skin, leaving a welt.
He lowered himself down to confirm his kill then hunkered down to observe what was happening. He could barely make out three more figures floating in a boat on the water. The silhouette standing in front of the three men with the chained Strezark peeled back its hood. Zevran's eyes flew wide, for it was Arian in her true body. No amulet. No disguise. She was saying something, but he couldn't quite make it out. He crept closer on the roof until he could hear their voices.
The man standing in directly across from Arian removed his hood as well. As Zevran suspected, it was his old partner, Taliesin. He was as handsome as the day he left him save for a single scar on his right cheek which stretched from his jaw to his cheekbone. The sight of his familiar face brought back a wave of nostalgia, and Zevran couldn't deny a single truth. He'd missed his old partner. Missed the days when it felt like they could accomplish anything together. Once, he'd thought he and Taliesin might climb to the upper echelons of the Crows side by side, but Rinna had changed all of that. And now, after knowing Arian, Zevran could no longer imagine going back to that life, that gilded cage which had given him only the illusion of freedom.
"What an honor it is to meet the Grey Warden of legend at last," Taliesin drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Though, she's a bit smaller than what rumors suggested, isn't she boys?"
The men behind him lowered their hoods and masks. Zevran did not recognize their faces.
"And a bit more elfy, too," Taliesin continued. "You must be feeling pretty confident, My Lady, to come before us without your disguise."
Arian's voice was strong and clear when she replied. "If you hadn't poisoned me to seal my magic, I might have come to you as Elissa Cousland. But, since you took the time to do so, I assume you already knew about it. There is no point in hiding who I am, especially since none of you will see the morrow."
"Oh-ho..." Taliesin laughed, "cheeky little thing, aren't you?"
"You took one of my companions," she said, ignoring him. "And I believe you've come to take another. I have come tonight to show you that this will not be tolerated."
Taliesin stepped closer to her, circling Arian like a tiger might circle its prey. She did not move, keeping her back straight and her chin held high. Her eyes followed him, flashing green fire.
"I have a bargain for you, little girl." Taliesin stopped circling, crossing his arms over his chest. The mirth vanished from his expression, leaving behind a cold emptiness. "You see, I didn't come here for you, though by not bringing back your head, I'd be giving up a lot of glory. Still, I'm a reasonable man. A Blight is a Blight, and Grey Wardens are needed. So how about you just hand over Zevran, and we leave you alone?"
Arian's eyes narrowed. "Zevran is his own man, not a pet. We have sworn oaths to each other, and I will not violate them. As long as he chooses to stay by my side, I will not let you near him."
"Do you even know who you're protecting, girl?" A moment of silence. "No. No, I don't think you do. All you see is his pretty face. All you hear is his pretty lies. But you have no idea what manner of beast he is under that glamour." His voice lowered dangerously. "You have no idea the things he and I have done, the blood on our hands."
Arian's gaze did not falter. "You're right. I don't know. There are things about Zevran's past I will likely never know or understand. All I know is the man I see before me now. Today. That is all that matters to me."
"Hmm? So you're ready to forgive and forget, are you? I wonder, are you that much of a fool? Or are you really as naive as your pretty face suggests?" He took a step forward. "And if I told you that I'd killed hundreds, that I've murdered, poisoned, stolen, and lied? That I'd raped my share of little girls like you? Would you forgive me, then? Would you tell me the past didn't matter?"
"No," she said. "I would not."
"Why? What makes Zev so different from me?"
She drew the daggers at her waist, wrinkling her nose in displeasure. "Your heart has turned to stone. You feel nothing when you take a life, and you find no joy in the life you live. You give others pain, and you think it gives you pleasure. But, truly, your soul died long ago. You are a just a rotting ghost, a spectre, leeching off the illusions that your blood money can buy."
Zevran sensed the crucial moment in which Taliesin's patience snapped. It frightened Zevran how Arian could look so easily into the hearts of others, look past their masks and barriers and see into their souls. He couldn't blame Taliesin for his rage, for she'd summarized him perfectly. She'd done the same to other people they'd met in their travels, had talked down more than one enemy with her uncanny ways.
Taliesin flew at her with a snarl, and Zevran did not hesitate to rush to her aid. He jumped from window sill to window sill, fearing he might be too late to help her. Sounds of battle broke out on the docks. He heard Arian cry out for Strezark, her voice immediately cut off by the resounding clang and screech of blades clashing.
Zevran went for Taliesin's supporters first. He rammed into one man's side, toppling him, and stepped on his leg, snapping his knee sideways. Without waiting for his scream to fade, he shifted through the shadows to appear behind another man. The assassin turned and saw Zevran, his eyes growing huge in his face, but it was too late. Before he could even make a sound, Zevran sheathed both of his venom-tipped daggers into the man's neck. He fell with a gurgle and was still.
He took three more down this way, only turning occasionally to see Arian grappling with Taliesin. Should he go to her? Should he help her? The thought nearly cost him his life as one of the other assassins sliced at him. Had he been a split second slower to react, he would have lost his head. He dodged under the flying blade and kicked out with his leg, tripping his opponent. He landed hard, and Zevran slid forward on his knees, slamming down his elbow and crushing his windpipe.
"Zevran?!" came a strangled yell.
He turned. Taliesin lay on the ground, blood pooling around him. Arian crouched behind him, her dagger in his back. She stood, the color draining from her face.
"Zevran, what are you doing here?"
She was distracted. Entirely. And it was all that Taliesin needed.
Arian stumbled towards Zevran, her hands reaching out for him. She did not see the corpse behind her move, did not see him take out a smaller knife from his sleeve.
Zevran couldn't manage to shadowstep towards her. He was empty. Dry. All he could do was shout her name silently in his mind as he watched Taliesin prepare to rip her to pieces.
But, then, the air itself shook with rage. The water in the lake shuddered. Something on his left exploded in a silent and colorless fulmination. He didn't so much see Strezark moving. He felt him slip through the air, vanishing and reappearing much like an assassin's shadowstep. One second, he was somewhere on Zevran's left. The next, he reappeared on top of Taliesin, pouncing on him like a feral lion. The creature snarled, opening its huge maw to reveal four rows of razor sharp fangs. Green, oozing saliva poured from its mouth. A long blood red tongue slithered out of it. His eyes were like emerald beacons in the night, his howl so terrible that Zevran couldn't move a muscle. He seemed to grow two-fold in size, his shadowy form enveloping Taliesin completely. Claws larger than a bear's tore into the assassin's face and neck. He went down like a rock, struggling. But, it did him no good.
At last, Zevran's body obeyed his desperate thoughts. He grunted in pain, shadowstepping once more to Arian's side. She said something. Made some kind of noise. He didn't care. All he could think to do was get her as far away from the monstrosity as he possibly could. He picked her up, pressing her against him, and stumbled away. But, his feet wouldn't hold him. He tripped. Fell. They both did. Arian tried to roll, to get up. She was shouting for Strezark to stop. But, Zevran wouldn't let her go. Not even when Taliesin began to scream and shriek, not even when the tearing of flesh and cracking of bone mixed in the air with an agonized wailing.
Arian cried out and pushed against him. She had to go to Strezark, to stop him. This was cruel. This was savage. This wasn't him! But, Zevran held fast. He wrapped his arms around her, hid her face so she wouldn't see. But, he saw. He saw everything.
Taliesin was no friend. He was barely an ally. Did he deserve such a fate? Had he brought this on himself? Among the Crows, it was well known that a mission to slay a Grey Warden often ended in death. Surely he had known that taking on this mission was suicide. Why had he come, then? Was he, like Zevran, also searching for a way out? Had he, too, felt trapped within his cage?
No one would ever know. Not anymore.
Slowly, the wailing stopped, replaced with the sounds of chewing and grinding. Zevran watched Strezark devour the Crow with a strange kind of apathy. His order had taught him an unforgettable lesson early into his career. When you take a mission, you know the consequences. No one is responsible for your life but you. Strezark had protected his mistress, and as Zevran felt Arian trembling in his arms, he could only give a shuddering sigh of relief. He stroked her hair, leaned in to smell her scent. He let it soothe him, to calm his pounding heart and his wildly pumping blood. He wanted to comfort her, but as always he had no words to do so.
"Oh, Strezark," she whispered. "Forgive me."
The decision was Ours - Strezark's voice boomed out. Zevran flinched, for it always overwhelmed him. You, Efling, are the one thing We cannot afford to sacrifice.
Zevran urged Arian to look at him. "Are you alright?"
He didn't know how else to phrase his confusion. Why was she so upset? Things had ended well, hadn't they? The villain had fallen, and the hero had triumphed. Where was the negative?
"Strezark is a gentle spirit," Arian told him, her tears overflowing. "Killing goes against his very nature. It...hurts...him. He must have felt that man's pain. Every bit of it."
The great wolf padded over to them. Blood covered its fur and mouth, glossing his black body. Zevran sat up with some difficulty, letting Arian go to her companion. She sobbed and wrapped her arms around the wolf, heedless of the blood and gore. She whispered to it, petting it and stroking its head. Strezark gave no sign of discomfort, remaining still and silent. After a few minutes passed, Arian sat back. She wiped off her tears and turned to Zevran.
"What are you doing here?" she asked. "I don't understand. You weren't supposed to be here."
He frowned. "And what if I hadn't been?"
"I had the situation well in hand. I had a plan. Strezark and I both did." She went on to say something else, but suddenly her lips were moving without sound. A ringing filled his ears, and Zevran's body went limp as he fell backwards onto the cold stone. Arian exclaimed something, calling his name perhaps. He couldn't hear. His body exploded in agony. He'd overtaxed his stamina. Her face appeared above his. She took his hand in her own, pressed her palm against his face. The furrow between her brows clove deep into her skin. He smiled, thinking it was appropriate for her to worry about him for a chance when she'd caused him so much strife lately.
"My little Warden," he rasped. "Tu sarà la mia morte."
Her frantic face was the last thing he saw before everything went black.
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When next he awakened, he was on his bed. He glanced towards his window. It wasn't as dark as it had been before, but the sun had not yet risen. The sky was aglow with the fickle purples and blues of twilight, signalling that he'd been unconscious for several hours at most. He sat up slowly, for his muscles still felt tense and sore. Someone had removed his armor and tunic and applied poultices to some minor cuts and scrapes from the battle.
He glanced to his left and couldn't stop his lips from curling into a soft smile. Arian sat on the floor beside his bed, her head resting on the edge at an angle he imagined she would regret in the morning. In her hand was a soft cloth. She must have been exhausted from the fight herself, yet she'd fallen asleep caring for him. He tried to fight it, but despite himself, his heart was moved. He could no longer deny it. Arian had bewitched him, and fighting against this growing feeling was proving to be quite futile.
Strezark was nowhere to be seen, a fact that relieved Zevran somewhat. He wasn't sure if he was ready to face the wolf or to really process what Arian had revealed about him. A spirit, she'd said. There was no place in Ferelden or Antiva that wouldn't label him a demon and Arian an abomination for harboring him. Bad enough that she wasn't tied to a Circle. If anyone outside their companions found out this particular part of her secret, he feared she would be in grave peril.
A careful knock at the door jarred Arian into wakefulness. Zevran laid back down when he heard her stirring, closing his eyes and evening out his breathing. He heard the shifting and rustling of fabric beside him. The sound of something dropping into a basin of water. Then, soft footsteps moving towards the door. A creak as it opened.
"Alistair," came Arian's whisper.
"How is he?"
Odd. The Templar actually sounded concerned.
"He should be alright now. It's nothing serious."
"That's good."
An awkward pause.
"I wish you'd told us what you were doing. We could have helped you."
"I had things under control," Arian said, some impatience coloring her voice. "Strezark would never have led me into a situation I couldn't handle."
"Why did he lead you into it in the first place?"
A pause. Then - "Not here. Wait a moment." The sound of rustling and shifting, a creak of the door before it slid closed.
"I don't want to disturb his rest," Arian said, her voice muffled. Zevran cracked open an eye to see that they'd left the room. They remained just outside, though, continuing their conversation.
"Here, Morrigan said to give you this."
"Thank you."
"You should not be without it here in the castle. What if someone saw you?"
"I was careful." A little sigh. "Really, do any of you trust me or my judgement at all?"
"What, we can't worry about our fearless leader once in a while?" Alistair teased.
Arian giggled. A sweet, melodic sound. "I suppose it's alright as long as you don't throw yourselves in danger because of it."
A beat. "Are you still worried about him?"
"Of course I am."
"Listen, Arian...I've been meaning to say something about what happened between us..."
"You don't need to explain anything." They paused in their conversation for a moment. Zevran crept up to the door, resting his back against it. He started when the wooden structure shook as though something had been pushed against it with some force.
"Alistair?" Arian sounded tense, nervous.
"I do need to explain. There's just so much that I don't even know where to start."
"Perhaps now is not the best time..."
"Then when will be a good time to have this conversation? Nothing about our situation is going to get better any time soon. We could all die tomorrow, and I refuse to think that might happen without me telling you how I feel."
"A-Alright...I understand..."
"I love you, Arian. I've loved you from the first moment I saw you riding Astenos in the hunt at Highever. With each tragedy we've faced together, I fell more and more in love with you."
"Alistair..."
"When I saw what happened to Redcliffe, when I thought about how I could lose Arl Eamon to Loghain's tricks...I started thinking about how I could so easily lose you too. You almost died at Ishal. You risk your life every day. I couldn't stop thinking about how I just wanted to run away from all this. Grey Wardens or not, I felt like I would have abandoned everything just to take you away somewhere...anywhere...as long as it was far away from all this."
Something slid against the door. "We can't run."
"I know. I know that. I thought maybe if I kept my distance, we would be less distracted. I thought we would be safer. But, I've let you slip away instead."
"Alistair, I...I love you, too. But, something is different for me now. I care for Zevran. What we have...I don't want to let it go. I'm not ready."
"You said yourself he wasn't serious about your relationship."
"I never said that. I just meant that...I'm not sure how serious he wants to be about this."
"Arian, that's the same thing."
"No, it isn't. I'm sorry. I just can't explain it." A sigh. "He's here because of an oath, a mutual arrangement. We haven't talked about what he wants to do when he feels his past will stop hunting him. He could tell me he wants to leave tomorrow, and if that is truly his wish I will not stop him. He owes me nothing, and I don't want to tie him down. In that sense, I'm not sure how serious he is about...whatever it is we have..."
A shifting of bodies. Leather and cotton creaking. "But you're serious, aren't you?" A pause. "Arian, I don't want to confuse you. Or hurt you. Especially not now. But, like I said...our situation isn't going to get any more comfortable any time soon. So, I'm just going to say what's on my mind."
Arian took a breath. "Alright..."
"Whatever you choose to do, I...I don't think I can stop loving you. Feelings are crazy, right? We can't pick and choose them. I've thought about it a lot, and right now I feel like this is it for me. You are it. So, if you need me to be your friend right now, then that's what I'll be. I'll be your happy, silly, Grey Warden friend who always has your back, makes awkward jokes, and delivers timely one-liners."
"I don't want you to hurt, Alistair. I know what it's like to be by your side and wish for more..."
"But, see, even if you say that...there's nothing I can do about my feelings. And, we are kind of stuck together as the last Wardens of Ferelden. So, why not come to an understanding and try to make the best of it?"
"If...if you'll be alright..."
"I will be. I promise...Arian? Arian, don't cry, please..."
Zevran heard her sniffle, and his breath caught.
"I'm sorry..."
"No, no, no...come here..." More shifting of bodies, buckles, and leather. "No, don't cry. You know it breaks me when you cry."
"I just...I feel so selfish..."
"Please," Alistair laughed. "Please be selfish. You literally live your life for everyone but yourself. Don't you think you deserve a break?"
"N-No..."
They remained silent for a while, and it stung Zevran to think that she was crying and he could not comfort her the way Alistair did. It heated his blood to imagine the Templar might be holding her against him now, feeling her little shoulders trembling, running his hands through her hair. He couldn't resent the man, though, for he had behaved honorably in the end. Still, why couldn't Zevran easily do what came naturally to the Templar? Why couldn't he give her comfort as easily as he did? He was a brute, that's why. He'd told her so, himself. Good for killing, love-making, and not much else. Hearing Arian's anguish, her insecurities, gave Zevran much to consider. He realized that he, himself, hadn't thought about what he would do when released from his oath.
"You should get some sleep," Alistair murmured. "You're dead on your feet. How will you travel tomorrow?"
"Bann Teagan is giving us horses and wagons. It should make things easier for us."
Alistair chuckled. "Have you ever had to sleep in a wagon? It's not exactly a smooth ride."
"It can't be worse than an aravel, and I have slept in those before."
"I always forget how wild you were before you joined the Couslands," Alistair teased, his tone wistful. "Go on, do what you have to, but please go to sleep soon. It wouldn't do for our leader to fall asleep and fall off her horse."
"Alright. I will."
"Good night, Arian. Sleep well."
"Good night, Alistair."
The sound of retreating footsteps. For a few minutes, Arian did not come back inside the room. Zevran imagined her standing there, looking after Alistair as he left, and the thought made him restless. The thought that she might be regretting her words to him, might still pine for him, might even consider Zevran an obstacle to their relationship heated his blood and muddled his thoughts. It was irrational, the way this woman could dredge up all kind of emotions that should have been carved out of him many years ago. Possessiveness, jealousy, sympathy, an endless, bottomless need for her. Was it any wonder he hesitated? Was it any wonder he feared the direction of this storm? He knew, it would either be the most incredible ride of his life or, like he'd told her at the docks, she would be the death of him.
Though, he supposed there were worst ways to die. Just as there were worst ways to be lost. He'd taken bigger leaps of faith in his life, had risked far more to attain far less. For a moment, a vision of what the future might be lingered there, just out of reach. Entwined hands, a home, perhaps even a child. A scrap of fantasy that would likely never be. Not for a man like him, who knew nothing of life and everything of taking it.
It was too late to back out now, though. When Arian stepped back into the room and saw him, her eyes flew wide. Her soft lips opened, and it was all Zevran could do not to devour her right there and then with want. He would, of course, but not before he spoke his peace at long last. Not before he bared his tattered heart and saw what came to be of it.
"Zevran...I...you heard?"
He didn't need to confirm what she already knew. He simply stared her down, his thoughts scattering in all directions as he tried to reign them in and form a proper sentence.
"What if I was serious?" he choked out.
She blinked at him, confused.
"About what?" For every step he took forward, she took one back until her shoulder pressed against the wall.
"About this...about you..."
She seemed lost for words, and it was just as well because he wasn't far behind. Words seemed inadequate in this moment, seemed to fall impossibly short when it came to describing the natural disasters she constantly wrought upon his soul. He reached out and pulled her to him, molding his lips to hers and crushing her breasts against his chest. Arian did not resist. He coaxed open her mouth, swallowing her needy moan, sharing her hot sticky breath and taking it for his own.
"Zevran..." She seemed to want to say more, but couldn't.
He rubbed his thumb over her bottom lip, lost.
So lost.
"I'm sorry if you feel I went to see the Crows behind your back," she said at length. "Truly, I only feared putting your in danger. And, perhaps...a part of me thought...was worried that..."
He picked up on her fear. "You thought I would go back?"
She looked away from him, ashamed.
"Why, Arian? Does my oath mean so little to you?"
"No, of course not," she frowned. "It's just...I...I hear the tales of your adventures, the stories about the incredible things you've done. The way you speak about Antiva. It seems to me like you really loved your life there. Compared to that, Ferelden..." she stopped and bit her lip, "compared to that I have nothing to offer you."
Zevran cupped her face in his hands. He didn't know how he'd done it, but somehow he had made her feel this way. Inadequate. As though she was not enough somehow. Nothing could have been farther from the truth, and he hated his ignorant self for somehow causing this misunderstanding. As far as he could reason, the cause was clarity. Or lack of it. That could easily be fixed.
"I will ask again," he said. "What if I was serious?"
"About...us?"
He nodded.
"I...I don't know. I can't predict what will happen from day to day. All I know is that I care for you. I want to be with you. I know it means I'm tying you down. I don't want to do that."
Zevran folded her into an embrace. She wrapped her small arms around him, resting her face on his chest. "I want you," he said. "I want to be with you tonight."
"But, what about our travel tomorrow?"
"Hush now, mio amore," he murmured, kissing her cheek then her ear. She sighed against him, shivering. "Let me love you. You said yourself you could sleep in the wagon, no?"
The tips of Arian's ears turned red. Zevran lifted her up, wrapping her legs around his waist as he took her to the bed and pushed her down into the satin sheets. They had hours until dawn, and this time he would make sure to finish what he'd started at the spring. By morning, he would worship every sweet inch of her, and she would have no doubt of his intentions. No doubt that she belonged in his arms, in his bed, in his life, and in his heart.
Inspired, he began his sweet seduction, dropping kisses over her clothes and he began removing them. She smelled like flowers and oils. She must have bathed while he was sleeping, and he regretted missing that sight. She smelled delicious everywhere, her hair, her throat, her navel. He smiled when she gave an embarrassed squeak when he kissed the inside of her thigh. He caught her hands when they tried to push him back, threading his fingers with hers. Not tonight. There was no room for her shyness now.
Unbuttoning her shirt, he nuzzled his face between her breasts, inhaling her scent, allowing it to overwhelm him. Her little hands wove into his hair as she gave a sigh of pleasure. He took her into his mouth, nuzzling her pebbled nipples and suckling her in turn, burning her with his hot tongue then breathing a whisper of cool air onto her as she squirmed beneath him. He brushed his calloused fingers over each of her ears, petting the sensitive tips, following the swirl of them with his tongue until she was breathless.
Soon, she was naked. A feast for his eyes. He sat back on his knees and took her in. Everything, from the tips of her toes to her flushed rosy cheeks. Skin soft as velvet and pale as fresh snow. Yet hot when he caressed her, covered in a sheen of sweat. Mortified by his shameless staring, she covered her face with her hands and tried to close her legs, but he was having none of it. He gripped her under her knees and pulled her towards him, pushing up until she was exposed to him in every way. He hushed her protests with more heated kisses, ravishing her mouth as he stroked her core. When she was wet and dripping for him, he sat back on his knees. Pushing gently with one hand on her belly, he slid two fingers inside her and searched for her sweet spot. His gut clenched with each raw moan, his cock swelling with each buck of her hips. She begged him to end it, to enter her, but he refused.
Her first climax came swiftly, shooting through her like lightning. She arched her back, an intoxicating sight with her dewy breasts bouncing and her hands tearing at the sheets beneath her. In the aftermath, she peeked up at him through languid eyes and blushing cheeks, but he promised her they weren't done. They were only getting started and she'd best prepare herself for a long night. His promise made, he pushed open her legs and leaned in to taste her. Maker, how he'd yearned to do this. He'd held back, concerned that he would overwhelm her with too much all at once. She hadn't been a virgin when they met, but for all the inexperienced and selfish partners she'd had, she may as well have been. If anything, he'd wanted to spread this out over time, show her the wonders of the flesh in increments, allow her to acclimate to each new experience.
But, not tonight. This night, he wanted to give her all of himself, and if that was going to be the case, he could not pick and choose from his desires. He would simply act on them.
At first, she was mortified. She tried to shy away, to retreat. He soothed her with kisses and caresses, sweet words and praises. How incredible she smelled. How beautiful she was. How much he wanted this, how he'd been wanting to pleasure her this way for so very long. Eventually, she quieted, and soon she was mewling and crying as his tongue laved and rasped against her. She came once, then again, her climaxes coming on top of the other until her thighs trembled in exhaustion from clenching around his shoulders. He kissed up to her belly button, twisting his tongue around the sensitive skin there as his hands sought out her breasts and kneaded them.
"It's too sensitive..give me a moment," she protested when he slipped his fingers inside her once more. He worked her without mercy, basking in the expression that lit her face, delighting in the stinging scratches of her nails raking his forearms. She groaned, and as she reeled from her flight, he unbuckled his trousers and freed his engorged erection. With his fingers still working their magic, he leaned forward to whisper in her ear.
"Tell me how it feels," he murmured. "Are you imaging my cock inside you?"
She tried to speak, and in that moment he pressed his thumb against her clit. A strangled sound emerged instead. He caught her hand when she tried to cover her mouth.
"No, mio amore. Let me hear you cry for me." He moved his thumb slowly, just slow enough to drive her wild. She lost it, then. He sensed it, that poignant moment when all shyness, all reservation, all inhibition blurred and vanished as the thrall of passion conquered her. He took it further, then. Slipping another finger into her sheath and one into the orifice beneath it while applying pressure to her clit, he began to pump her. Slow again. Too slow. So much so that she mumbled incoherent pleas between whispers of his name.
Then, she broke like water on the rocks, keening with the pleasure and coming harder still. He took her on that peak, sliding himself into her weeping heat all the way to the hilt, taking a steady rhythm as he flipped her on her side against him. He groaned at the ecstasy, at the euphoria of her volcanic center wrapping around him and her soft rump pressing into his hips. Fitting just right, as though she'd been made for him.
She purred under his touch, begging him to go faster, demanding it. He was content to let her beg, whispering obscenities into her ear, telling her how hot and tight she was, to clench even tighter, to milk him until he burst inside of her. Each word drove her higher, inflamed them both until they book shook with pain and pleasure all at once. His orgasm caught him by surprise. He gripped her tight, releasing a savage growl as he spilled himself inside of her. He saw stars and lay still for an unknown span of time. Both of them were panting, their bodies soaked in sweat. In his arms, Arian lay limp, her hand reaching up to cover his on her breast.
And still, Zevran wasn't done, for the moment he thumbed at her nipple, she let out a little moan. Still needy, still strained, and the sound caused him to swell again. He pinched at her, tugging at her sensitive flesh, and she wiggled her hips with an exhausted mewl.
"I can't...Zevran, I..."
"Shh," he kissed the back of her neck, nipping at her shoulder. "You can take me once more, my girl. Let me fill you. Let me satisfy your hunger..."
She was too exhausted to move, but he had stamina left for both of them. Climbing to his knees, he flipped her onto her stomach and lifted her hips until she was sprawled on all fours in front of him.
"Spread your legs for me," he commanded. She obeyed, her thighs still trembling. "That's it..." He slid himself against the seam of her rear, the cleft wet and slick with their combined fluids. It was erotic, seeing his seed coating her there, marking her as his. The sight hit him like a hammer, and he couldn't hold back a guttural moan of anticipation. There was no need to coax her, no need for preparation. He slid into her without resistance, relishing the sight of her throwing back her head as she groaned in rupture. Her bronzed auburn hair tossed in the air, contrasting with her ivory skin.
She was so damned beautiful. Impossibly so. No matter what side to her he saw, each one was more bewitching than the next. It was terrifying, the thought that he might never be able to get enough of this woman. In just a few short months, she'd completely undone all that he was, leaving nothing but this frenzied fascination, this thing which he could not yet name. He began to move inside of her, beginning his dance with long, teasing strokes that ended with short rough bursts. Her arms gave way, and she fell to her elbows among the bedding. Each of his thrusts drew hungry keens and sobs from her, her lovely voice spurring him on, encouraging him. Gripping her hips with one hand, he reached around with the other to stroke her clit, now so tantalizingly swollen and hard for him.
Arian did not protest, not even when he slipped a finger once again into her second passage and pumped her in time with his thrusts. She no longer held back her voice, and Zevran relished in each hoarse cry, each chant of his name, each syllable which slipped past her lips. She let him do as he wished, giving herself to him and yielding to her passions. It turned him on even more to see the normally strong and independent woman so pliant, so submissive, so obedient.
Zevran's mind went blank as his climax slammed into him from all sides at once. He fell forward, both of them dropping to the bed in an exhausted sweaty heap. Her cleft pulsed and danced around his cock, each motion drawing more and more and more from him until he thought he might never breathe again. He held her tight against him, turning her without pulling out of her body, kissing her until he thought their lungs might have molded together into a single whole.
"Zevran," she breathed. "Oh, Zevran..."
Something was wrong. She looked distressed. He forced the pleasure from his mind, forced himself to focus on her.
"What is it?" he asked, brushing tangled hair from her face. "Arian, what is wrong?"
Her little lips trembled. She took a breath.
"Zevran...I...I think I love you..."