Author's Note:

This is partially a response to a kinkmeme prompt of a love triangle between these characters.

This takes place in the midst of my DA:O story "The Gryphon's Cry" which I have been longing to return to and complete. I am not sure if I will add these chapters to the story as they are. I'd never intended to have any kind of love triangle in my tale. However, when I was inspired to write this story, I couldn't imagine any Warden other than my Arian. So let's see where the characters lead me.

You don't have to read this lengthy summary, but I did want to provide it for those who are interested. If you don't feel like reading, go ahead to the next section below this and enjoy :)

Without the summary, there may be some references and characters that don't make sense otherwise. I wanted to get right to the meat of the current plot without narrating any past events, and I believe this is the easiest way to go about it.

In summary and to give a bit of context, Arianwen Mahariel never knew her father. She was born to the First of a small Dalish clan where she was shunned for her strange ability to enter the dreams of others and reshape reality within the Fade. At the beginning of the story, her mother is fleeing from a Darkspawn attack and dies. Arianwen is saved by none other than Flemeth. In return for her rescue, Flemeth asks for a favor, a mysterious request that the child doesn't really understand. She agrees to the bargain, and Flemeth takes her to a group of humans nearby.

The humans are a young Bryce Cousland traveling with his daughter Elissa. Immediately, Elissa takes to Arian and begs her father to let her stay with them. Arian and Elissa grow up together almost like sisters, though Arian is officially only a handmaiden. As an elf, it is all she could ever hope to be in human society. Unbeknownst to anyone other than the girls, however, she often uses her strange powers to take Elissa's shape. This gives Elissa some freedom from her daily duties and the chance to pursue an illicit courtship with Ser is well, and the girls believe they can live out their lives this way, taking turns in the spotlight. But, what started as mischief and lighthearted entertainment grows to be much more.

When Arl Rendon Howe attacks Cousland castle and takes it by storm, slaying everyone including Elissa Cousland, Arian promises her human sister on her deathbed that she will live on and avenge the Cousland family. As Elissa never had magic, Arian not only has to disguise herself as the human girl but must also hide her magic from everyone she meets. The only exception to this is Duncan and his newest Warden recruit, Alistair, who were at the castle at the time of the attack. He and Alistair are aware of Arian's disguise, having discovered it during Howe's betrayal. Duncan does not wholly approve of the deception, but agrees to keep Arian's secret in return for her oath to undertake the Joining and become a Warden.

Alistair, who fell in love with Arian back when they first met years ago, understands how she feels about her lost sister. Though he tries many times to convince Arian to change her mind, she refuses. She even goes on a dangerous quest to find an artifact, an amulet that will allow her to "store" a spell within it that cannot be sensed or found by any conventional means. Morrigan assists her with this. After they find the amulet, Arian stores her "glamour" of Elissa within. As more and more party members join the Warden on her quest, they are trusted with her secret.

Over time, Arian poses as Elissa Cousland, a Grey Warden ranger with the ability to summon creatures of the wild to fight by her side. In particular, she forms a bond with an unusually large wolf whom she names Strezark. As one of the only survivors of Loghain's betrayal at Ostagar, her legend grows with each feat she achieves. In his seat of power, Loghain sees her as a threat and spends a fortune to hire an assassin from the Crows to slay her and Alistair before they can threaten his and Anora's rule.

In the course of their travels, Zevran attempts several times to kill Arian and Alistair without success. After their latest encounter, Arian agrees to spare his life in return for his oath of service to their cause. However, Arian deeply enjoys Zevran's company. Despite her growing feelings for Alistair, she can't help but feel attracted to Zevran's easygoing and jovial personality. Where speaking to Alistair causes her heart to flutter and her mind to race, being with Zevran is as natural as breathing.

Alistair yearns to confess his love to Arian, even more when he sees the natural chemistry forming between her and the former Crow. Plucking up his courage, he even gives her the rose he picked at Lothering, hoping that their love might bloom. Yet, after the events at Redcliffe castle, something changes in their relationship. Suddenly, Alistair grows distant and says that they must focus on their duties as the Grey Wardens, that love is only a distraction.

His rejection is the tipping point to Zevran and the Warden's relationship. Believing that she has no chance to win his love, Arian gives in to Zevran's slow seduction. He promises that their dalliance holds no boundaries, no obligations, and no oaths. He merely wants to be her lover, to give and receive pleasure from a life that is unpredictable and often cut short without warning.

Seeking to save the life of Arl of Eamon's family, the Warden travels to the Circle Tower to beg the mages for their help, only to find that the Tower is in a state of ruin. After fighting through scores of demons, blood mages, and abominations, the party triumphs over Uldred and restores order to the Tower.

This is where our story begins.

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The sun was setting by the time Elissa Cousland returned to camp, victorious after nearly a full day of negotiating with the mages about the stipulations of the Warden treaties. She rode in on her warhorse, Astenos, her fire red curls floating behind her like a banner in the evening breeze. She was a sight to behold, a long-legged slender beauty with a toned firm body and a warrior's countenance.

Her lovely freckled face was taut now in an expression of neutrality. Within it and her emerald eyes, Zevran saw the strain she would not dare to show to others. Astenos pawed at the ground as she dismounted, hot blooded and restless as always. The dwarven merchant Bodhan rushed up to take the horse's reigns so his friend could take her rest. She thanked him and handed him a satchel, no doubt full of new materials for his son, Sandal Feddic, to work and sell.

Her smile was hollow. The strain of long negotiations and exhaustion stole the color from her cheeks. Yet she held her chin high, walking to the more private area of their camp with her spine straight and her gate unwavering. As she neared her tents, she reached up and removed an amulet from her neck.

Zevran blinked, and in that split second of time, Elissa Cousland vanished, shimmering back into the true form that was Arianwen Mahariel. She pocketed the item, pausing for a moment. What must it feel like, to wear a mask each moment of each day? Did she look forward to the dark night, when she could remove the mask and simply be herself? Or was she so used to wearing that her two identities were inseparable in her mind?

Ferelden does not need an elven hero, she had told him once. Even if I did not have my oath to the Cousland name, that fact would hold true. Even if I wanted to tell everyone the truth, no one would listen any longer. Too much time has passed since the beginning of my ruse. None could accept me now as I am.

She was a tiny thing, Zevran thought as he watched the Warden walk about the camp. Small, even for an elven girl. Shorter than Elissa by nearly two heads; slimmer still and far more breakable. Everything about her was so, from her slight hands to her fragile shoulders to the dainty rose pink lips he loved to feel against his own. He stalked her from the shadows as a wolf might, his blazing amber eyes taking in the sway of her hips beneath her Warden armor with a feral sort of hunger.

That morning, they'd just returned from a harrowing battle at the Circle Tower. They'd fought for their lives, and even with the darkness he had seen in his lifetime, his own soul was shaken by the atrocities they'd witnessed. They'd nearly all lost themselves in the nightmare of the Fade, their Warden breaking through each layer of their pain to bring them all back to sanity.

And then, with only the Litany of Andralla to protect them from demonic taint, they'd fought Uldred and the monstrocity he had become. Though they'd won the battle, Zevran could see the toll it had taken on those involved. Alistair had retreated to his tent without a word to anyone. Wynne had settled by the campfire, her eyes devoid of light. Sten was the only one that gave no sign of trauma. As was his norm, he stood with his arms crossed over his chest near the Warden's tent, close enough to protect but far enough for privacy.

As for Zevran, the battle had heated his blood. It was always so. The more fierce and hopeless the fight, the deeper his instincts tapped into his desire to live. Taliesin had told him once that he was a survivor, that the Crows had chosen him because of his lust for living. With Rinna's death, he'd thought the desire lost, only to find it again in the wide golden eyes of the Warden that had given him a new beginning.

His hunger grew as he observed her move from companion to companion, speaking with them about what happened and asking if they were alright. Zevran's gaze narrowed on her face, on the pain of it when Alistair refused an audience and asked her to leave so he could have some time alone. A fool, really, to push her away when he obviously loved her so. But who was Zevran to complain? It was the young Templar's foolishness which had pushed the assassin's reason for living into his greedy and awaiting arms.

Her shoulders rose and fell with a silent sigh. She gripped her staff tighter in her hands then left, making a beeline for Wynne. Blood and gore covered her from head to toe. She hid a limp from the others, but he noted it. Beneath the thick rivers of her auburn hair, he saw bruises and burns gleaming black against the ivory of her bird-like neck.

In the tower, an errant rage demon had gotten its claws on her before he or Alistair could blink, and with those tiny arms she had cast a whirlwind of ice so strong to fight it off that it nearly destroyed the entire floor of the tower itself. No mention was made of the injury. She'd slapped a poultice on it and moved on, focused and intent on her promise to free the mages from corruption.

Yes, she was small. But fierce.

Fiercely protective of those she loved. Fierce in her oaths. Fierce in her sense of duty.

He had never encountered anyone like her. Had never imagined that someone could live the way she lived. Pretending to be someone else, living in the name and body of another, giving all credit and glory to their name while taking nothing for herself. What drove her to such madness? What bolstered such...selflessness?

At times, her actions confounded him to the point where he was certain that somewhere along the road in the past months, he had completely lost himself in his search to understand her. But, he didn't hate that either. There were worst ways to be lost than in the existence of a beautiful and wholly unique woman.

He watched her lips moving in conversation with the elder mage, his fiery gaze noting the way her leather pants hugged her shapely rump. He couldn't wait to have her to himself tonight, to melt away her exhaustion and her pain. Just thinking of her, just imaging massaging her soft skin and tasting her sweet lips left him dizzy and breathless. He had never experienced such a desire for any of his lovers. At times, the intensity of his need for her frightened him.

He thought to retreat to his own tent, but could not help but stay. Wynne was new to their party. By some bad luck, she had never seen Arian as Elissa. For reasons none could explain, the amulet had never fooled her eyes. But, she did not ask the Warden for an explanation, merely said she would keep her secret in exchange for the Warden's agreement to take her along on their quest.

Zevran did not trust her, though the Warden seemed to have no reservations. For several minutes after Arian stood up and left, he continue to observe the old mage. When she did not move from her seat, he went back to his tent.

He waited there, for an eternity it seemed, yet Arian did not come to him as he expected. Disappointed, Zevran left to look for her. It took some time - no one knew where she'd gone - but eventually he found her by a nearby spring. She was taking off her clothes, preparing for a bath, and Zevran lingered longer than he likely should have just to watch her.

At first, all he could focus on was his racing heart and the sight of her beautiful skin shining in the moonlight. She removed her tunic and stood naked for a moment, her small perky breasts rising and falling with each of her breaths. Small, but just right to fill his palms. Her rosy nipples were puckered, begging to be kissed. Raising up her arms, she began to undo all the braiding in her hair, letting it fall in auburn rivers down her back. His fingers itched to run through that softness, his body so raw with need that he imagined he could already smell the crushed pine needles and woodlands that made up her unique scent.

With a silent chant and a quick motion of her hand, she cast a spell to warm the water, climbed over the rocks, and entered the spring, giving him a full view of her lean thighs in the process. Grabbing a nearby cloth, she began to wash the crusted blood and demon flesh from her body. She'd brought a folded quilt, some sweetmeats, cheeses, and a bottle of brandy. His earlier hunch hadn't failed him; she must have been beyond exhaustion, for Arian only indulged in spirits when she faced particularly gruesome hardships.

Zevran padded closer, his hands already undoing the buttons of his own tunic in anticipation. His tongue darted out to lick his lips. His eyes did not linger on the food. All he hungered for was a taste of her skin. He shed his cloak and boots behind him as he walked, his body already hardening with need. Yet, he stopped in his tracks just before making his presence known. Stopped at a sight he'd never seen before.

Arian's little hands were shaking as she washed herself. She was shivering, silent tears rolling down her pallid cheeks. But, she made not a sound. Just like when they made love, she held back, likely afraid that someone might hear her. His thoughts scattered, then.

He murmured her name, and she turned to him. His breath caught in his throat. Her brilliant golden eyes were haunted, shadowed. He balked, unable to understand the cause. Sure, they had fought through a hellish horde of monsters and had seen a fair share of death, but this was not their first battle. He had never seen her so shaken after any encounter.

Arianwen did not cry. She did not falter. Always, she was strong and willful. Always, she kept a cool head and a deadly calm no matter what they faced.

You know more than anyone how wrong that is...

It hit him in that moment that she had seen all of their nightmares in the Fade, yet none of them had witnessed hers. She had overcome the trial on her own. Seen it, conquered it, and had come to save them all.

Where is the hand that saves her? - he wondered. Where is the hero who comes to take away her darkness?

The realization was as a bucket of cold water to his ardor. The flames of his desire sputtered and died. He couldn't recall consciously making the decision to kneel beside her; his body simply moved of its own accord. But, how was he to comfort someone? Many had cried before him in the past, mostly begging for their lives. He had never felt an ounce of sympathy, not even when Rinna begged him to believe that she was not a traitor.

So what was this sensation? A kind of paralysis. An inability to move his limbs. A knowledge that if she asked him for anything in this moment, he would have probably done anything just so he would never have to see her face set into this mask of sorrow ever again.

"My dear," he said. Somehow, that playful endearment seemed out of place now. His left hand settled on her cheek, his right hand gently closing over the one that held the washcloth. He felt her shaking in his chest, wanted to flee from it. She leaned her face into his palm then turned away, curling in on herself.

"Don't look at me, Zevran, please..."

"Arian..." he murmured, tasting her name for the very first time.

"I'm alright. Just please go...I will be alright..."

He didn't know what to say. Words escaped him. Well in that case, words be damned, then. He shucked off his outer tunic and began to unbuckle the clasps of his arm and shin guards. Arian flinched at the clunk of them hitting the ground. Next were his daggers and belt pouch. Without bothering to remove his pants or undershirt, Zevran climbed into the water and pulled the Warden into his arms.

She fought him, if her weak struggles could be termed as such. He held fast, an irrational fear adding a desperate sort of strength to his grip. She reminded him of the current in the spring; he worried that if he did not force her to look at him now, she might float away like the water around them. Gentling his hands enough to avoid hurting her, he made her turn her eyes to his.

She opened her mouth to protest, but he gave her no chance. Pulling her against him, he closed his lips over hers. Just like her resistance, her hesitation, too, was weak and brief. With a little moan, she melted against him, eagerly opening her mouth when his tongue begged entry. The first taste of her was overwhelming, succor with a hint of guilt. Without breaking the embrace, Zevran maneuvered her until she straddled his hips in the water.

"Come to me, my dear...I know what you need..."

A more eloquent man would have, perhaps, found a better way to calm the storm within her. A better, more noble man. But eloquent and noble he was not. He was a brute; a weapon. Raised the way he was, he did not know the first thing about love or sympathy. He knew nothing of what must be done when he needed to soothe a crying woman. So he gave her what he did know and understand, what he knew best - his passion, his heat, his desire to ease her pain with pleasure.

His hands found her breasts. He kneaded them, just grazing the puckered tips with his thumbs. When each motion of his thumbs drew a wanton gasp from her, he wandered upwards, rubbing his fingers against the sore muscles in her back and shoulders. She shuddered, entrusting herself to his deft hands, letting him work the tension out of her until she was limp in his hold. He moved his tongue against hers slowly, ever so slowly, savoring each angle, each bit of velvet, each little gasp she made. He was in no rush to have her. A good wine must be savored, enjoyed slowly and thoroughly.

When she wiggled her hips against him, he knew his distraction was working. Her petite hands sought out the buckles of his trousers under the water, her movements clumsy with passion and exhaustion. A low throaty chuckle escaped him. His Warden may be one of the strongest warriors in the land, but when it came to games of love, she was as impatient as a child.

"Patience, my dear," he said between kisses, stilling her, twining his fingers into her hair and massaging her scalp.

When she bucked her hips again - harder - he hummed and gently bit her bottom lip, drawing the plump bit of flesh into his mouth and sucking on it. She mewled, the dearest of sounds, and pressed against him. He kept his eyes open, watching pleasure transform her beautiful face, keeping his own need in check on a tight leash. He had no doubt that should he reach down and touch her cleft, she would be wet and hot and ready for him. But, he refused to let things end so quickly.

With a smile, he pulled back from her. Her eyes opened, curtains lifting over a valley of heated gold. Not wanting to give her even a moment to think about anything other than the pleasure of her body, he pulled her closer and licked at her earlobe. It was a most sensitive spot for her, he had discovered. Sure enough, the moment he ran his tongue over the appendage, she shivered and rocked against him.

Holding her by the waist, he moved her up higher on his abdomen so his mouth could reach her breasts. Licking his way down her throat, he let himself drown in the taste of her skin and wild fluttering of her pulses against his mouth. Closing his eyes, he sealed his lips around one turgid pink nipple, licking around it in firm circles. She went rigid in his arms, arching into him, a sharp gasp flying out of her as she thrust her chest against him.

Desire coiled in his belly as he laved and lapped at her heated tender flesh. A tingle snaked down his spine. He'd been imagining doing this to her all morning, but imagination paled in comparison to reality. When he changed the pace and suckled her, she moaned, and he almost lost control, his cock hardening almost painfully in response. Shy and reserved, she always held back her voice. He'd never heard her make this sort of sound before.

"Ah, Zevran..."

He hummed in response, licking her soft little nipple before giving it a reverent open-mouth kiss. "What is it, my dear?"

"I...ah...it feels so good...I need you..."

Her nails dug into his hair, but he hardly felt the sting. This time, when she ground her hips against him, he couldn't help but return the motion. He needed her too. He wanted so much to rip off his trousers and have her take him inside of her, to fill her to bursting with his swollen cock while he watched her face light up in ecstasy. But, no. Not yet. Tonight he wanted to run her ragged, to drain her of every bit of strength until all she could do was float in euphoria. And if he entered her now, while she moaned and moaned, he could not be sure that it wouldn't end before it began.

Each of her moans nearly undid him. He ground his hardening cock against her, reveling in her cries of pleasure, answering them with his own growls as he loved on her other breast. She came apart in his arms, falling against him, her breathing hot and sticky against his neck. Without letting her rest, he reached between them and touched her clit, coaxing at the swollen bud as she moaned in protest.

"Wait...Zevran..."

"No," he said, reaching around her with his other hand, teasing at her entrance with his fingers. Maker, she was wet. Even in the water, he could feel plenty of evidence of her orgasm and desire. Cupping his hand, he inserted first one then two fingers inside of her. More than wet. More than ready. And so tight that he nearly lost all sense. She bit his neck. He buried his nose in her hair, breathing deeply of the woodlands, of freedom, of magic.

"Zevran, please...please...I beg you..."

No more waiting. He had to be inside her, sheathed in her silk and buried to the hilt. With a low groan, he unbuckled his pants and freed himself. She moved her hips for him. A moment of resistance before he thrust up into her. She gave a cry, another sound he'd never heard. Zevran smothered his own moan against her breasts, taking her nipple into his mouth and licking in broad circles as he thrust into her again and again. She keened when he nipped at her with his teeth, her legs tightening around his waist.

Whatever he might have expected of the night, it wasn't this...insanity. This building madness. Not that he minded. Her voice was better than he could have imagined, her little moans and wails enough to set his blood on fire.

"Zevran...Zevran..." she kept crying out his name, seemingly the only coherent word she could manage. Her flesh rippled around his cock, drawing him deeper and deeper into her. "Please...please..."

"How can I please my lady?" he chuckled, breathless.

"Harder...faster..." she gasped.

His hands moved to her waist. He marveled that he could almost wrap both his hands all the way around it.

"You are riding me, my dear," he teased. "Go as fast as you wish, and I will obey."

She obliged, moving her hips faster. He rewarded her with harder thrusts, fucking her harder and harder, filling her body and her senses until neither of them could tell where one started and the other began. The spark of an orgasm lit a flame in his belly a split second before he exploded inside of her. He pressed his forehead against her chest, smiling as he heard her whimpers of pleasure. She shuddered around him and new heat and wetness flooded over him.

He caught her as she fell, limp, into his arms. Like a waterfall of bronzed ink, her hair poured across his chest. She quaked for a moment then went utterly still. Zevran wrapped his arms around her, taking a moment to catch his breath. He stayed that way for as long as he dared, running his fingers through her hair, stroking and massaging her back. He expected her to move away from him, to confront him perhaps about his brutish behavior. He waited, but she did not move.

"Arian?" He rather liked the taste of her name on his lips. It was too intimate for most days, but not now, not when he was still pulsing inside of her.

He frowned when she didn't reply. Moving aside her waterfall of hair, he gently shook her shoulder. "Are you alright?"

Silence greeted him.

His brow furrowed. He moved aside more hair until he saw her face. Her eyes were closed, and he was concerned to see how pale she was beneath the superficial flush of their lovemaking on her cheeks. He kissed her forehead. Had she fallen asleep? Had the exhaustion of the past few days caught up with her? She'd never been so quick to fall asleep after lovemaking before. Nor had he ever been under the impression that she was capable of such a deep sleep.

Carefully, he withdrew from her and turned her in the water until she lay against him on her back. He stroked her cheek. "Arian, can you hear me?"

Nothing. Her pulse fluttered at her throat, at least. In every other way, she seemed dead to the world. He examined her for injuries and saw that she bore a large bruise on the side of her right leg. The burns and bruises on her neck looked like they needed attention. A tight coil wrapped around his chest, the sensation almost suffocating. He had no name for it, but he did not flee from it. Instead, he laid her against him, securing her between his thighs. Finding the discarded wash cloth from earlier, he bathed her arms until she was clean.

Satisfied, Zevran wrapped his arms under her knees and back and stood, lifting them both out of the water. It was awkward, grabbing the quilt and wrapping her in it without dropping her, but he managed. By the time he made it to her tent, the camp was asleep. Strezark, Arian's wolf companion, lifted his head when he approached but did not move from his spot by the dying fire.

Zevran shouldered his way into the Warden's tent and set her down in her bedroll. He thought about going back to his own tent and changing out of his soaking clothes, but for reasons he couldn't fathom, the last thing he wanted in that moment was to leave Arian's side. In a few swift motions, he stripped off his clothes, hanging them on a nearby chair. He settled comfortably beside Arian's prone form, pulling her close against him and stroking her hair until he fell into a light sleep.