HAWKE

The five-legged varterral, otherwise nicknamed Screecher by my throbbing eardrums, falls flat on its stomach with a final, shrill wail near the center of the inner cave chamber. The final blow: awarded to Fenris, with a wide sweep of his sword across its elongated throat.

Panting and covered in sweat, Serena, Fenris, Isabela, and I all gather together to stare down at the blasted thing, determined to verify it's really dead.

I swear I'd pay for a month's worth of drinks if it meant not having to fight one of these things every time we come to visit the clan at Sundermount. Just once. Just once is all I ask.

But the fun doesn't seem to end here today.

Almost as soon as the creature stills, a tanned, blond elf approaches our group, strutting out from behind a nearby archway. He's a bit . . . different looking from the other elves we usually encounter. And not just because of his darker skin or the three black winding lines tattooed across his left cheek.

No, he's also got long, blond hair, with the bangs tied up in elegant, connecting braids leading to the back. And to compliment the more refined look, he's dressed in a long, black overcoat with stunning green armor covering everything of value underneath. The likes that would cost a fortune for most human nobles; elves being a whole other matter entirely.

The stranger fixates on Serena, his light golden eyes wide open, mouth agape. "Serena? I-I thought I was dreaming," he chuckles. "But it is you. You're here."

He offers her an adoring smile, and I glance back at her in question. His Antivan accent hard to miss, what with it's similarity to the men that hired us.

Serena's expression pales. Her entire posture slouches, as if she's been struck with an arrow or pure shock, terror, or dread.

"I've been looking for you everywhere," the strange elf continues, stepping closer. "No one could tell me where you went! When your clan told me you had been here, I did not dare hope it to still be true. Have you been hiding out in Kirkwall all along? You sly vixen. What happened to being Commander? Did you miss the call of the wilds that much?"

Serena tilts her head and takes a slow retreating step away from him. "Zevran? What . . . what are you doing here? I thought—"

He reaches for her cheek.

Serena jolts and pulls away as if she's been burned. "No! Don't touch me," she shouts, withdrawing further. "You can't . . . you can't be here. You can't just come out of nowhere like this. Not after . . . not after . . . "

Serena gapes down at the floor, her eyes widening, bulging, like she's reached some horrifying realization.

Whirling around in a quick semi-circle, she hurries back the way we came.

But Zevran doesn't follow. He merely stands still and watches her flee. "Hm. I knew she'd be angry, but she didn't even slap me. And here I was prepared for it. Pity . . ." He sighs.

Crossing his arms, he smirks over at the rest of our group.

"You must be her new companions. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Zevran Arainai. Zev to my friends. It seems I am in your debt for watching over my charming wife during my absence. A feisty minx, no?"

He gives a flippant wave to the doorway Serena stormed back through.

My jaw drops. "Wife?" I gasp, my mind floundering. "You're her husband?"

The words feel lost in my head. Drifting around. Refusing to stick.

Isabela pushes past me, glaring down at 'lover-boy'. "Zevran, where have you been? She was worried sick about you!" She pokes one finger at his chest.

Zevran grins up at her. "Ah, Isabela! If it isn't my favorite pirate wench! It is a delight to see you again!"

He spreads his arms out wide, as if to welcome her or offer up a hug. But his good-natured response doesn't achieve a reciprocal effect. Isabela merely keeps glaring down at him. Unwavering. Unmoving.

Zevran frowns and lowers his head, shifting his weight awkwardly onto one foot. "The Crows kept me occupied far longer than I anticipated. In fact, I was waiting for another assault by the Crows, not my wife accompanying the mighty Champion of Kirkwall!"

He nods his head to me with what might be respect. Reverence or admiration, even? Or perhaps just surprise.

"How do you know I'm the Champion?" I ask, my mind still swimming, struggling to stay afloat.

"Slayer of Qunari, Deep Roads explorer, and may I say, one fine specimen of manhood?" He leers at me up and down, as though I'm a succulent cake to behold. "You underestimate your fame."

He stands up tall again with his chin held high, without shame, despite his indisputable ogling. The mirth in his gaze dissipates then, returning to an oddly serious stare, mimicking a politician wishing to return to business.

"But we can speak more of this later, yes?" he asks, giving us all a slight, cautionary tilt of his head. "I must go catch up with my wife, as I am in the dog house as it were. If you'll excuse me."

With a low bow, he brushes past the rest of us, in the direction Serena headed.

I can only watch his silent departure. My bewilderment knowing no bounds.


SERENA

No.

No, no, no, no, no.

This can't be real. It can't.

He's supposed to be dead.

For years, I thought he was dead.

So how? How could he be standing here now?

How?

"So, this is where you wandered off to," his wretched, charming voice calls out from behind me—his Antivan brogue rolling off his tongue like the smoothest honey.

I glance back at him, my mind and heart still racing in an indecipherable blur.

And there he is.

Staring at me. In all his smirking, golden glory. Not a single hair tucked out of place. Slightly taller. Perhaps a little slimmer and more mature looking. The boyhood now gone from his handsome face.

Escape. I need to escape.

I make my way for the cave's exit again. Desperate. Terrified, of this undeniable ghost from my past.

But its hand reaches out, snatching my arm. "Not so fast, mi amor." It pulls me back toward it. The feel of its hand so real, so firm, and so warm, nothing like the demons of yesteryear.

"No! Don't you dare call me that!" I shout, trying to break free of its hold.

However, it's no use. Its grip is too strong. Like an iron clamp, latched onto a prisoner.

"I am not your amor, you smug, nug humping, shite of an elf!" I curse, rage at my failure boiling to an eruption inside me.

It tugs on my other arm, forcing me to face it fully. "Ah, such colorful language to spew from my lovely wife's beautiful lips. Is that how you greet your husband after so many years? Hm?"

The specter takes another step closer.

Closer.

Until I'm all but certain I can feel its breath on my face.

It hurts. It hurts, and I'm so confused. Thrust into a thunderous maelstrom of rage, pain, confusion, and grief, as I remember what it felt like when I thought I lost him so long ago. How much I wished I could've seen him one more time, for nights uncountable.

"No husband of mine would up and leave me for so long without so much as a word!" I snap, blinking back building tears.

A desperate rational. Begging. Pleading.

Intent on believing that this must be a dream. Another nightmare. Someway. Somehow. If not . . . If not . . .

"Ah, is that so? Then why do you still wear the earring I gave you? Hm?" One of its hands reach up, lifting the chained necklace at my chest with a finger. The gold earring he gifted me dangles at its base, clinking alongside Tamlen's arrowhead. My most prized possessions—until now.

Because if everything he's said is true, and he really is here, that this isn't just a dream, or a figment of mine or demon's imagination . . . then that means everything I've felt, everything I've known and experienced for the past several years, has been wrong.

A lie hidden among a pile of others.

"You want the earring back? Fine. Here! Take it!" I break off the necklace and shove it at him. "I am no longer your wife!"

Zevran chuckles. "You think it to be that simple?"

He reaches out for me again and pulls me into an intimate embrace.

My heart races. His face nears.

Panic and fear consume me. Swallowing me whole. Filling me to the brim. Begging me to run. To hide. To vanish into nothing—into the abyss.

"Let go of me!" I shout, trying to push away. "Let g—"

His lips seal my own, capturing them in a soft, demanding kiss. Tasting of exotic spices. Herbs. The familiar taste a demon couldn't make up.

"Stop! Stop it!" I shove him away, the pain in my heart and mind far too great, too chaotic now. Everything reeling. Reality slowly setting in, that maybe . . . maybe he really is here. That perhaps this isn't just a dream . . . a nightmare.

But Zevran doesn't relent.

He keeps his hold on me, his amber eyes fixating on me, and me alone, with uncompromising, lidded passion. "You have been on my mind every moment since we've been apart," he whispers, stroking my cheek, his gentle caress casting electric currents racing across my skin, making me shiver and my knees weak. "I have longed to see you again, my dear."

"Liar! I don't believe you!" I shout, those last words striking a nerve.

"Does this look like the face of a liar to you?" He grasps at my chin and forces me to look up at him.

However, it lasts only a moment, before I wrench my face away to stare off in another direction.

"Serena, look at me," he persists, his voice now lowering, darkening, rising with evident worry and alarm. He manages to clasp onto my chin again, and we look into each others eyes.

The exchange is excruciating.

Brutal.

Another fresh knife to the gut.

The tears I've been trying to fight back break loose, trickling down my cheeks in rebelling streams, stinging far worse from this final blow.

Zevran's eyes widen.

If this is really him, he knows how I rarely shed tears, much less often in other people's presence. Even him.

"Tell me. Why is it you look as if you've seen a ghost?" he asks, his wide gaze darting around my entire expression in panic.

I lower my head, struggling to speak, to find words. Anything.

But what do I say?

How do I say it?

Every answer or explanation seems too far-fetched. Incomplete. Infeasible!

Then, I surrender, realizing it's best to just start with the simplest truth. "I was told you were dead six years ago," I answer, clenching my fists, remembering the fateful day with vivid clarity, in the heart of the recovering Amaranthine market.

"By who?" He lifts an eyebrow.

I gulp down the rising bile in my throat. "The Crows," I whisper.

A curse now more than a name. Which I wish to never see or hear from again.

"And you believed them?" Zevran scoffs, scowling at me with both a mixture of incredulity and disgust.

"I ran into Ignacio, back when I was still Commander of Vigil's Keep. He gave me his . . . condolences after he heard you had been killed by your former guild master. I didn't believe him, so I went to Antiva to investigate myself. My sources—"

I purse my lips, recalling the countless Crows I questioned under false pretenses. Along with their horrid jeering, praising his death, and the way they leered at me like a passing whore, up and down. Thinking me just a simple barmaid, prime for the picking. A mistake that cost more than a few of them a couple fingers or toes. Or an eye, if I was feeling generous.

"They all insisted they watched you fall into the river and drown—your back pinned with arrows."

That's the less gruesome of the descriptions. Others having been far more vivid that'd make a serial killer lose their lunch.

"They saw what I wanted them to see," Zevran insists, shaking his head at me. "I was trying to set them off track!"

"And how was I supposed to know that?" I snap, glaring up at him. "For years, I waited—for a letter, a visit, a rumor, anything. But nothing. You just . . . vanished. . . I thought you were dead. I thought—"

I stare down at the ground again, unable to keep articulating my thoughts.

There's just too much.

Too many people. Too many places. Too many things that have occurred since.

Zevran squints at me. "What is this really about? Hm?" He crosses his arms and stares at me.

I hesitate. "I…"

I trail off.

What is this reaction about?

It's about many things. Almost a decade's worth full of loss. The heartache. The grief. Years of misdirected rage and self-loathing. Pointless in an instant because of an illusion. A mistake. And . . .

I imagine both Hawke and Fenris. Their kind, charming smiles they give me so freely. That night Fenris and I took that small leap of faith, which hasn't continued since . . .

Stunned understanding dawns on Zevran. "No. You didn't . . . " he whispers. "You cheated on me? With who?"

I gawk up at him in horror, my heart growing cold at the word. "No! No, I . . . I didn't sleep with or enter a relationship with anyone, alright? We only kissed. Once. Years ago. But I . . . I thought you were dead! I thought—"

"Braska! That makes it alright?" Zevran paces back and forth now in the cave, his tone growing louder, filled with frustration.

"I'm sorry, Zevran," I whisper, feeling absolutely horrible in the moment. "But are you going to try to tell me you never had relations this entire time you've been gone? That there wasn't anyone out there who suited your fancy during these past six years you've been abroad? That you really didn't just stray and forget about me, and this just happened to be an unfortunate coincidence?"

Zevran whirls back toward me again. "I have been faithful to you ever since the day we first met." He points an accusatory finger at me. "Not once have I accepted an offer from another without your express permission to do so. Nor do I plan to."

"Then why didn't you contact me?" I almost shrink into myself at the words, the despair at his admission crashing over me like a tidal wave, once again.

His gaze softens, perhaps recognizing the feeling. "I couldn't," he says. "It was for your safety."

"My safety? Zevran, your last letter said you also left for my safety! When will I ever be completely safe in your mind? Will it be when we're old and grey? When the Crows or all of our enemies have been wiped out?"

Zevran frowns, clicks his tongue, and looks away.

I push his cheek this time to focus on me. "No matter what you do, I will never be fully safe, Zevran. Not with the way either of us live our lives, and not when I possess this taint or these powers. You should know this better than anyone. You've seen so yourself."

Zevran's lips press together into an infuriated pucker. The anger dwelling there fierce, vengeful, and unforgiving. " . . . do you love him? This one you kissed?" He almost spits out the last word, then dares to scowl up at me, waiting to take in my reaction.

My body goes frigid. "I-I don't know," I admit, thinking back deeply on the subject.

It's true I still care for Fenris and Hawke. But the feelings . . . they're different now. Changed from three years ago. A result of our current predicaments.

I know I love them both still as people, as my friends, and I do crave their physical proximity and touch. Their presences still eye-catching. But more than that . . .

"It's . . . complicated," I settle on this description.

Zevran seems to relax a bit at that. Letting out a loud huff, he marches toward the cave's exit.

"Where are you going?" I ask, pivoting after him.

He stops and peers over his shoulder at me. "To hunt down my remaining brothers-in-arms, who I am assuming were the ones who contracted your party to come here. You and your 'friends' are welcome to join me, should you choose to do so. I would not turn down the aid. Otherwise, we can speak of this further in Kirkwall."

Not looking back again, he treks out into the sunlight, leaving me still standing there, alone in the cave. Wondering just how much of my deluded past is going to bite me in the ass in one week. Unanticipated or not.


Author's Note #1: For all intents and purposes, I'm assuming Zevran resembles the Zevran from Dunmr's Zevran Restoration Project mod, since Bioware made basically all Origins characters look way too different from their earlier counterparts for me. If you haven't checked out this nexus mod for DA2, I highly recommend it. It's not perfect in all aspects of the animation of it (especially with the eyes), but it does Zevran more justice than what Bioware offered in my opinion. DanaDuchy's Zevran on youtube (at the final gate) is another good example of what I'm going for.

Author's Note #2: Due to my increased workload at the moment, I'll only be able to post once a week going forward. More than likely, it'll be on Fridays or Saturdays, but it may vary.