Warning: this chapter is rated M for explicit content. Read at your own discretion.


SERENA

Laughter echoes off the thaig's tunnel walls.

Our group's currently gathered around a campfire we all made for a light dinner and drinks, after catching up with Temmerin—the explosive loving dwarf.

Zevran continues to pass around a bottle of Antivan brandy he snuck along for the journey, allowing everyone to take sips. At least . . . everyone except Varric, who pulled the unlucky lot for first watch. But that doesn't appear to be putting too much of a damper on his mood, as he listens to Anders and Nathaniel spill some of our more humorous warden tales from back in the Black Marsh.

"Oh, come on! I know you were scared, too!" Anders points accusingly at Nathaniel from across the flames. "I heard you humming!"

"Yes . . . humming. Humming is normal," Nathaniel drawls. "Nearly ripping the Commander's arm off, from clinging onto it so tightly, is not."

"There was a dragon!" Anders raises his voice and throws his hands over his head. "A spectral dragon! And don't even get me started on The Children or the fade!"

Varric quirks an eyebrow at Anders. "A spectral dragon? Oh, I've got to use that one! Where's my pen?" He reaches into his pack, and we all chuckle amid his ensuing searching.

Sebastian indulges in yet another swig of the Antivan brandy. He then lifts the half-empty bottle, to inspect its contents further. "I must say, this is an excellent brand, Zevran," he says. "Wherever did you find it? It is the first I've seen of it."

"Hm. Yes." Zevran side-eyes me with a teasing smirk. "It is not easily found outside of Antiva. Let's just say the one who introduced me to it has refined tastes."

I gulp, knowing full well it was me.

Every part of my being heats up at his unexpected, flirty tone and gaze. The secretive side to his answer—paired with our more intimate encounter earlier—just making it all the worse.

"Well, I don't care how ya found it," Hawke snickers, snatching the bottle from Sebastian. "So long as I can have more of it, that is!" He downs another shot, and we all laugh.

Slurring up a storm now, he goes off on another anecdote involving him, Varric, and a 'seedy' bar they walked into, not long after they met in Hightown.

Everyone wastes no time in tearing into the Champion about his current tipsy state. So much so, that Anders tries to come to his defense, only for his dwindling sobriety to come into question as well.

While they're locked in another joking debate about it, I smile, stand up, and decide to take a walk, into the adjacent tunnel. I don't stop until I reach a steep overlook a few corridors away. One that has a grand view of a tall, lyrium vine, extending all the way to the top of the ceiling, from a shallower courtyard down below.

Like a blue root connecting to the heavens.

Yeah, I'm pretty sure that's how Alistair would describe it. Right before Morrigan would call it a weed.

I laugh and lower my head.

It's . . . strange how I'm feeling right now.

Maybe it's just the thrumming from all the nearby lyrium, or maybe it's the brandy in combination of being around so many people from my past, but I feel . . . warm. Safe. At peace.

Like I used to, right after I ended the blight.

I adore it—this . . . fuzzy feeling. How I've missed it. Dreamed of it.

Dread sinks into the pit of my stomach.

No, what am I thinking?

I mustn't get too attached to this. Have I not learned anything from the past? I can't feel like this, and then lose it again! I can't! I couldn't bear it.

Biting my lip, I clutch tightly at my now aching chest.

My mind wanders back to the conclusion of our previous battle, straying to the moment when Zevran first looked at me with rare, heart-throbbing tenderness. Reawakening my earlier internal, jittery butterflies on their own.

Curse it all.

I hate this.

Why am I feeling like this?

I want to grasp onto it. Onto him. Onto the others. Everything!

These . . . fleeting moments. These returning feelings.

They're all so distracting. So tempting. The warmth they evoke fills me to the brim.

But I . . . I can't—

"Faring well, my dear Grey Warden?" Zevran's voice pops up behind me.

I flinch and whirl around to face him.

He's standing underneath the chamber's connecting archway, both his arms crossed in front of his chest, and back straight. But despite the 'stern' nature normally associated with the stance, the slight smile on his lips comes off as nothing but playful and inviting.

"Zevran," I whisper, my voice unnaturally hoarse and quiet; his name catching somewhat on a phantom lump, swelling in my throat.

The heat rises inside me again, the second we make eye contact.

He narrows his gaze back at me, as if recognizing the reaction, but also disbelieving it. He scrutinizes me for a good minute like this, noticeably debating, hesitating, then steps closer, until he's only an arm's length in front of me.

His sudden proximity makes my pulse race.

I stare up at him again, lost in his stunning, honey-colored eyes—my very soul feeling like it's being sucked into those glorious golden depths. Swallowing me whole.

I can't resist it. Their pull. Their temptation.

And gods, I no longer want to.

Reaching up on my tiptoes, I grasp onto the top of his leather chestplate and kiss him with all the heat and passion I can muster.

Zevran doesn't waste a second. In an instant, he's cupping my face, kissing me back—the sweet Antivan brandy mixing between our soft melding lips and tongues. The connection's instant. Gratifying. Like an explosion, feeding off a well full of years of pent up desire, kept at bay far too long. It's contents so deep, so hungry, hot, and overpowering . . .

I can't fight it.

I need more.

More!

I reach down and start fumbling with his belt buckle. Zevran quickly breaks off from our kiss and catches my hands. "Are you certain?" He peers deep into my eyes—the wariness in his bordering on dubious apprehension.

"Shut up," I snap and tug his head downward into yet another fervent kiss.

That's all the acceptance he needs for his last shard of hesitation to melt away.

We resume our dance. A renewed entanglement of passion, tongue, and limb. Both of our hands grasping wildly at everything we've suppressed ourselves from over the years, discarding the final remnants of our forced control.

I hear his belt clink to the floor, and next thing I know, Zevran's walking me backward, pinning me against a nearby boulder. He lifts up one of my legs upon impact, hooking it snug around his hip, while his other hand dives beneath my armored skirt—stroking at my most sensitive spot, under my smallclothes.

I gasp and arch into the electrifying, mind-tingling sensation. The heat there only rising.

Zevran strums the spot to perfection. Stroking. Rubbing. Swirling. Using the gentlest and deftest of hands. All the while trailing fiery kisses down the crook of my neck. Sucking and nipping at the delicate skin there between quiet, heated breaths.

The burning inside of me mounts to that of an inferno, concentrating deep in my folds. Boiling to the point where I quiver, where I can't even think.

Creators, I don't want him to stop.

I grasp tight onto Zevran's taut shoulders to try to stay grounded, and he captures my mouth in another eager kiss. This time, a moan escapes me. The amassing feelings and sensations at last far too much. A part of me coiled so tight now, I'm ready to burst.

His fingers delve deep into my depths at that moment, and I jolt. "Ah, Zev!" I cry out, shivering as his fingers curl inside me.

"Mea dulcis," he whispers huskily into my ear; his thrusting picking up speed slowly, keeping in sync with my moans.

His tickling lips venture further downward.

Lifting his free hand out from under my leg, he grasps at the bottom of my leather chest armor, tugging it upward in one swift motion, exposing my breasts. I watch his lips latch onto the right of the bare peaks—licking and suckling at it as though it's a sweet to be devoured.

My mind goes numb at the combined sight and sensations. It's like I'm going mad. I can't pull two and two together— distinguish fake from reality. All I'm capable of is lying there at his mercy. Surrendering to the ongoing, pleasurable onslaught.

Zevran pulls away and drinks in the sight of me, his beautiful golden gaze hazy from mutual lust and need, admiring me like I'm the most magnificent painting he's ever seen.

My heart races. I reach out for him, and he swoops forward, pulling me into yet another long, searing kiss. As if it alone is keeping him alive.

"Zevran, please," I beg between pants, feeling like I'm about to explode.

I need him. Now. And I know he wants me, too. I can feel it. I can feel him. In every touch. Every look. Every breath.

At this rate, we're both losing it, straining against our last strands of sanity.

Before I can so much as try to make sense of what's happening, Zev stops, withdraws his fingers, and rips down my smalls. He hoists me up by the waist, placing me firm at his hips, and slips into me with a short, muffled grunt. My head falls back as our cores meet. Everything around me goes bright; my central walls finally feeling full, complete. A pinch of pain soon overtaken by pleasure.

But it's not enough.

It's still not enough, and only Zevran can help me now.

He starts moving, stroking inward. Slow at first, for me to adjust, but hard and deep. Just like how I need it. How I want it. How I'm used to. Our bodies soon fall into a familiar rhythm, fastening, reattuning to each other after years of forced separation neither of us could predict.

A low whine echoes in my throat. I can't hold it back. All I can do is feel the tingling pleasure rising inside of me, accompanied by his rough, stuttering breaths brushing against my ear.

Zev grabs a tuft of my hair in the daze, his other hand grasping firm at the apex of my thigh, opening me up wider.

His speed quickens. Moving faster and faster.

"Serena," he grits out, his voice low, almost a desperate growl.

My body arches into him again. His voice calling my name, perching me more on the edge. Getting closer. Closer. Racing toward a finish. His heated pants coaxing it out further. Further.

It feels like I'm going to be overwhelmed.

And then . . . there's a blinding white light.

My whole-body tenses as I keen out his name. Shaking. Vibrating. My insides clenching around him in a silent, mind-blowing scream, I barely manage to suppress.

Zevran keeps going, riding out the waves, until at last, he too stills inside of me with a long, lasting shudder.

We sag against each other like ragdolls in the tingly aftermath, both utterly spent and breathless. My mind trapped in a prickly, glossy haze, that refuses to clear.

Zevran lifts his head and captures my lips in another tender kiss. One I don't dare stop, for I've fully given in now. Given in to us. To this. And the two of us just stand there together, wrapped in each other's arms, basking in the warm, soothing afterglow, after finally reuniting in all aspects once again.


Our group steps out into the sunlight. The act proves a lot more difficult than most might expect, after not seeing outside for almost two full weeks. Even squinting provides little comfort from the sun's blinding rays, bearing down overhead. But glancing around, some of us seem to be faring far better than others. Sebastian probably taking it the worst.

While glimpsing around at everyone's grimacing faces, I catch eyes with Zevran. He smirks at me, and I quickly look away, before anyone else can see.

Ever since our secret 'reunion' in the thaig, he's been all too smug and obvious about his teasing, to the point where he might as well just give the 'experience' away, as he might put it.

I suppose I should've anticipated as much. It is Zevran, after all. Not exactly the shy king of secrecy. But . . . I don't regret it. I've come to accept that I needed it. We needed it. And I wanted it. I wanted him, and not just for one night either.

However, revealing such personal details . . . that's never been my preference. Nor do I want it to be, and he knows this, too. So why must he keep pushing it? Keep pushing me?

"Because of you, I will see my sister and nephew again." Nathaniel turns to face us, cutting off my internal pondering.

He unsheathes the longsword at his back and holds it out to Hawke.

"Please, take this with my blessing." He hands it over to him. "I apologize I couldn't answer all your questions. You may have them yet, in the fullness of time." He glances over at me, and I nod.

"Nathaniel, a word?" I motion with my chin for him to follow me off to the right a bit, away from the others.

Nathaniel bows his head to Hawke, then follows my lead.

We walk off to the side of our group until I'm certain we're out of ear-shot—elves included.

Nathaniel furrows his brow at me. "Commander?" He tilts his head, in the same way he normally does when he's curious yet wary.

I raise an eyebrow at him. "You can stop calling me that, you know."

He chuckles. "Old habits die hard, I'm afraid."

I laugh.

The two of us just smile at each other at that. Both of us perhaps recalling similar such conversations we've had throughout our past. The primary occurrence being when he first insisted on trying to call me 'my lady', after I first won his respect. That 'title' didn't last long. Not without threat of latrine or Oghren duty anyway. And those joyful memories are also short lived here, as I contemplate on how to broach a far more difficult subject.

Nathaniel appears to catch onto my souring mood and stares down at me. "What is it?" he asks. This time more demanding.

I sigh.

There's no point in debating about the 'right words' to use in a situation like this. Might as well just come clean now and get to the point. "I've been researching the origins of the intelligent darkspawn and the possibility of a cure for the taint," I get it all out in one, quick breath.

"A cure?" Nathaniel blinks. "Do you really think it could be possible?"

"Why not?" I shrug. "I think we've both seen more impossible things than that."

Nathaniel lowers his head, seemingly conceding to this fact. Although, what he's thinking of specifically to prompt this reaction could be anyone's guess. Certainly, neither of us are running low on bizarre experiences to choose from.

I pace off to the side a couple steps, directing my gaze upward, at the bright-blue sky. The azure coloring appears far more vibrant than usual.

Actually, so does everything.

Even the clouds and dirt.

"I've found a few possible leads over the years," I continue, not letting the bizarre beauty make me lose focus, knowing it's probably just an after effect of the Deep Roads. "I'm not promising any will bear fruit, but . . . I wanted you to know. . . . Also . . . Another thing . . ." I hesitate. "About that intelligent darkspawn we told you about in the Vinmark Wastes—Corypheus. There may be a potentially much more dangerous truth about him than that."

Nathaniel squints at me, gauging my words carefully with evident skepticism and worry.

I face him again, head on, knowing I must to convince him what I'm about to say is the truth. "Corypheus claimed to be an ancient Tevinter magister. One of the same who supposedly entered the Black City and started the blight."

"What?" Nathaniel's eyes widen to the size of saucers.

"I know. It was hard for me to believe it, too, at first. But . . . the way he and Architect both spoke, the way they dressed . . . It adds up! And a part of me is convinced. However, I still have my doubts. If this is true, though . . . if he and the Architect really were two of the magisters from chantry legend, I think it goes without saying, there may be more of them."

"Maker have mercy." Nathaniel's shoulders slump. He buries one hand in his dark locks and shakes his head. "I . . . understand the seriousness of what you're telling me, and thank you for informing me. It's simply . . . a lot to take in."

"Yes, I quite agree," I concur. "I'm only telling you, though, because I trust you'll be able to keep it quiet for now. Additionally, I need a favor."

"Name it, and it is done." He stands up tall, at full attention again.

I smile at that.

Nothing touches me more than knowing I've got such reliable people to depend on in this life, without worry or reservation.

"As you know, I'm hiding out from the wardens still . . . at least, for now. I plan on remaining in Kirkwall, to continue my research, in private. However, my access to the more delicate information about the blight here is . . . limited. If you're not opposed to passing on such potentially helpful information, from say . . . the Grey Warden archives at Vigil's Keep, that may aid my efforts significantly."

"Understood." Nathaniel nods. "I'll dig up what I can upon my return. But tell me . . . why not simply return and claim such information for yourself?"

I laugh. "I've been gone for six years, Nathaniel. Six years! You don't just go missing for that long a period of time, and the Wardens offer you a grand welcome when you reappear back at the door! Besides, if I were to return there now, I doubt I'd be left alone for second. It's better for me to stay here, where I can continue my work in peace and quiet."

Nathaniel purses his lips, appearing to understand and agree with the assessment. Although, to be honest, it's a far more optimistic assumption. There's also a high chance I'd be executed on the spot as a deserter, instead. Former Commander of the Grey, Hero of Ferelden, or no. It'd all depend on the person and their predilections. And as many good things I've heard about the new Orlesian Commander of Vigil's Keep, I'm not particularly fond of taking such calculated risks. Even if I'm confidant I could weasel my way out of it, with or without a bit of lucky 'coincidence'.

"Very well," Nathaniel consents. "I will do my best to send whatever information I come across upon my return to the Keep."

"Ma serranas." I step forward and hug him. "Stay safe, lethallin."

"You as well, Commander." He wraps his arms around me. He then backs up with a wide, mischievous smirk and gives me another suave bow. "Until we meet again."