The symphony I see in thee
it whispers songs to me
Songs of hot breath upon my neck
Songs of soft sighs by my head
Songs of nails upon my back
Songs of thee come to my bed…

Zevran enjoyed very little as much as he enjoyed making his Warden blush. He'd recite dirty poems for her all day long as they hiked across the countryside, as long as that delectable pink flush spread under her skin. She laughed, rubbed her throat self-consciously as the pink spread down her elegant neck. "Zevran… that is…"

"Cringeworthy?" Alistair suggested. "Vulgar?"

"Desperate?" Morrigan added on. "Inane?"

"I think it's a bit sweet." Leliana chirped with a sly wink in Chantal's direction. This only made Chantal blush more, her eyes dropping shyly to the path in front of her.

It was no secret that his shy little chantry mouse was a wicked seductress in the bedroom, their carousing openly ridiculed as being the reason Darkspawn avoided their camp. Still, in the light of day, he could make Chantal blush so hard he could feel the heat coming off her in waves.

He'd pay for it later, of course, but that was one of the few things more enjoyable than watching Chantal squirm in front of their companions while he recited dirty poetry.

"Zevran, honestly." Wynne tutted in disapproval. "You're a menace."

"Did you kill her anyway?" Shale asked nonchalantly. "That was the painted elf's job, yes? Prior to it failing so abysmally at it."

Sten snorted in agreed derision.

"Of course I did! But after we made love. I'm no monster."

"Truly, you're a saint among men." Alistair muttered darkly. Chantal giggled into her hand and he shot her a saucy wink.

"See, that is what I kept trying to tell the Crows, no?" He grinned recklessly. "And yet, they did not believe me."

She returned his smile, although it still remained too brief for his liking. She smiled less and less as they circled closer to Ostagar. There were some who thought, insanely, that King Cailan may have survived his foolish battle with the Darkspawn. If there were to be a new king of Ferelden, it was immensely important that the old king be clearly labeled as dead and gone.

And yet, as Chantal looked ahead again, he saw her worry and dread flicker to life once more. Arl Eamon wanted the new king to be their oafish bastard prince, and Alistair very much didn't want to happen. So both men looked to Chantal as if she could solve it.

Her shoulders were so very slender, and yet they carried so much.

"Here I thought you could be cheered up by some naughty poetry. Your face is too lovely, my Chantal, to wear such an unhappy expression." He sidled up closer to her, pressed his arm reassuringly against hers.

There was still a hint of blush under her cheeks when she looked back up at him, resuming a small smile. He knew it was just for him, and he valiantly beat away how much it warmed his heart that she would try to smile, just for him.

"I appreciate it."

"It is good to be appreciated, yes?" Zevran threw his arm around her shoulders. "Me? I tend to make the most of whatever situation I find myself in, stealing what moments I can. It's served me well, most days. You might learn to do the same."

In retribution for his continued recitation of naughty Antivan poetry, Wynne pressed him into being the one to collect firewood. There was still plenty of light left, and the forest seemed peaceful enough.

He wasn't surprised when he heard Chantal's soft footsteps approaching behind him. Leisurely, he threw a stick to his left. "My fair warden, we must improve your sneaking skills."

"If I wanted to sneak, I'd just turn into a bird." She did sound remarkably more upbeat. "I've brought you a present, and I couldn't wait until you came back so…"

He turned, fully anticipating seeing her nude and bathed in sunlight. Not that he'd say no, of course. It would be a perfectly marvelous present. Instead, Chantal held up a pair of fine leather boots in her hand. "Leliana, it turns out, was holding out on us. She snagged these from Haven, but they don't fit her. I think they'll fit you, and they're Antivan leather, according to her."

They were. Fine and butter soft, sleek and shiny. Chantal looked so pleased with herself, holding the prized boots up for his inspection. "Well, what do you think?"

He didn't know which he adored more, the boots or the woman holding them. But his tongue worked even as his mind careened out of control. "I believe the only thing better than being presented with those would be you wearing them without a stitch of clothing."

She smiled shyly, letting her eyes drift down to her feet, shifting slowly from one foot to another. "I… I'd like to do something else too. Something Leliana told me about."

"Oh?" The Chantry sister had an exquisitely dirty mind. Zevran couldn't wait to see what Leliana had inspired his little bird to do.

"We haven't… I heard about it. In the circle." Chantal took a step forward, placing the boots on the ground before stepping forward again. She splayed her long slender fingers over his chest, tipping her head up in blatant invitation.

An utterly irresistible invitation, if he did say so himself. He met her tempting lips in a heartbeat, loving the way she melted into him, responsive, sensitive. She opened underneath him like a flower uncurling its petals to the sun.

Ah, that was poetry right there.

She pushed him back gently, but kept her lips eagerly on his. Zevran allowed himself to be backed up against a nearby tree until he could go no further and Chantal seemed satisfied. Then she pulled away, cheeks flushed deliciously pink, dark eyes sparkling. Then, slowly, she gracefully fell to her knees.

The great Warden, would be savior of Ferelden, his personal angel of redemption, knelt before him with her delicate kiss swollen lips parted in eager anticipation. Zevran immediately knew what Leliana told his pretty little bird about, what she'd heard about in the circle. Zevran himself had not broached this with her, for several reasons, the first being that he'd just begun to explore all the ways he could make her sing. He easily got lost and distracted in Chantal's pleading, begging, panting breaths and cut off moans, found them more enticing than possibly anything he'd heard before.

The second, a much more tender reason, had to do with the fact that he wanted to give her things, he did not wish to ask any more of her besides that she spare his life, which she'd done without thought. The same way she did whatever was asked of her without complaint.

"I see." He grinned down at her, gently tracing the fall of her hair over her shoulder. She'd taken it from her braids when they made camp and she looked softer with the hair falling around her face. Less like a battle mage, more like a girl, an ordinary girl. One young enough to be tempted by the foreign stranger with a musical accent and his air of danger. Too young to bear the weight of the world on her slim shoulders. "Now, little bird, as much fun as I'm about to have…"

The small, pleased smile on her lips dropped away immediately, the distress rushing back. "Oh. Is this wrong? Leliana told me what to do, I think I can…"

He certainly didn't want that smile to fade, and he surely didn't want her to doubt herself, yes?

Wynne was right, he was a menace. He wrapped one finger around a loose wave of her dark hair. "My dear Warden, I am certain you could. But is it not I who should be serving you, my deadly goddess?"

Chantal bit that plump lower lip of hers, looking up at him with those dark eyes. Her nimble, small fingers trailed up the outside of his thighs and she tipped her head to the side just as if she was the bird she loved to be. Then her nose scrunched up just slightly and she smiled again. "I thought you said I should steal the moments I wanted."

Her fingers began to unlace his leather breeches and she revealed just a sliver of his tanned skin between the shirt he wore and the pants she was making increasingly more uncomfortable. She leaned up, her breath warm against bare skin, placing a light kiss on the exposed flesh before looking up at him again, blushing and beautiful. "Please?"

He swelled to hardness painfully quickly with that one breathy whisper. Who was he to deny her, really? If his great hero wished to kneel in the dirt for him, to play with demons and chase thrills…

Well, would he be as enamoured with her otherwise? She was the most intoxicating thing he'd ever been able to grasp within his palms,and he was unmoored by her.

"As you wish, little witch." He murmured softly. Chantal beamed in delight, her fingers making quick work of the laces until she freed his heavy, hard cock. Her staff calloused palm slid over his length and he took a deep breath, exhaling through his nostrils.

"So what did our naughty Chantry sister tell you?" Zevran teased with a dark chuckle, threading his fingers through her dark hair. "Was she so inspired by my poetry?"

"I was." Chantal admitted and he noted how she shifted, rubbing her thighs together. Her delicate fingers traced his length and she slowly brought it to her lips, placing a sweet kiss on the very tip. "I've been… thinking about this for days though."

Oh, his naughty naughty Warden. He smirked down at her.

Then all thoughts temporarily fled as Chantal opened her mouth and enclosed him in her slick, warm, velvet heat.

Zevran would write his own poetry to Chantal's sinful, sweet mouth. She held him in place for a moment before allowing her tongue to lave over his length, letting him slide back from her lips as she looked up at him, flushed and shy. "Is that right?"

Zevran tried to patiently remind himself she wasn't teasing him on purpose, that he was most likely imagining that wicked glint in her eye of a cat playing with a mouse. "Ah, I think you should do it some more. Just to make sure it is right, si?"

Chantal giggled, then enveloped him in her heat again. This time, she wrapped one of her small hands around his base, looking up at him as she applied the slightest pressure with her fingers. Yes, Leliana had explained this act well to his little bird. He'd certainly be teasing the sister about it later.

The tip of Chantal's tongue flicked the head of his shaft and Zevran moaned appreciatively, watching the blood rush to Chantal's ears as she heard him. She remained tentative as she explored, but grew bold, applying suction, letting her tongue trace down the veined length.. Zevran eagerly directed her to with gentle pressure on her head to begin moving.

And once she did, Zevran very nearly begged her to never stop. He couldn't tear his eyes from her, the dark brown eyes focused so intensely on his face, her flushed skin, the way she squirmed needily beneath him, her thighs trembling as she felt her own arousal build. Then there was the beautiful, sinful picture of his length sliding in and out of those pink, perfect lips.

Perhaps he was a menace, but he suspected she was as well no matter how innocent Wynne claimed she was.

He would have been content to let her go all day, let the world fall to the blight, allow bastards to become kings and wars to rage. Anything, as long as Chantal Amell stayed on her knees with his cock stretching her sweet little mouth.

"You drive me to the brink." He hissed down at her in Antivan. "Do you know what I would do to you, little witch? Would you allow me to ruin you?"

Chantal hummed as if she knew what he said, as if she agreed wholeheartedly. Zevran could take no more. He needed to have her, now, before someone came looking to take her away from him and drag her back to play the hero.

He used his grip in her hair to gently but firmly pull her away from his length. She whined in protest, demanding eyes staring up at his. He didn't bother explaining, but tugged her from the dirt in a moment, whirling so she was against the tree, placing her palms on the rough bark as he fumbled with the leggings and chainmail she wore.

She prefered armor and pants, laughed and said she'd never wear mage robes again, but Zevran had to admit they had their uses. In particular, ease of access. Perhaps he could change her mind. As it was, he felt one of the strings on the laces of her leggings snap under his rough, demanding fingers before he yanked them down.

He could smell her, hot and heavy on the air, enough to make his mouth water. Without preamble, he shoved into her liquid, searing heat and she cried out in delight, clamping down on him as he rutted into her. He leaned over her, capturing her ear as he thrust.

"Beautiful…" He continued to croon in his mother tongue. "My beautiful Chantal. My perfect little bird."

She whimpered his name and he slammed his hips against hers hard enough that she barely choked back her scream. "I need you." He whispered in Antivan. "I crave you, all hours of the day. I wish nothing more than to bring you hour upon hour of pleasure. I wish nothing more than to stand by your side, even if I'm never graced with anything but your smile."

She turned her head over her shoulder, seeking his lips with hers. He allowed himself to be captured, dragged into her heady kiss, the finest wine and the best elixir he could hope for.

"Tell me you are mine." He begged against her urgent lips, switching to the common tongue. "Tell me that you belong to me."

"Yours." She moaned, she promised, as if it were that easy. How many other lovers had promised him the same thing, over and over and over.

But with Chantal, he believed it.

"I'm yours Zev." She continued breathlessly. "All yours."

His hips jerked into an unsteady rhythm and he sunk one hand to the juncture of her thighs, circling that little nub that caused her to buck against him wildly. It wouldn't be long, not for either of them.

"Tell me you love me." He whispered desperately again, the Antivan words blissfully foreign in her ears. "Tell me you'll never ask me to leave your side."

"Yes…" She moaned, and it wasn't an answer to his question. Not truly. She knew not what he asked. She didn't know he wanted more from her than anyone else had dared ask. He didn't want her to accomplish a task, he wanted her to tie her beautiful, brilliant soul to his dark and deranged one.

And he could not ask, not for that. He did not deserve her.

She shattered and he followed her, trembling against her own wildly shaking body, biting her shoulder to muffle his exultation.

It was not an agreement to his demands, but in that moment, he could fool himself into thinking it was resounding consent. He wished it was the first time he'd fooled himself so.

"Maker's breath." Alistair folded his arms over his chest when they emerged, glowering in disapproval despite the red tips of his ears. "Can we seriously not let the two of you alone for a minute?"

Chantal grinned abashedly, holding her armload of firewood out in silent apology. Alistair swept them from her with a shake of his head. "Morrigan wished to discuss something with you, when I asked what it was I was, of course, chided mercilessly."

With that, Alistair turned his back on them. Zevran made to follow him with his own stack of wood, topped with the prized Antivan boots, but was stopped by Chantal's gentle hand on his elbow.

"Thank you, for teaching me to enjoy the moment." She whispered, kissing his cheek sweetly. She hummed as she turned away, the dusk painting her with a glow Zevran could not quite put into words.

There was another poem he heard once in Antiva, and he recalled it perfectly as he watched the sun turn her to gold.

This battleground is deadly
but you wear blood well for one so gentle
and this was always your nature,
to give light in the dark.

"Perhaps I have been incorrect."

Zevran, so lost in the moment, could have berated himself for missing Wynne's approach. He turned to the old woman with a roguish grin instead. "Ah! I knew you could not resist my charms for so long."

Wynne's smile was unsettlingly amused. "Perhaps it is more accurate to surmise you could not resist hers."

"She does have exceptionally lovely eyes, yes?" Zevran sighed as if in dreamy contemplation.

"And an exceptionally loving heart." Wynne added softly. Zevran pretended not to hear her, following Alistair with his own pile of wood and a heart full of poetry.