The rain drenched her heavy wool cloak, made it weigh twice as much as it should. However, the weather seemed to suit the dour mood of her little party. Coming to Denerim may have been necessary, but it certainly hadn't been rainbows and sunshine. Marjolaine was dead, Alistair's sister was a bitch, and they had lost more dearly needed time that they didn't really have to lose. Absolutely no one was happy except Zevran, who rejoiced at the sight of a real bed no matter how lumpy the mattress.
"Hey! The Wonders of Thedas!" Alistair interjected, awkwardly, into their heavy silence. Chantal looked up form under her dripping hood, followed his pointed finger to the store to her right. She then looked back to Alistair, raising an eyebrow silently, pointedly waiting for more of an explanation.
"Arl Eamon once bought me a miniature golem doll, here... when I was young. Really young." Alistair rubbed his face, turning splotchy and red in embarrassment.
"I haven't been there in the longest time." Wynne smiled fondly, in the direction of the store. "I was… oh, just a bit older than you, Chantal."
Leliana made a small noise in her throat, looking at the store with a troubling degree of indifference. One that made Chantal more concerned, rather than less. Leliana could never resist a store, made them stop for every peddler and merchant they saw.
But Chantal thought, perhaps, Leliana was still in the room in which they'd found Marjolaine, recounting every decision she'd made to get there, questioning everything. The same way Alistair had been since they left Goldanna. And, honestly, maybe Ali needed the wake up call that he couldn't keep living in a fantasy, but Leli… Poor Leli, Chantal knew she didn't need to face losing her faith as well as murdering her former lover.
"Do you want to go in?" Chantal asked, ignoring the chill of the rain seeping into her cloak. Leliana frowned to herself, opened her mouth to say no, but then paused and looked consideringly down at the boots she wore, mud splattered and worn. "Do you think they sell silk ribbons? I've been meaning to spruce up my boots for the longest time."
They didn't have ribbons, but they had literally everything else. Chantal felt like her eyes were the size of dinner plates as Leliana held up a pair of slippers made of shimmering blue glass with patterns swirled in gold. She'd never seen anything so lovely and impractical in her life.
"They were all the rage in Orlais several years ago." Leliana confided with a small, satisfied smile. "Some bard crafted a ridiculous tale of a woman losing one at a masked ball and a duke searching the countryside attempting to find the lady using only the slipper."
"How do you do anything in them?" Chantal asked, holding the other one with a fair degree of puzzlement. "Are they enchanted to be more durable?"
"Alas, they are not." Leliana sighed wistfully. "I shattered a pair jumping off a balcony at the Duchess of Blancharde's winter ball. I was devastated."
"Sandal could probably enchant them to not break." Chantal offered, handing the match back to her. Leliana beamed.
"Oh! Do you think? Perhaps there is a matching scarf…"
Well, at least she was smiling again. And Alistair was digging through a crate nearby, but when she'd asked what he was searching for he'd turned pink and declared he wasn't searching for anything at all before hiding a small group of figurines off to the side as if she wouldn't notice them.
Leliana drifted away and Chantal turned back to Wynne. The woman had found a section full of gleaming stone and shining metal. Chantal heard her muttering softly to herself as she slipped to her side, peeking at the sculpture Wynne was lifting from a dusty bin. "Hmm… jade, carved and polished into the shape of a large…"
Wynne turned the sculpture onto its side and suddenly, Chantal recognized it. She couldn't help the startled giggle that fell from her lips, even as she slapped her palm over her mouth to muffle it. Wynne's nose wrinkled while she held the phallus shaped monstrosity. "Ah, I see. Well, that's just rude."
Zevran would have loved it. Chantal was half tempted to purchase it just to get him to laugh, but she didn't much care for the idea of lugging a monstrous green cock to the Brecillian forest with the rest of their luggage.
Wynne dropped the sculpture pointedly and turned her attention to jewelry dangling from one of the lopsided shelves. She passed her hand over a set of glinting rubies set in an ornate necklace and shook her head. "This, I think, is cursed."
"But it's still very pretty." Chantal admired the ruby red stones and Wynne shook her head.
"Yes, but I fear it wouldn't bring out your features, child. I think sapphires would suit your complexion better." Wynne paused thoughtfully. "Also, I don't think you'd appreciate your eyeballs exploding."
"I am fond of my eyeballs." Chantal agreed, touching a string of pearls with her finger and setting them swaying. "Besides, I wouldn't want to waste the coin."
"Bah, so practical." Leliana reappeared, sniffing disdainfully, two fabulous silk scarves in her hand. "Do you like the blue one or the green one?"
"What are you ladies up to?" Alistair joined them, stretching and yawning while taking in the baubles. One caught his eye and he reached for it without another word, before either Chantal or Wynne could stop him. Thankfully, the one he plucked didn't seem to be cursed. Wynne relaxed and examined what he held critically.
"Chasind, I think." Wynne declared. "Some sort of protection amulet, perhaps? Morrigan would know for certain."
"Hah!" Alistair threw the little charm into the air and caught it in his fist again decisively. "I'm going to purchase it for her. I'd like to see what color she turns when she tries to express an emotion beyond disdain. If you'll excuse me…"
Alistair sauntered off and, behind his back, Leliana and Wynne shared a look full of hidden meaning. Chantal looked at both of their faces and stiffened, immediately. "It's good they're getting along better." She said, loudly.
"So it is." Leliana giggled, draping the green scarf around her slim shoulders. Her eyes sparkled with mischief. "So well, in fact, that jewelry is now involved."
Chantal was lost. She cast a hopeless look at Wynne who intervened kindly. "Chantal, when a man gifts a woman a trinket like that it typically signifies… a sort of commitment."
"A man does not spend coin on jewelry for no reason." Leliana advised with a sly grin. Chantal blushed and Leliana's giggle became a full laugh, the other woman throwing the blue scarf over Chantal's shoulders.
"I agree." Leliana stated with a sparkle in her eye. "Blue suits you much better than red. I shall inform Zevran."
xx
Zevran examined his reflection in the cracked, grimy mirror critically. He still looked as handsome as ever, yes, but he had a feeling that his current look was perhaps more distinctive than wise. Being back in Denerim made him uneasy, truthfully. The last time he'd been in the city, joined to Chantal's hip (then joined on Isabela's ship joined in many, many more interesting ways), he hadn't exactly taken the time to bother with disguises. He hadn't thought he'd find himself in Denerim again so soon.
If the Crows had found out where he was… if they found out who he was with…
He tried to dismiss the thought. Chantal, after all, was hardly a helpless damsel. Any would-be assassin would be hard pressed to best her, this Zevran knew better than anyone. In fact, it inspired a certain pride in his Warden. Yet, she was not perfect. She too grew tired, grew complacent at times, and it only took one perfect moment, one lucky strike. Zevran knew that too.
He thought he was being safe by staying at the hidden, cheap inn they found. Alistair, Leliana, and Wynne could be trusted to watch her back. Still, the hours stretched, the sun began to set, and still Chantal did not return.
If their little band did not arrive by the time the streets grew dark, Zevran decided he would indeed go hunting the shadows for them. Better safe than sorry, at any rate. There were so many things that could go wrong, after all, and he could not…
He could not risk her. He would not.
The tapping at the shutters drew him from his dark thoughts. He drew his dagger in half a heartbeat and whirled to the ill-fitting window closures, the crack beneath them not quite large enough for a hand to fit through, but certainly enough for a blade. He waited, the tapping repeated itself, and Zevran frowned at it, trying to place the noise.
Then he heard a gentle caw, one that sounded almost like a questioning hello, and chuckled to himself. He sheathed his blade and crossed the room, unlatching the shutter in one smooth, deft movement. He threw one side open and looked to his left, to the shiny crow perched on the narrow ledge.
This, he thought fondly as the bird tipped it's head consideringly, must have been why she insisted on taking the room with the window. His little bird extended her wings and leaped into the air, sailing gracefully over his head, before she settled elegantly on the end of the bed. Zevran turned back to the shutters and bolted them.
"Little witch, there is a perfectly serviceable door downstairs."
"It's blocked by Oghren, unfortunately." When he looked back over his shoulder, the bird had vanished and Chantal perched instead in its place with a mischievous smile, the one she saved only for him. "He's spectacularly inebriated. I sent Wynne in to deal with him, but then she started drinking with him."
Chantal sounded almost scandalized, dropping her sodden cloak into a heap on the floor, followed immediately by pack and staff. Draped around her neck, a scarf of the deepest, richest blue made her skin glow like porcelain.
"And you were in a hurry to see me, yes?" Zevran teased, crossing the room to join her on the bed. He couldn't help but reach out to touch the material, pleased it was as soft as he thought it would be. She had too few fine things, after all. He lifted an eyebrow and Chantal blushed, bringing her own fingers up to the material. "Is this the spoils of your victory, my warden? It does figure that I would choose to stay behind and you would find the good treasures."
"No, we went to the Wonders of Thedas." Chantal explained. Zevran's smile turned salacious in a moment.
"Oh, well that does sound like an interesting place. A brothel, si?"
Chantal giggled, twisting her arms around his neck and leaning towards him. "No." She corrected with a grin. "Just a store. Leliana insisted I purchase this."
"Pity." Zevran sighed, unwinding the cloth gently from her neck. Leliana hadn't been wrong, the color suited her perfectly. "I had so hoped you found us a new place to explore."
"Did you miss me?" She asked, tipping her head up to ask, without words, for a kiss. Zevran obliged immediately, capturing her mouth and sliding his hand into her dark brown hair, letting his nails scratch gently into her scalp as she melted against him, lips parting for him with a warm, welcoming sigh.
Miss her? Andraste, when she was gone he could think of nothing but her. The way she sounded, the way she moved, the tilt of her smile and the blush that covered her skin so beautifully.
"I nearly perished of boredom without your presence." He murmured, pulling away and tracing his thumb over her pink lips, wind chapped but still so utterly kissable. "Although, I hold out hope my evening will be more entertaining."
She laughed, moving to snake one thigh over his lap until she straddled his lap, her arms tightening around his neck. He dropped the scarf and ran one hand up the line of her back, her tunic clung to her skin, damp and cold, from the freezing rain.
Well, he knew how to warm her up. He slipped his hands under the shirt, finding chilled bare skin, and she pressed against his chest more insistently. Her lips traveled up his jaw, changing to her tongue as she ran it up over his ear, laving the pointed tip with extra care until he moaned. He buried his face into her neck and inhaled her clean, rain-soaked scent, the metallic tang of alchemy, her heartbeat under his lips.
His Warden. His.
Possessive lust made him growl, nearly ripping her shirt in his haste to get it off and over her head. She laughed again and he pressed his lips to hers, desperate to swallow that sound as well. Her hands moved, practiced after so long sharing a bedroll with him, to pull his own shirt free, to run her hands over the lines of ink spanning his chest.
When she pulled back, her smile still had the most delicious edge of sweet shyness. He thought it would never fade completely. It was a part of her as surely as her magic, as her bravery and compassion.
He was so distracted, so disarmed by it, that she got the advantage. She used her own wiry strength against him, sending him sprawling back on the lumpy mattress. He let out a throaty chuckle as she crawled over him, meeting his lips sweetly once more.
"You, my sweet, are a menace."
"Are you complaining?" Chantal asked, reaching up to undo her own breast band. Zevran made a noise of consideration, taking in her form kneeling above him, taut body made lean by months on the road, scars from more close calls than he cared to think about, and the most perfect pair of breasts he'd ever had the blessed luck to see.
"Andraste herself could not compare to you, Chantal." Zevran ran skilled hands over the pert globes, grinning like a cat in the cream when she shivered in delight. "If the Maker had caught sight of your bosom first…"
"Andraste can keep the Maker." Chantal quipped irreverently, undoing the laces on her trousers. "I have you."
She did. And she could have so much more. Jewels, riches, scores of admirers of unblemished reputation. And yet…
I'd love to see it. Maybe you could take me?
One question had been enough to send him either fleeing into the night or to his knees begging her to mean it. Her voice had been so soft, almost sleepy, lulled into relaxation by his skilled hands and his stories of home. When she'd asked, his thoughts had hit him like a punch in the gut, a picture of her on the docks of Antiva City, arm looped in his, young and carefree, and he knew then he…
He loved her.
He loved her so desperately he couldn't hope to fight it any longer. This was no brief wartime romance, no idle pleasure, no passing fancy. He loved her, he loved her and he was a fool, a blighted fool, because how could she feel the same? And yet, he could not leave her. He would gauge his own heart from his chest rather than walk away from her now.
Had she meant it? When she asked if she could go with him, had she known what she asked? To tie her life to his, a criminal of the worst kind, one with a price on his head, his former lover's blood staining his hands.
"Zev?" Chantal stripped herself bare, vulnerable to him, the assassin in her bed once more. She paused, looking at his face as if she could divine his scattered thoughts, her hand cupping his jaw. Zevran closed his eyes, unable to bear the gentleness of her gaze, and turned into her hand, pressed a searing kiss against her palm.
He did not deserve her. She was a hero, the only possible savior of Ferelden, and he was…
Nothing. Nothing to anyone except, maybe, to her.
"Mi amor." He breathed into her palm, the words at first a playful tease, now more true than anything he ever said to anyone. Mi amor, his love, his heart. "You are nearly too much for me."
"I haven't even gotten started." She brought her hands down to the laces of his pants, tugged them open rather efficiently. His cock slipped free immediately into her staff calloused palms and he barely managed not to thrust himself into her grip.
"Chantal…" He had to tell her, and now was as good a time as any, he supposed. Still, the only thing that came from his mouth was her name, and even as he stared into her striking face, he was left breathless.
She leaned over him, claimed his lips with hers again before sliding one hand between them, her grip guiding him to her warm center. And when he felt her heat, her slick wetness, he couldn't help himself. He thrust forward, one hand curling around her hip while the other guided her mouth back to his.
There was no hurry, no reason to rush. This, perhaps their last night in an inn for several more months, was theirs to enjoy. Chantal knew it too and straightened, rocking her hips on top of him, pert tits jiggling with her movement. Zevran kept his grip on her hips, content to feel the way she moved, to watch as she threw her head back in pleasure, her dark hair falling down her back, looking every inch a warrior goddess he could worship gladly.
The rest of his days, perhaps.
"Zevran…" She cried out his name as he thrust into that one spot, the one that always left her shattered and keening. She fell forward, finding his mouth again as Zevran thrust steadily within her. The dark hair falling around her face obscured her beautiful eyes, so he moved one hand to impatiently brush it aside.
He was not prepared for her to grab it, to twist their fingers together as she shuddered and moaned, her orgasm ripping through her. Her fingers fit within his like two pieces of a puzzle, and she was chanting his name, already climbing to her next peak.
It wasn't his finest performance. She was too much, the feelings too intense, her brown eyes on his and their fingers twined together while he thrust inside her with a hoarse shout, unable to resist following her as she climaxed again. His movements became jerky and he buried himself inside her with nothing but her name on his lips.
Three rounds later, she slept beside him. He knew she wouldn't sleep long, or well, she never did. In fact, it had only gotten worse the longer they'd been on the road. As if, he thought mournfully, the archdemon's strength drained hers. But, Chantal had strength to spare, and if anyone could slay a dragon… if anyone could survive this…
But she slept peacefully for now, her dark hair spread across the pillow, looking ruffled, young, satisfied. Her lips, kiss swollen, turned up at the corners. Zevran allowed himself to trace his nimble fingers down over her cheek, her jaw, through her hair.
They would face the archdemon, together. He would be by her side, and after…
"Mi amor..." He sighed softly, pulling the blanket over both of them and curling around her. He had no words, no hope for what happened after. His feelings, such as they were, would remain his secret.
If he loved her, after all, he could not possibly ask her to love him. She deserved more, and he knew it.