Chapter 4

The air is thick as soup and each step she takes is slow and arduous, her feet and legs cumbersome, her arms, two dead weights that hang at her sides and slump her shoulders. She can taste blood and smell her own seared flesh, and she is fairly sure that at least one of her ribs is broken.

Two of them are safe, or at least she thinks they are safe, their demons were gone, but so were they, gone in a shimmer of dream and magic. That leaves one more, and if she should have to drag her barely breathing body over this cracked and deranged landscape to find him, then she would.

She stops as a coughing fit doubles her over, turning her head to spit a wad of blood and Maker knows what else.

"Must keep moving"

This is the last portal, the last place to look, and if she doesn't find him here then she may well let this ever present need to just sleep take over. And oh, how she wants to sleep. The temptation to just let her body fall boneless and exhausted to the floor is overwhelming, to close her eyes to pain and duty and just fade into a beautiful dream.

She lifts her lips in a snarl of effort and forces herself to stand straight again.

"Just keep moving"

A cry of pain that isn't hers gets tired feet moving again, sword and dagger are drawn, held in a grip that is faltering under the weight of the pleading dream. She rounds a corner and the grip tightens. She has found him, though not in the way she expects. In his dream she has imagined something salacious, something that his golden eyes held and hinted to her over the edges of many a campfire.

But she didn't expect this.

His body stretched upon a rack that is being tightened by two men she does not recognize. Every muscle taught and straining against obvious pain as his body is stretched bit by bit with every turn of the wheel.

"Zevran!"

The Antivan turns his head to see the bloody apparition, his eyes tight with pain. He see's her but the recognition isn't there. The wheel turns and his attention is drawn back to the pain. He does not cry out, in fact he appears to be making an effort not to, his jaw clenches and his hands curl into fists so tight she is sure he is drawing blood.

"Zevran we have to go"

The two men look at her, and she can see the corruption behind their eyes, the sloth demon hasn't even tried this time, it believes her to be spent and easily fooled. Anger sparks and ignites that which fuels her battle spirit and blood grimed hands grip the blades tighter.

"Get away from him, or in the name of the Maker I will rip this world to its bare bones to find you"

The words are spoken in a deadly hiss as she advances on those who are causing him this pain. They do not move nor do they make any motion to obey her. It is only when he speaks that she understands why.

"I must do this, I must prove that I can withstand this pain, to be a crow is to master the agony and temper it"

His words are cut off by another turn of the wheel, and she understands, she cannot touch his torturers until she can persuade the assassin that this is not his reality. Just as she did with Wynne and Alistair she must convince him that this world is not his, that the rack and the men and his desire to prove that he is not weak, these are all just shades of his memory.

The blades are sheathed as she approaches the torture device, the men eye her warily but make no move to impede her progress, their job is to keep tightening the wheel, to break his resolve. He is looking at her again, confusion washing through the pain, his lips move to shape her name, but the wheel turns and the pain takes his attention again.

"This isn't real Zev, you have nothing left to prove, not to anyone, come with me, and we can find the demon that has toyed with us and make it pay"

He doesn't believe her, she can see it in his eyes, that same look he had when she told him she would no longer hold him to his oath, he was free to leave if that was his choice. And why would he, in his mind he is still with his old order, where pain and torture are a way of life and the promise of more is nothing but a waking dream. Her hands find his face and she turns him to face her, forcing him to confront what he doesn't believe.

"You are not real, you are naught but a cruel dream to test me as much as this device tests my body"

The words are almost spat at her with a bitter vehemence that makes her flinch, but she does not release him. Her head dips until her face is a but a breath away from his , her fingers smear dirt and blood on his skin as she traces the lines painted there.

"A dream is just another cage Zevran, and I am no cage for all I offer is freedom"

She does not need to breach those last few inches, it is his head that lifts with effort, his lips that press to hers with desperation. Dimly she hears angry shouts from his torturers and knows that soon they must fight again. But in this moment she is whatever he needs her to be, his awakening, his realty, his freedom.

…..

The dream fades taking with it the touch of those lips. The soft weight at her back was not his and she turns beneath the furs to investigate. Ulfric lifted his head from his paws and grins at her happily as only a dog can. She sits up and wraps her arms around the hound's thick neck, resting her head on his, cooing apologies to her faithful friend while her fingers scratch behind his soft ears. The mabari bears no grudge, he is simply happy to be with her again and punctuates this with his sloppy tongue and stumpy tail. He tries to fit all his bulk onto her lap, wanting to be as close to her as possible, licking her face and arms in a frenzy of affection. She laughs and indulges him for a few moments before pushing his bulk from her lap. He rolls over onto his back and grins until she leans over and scratches his exposed belly, causing one of his rear legs to pedal madly in the air.

Their attention is caught when the door flies open with a crash and two men enter walking purposely towards her. Ulfric has rolled over and is on his feet in an instant, placing his body between them and his mistress, a growl emanating from his throat which clearly states he is not about to let them pass. The taller of the two produces a crossbow and aims it at the hound, but he looks Vythica.

"Call the beast off or it gets a bolt between the eyes"

She had seen enough armed men to know that this one wasn't bluffing. She calls the Mabari softly to her side. He obeys her of course but the growl still trickles from between bared teeth, she can feel the vibrations against her hand on his back.

The second of the men moves forward and grasps her upper arm in a painful grip. Her reaction is to bring a flattened palm upwards and under his jaw in a quick powerful strike. She is dealt a backhanded slap to the face in return and the Mabari darts forward. It is only by grasping blindly for the scruff of his neck that she is able to prevent him from making the final lunge for the man's throat. Even through the throbbing pain at the side of her face she is ever aware of the crossbow aimed at her friend.

"Ulfric HEEL!"

The effect is instant, the mabari drops its flanks to the floor and lies down, and through her grip on him she can feel the coiled potential in the animal, the want and need to defend his mistress. She is grabbed again and hauled to her feet only to stumble backwards as the man's grip is suddenly ripped away, causing her to loose her balance.

Focusing her vision through numbing pain there is time to see the mans back slam into the wall, a bloodstained dagger already at his throat. For a moment she almost doesn't recognize the feral gore soaked creature that holds her assailant to the wall. Even in the throes of battle Zevran had radiated confidence and a joyful sense of aloofness. Never had she seen such anger in him as she did now, he positively trembled with it.

"If you touch her again I swear to the Maker when I am done there will not even be enough left to feed the Mabari"

"We were told to get you both out of here, the woman resisted and I..."

The man was jerked forward by the front of his armour only to be slammed against the wall a second time.

"You were told to ensure we made it to the gates in safety, you were never to touch her that was the agreement, now get out before I give her a weapon and allow her to do what comes naturally"

Zevran finally releases him with a hiss off disgust and both men leave quickly, shutting the heavy door behind them. Ulfric belly crawls over to him whining and pawing at the elf's legs. This almost surprises Vythica as much as her lovers bloody appearance. The hound has never shown anyone but her his level of compliance, it occurs to her that maybe Ulfric understands the dynamics of her submission to Zevran than any one else ever could. He shoos the dog away, not unkindly, but for now his attention is focused upon her, particularly the vivid splash of colour that blossoms from her cheek to the edges of her left eye.

She is doing something she has always done when the battles were done and blood washed them all. Her eyes sweep over his body to detect open wounds wanting to make sure that the blood was not his own. He is before her within seconds, one hand at the back of her head pressing it to his chest, gloved fingers finding their way into her hair. This is his way of apology, she knows the physical contact is his was of saying words that would taste foreign on his tongue. She allows him these few moments before inserting a hand between them and pushing him back gently.

"As much as I love the smell of blood in the morning this kind of raises a few questions Zevran"

He touched the hand at his chest and shook his head, he seemed agitated and this bothered her, it had to be something big to ruffle that perfect mask of his.

"I promise there will be time for explanations later, right now you must dress and we must leave as soon as possible"

His voice is gentle but firm, as is the grip on her wrist as he pulls her from the room, the mabari following close at their heels. The door is swung open and they enter what looks to be a library combined with living quarters. He pulls her over to a bed in the far corner, hidden away by a lavishly painted screen. Her eyes try to take in the rooms details but he is impatient now. Cloth is pressed into her hands before he picks up a pack and begins to stuff things in it seemingly at random. She lets the cloth unfurl. It is a simple dress by Antiva's standards, yet she never was one to wear white very often and viewed the object with a little distaste.

Zevran's eyebrows knotted impatiently and he grasped her chin firmly to bring her attention to him.

"It is a dress my dear not a Broodmother, if you are not dressed by the time I am done you'll just have to leave naked and over my shoulder"

She suppressed the urge to make a quick remark, he didn't seem to be in the mood and was likely to make good on his threat if she didn't comply. The dress was thrown on as were some of the most ridiculous looking boots she had seen in her life, who wore thigh high boots for the makers sake? She barely had time to wonder how badly her balance was going to be affected in heels when she was caught against his chest from behind.

"I apologise my dear but they seem to think this necessary" A blindfold is placed over her eyes and tied securely, he sighs deeply as he turns her to face him.

"Ah it is so unfair that I am unable to take advantage of such an opportunity as this"

She almost wishes he would, he is acting very strange and she doesn't like this urgency to be gone. It is all she can manage to not ask about the blood he is wearing. A cloak is thrown over her shoulders and fastened, the hood pulled over her vivid hair. His arm slips around her shoulders and he guides her around the room and out of another door. She hates not being able to see but knows well enough to use her own senses. A cold nose brushes her hand and she knows Ulfric is with him, confirmed by the steady clicking of claws on stone. Her own steps make an unfamiliar staccato tapping, she cannot hear Zevran's at all, in fact he is so still and quite that only the solid warmth of his arm belies his presence. She feels the air around them change as he takes several corners, doors are opened and closed, and at one point she is lifted and carried up a flight of stairs. She wishes to protest at this even more than she wants the blindfold gone. Grey wardens stormed battlefields and rained blood on their enemies, they were not carried around like glass dolls and they certainly didn't have to wear heels!

Her shoulders tense when another set footsteps joined theirs, but they seemed to be maintaining some distance behind them. Still she didn't like this, every battle hardened cell in her body cried out against having armed man she didn't know at her back. Thankfully another door was opened and she was hit by a was of cool air, ok it wasn't exactly fresh, smelling faintly of old food and waste but it was outside and she hadn't realised how much she disliked being cooped up for too long till this moment. She was eager to go but Zevran had stopped.

"One or two days should be enough, they will search this place and then the other houses just for the show of things"

She recognized the voice of the man who had been pointing the crossbow at Ulfric, and maybe she was still angry at him for daring to threaten her friend or maybe she was just tired of all this secrecy. Whatever it was she decided that a lesson was in order.

"Ulfric snack time"

There was a snarl and a flurry of claws followed by a strangled yell of pain and anger, she heard Zevran's gasp of surprise before he released her arm to assist the man who was no doubt sporting a set of the hounds teeth marks. Ulfric was already back at her side, she could almost see his big doggy grin. Curses chased after them as her arm was seized and she was dragged unceremoniously through the doorway, almost tripping on a step. She heard the door close , cutting off the shouts.

"As amusing as that was my dear you will be paying for it later", he doesn't sound angry, if anything he seems happy at the prospect of punishing her, but there was also another tone beneath his normal one and it was this she didn't like.

….

He didn't remove the blindfold until they had left the city gates. They spent an hour walking in relative silence, it was like walking with a stranger. Not to mention the ridiculous boots were starting to pain her feet something fierce. She wanted to shake him by the shoulders and ask him who he was and what he had done to the Zevran who left her the night before. If the assassin sensed her confusion he did not let on, he seemed determined to get away from the city as fast as possible.

The ground they were walking through was rough and uneven, winding through tall grass that did its very best to snare her feet and throw her off balance. It was with a cry of frustration that she finally sat down and hiked up the dress to remove the damnable footwear. She had just gotten one of the laces unknotted when he landed in front of her on his knees, his hand swatting hers away. There was something in his eyes, some emotion that was so unlike him that it made her push her hands on the ground to shift herself backwards and away from that glare. Quick hands grabbed her legs and pull her roughly back to him, the coarse grass grazing the back of her thighs.

Hunger and anger dance behind his eyes, she can feel it in his body too, that steady thrumming of something barely contained beneath the skin. His grip is painful and almost desperate as though he is holding back something truly awful.

"Tell me to stop"

she is shocked to find that this time it is almost a plea, and it hits her quite suddenly, the silence, the barely contained anger and the sudden shift to lust. She has seen him like this only once before, in her tent the night after they had killed Talisen. He had been unable to process such anger and instead turned it to one of the things he knew best. She relaxed in his grip, this she knew, and this she could do, to be a vessel to his anger was no real chore. It would be a little rougher and there would be some pain, but she would bear it with some pleasure even. Anything to wipe that look from his eyes and bring him back to himself. Later they could talk but for now she would be what he needed, she was strong enough.

He takes her silence for what it is and bears her to the ground with the weight of his body, his hips grinding against hers while his mouth finds the hollow of her throat. She feels his teeth as they take up her skin and bite down and her scream is piercing enough to send birds fluttering to the sky in fright. The sound seems to urge him on and his rutting becomes almost frantic in its movements. He releases her throat to give a growl of frustration and lifts himself enough to insert a hand between them and yank at the belt that circles his waist and confines him.

She senses his urgency and her hands move to his waist to assist him, they are slapped away again with a snarl.

He frees himself just enough to enter her with very little of his usual tact and none of the teasing. Her body is not ready for him and it is only with a forceful thrust of the hips with his body weight behind it that he is able to fully sheath himself in her with a grunt of effort. She wants to touch him but now is not the time, this has very little to do with sex, he needed to vent his anger, pour it into her, in effect use her. He does not give her body time to acclimatize to his sudden invasion, he moves inside her with quick forceful thrusts using his strength to make the tight opening to comply with his needs. Hands have resumed their painful grip on her upper thighs as he adds their leverage to his own.

With the speed of a snake striking his mouth is fixed at her shoulder and the pain causes her to convulse against him, hands ripping fistfuls of grass up by their roots. As he channelled his anger into her body she channelled the pain into the earth. She feels her body begin to respond to him, easing the pain a little. Yet he does not ease up on his movements, he has started and means to see this to the end. He rises to his knees, lifting her lower body from the ground with him. There is hardly the sound save for the force of their bodies joining and the frantic murmurs in his own language.

She knows it is over when his grip on her thighs becomes almost crushing. His head is thrown back and his own scream rents the air along with a final thrust that gives him that release he has been wanting.

Birds scatter and the silence reigns and the elf simply has to wonder what beast has wormed its way into his heart in the time she has been away.