Four: The Water from Your Well

Author's note: Cullen-centric chapter. We'll get back to the politics soon enough. Also, about here is where this story starts working hard to earn its rating.

There will be a delay of a few days before the next chapter—my writing time is about to be a bit more restricted. I hope this is enough to hold everyone until then.


Kathil:

"My pardon, Eamon—but what? Why?"

The former Arl of Redcliffe raked one hand over his hair. "Unless I am vastly mistaken, you were not born yet when the Battle of River Dane was fought, correct?"

She shook her head. "I was born ten years after."

"Then you have only ever known a free Ferelden," Eamon said. "I spent the first half of my life under the constant threat of Orlesian invasion, and then under the rule of the Empire. This land has bitter memories of foreign rule, between the Avvars and the Orlesians. Just because there is a treaty between Ferelden and Orlais now does not mean that the Orlesians have given up all thoughts of claiming this land as theirs. They simply have to go about it more quietly, for the moment."

She thought it through. "And the Orlesian Grey Wardens might be a part of that."

"Alistair mentioned there was an…incident." Eamon shook his head. "He didn't give me any details. All he said was that he thought that Orlesian Grey Wardens were not as neutral as they ought to be." His gaze rested thoughtfully on Leliana.

"Leliana is Fereldan-born, Eamon," she said, hurrying to deflect the line of thought she could see in his eyes. "As much a Fereldan as I am. And, yes. The incident." She drew a breath in. "Surely there's someone else? There are almost a hundred Fereldan Grey Wardens now. One or two of them must be vastly more qualified than I am to be Warden-General." She searched her memory; she hadn't paid nearly as much attention to the letters she'd been sent from the Wardens as she ought to have, and the letters themselves were safely stowed in her quarters in the Tower. "There was an elf—Davarrine, I think—she was one of the leaders of the archers the Dalish sent. I remember her a little, I liked her."

"Qualified? Probably. More qualified?" Eamon quirked his mouth. "I believe that the woman who united this country to fight the Blight has impeccable qualifications. And is the only person that the Wardens here will accept as a leader without question. Fractious lot, you are."

Kathil chewed briefly on the inside of her lip. "What's your stake in this, Eamon? I mean, yes, the Orlesian Grey Wardens have to go, but I don't understand your angle."

"I simply am enjoying peace, and want it to continue." Eamon shifted and scratched at his beard. "You have not been around for a few years. The quiet is very tenuous. Alistair and Rima have been solidifying their hold on the monarchy, but the heat of victory is beginning to fade, as is the goodwill that victory confers. They are about to see a true test, I believe, and when that test comes it will be valuable to have you visible in the Grey Wardens. Alistair is going to need your support, Kathil. And it is not support you can lend from the Tower." Kathil opened her mouth to reply, but he held up a hand. "If my information is correct, one of your intentions is to make the Circle a power in this country again, to take the place they lost when they did not raise a hand to help Maric against Meghren. It's going to be a very unpopular move. But it will be far less so if the Circle of Magi is seen as being allied with the Grey Wardens."

"Why?" she asked, frowning.

Eamon chuckled. "The Grey Wardens are seen as neutral, focused only on fighting darkspawn, no matter what the reality may be. The Circle allying itself with the Wardens would mean they inherit that neutrality. And if the same person were at the head of them both—you can see the potential for certain attitudes about the Circle to alter, yes? The Circle again has a purpose other than simply being a prison to keep dangerous powers away from the unsuspecting. And perhaps things can—change."

We do this because it is far kinder than the alternative, Irving had told her once in a late-night conference. Best to make the breaks quick than to let the connections between mages and their families die a slow death. Best for the families to tell themselves that their sons and daughters are dead, so that when the worst happens, they do not mourn again.

Kathil hated that necessity, and so many others. And she could see it, see a Circle of Magi given new purpose, mages given the chance to use the powers that they spent their lives learning to control. A Circle mended, the Templars partners rather than enemies.

Maker's Breath.

She had just been played.

"That was why you brought Isolde with you today," she said, almost choking. "Not just to let her apologize, but to remind me of everything that is wrong with the Circle. Why I ever think of you as trustworthy, Eamon, I will never know."

Eamon smiled. "Isolde insisted, actually, but I thought her presence could not hurt. I know you, Kathil. You're bright, you're driven, and I think it is safer for Ferelden if you're kept busy. Wouldn't do for you to get bored, would it?"

Kathil shook her head, then touched the Warden's Oath around her neck. She glanced at Zevran, who had just the slightest smile on his lips, and at Leliana, whose bright blue eyes were calm and a little amused. No help from there. "I'll consider it, Eamon. I'm in a…ticklish position, when it comes to the Circle. Irving likes me and wants me to take the First Enchanter position when he dies or retires. Preferably the latter. But the Circle has no official power over me, since the Right of Conscription was invoked when I was recruited. It makes some of the other Senior Enchanters nervous."

As did the fact that she had disappeared for two years, and almost the moment she had come back she had been Fade-struck. As did the fact that she had been out in the world, using the power that the Maker had given her. As did the fact that she had a Mabari and she was sharing her bed with someone who was most decidedly not a mage.

"You don't have to decide right now. Ser Laurens is currently serving." Eamon drummed his fingers briefly on the arm of his chair. "Though if we can send the Orlesians packing, I'd like to have it done by the fall. Gives them a chance to be on their way back home before the snow flies."

She set her jaw. "You are a sly old wolf, Eamon. And I mean that in the best possible way. You'll have your answer by the end of the summer. I have to send a letter to Irving and have him figure out if there's any precedent for one mage serving two masters."

"All I ask is that you consider it." He rose, groaning a little. "I swear these chairs get more and more padded and harder to get out of every year. If you'll excuse me, Grey Warden, I should go see to Isolde."

Kathil nodded and let him go. She let out a gusty breath and set her head against the high back of her chair, closing her eyes. "This is…a complication I wasn't expecting."

"I think you should consider it," Leliana said. She kicked off her light shoes and curled her legs under her in her chair, leaning on one elbow on the armrest. "Just think! All of those lovely long days spent ordering men and women in armor around." Kathil rolled her eyes, and Leliana laughed. "I jest, dearest, but I do think you shouldn't dismiss it out of hand. Eamon has a point."

"Eamon never opens his mouth unless he has a point," she grumbled. "That's part of the reason he's so sodding dangerous. Zevran? What do you think?"

He'd slung one leg over the arm of his chair, and was looking at her with a steady gaze. "I think," he said, and his voice had a gravity she rarely heard from him, "that every breath is a choice, my Grey Warden. And I think you owe the Circle nothing."

She touched her Oath again. "That's true. But if I can make life a little easier for those brought to the Tower…"

"That is a very different thing than being obligated, yes?" He smiled, and the grave tone slipped from his voice. "Do not fret. The decision will come clear in time. It always does."

It does, at that. She smiled at him and shoved herself up and out of the chair. "Remind me to give Alistair a talking-to when I see him next. I'm guessing he put Eamon up to this."

Leliana snorted gently. "If he did, he has more brains than most give him credit for. Where are you off to, dearest?"

"Where am I always off to? The library." She stretched, raising herself up on her toes. "I have work to do. If either of you see Cullen, tell him to come find me."

Zevran was on his feet now, behind her. She leaned back into him as he wrapped his arms around her. "I will," he said, and his breath was warm in her ear, tickling. She made an appreciative noise in the back of her throat. "And I will see you at dinner, yes?"

"Unless something seriously untoward…mmm." She forgot what she was talking about as one of his hands came up to brush against her breast. "Zev, you are a distracting man. Work. I have work."

He murmured something, one of those Antivan phrases that he never translated for her, and released her. She turned to kiss him, hard, then went to hug Leliana. Then went out into the Hall of the Landsmeet, Lorn following, considering Warden-General and Circle mage and all of the things those two terms implied.

*****

Cullen:

She always retreated into her books when she was troubled.

All she would say to him was Isolde was there and Eamon asked me if I'd volunteer to be Ferelden's Warden-General and he wished he'd been there with her that morning rather than following Leliana's orders to go have pins stuck in him by the most sadistic seamstress he'd ever met. And he wondered what it would mean, for her to be Warden-General, and what it would mean for him.

Her head was bent over a book, and she was furiously scratching notes on a stack of paper. Now wasn't the time to ask, obviously.

Instead, he staged a retreat of his own, into that nearly meditative state of watchful waiting drilled into him by years of Templar training. He stood with his feet planted, hands at his sides. The scratch of Kathil's quill and Lorn's soft snores were the only sound that broke the silence of the library. Beyond the library, he could hear people talking, dogs barking, the crash as someone dropped what sounded like a piece of armor or a cooking pot.

The scratching slowed, then stopped.

"Do you miss the Tower, Cullen?"

He blinked. "What?"

She was still looking at her notes, though he didn't think she actually saw them. "It's a simple question. Do you miss it?"

"Er." Why was she asking this? "Sometimes," he replied carefully. "I mostly miss some of the other Templars. And this time of year, we'd be swimming a lot in Lake Calenhad. And I miss the way the halls sounds, oddly enough. And…the mages, or at least seeing magic worked. Even though I knew it was dangerous, it was also pretty a lot of the time. It was home for a long time, but when we go back, it won't be the same. They did kick me out. Why?"

She wiped her quill's tip with a dark-stained cloth and picked up the little knife in the inkstand. She trimmed the end, shaving it off just so. She held it up, blowing a breath over it critically. "I should probably get some of those nibs I saw for sale in Orzammar. I didn't think of it when I was there, and I haven't been back. If I become Warden-General, we're likely not going to see as much of the Tower as I thought we were. I wondered if you minded."

"I liked Amaranthine," he said carefully. "Because of the port and it being close to Denerim, there's a lot of traders coming through, more in the spring and summer according to the other Wardens. Winter there is a lot warmer than it is in the Tower. And everyone is mad for paintings." At her disbelieving look, he shrugged. "There's a freehold nearby where artists from all over come to study and paint and such. Don't ask me, I think a lot of them are awful. There's one person who I think just throws pots of paint at the canvas and then sells those canvases for a lot of sovereigns."

"Yes, but you have an opinion. Did you ever have an opinion on art before you went to Amaranthine?"

"Not a whole lot of art in the Tower—new art, anyway," he said. "Hard to form an opinion on something you've never seen much of."

"I wonder." Kathil ran her thumb over the newly sharpened tip of her quill. "The problem is, Cullen, that there is no good reason to not become Warden-General. Except that I rather hate the idea."

"Why?" he asked her.

She put the quill down on the table and wriggled around in her chair to face him. "Because I got taken out of the Tower as a mage who had just passed her Harrowing, and a month later I was one of only two Grey Wardens in Ferelden and for some ridiculous reason I was in charge. I went for an entire year half hoping, half dreading that someone was finally going to look at me and figure out that I had no sodding idea what I was doing."

"You broke the Blight," he pointed out. "Killed an Archdemon. Killed Uldred."

"Arl Howe, Loghain, Branka—well, Loghain wasn't officially me, Alistair executed him—a bunch of werewolves, Flemeth—" She was ticking names off on her fingers. "Point me at someone who needs to die and I do a very good job. That doesn't mean I'm a good leader."

Lorn had woken up, and came over to sit in front of his human, plopping his massive head in her lap. She stroked his head absently.

Cullen furrowed his brow in disbelief. "Wait. You're telling me that you don't want to become Warden-General because you think you'd be bad at it?"

"Ah." There was an oddly puzzled look on her face. "I—yes. Yes? I'm just a mage, Cullen."

"Just a mage," he said quietly. "If you really want to go back to the Tower, that's one thing. But if you don't want to be Warden-General because you're scared—"

He closed his mouth, because her dark eyes were widening and he wasn't exactly sure what that look on her face portended. And that was probably a lot more than he ought to have said.

Kathil twisted her mouth, the scar on the side of her face pulling her skin oddly, and looked down at Lorn's head in her lap. "The funny thing is that I think the old wolf has the right of it. If I can keep my position in the Circle and be the Warden-General, that may be one of the best things I could do for the Circle. I could help things change. Maybe not in our lifetimes, but maybe in Prince Duncan's. When the idea isn't quite so new…I will think about it."

He stepped forward and put a hand on her shoulder. "You have some time, I hear."

She nodded and looked up at him, and he was very aware of the nearness of her, of the way her lips were parting slightly. If this changes anything, Cullen, she'd said yesterday, when she'd told him about his parents and about the lie she'd told.

It changed nothing, he knew.

And taking his courage in both of his hands, Cullen leaned down and pressed a kiss to her lips.

One of her hands snaked up to the back of his neck, and the kiss wasn't the frenetic, confusing thing that their first kiss had been. He still wasn't sure of exactly what he was doing, but from the little sounds she was making, at least he wasn't doing it entirely wrong.

And then her hand tightened and slid up into his hair, and he forgot to think at all.

It was approximately an eternity later when they parted. "That—" Whatever Kathil had been about to say was interrupted by a low, urgent whuff from Lorn. "Someone's coming," she said, and let go of him.

Cullen made haste to straighten up and get back into his spot. The approaching footsteps turned out to belong to one of the archivists, bringing Kathil a few books fresh out of a shipment from Rivain. The mage thanked the woman so sweetly, and with such perfect composure, that Cullen would never have guessed that a moment before she'd been embroiled in a passionate kiss.

Except, perhaps, for the faint flush that was spreading across her face.

Once the archivist had retreated to the other side of the library, Kathil looked out the window. "Isn't it about time for you to go visit Fiann?" she asked. "I think I'm going to go see if I can get one of the guards to spar with me. I think I'd like to stretch my legs."

"Probably. Kathil—"

She put a finger to her lips and inclined her head towards the sound of paper sliding against paper that were coming from the archivist across the room. "I'll see you at dinner." She shoved her chair back and thumped her book closed, shoving her now-dry notes beneath it.

She smiled at him and began to walk. He fell in at her shoulder, Lorn on her other side. The Mabari was prancing a bit, his stubby tail flailing. His human was happy, said that tail. And so Lorn was happy.

They walked in silence to where he had to turn for the kennels, and she would go straight to the guard barracks. They were, for a moment, alone.

Kathil slung an arm around his neck. "I'm going to be sorry when you have to go back to wearing armor all the time," she said. "You look good out of it." Then she kissed him soundly, and again there was that strange chest-tightening feeling of the whole world spinning in on itself. She let go of him, and said, "Don't make any plans for the evening, Cullen."

Then she was gone, retreating down the hall with Lorn, and he was standing there with his ears burning and what he suspected might be a rather large grin on his face.

*****

Zevran:

Ah, something had happened earlier today.

Kathil was sitting to his right, with an expression on her face very few would likely be able to read. She was moving with calm deliberation, every motion restrained, keeping a grin trapped behind her teeth. They were near one end of the long table that served as an intimate dining space for Alistair and Rima, placed safely away from the royal couple.

Rima ignored the mage. Kathil ignored the Princess Consort. For the moment, a fragile détente appeared to have been established, though whether it was because Rima had given up or because her next game was going to be longer than her first it was difficult to say. The latter, more likely.

He took the basket of rolls from Leliana, snagged two, and dropped them both on Kathil's plate. "You will need to keep up your strength, yes?" he murmured to her. "For unless I am very mistaken, you have certain pleasures planned for tonight."

She snatched one of the rolls from her plate and took a savage bite. "I do," she mumbled as she chewed, then swallowed. "Is it that obvious?"

"Only to me, little bird," he said. "And perhaps our Chantry mouse, who looks as though she might be having some difficulty keeping a straight face."

Next to him, Leliana leaned over, wrinkling her nose. "Why do you always call me that, Zevran?" She exaggerated her pronunciation of his name, placing all the emphasis on the last syllable. "It has been years since I was a lay sister."

"Because, my dear, it annoys you." He smiled at the bard. "And because your eyes are quite bright, yes? Though your bosom…so very un-mouse-like."

"Maybe if you were the very last person in Ferelden," Leliana said. "Though only maybe." She craned her neck around to see Cullen, sitting on Kathil's right, looking as though he were attempting to ignore them all. The bard lowered her voice. "Do be gentle with him, dearest."

Just the very slightest smile curved Kathil's lips. "No promises."

Cullen's hand froze in the act of reaching for his cup, and fisted briefly.

Leliana steered the conversation to safer topics, launching into a story involving a griffon, a mud puddle, and a cloak of brambles. Soon enough, the King and the Princess Consort were taking their leave. Alistair looked as though he would have come down to speak to them, but Rima set her hand on his arm, and he turned away. They had barely seen him during their time in Denerim.

Then they were all getting up from the table. At a quiet word from Kathil, Cullen went ahead, and the mage put her arm around Zevran and pulled him into an alcove down the hall from the royal dining room. "Last chance," she said as she pulled him into an embrace.

Zevran kissed her forehead. "Simply return to me, my Grey Warden, and I am well content."

"Always." She breathed the word more than said it. "I will be back late." Then her hungry mouth was on his, and for a time there was silence between them.

She was gone soon after, presumably to Cullen's room. Zevran shook his head, chuckling, and headed up the stairs to the wall walk; the guards up there knew him, and he enjoyed looking out over Denerim as dusk fell.

Besides, tonight he had on his mind two women. One of them his Grey Warden, a woman of blades and ice and that surprising streak of softness in her.

The other a dark-haired woman, five years and as many lifetimes ago.

"I love you," he murmured against her throat.

"That makes two of us, Zevran. For I am very fond of myself, yes?" One of Rinna's hands slid down his side as he breathed her in, cinnamon and seawater. "Ah, I jest. Of course I love you. I think we may take over the cell together, yes? You and me and Taliesen. After this contract is over."

He and Taliesen killed her before the next sunset, and Zevran laughed at her dying pleas that she was innocent of all betrayal. That she had been telling the truth, they had not discovered until later.

That was how love ended. With someone dead.

He watched darkness steal over Denerim, and contemplated the past and the present.

*****

Kathil:

She handed Cullen the little cup, filled to the brim with the intoxicating substance that the Orelsians called joie. She filled her own cup only halfway; joie didn't seem to affect her control of her magic the same way alcohol did, but it was still quite strong. "To life," she said, and lifted her cup towards him, sitting across from her in his room. "And all of the unexpected places it takes us."

Cullen raised his cup and sipped, closing his eyes. Kathil took a breath and did the same. It burned all the way down into her stomach, spreading warm outward and mixing with the nerves that were twisting in her. "Did you mean what you said, earlier?" Cullen asked. "About me looking good out of armor?"

"You are a handsome man," she said, and tipped her chin up a bit. "It was a little strange at first, but I think it makes you look a little more human. Mages aren't supposed to think of Templars as humans. Thus, the armor and the helms."

He blinked. "You think I'm—"

"Yes," she said, and grinned. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't, Cullen. Finish your joie. I want to show you something."

From the speculative look in his eyes, he was very curious indeed about what she wanted to show him. They both drank the rest of their cups, and Kathil got to her feet, offering her hand to Cullen. She pulled him up, and led him over to the window. "I noticed this the other day, and I think she'll be back soon. See the ledge, there?" She pointed across the courtyard. "It leads into a little niche."

They were standing close enough to each other that she could feel the heat radiating off Cullen. It took just a moment for her to sidle a little closer to him, until their bodies were touching. "Ah, there she is. See?" A lithe black cat, carrying what looked like a rat, hopped up to a window ledge, then to the top of a window, and with a prodigious leap she landed on the ledge. She vanished into the niche. "I think she has kittens in there," Kathil said.

"That…doesn't seem very safe." He frowned. "They'll break their necks when they try to leave."

"She probably thinks of it as a safe place, no matter how dangerous it might become later." She slipped an arm around him, and she was looking up into his eyes and he down into hers.

That was the last moment of before.

*****

Cullen:

When she kissed him, her mouth tasted like joie and ice.

Her body was pressed against his, one of her legs coming around to hook behind his ankle. Her mouth on his was searching, probing, withdrawing a little and then pressing forward, almost parting and then she changed her mind, her lips rejoining his.

He had imagined this so many times, but the reality was vastly different. He'd never thought about teeth, or the fact that they were both very new to one another. But it was still wonderful, and soon enough the two of them began to learn one each other, to figure out how to coordinate lips and teeth and tongue.

When they finally stopped kissing for a moment, both of them were breathing hard. Kathil was flushed, and he could feel her heart beating against his chest. She cupped his cheek in her hand, and her fingers were warm, almost burning. "Let me lead the dance tonight," she said softly. "There will be other nights, but there will ever only be one first time."

He nodded, all of his words deserting him.

Kathil pulled him towards the bed, and they kicked off their shoes and lay down. There was more kissing, both of them stretched out along each other. Then she'd pulled his shirt off, and it didn't seem quite fair that she was still fully dressed, but she was running a possessive hand over his skin and he was not exactly going to complain just yet. "I have wanted to do this for so long," she murmured. "You have no idea, Cullen. You really do not."

Then her mouth was at his ear and his neck and she stopped talking and he stopped thinking.

Eventually, both of them shed their clothes, and that was a revelation too, how soft her skin was between the scar, velvet and silk. He remembered flinching when he'd first seen her shoulder, but now it was just another part of her, like the nape of her neck and the swell of her breasts where they pressed into him. And the strength of her, muscle hard under her skin, collarbones with the most fascinating hollows just above them where her scent was intoxicatingly strong. Sometime in there, the sun had gone down, and his room was now dark with only a little moonlight sneaking in through the window.

"Just enjoy this," she said into his ear, and then her hand was running along his length and he arched his back, pressing himself into her fingers, trying to remember—something—what was he supposed to—

Then she shifted and her hand was joined by her mouth, with wet lips and tongue and he was tumbling abruptly forward into a starry darkness that he thought might be either the Fade or death and he didn't care which it was.

By the time he had recovered, she was lying along his body again, and in the dark he could feel her smile. When she kissed him again, her mouth tasted like ice and joie and, yes, himself, a salty-sweet musk that he found he didn't mind one bit. "Don't worry, we're just getting started," she said. "Now. Time for a few lessons, I think."

She taught. He learned.

To touch her like this and listen to the soft music of her breathing, to move his hand there and hear her give a pleading moan, to slide a finger like that and feel her body press against him, shameless, greedy, wanting more. To feel the tension in her body come to a sudden peak and have her voice spiral up into a near-scream, her whole body shuddering, and he understood so many of the half-truths the Templars shared between each other at night, and it was nothing like he had imagined but it was perfect.

She turned her face into his shoulder, and he put his arms around her and pulled her close, feeling little aftershocks shivering through her. "You are beautiful," he whispered fiercely.

"And you are going to be dangerous, with a bit of practice." Kathil lifted her head a bit. "You catch on quickly."

He could feel himself go a bit red, but in the darkness with both of them naked and the blanket twisted beneath them, it didn't seem to matter. He stroked a hand down her back, feeling the knobs of her spine beneath the skin and muscle, and it seemed so strange that he had never touched anyone like this before. Not just like before, like that, but lying together in the dark running his hand along her skin just because it felt good to do so, and from the way he could feel her relax under his hand it felt good to her as well.

He probably should feel guilty, but—

Cullen was no longer the Chantry child he had been raised to be. The Templars had kicked him out, the Grey Wardens had nearly executed him, and this woman had taken him in, defended him, made him hers.

In many more ways than one, he realized, a little belatedly.

Then, that was always the truth, wasn't it?

One of her hands was free, and that hand was moving on his skin, and it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to kiss her again, to drop his mouth to her neck and kiss and then nip, carefully, and her gasp was both surprised and pleased. He thought there might be a lesson to be learned there, but her hands on him were becoming insistent, and he was not entirely sure what she had in mind—

She shifted, levered herself up and threw a leg over him, and there was a hard part of him nestled against a part of her that was wet like the Waking Sea, warm like she was not ice and lightning but fire. The light coming from the window illuminated her only in patches—a lock of pale hair tumbling forward to brush against his face, her lips, her shoulder with its scars like shadows.

Kathil bent forward, her lips at his ear. "If you learn nothing else tonight, know this," she said in a low, urgent voice. "This is something the Maker intended for all of His children to know. This is the closest I have ever come to knowing what it is to be holy."

With that, she slid down on him.

They moved together, slowly, learning. Then more quickly, ancient rhythms driving them together, she still above him and moving on him, and there was an urgency rising in both of them—he gasped I—and she whispered now—

Then he was falling upward into that starry blackness again, only this time she was with him, clinging to him, shivering and grounding him and there.

Some eternity passed.

She was collapsed forward on him, surprisingly heavy, but her weight and her warmth was comforting. Both of them were silent. Cullen could feel her heart pounding, still.

After a time, they disentangled from each other a bit. Kathil curled so her head was resting on his shoulder, and he shifted so he could put both arms around her. They rested together, wordless, for some time. Sleep was beginning to tug at the edges of Cullen's mind.

"I should go," Kathil said. He felt her lips moving against the skin of his chest. "I will see you in the morning, Cullen."

And it felt like he ought to be upset, that she was leaving his bed for another man's, but—he wasn't. He was too sleepy to decipher what that might mean. "In the morning, then. Kathil, that was…" He paused, lost in all of the possibilities of wonderful and amazing and completely astonishing.

She kissed him again before he could decide which of the many words he wanted to use. "Yes," she said, and there was a purr in her voice. "It was."

Then she was up and gathering her clothes, and he felt the Veil tear slightly and she was gone, not through the door but through the wall that separated his room from her and Zevran's.

He fell asleep soon after, surrounded still by the scent of her, and did not dream.

*****

Kathil:

Zevran was awake.

"Ah, you return," came his voice through the darkness of their room. "Have a good time?"

"Very," she said, and paused to drop her clothes on a chair. Lorn woke and whuffed at her. "Go back to sleep, puppy, it's just me."

She crawled into bed, curled up against Zevran, seeking his familiar warmth. He put an arm over her and pulled her close. "I told you I would come back," she said.

He did not answer, only kissed her gently, lingeringly. She closed her eyes. She was safe within the circle of his arms, and now she could sleep.

She was home.