Amaranthine City

Delia didn't bother struggling. If the impostor wanted to be mysterious she would not gainsay him. She bumped along with each step, his shoulder pressing into her belly. With nothing else to do, and her vision obscured, she paid close attention to her other senses. He felt like he had human dimensions, from what little she could tell. His hand that held her by the back of her thigh was firm but his grip was not painful. His smell was masculine. It was... leather and some hint of a fragrance. Perhaps he had used a perfumed soap? It tickled at the back of her mind, a fragrance she knew but couldn't quite remember. She turned her head to his neck to see if she could get a better whiff.

Almond! It came to her suddenly. He smells of almond. The smell made her hungry.

She heard a door open and then she was placed in a chair and a moment later the sack was yanked off her head. She could see but a little; the room was dark, there was only a little light filtering in from a window high up the wall. The place smelled dank. It must be a basement. She couldn't see the impostor, he was standing behind the chair, but she felt his fingers working on the knot of the cloth stopping her mouth.

"My apologies again, Commander, I need to be cautious," he said as he pulled the gag away. His voice was deep, a little roughed, but refined. He was no uneducated alley rat. "There are those who would like to bring the Dark Wolf to justice..."

Delia barked out a short laugh. "I can imagine," she said dryly.

"I bet you can," he said.

She held a footstep and then he was standing before her. She was right, he was bigger than an elf, but he was not a large man. He resembled a rapier more than a claymore. It was difficult to assess him fully in the gloom of the room, although he managed to stand in a sunbeam that illuminated him from the neck down, yet it left his face in shadow. From what she could see he seemed to posses a wiry sort of musculature. Not the big-as-a-bronto muscles like Alistair had, more like Zevran's lithe strength. She could just see a bit of black hair curling around a rather strong looking neck that eased into sufficiently broad shoulders. He wore a muslin shirt, with the ties partly undone, and it was tucked into a pair of brown leather breeks, those in turn, tucked into tall black boots.

Why am I undressing him already? Delia thought. It must have been the months of loneliness since the death of the archdemon and Zevran leaving to return to Antiva. She had tried to erase the loneliness with a series of encounters that could only be counted as imprudent for one as well-known as herself. Alistair himself had even commented on the rumors circulating about her behavior and that she was becoming something of an embarrassment to him. His relief had been obvious when the message came from the First Warden that she was to become Commander of the Grey. She, however, had been dismayed. Denerim had many amusements and her fame had brought her many interesting opportunities for diversions.

When she left Denerim she vowed to try to be a proper Commander and try to uphold some image of dedication and stern rigor she saw Riordan and Duncan had possessed, something completely foreign to her impulsive nature. She was on the verge of failing already, having decided to seduce one of her recruits - that decision having been helped along by a series of coin flips... until she got the result she wanted.

"I heard you were looking for me, Warden-Commander - if that's how you wish to be called now." There was a tone of amusement in his voice.

What a strange thing to say! she thought. "It is a mouthful, I know. Just call me Warden if it taxes your tongue. Or Delia, if you wish, I don't insist on formalities. But how should I address you? Dark Wolf just seems so...", stolen, "unweildy".

"Call me Wolf, if you wish."

"Well then, Wolf, it is a pleasure to meet one of your renown," the sarcasm dripped heavily from her voice. "I remember hearing all about you in Denerim, during the blight. You are quite accomplished thief, stealing the Tears of Andraste right out from under the nose of Bann Franderel and stealing Loghain's crown. I confess, I admire your audacity." She peered into the dark to see his expression, but the shadows were too thick over his face.

"Let's dispense with the pretenses, my lady," he said. "We both know you were the original Dark Wolf."

For the first time, she struggled against her bonds. "Then why did you see fit to steal that title?" she hissed.

She saw his shoulders raise and fall in a shrug. "It seemed you were done with it, having acquired a number of new titles recently like Hero of Ferelden and Warden-Commander."

She gave a violent twist in the chair and glared at the spot his eyes were likely to be. "Are you even worthy of the name? You could be some ... hedge robber, or a common cutpurse aspiring to undeserved greatness."

Wolf laughed loudly. "Oh ho! Aspiring to greatness? Your greatness, I assume? Such modesty, madam. Have you already forgotten how easily I disabled you in the alley? Besides, were you not seeking me out for help?"

Delia sputtered. "I was... distracted. I was seeking you more out of curiosity than need for your help. I wanted to see who it was that was laying claim to my deeds."

Wolf bowed with a mocking flourish, his head passing momentarily through the beam of light. He wore a black mask that covered the top of his head and had holes for his eyes. "At your service, my lady. But if you have no need of my assistance then perhaps we should go our separate ways."

Delia bit her lip. "Wait..." she said hesitantly, "I could handle this matter myself, but... I'm up to my arse in troubles I must attend to. I suppose I could use help." Asking for help left a bitter taste in her mouth. This was what she excelled at and she didn't know if this poseur could be relied upon.

She heard a low chuckle from Wolf. "Well then, what can the Dark Wolf do for you?" he asked, obviously intent on rubbing the stolen name into her face.

She sniffed disdainfully. "It should be a simple matter, one I would handle myself if I had the time. There's a conspiracy brewing amongst the nobles to get rid of me, in retaliation for my killing Arl Howe. My one reliable witness was murdered, unfortunately. I just want names, I can handle the conspirators."

"That sounds simple enough, Warden-Commander. Anyone supporting Arl Howe deserve what they get," he said, his voice turning bitter.

"You sound like you might have a personal interest."

"I spent a turn in the Arl's dungeon. Some of his friends are at least as bad as he was."

"Well, good then. Since this is something that appeals to you, perhaps you can give me a break on the price? The Arling is in disarray and we're quite broke at the moment."

She heard him laugh again. "My heart breaks, truly, my lady. A poor Arlessa! It tugs at my heart strings. I'm welling up..."

Delia frowned, although she had to admit she would have reacted the same way. She sighed heavily. "Your price, Wolf?"

He put his hand thoughtfully to his chin and mused for a moment. "If you had been anyone else, I would have charged you fifty sovereigns. But since I did steal your old nom de guerre, and because you are so lovely, I will merely ask twenty-five. Barely enough to cover bribes. I only ask for two concessions in return."

"And they are?" she prompted him.

"A kiss from your soft lips and the return of a favor at some point. Perhaps some job I might need assistance with."

Delia was caught flat-footed again, but she nodded in agreement. "Very well," she said.

Wolf took a step and stood beside her chair. With her arms and feet still bound she could do little but look up at him. He lifted her to her feet. His hands wrapped around her waist and he drew her near. His hand weaved through her black hair and tugged her head back as his mouth slowly descended onto hers. His lips were soft on hers, polite, not trying to plunder her. But the smell of leather and almond was intoxicating and she opened her mouth and captured his bottom lip between her teeth. She gave a sharp nip to his lip.

"Real wolves bite," she whispered.

He chuckled and pulled away from her. "I'll remember that." He picked up the sack again. "I apologize for the sack but I'd rather keep this location hidden." He slipped it over her head. She noticed he didn't bother with the gag this time. He picked her up and once again threw her over his shoulder. This time, as he carried her, his hand wrapped a little higher around her thigh than it had before. She squirmed slightly, but not from trying to escape.

After walking for awhile, he put her down on her feet and untied her hands and feet. He pulled the sack off her head and she blinked in the bright sunlight. He wore a helmet now that covered his features entirely, just showing a small reflection of his eyes from deep within.

"I'll contact you soon with names," he promised her. He looked at her a moment longer then walked off down the alley where she had met him.