And then Zevran was there, in the midst of the fray, his daggers moving with deadly speed and efficiency as he took them out like stalks of wheat; he caught my eye and gave me a grin that was wholly unbelievable in such a moment of blood and death and chaos. It heartened me, strangely, and I found my strength and we killed every last one of the demonic creatures until I was thoroughly spent and exhausted, standing in the midst of their remains clutching my blades with white-knuckles. Then there was the crunch of his footsteps in the snow as he approached me, the snicking hiss of daggers returning to their sheathes as he stood beside me, then the warmth of his hand on my cheek as he leaned close.
"I appreciate your attempt to finish the Crows' task for me," he said quietly. "But there is no need, truly, to put yourself in such, ah, unnecessary danger when you have an entire camp full of seasoned fighters who would gladly follow you to the ends of the earth."
At his words, something broke within me. My blades hit the snow with a gentle thud as my hands covered my face and I fell to my knees, sobbing uncontrollably. It was all so wrong; the threads of my life had become so tangled I felt that I would never sort them all out, and to top it off, I was a suicidal fool. Though my memory of that moment is not clear, I believe that I tried to express some of my thoughts to Zevran, who stood at my side and let me weep until I felt damp and worn, like a cloth that has been wrung to remove excess water.
We knelt in silence for several moments while I regained myself before I looked around, startled. "Where are we?" There was no sign of the creatures that we had killed, nor was there even a spot of crimson on the snow that surrounded us, and I didn't recall there being so many trees...
At this, Zevran chuckled. "I did not think that you truly wanted to kneel in a pile of darkspawn guts, so I took the liberty of steering you away from the carnage." He gave me a guarded look. "Are you feeling better now?" There was no emotion behind his words, though I imagined that he had been trained to carefully conceal all traces of such things in his speech, as I had.
I shrugged and busied myself reaching for my blades, finding them carefully laid next to me, clean. "I'm not sure," I said after a moment, not meeting his eyes. "I don't feel...I'm not sure what it feels like to be normal anymore. I can hardly remember a time before the Blight, before Ostegar." The weight of the Cousland sword felt reassuring and heavy in my hand as I sheathed it. "Everything has happened so fast, you know? It feels like we're hurtling towards the end, whatever it may be, and I haven't had a chance to catch my breath."
His gloved hand brushed my chin, turned my eyes to meet his. "You are unhappy, yes?"
"It doesn't matter what I am," I replied. "I have a duty."
At this he frowned and leaned forward, brushing his lips to mine feather soft, more of a shared breath than a kiss. "I would see you happy, my dear. Such a beautiful woman as you deserves all the happiness that she can get, no?" His kiss was deeper this time, more firm, and I felt something small within me relax, just a tiny bit. Some hidden part of me unfurled to the light, whispered yes, this is the way. My hands acted as if on their own volition, clutching his shoulders as my body moved against his own, and the hidden part of me sighed in relief.
Then he pulled away, studying me intently, his mouth quirking as he tried not to smile at my confusion. "What is it?" I asked, breathless.
He grinned then, truly, and ran a hand through my disheveled hair. "You are being truthful with me for the first time, I think. I felt it in your kiss."
I returned the smile and shrugged. "I don't know, Zevran. Maybe. I feel..." I squinted up as the first flecks of dawn light made their way over the mountains. A wider grin came to my face as I looked at him. "I feel like I want to watch the sunrise with you." I gestured to a nearby hillock. "Will you sit with me?"
Another of his chuckles, a sound I was growing quite fond of. "You never fail to surprise me, which is saying something, mind you. At my core, I am quite a cynical bastard."
We returned to camp about an hour later to find the others engaged in the usual business of the morning; I noted with displeasure that Morrigan was cooking breakfast. My mabari approached me first, the little nub of a tail wagging in delight as he nuzzled my hand, Alistair and Wynne at his heels. "Your hound wasn't worried, so we figured you were okay," he said by way of greeting, his eyes flicking from my face to Zevran's. "Though I thought I sensed some darkspawn a few hours ago..."
"We came across a scouting party," I said with a nod. "But they're taken care of."
"Are you alright, child?" Wynne asked, regarding me with a gaze that missed nothing. "Are you hurt?"
A smile crept to my face as I shook my head. "No, thank you. I feel fine."
"Indeed," Alistair replied, his gaze on me. "So, the two of you took out how many hurlocks?"
After giving them a brief rundown on the scouting party, I felt a yawn split my face, which caused Wynne to send me to my tent, claiming that "it won't kill us to spend a few more hours here so you can get some rest."
I slept. My dreams were full of blood and death, as they often were, but there was an overlay of something sweeter, some joy that I could not grasp or see or hear, but it sang through the terror and anger in my thoughts and caused me to wake with a renewed sense of hope.
We left as soon as I awoke and made for the Brecilian forest, for the mysterious Dalish elves who I'd only read about thus far. Though I had taken pains to avoid speaking to Zevran or Alistair, I found myself walking beside the assassin as we approached the edges of the forest, a question on my tongue. "You said once that your mother was Dalish. Have you ever spent time with them?"
His footfalls were silent against the needles and leaves. "Yes, I spent a summer among the clan of my mother when I was a small boy. They fascinated me, you know, for all that they seemed so foreign and mysterious."
"But you are one of them."
He shrugged. "I consider myself an Antivan above all other things, a Dalish elf being one of them. Besides," he shot me a wink. "I prefer the sights of a bustling city any day to the quiet of the forest. It is...creepy, yes?"
"Never thought I'd hear an elf say that," Oghren said with a laugh. "But I know what you mean. This place gives me the jilted willies, if ya know what I mean."
"I really don't," Zevran replied. We walked in silence for a little while, listening to the constant stream of bickering between Alistair and Morrigan as they walked ahead of us; in response, Zevran caught my eye and cast his eyes skyward, which caused me to giggle.
"What are you snickering at back there?" Morrigan said, turning to us. "Has the dwarf put something grotesque on the back of my skirt again?"
"My dear lady," Zevran said. "I was just expressing to your leader here how very much like and old married couple you and ser Alistair sound. Perhaps there were nuptials that we were not privy to?" He put his hand to his heart with a dramatic flourish. "I am stricken."
Morrigan actually looked speechless before her cheeks flamed. "Old married couple? What kind of nonsense is that, elf?"
"Who's married?" Alistair said suddenly, casting a glance at me.
"Nothing, no one," I replied, elbowing Zevran. "Look, is that the camp ahead? I think it is."
"Thank the maker," Alistair said, hefting his pack. "I could use a rest."
After meeting with the Keeper, who allowed us to set up our camp among the wagons of the elves, we discussed the next phase of our journey, arguing over maps and charts until I was sick to death of topography and compasses. Finally, evening descended and my companions all took to their respective tents, for once forgoing the usual watch system, as Zathrian had assured us that his people were ever-alert. For my part, I remained awake by the fire, my chin resting in my hand, considering all that there was yet to do. Eyes closed, I imagined our route in my head: from here we will go to Denerim, to resupply and gain any additional information, then back to Orzamar in time for their vote, to wander those cursed Deep Roads...then to Redcliffe, to Arl Eamon...
The presence of another next to me startled me out of my reverie and I sat up suddenly.
"My dear, you are far too jumpy," Zevran chuckled, putting his hand on the small of my back. "You should learn to relax a bit more. The darkspawn cannot possibly occupy your thoughts all the time, yes?"
"I was thinking of the next step," I said with a yawn. "From here, we have to go-" His kiss was immediate and welcome, driving all other thoughts from my head. When we parted, he opened his mouth to speak, but I beat him to it. "Come to my tent," I whispered, kissing him this time, pressing my body to his. In reply, he gave a mock growl and wrapped his hands around my waist, nimble fingers removing my belt with ease, seeking the heat between my thighs. A gasp escaped my mouth; I was unprepared for the onslaught of pleasure that erupted from his gentle, insistent touch. He chuckled again and pulled back, causing me to glare at him. He stood, offered me his hand in an unexpected gesture of chivalry, and we slipped into my tent, leaving my belt discarded beside the fire.
Our coupling was fierce, insistent, wholly without pause or hesitation as we stripped one another of our cloth trappings, only barely remembering to fasten the flaps of the tent after we were completely nude. Zevran kissed every part of me; starting with my toes and moving up around my ankles and knees, to my thighs-pausing all-too briefly at my center, at my core-before making his way to my stomach, lingering on each of my nipples until they were hard and taut, his mouth then working to my neck and jawline, then to my lips. He ended his journey with an unexpected kiss on my forehead, a gesture of such tenderness it made me pause. But he grinned again, his fingers finding me once more, ceasing all extraneous thought.
The first bit of awareness that I felt the next morning was the warmth of his skin beneath my cheek; the quiet rise and fall of his chest with his breath. When my eyes opened, they observed what I had somehow missed the night before: the graceful, sweeping tattoos that wrapped around his musculature like an embrace. Absently, I began to trace the whorls and curves, trying to sear there appearance into my memory, to overly some of the horror with happiness, which naturally led to my hand's further exploration across his somnolent form.
His chuckle broke my reverie, less the sound than the sudden movement of his body. I cast him a startled look and ran my fingers lower, across his abdomen and brushing the top of his pelvis, eliciting another laugh. Grinning, I sat up on my elbows. "Are you seriously ticklish?" My hand reached for him again, but was stopped by his grasp; he maneuvered us until he was leaning over me, nibbling on my neck in a way that made me squeal in a most undignified manner.
"You are a devious creature, aren't you?" he whispered into my ear before tracing his tongue against my lobe, causing the hairs on my neck and arms to rise. And then...well. Let's just say that it took the oddly effective combination of Sten and Oghren standing outside of my tent and saying all manner of disgraceful (Oghren) and disapproving (Sten) things to give us cause to emerge, if for no other reason than so that I could flog them both.
"Let's go, already! There's werewolves to kill," Oghren grumbled as we emerged.
Time passed so quickly from that point: after we left the Dalish and made our journey to Orzamar, it felt like we were stuck in the Deep Roads for an age or two before we managed to emerge with Harrowmont's bedammed crown; I must admit, I was thoroughly disgusted with dwarven politics and was not sorry to put that place behind me, saying as much to Zev our first night back on the road, before we headed for Arl Eamon's Denerim estate.
"I do not think I can agree with you on that score," he replied as we lay in my tent, facing one another. "They are crude, yes-nothing like the intricate political dealings in Antiva-but there is a certain...honesty to their actions that I cannot fault." At this I rolled my eyes; in response, he rested his hand on my hip. "I simply mean that politics, by its very nature, is merely another form of blood sport-only, without the blood and in the guise of 'civilization,' yes? The dwarves just do not feel the need to hide it."
"But the point of civilization and government is so that we are not compelled to resort to such actions," I protested. "Some things should not be decided by a blade or the blunt end of a mace."
His hand strayed from my waist to caress another part of my anatomy, causing me to lose my train of thought for the moment. "Strange words, coming from one who must save the world with the point of a sword," he said, though I detected a trace of sadness in his voice-strange for him, to be sure. I wanted to ask him about it, but his hands were skilled enough in their own way, and when his mouth followed their lead...well.
Some questions are not meant to be asked.