XXX
4
XXX

AN: I have two betas, both of which have real lives... While I don't. Not exactly. Being a housewife has its perks, so long as I get the book keeping done for my mom's business, my household, all the errands, cooking and cleaning done. Don't let anyone ever say that this isn't work, because it is. I may love cooking, and I don't mind putting dishes in the washer, doing laundry etc... well okay I don't like laundry. Especially the folding. But mom lives 28 miles away – that's like 45 kms away, and that's just one way. And she can't do a damn thing for herself. So I do work, every day. And unlike a normal job I don't get to leave work. Not that I'm complaining, trust me I'm not.
Maybe I should take a vacation in a few months and leave my husband and my mom to their own devices for a few weeks? While that'd be amusing the resulting catastrophe I'd come home to would be all on my shoulders and rather unpleasant. Still amusing to think of Phill asking me how to make coffee... Or mom asking me how on earth to get stains out of her business suit. It's nice to be needed.
But what this boils down to – I have more time to write than Steph and Amku have time to beta. I'll tell ya though, it is lovely to finally have someone check over my stuff. That being said – this chapter isn't beta'd. I'll put the beta'd version up once Steph or Amku have time to go over it. Yes, I do check my stuff, but I find that I'm too invested, too close to the work to be impartial enough to properly go over my own work comprehensively. I try, but obviously I fail. And frequently.

Beta'd by Amku.

XXX

"Good evening." Crow was flipping a dagger into the air and catching it, the meaty thwack of handle hitting palm repeating itself over and over again. "Zevran, how are you handling facing your people?"

"They are not my people, Crow," he replied with a shrug. The repetitive sound of the weapon was as close to comforting as raindrops on a roof was for some. "And since you are the one who controls the dream, you know all that there is to know," he paused, "And even if you don't you can find out. Whether you have my permission or not."

Crow appeared to think about that for a moment. "Yes, I can look into you and see all that is there, but have you given any thought as to why you are here? Why I would bother looking into you, to measure your worth?"

"No, and again that is a pointless question as you already know the answer," Zevran replied, hooking his arms behind his head. He leaned back to look at the sky, and wished he hadn't. "Maker's Breath!"

Overhead, twisted shapes resolved themselves into an upside down mountain, warped spires stabbing downwards and... things slithering over every surface. The sheer size of the construct was too much for Zevran to take in, and each warped detail that presented itself shivered into another shape and meaning even as understanding almost dawned. One of the people-like shapes stopped in it's tracks and looked in what would be 'up' for it. Straight at Zevran. Stumbling, unable to rip his gaze away, Zevran screamed, slimy fingers digging into his brain leaving a foul wake. A hand covered his face, blotting out the horrifying visage, and the spell was ended.

Rage, hate, loathing, unreasoning insanity had been contained in that thing as it locked onto his mind.

"What was that?" he whispered shakily.

"You already know, Zevran," the hand was still covering his face, Crow's voice coming from everywhere, "but you have gained its attention. It is no longer safe here for you. We will meet again when I have found a new shadow to hide in that is fit to bring you to."

Scared, like he was still a small child, reaching out blind, Zevran grabbed at Crow. "Don't – don't go. Don't make me see that again!" Desperately Zevran pressed forward, gaining a grip on Crow's wrist and unwilling to let the only barrier between him and the abyss overhead slip away. "I don't want it to see me!"

With a surprising amount of gentleness Crow said, "I will do what I can, Zevran. I am not an evil man."

Frantic thoughts filled him, But you were once – you are a Crow. The things you had to do to get there! They flitted like hungry ghosts or the heart of a trapped bird in his brain.

"I believe Lahar would say that all things serve a function," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. "And am I more or less evil than you? Would you like a tally of every single thing I have done compared to a list of yours? You did evil things at points, even though you did not wish to, even though you knew they were wrong, and yet you chose to commit those crimes. Not because you absolutely had to, but because it was convenient. Even the people you actually cared for were among your targets. Me? My crimes were truly impersonal as I never drew a blade against anyone I knew well enough to have in my heart. So do your crimes hold more or less weight in comparison to mine?"

"I... I don't know," Zevran admitted. Suddenly Crow's touch dissolved and the Fade blew up and outwards before sucking itself into a fine point and disappearing, leaving Zevran floating in nothingness.

There was little Zevran could do but think. There was no sound, no sensation, only the voices of memory.

XXX

Zevran awoke to a frigid nose squashed against his stomach, the sensation halfway between pleasant and irksome. Eyes popping open, Zevran stared at the ceiling until it registered that there was silk overhead, the smell of wood and fresh snow, and the sound of people moving around outside. Blinking several times, he glanced down to see Lahar's upper body wrapped around his torso – which would be the source of the crisp perfume and cold nose - face pressing painfully against the slowly regenerating organs while her legs were twisted this way and that. At some point she must have kicked free of the blankets, and her bare limbs were splayed in a most unladylike fashion. Puzzled by the position, he wondered, How did I not wake up from all the thrashing necessary for her to move this much?

She released a garbled groan and scooted until his too-large shirt rode all the way up, gaining a grumpy shudder when the air hit her skin. Mewling at the cold, Lahar made some sort of strange shiver-shimmy-shake that resulted in Zevran having the air squeezed out of him as she wrapped her entire petite body around his frame. Slim the young mage may be, but the slender limbs held more strength than one would think. Which was something Zevran would be willing to attest to if asked as the stranglehold increased before easing.

If her knee was not putting so much stress upon certain areas – this would almost be promising, he thought, shifting his hips in a vain attempt to dislodge Lahar. Wincing, Zevran debated the best way to extricate himself from the situation, Wake her up, tolerate what's going on, or plan C? 'Plan C' consisted of ignoring his discomfort and running a hand over the soft round of shoulder that protruded from the collar of his shirt. He noticed vaguely how starkly her skin contrasted with his. The course of action wasn't serving to make Zevran more comfortable, but he supposed that wasn't really the point. It was merely enjoyable to touch someone and have no claims for attention being placed upon him in doing so.

The feeling was foreign so it took several minutes to identify it and with a start of surprise Zevran put name to the warm amusement. Pleasure – and that was the only word the elf had for it. It was not the sort that Zevran was familiar with, no. It was not at all like the bolts that would wrack his body and leave it shaking after a kill or sex. Nor was it like the pleasure of taking note of the perfect balance in a blade or complex poison. It was pleasure certainly, a kind of relaxed thing that expected nothing at all, demanded nothing to intensify it, but only existed in that particular moment that was between laughter and peace. Not that Zevran was entirely sure what 'peace' was either. 'Peace' for Zevran had come for him only when waiting to make a move on a target, or in the stillness that was never actually still right before letting an arrow fly into a mark. Or in those silent hours when sleep would not come, even when alone in the dark, gaze tracking things unseen and unreal for no reason at all.

In truth, Zevran forgot to breathe, all the carefully laid plans that usually spooled out in the confines of his mind ceasing their constant clamor. A meditative quietude that held their combined heartbeats, breathing and the random sound outdoors being the musical counterpoint to the realization. Lahar was asleep and thus making no requests as another would if they had been awake, and Zevran himself desired nothing from the Warden, oddly content with the uncomfortable position they were in. Any wish to move, to speak, to alleviate the hunger pang in his stomach, or to drag the thrown blankets back over them were unimportant, mitigated by Zevran not wishing to break the spell of the rare moment.

Startling as the epiphany was, Zevran wasn't disturbed – take your pleasures where you can. It was a motto that had enabled him to survive to this day. Life was like a string of pearls, each pearl representing an experience, good or bad, mundane or extraordinary, that built up and increased the size of the strand that was only complete upon death. Crow, as Zevran had taken to calling the Fade-entity that plagued his sleep, might have something to do with how he was feeling, but Zevran was uncertain. It was as though the nightly forays into Crow's demesne had given Zevran some ability to appreciate things more fully than he could remember doing so before. Perhaps he should be grateful, but Zevran was unable to connect to that emotion, only able to present a patently false veneer of it.

"Mmmmph." Lahar's head rolled on her neck, serving to rub her cheek against the large scar covered dent in his side, "you're com-for-table," she said groggily, the word drawn out and broken with more rubbing.

"That is not a description usually reserved for one such as I, bonita," he replied, his lips quirked.

Lahar picked her head up only to let it drop back down. "But you are. I swear, I could stay right here all day. Let the darkspawn go to the Pit on their own." Like a sleek cat Lahar stretched, untangling herself from him, adjusting his shirt absentmindedly. "I'm sorry though, I told you I wouldn't crowd you."

"And if I may remind you, my dear Warden, I did offer my services for bed warming," he said, curious as to how Lahar would react now. They had to play the part of bonded pair, even though their sleeping arrangement was no longer needed to keep him from death's door. "And I also mentioned last night that you could 'crowd' me all you pleased."

"You're not a thing for me to use as I please. You're a person, Zev, not a chunk of meat to be taken advantage of," she said, nose wrinkling. In the night much of her braid had come loose and she was pushing it from her face. "But if I had known earlier how warm you were I would have been much more tempted to jump on you as a heat source."

"Ah, so that is the only thing you wish of me then? If I had but known I would have been happy to oblige. As you know I am happy to offer any such services to you, and would be most pleased if you avail yourself of them," he replied, back cracking as he worked the kinks out. "And as I swore an oath to serve all your whims, you could certainly treat me as -"

Lahar interrupted, cutting the air with sharp chop of hand, "No. You are a person, and an oath of loyalty is not the same as trading one sort of slavery for another!"

"As you say, my Warden," he said, surprised by the vehemence in Lahar's bearing and seeking to mollify her sudden anger.

With jerky movements the mage dressed as he watched, the momentary flash of bare back revealing muscles standing in stark relief. His words had only appeared to fuel her agitation. In past situations when a lover had been so irate, Zevran would soothe them with words or touches. But Lahar wasn't a lover. Not yet, added that niggling voice that reminded Zevran that his place would always be precarious unless he secured it. And sex was the easiest way to bind another to him. Some wanted him to be pliant, others wanted his smoothness, or his violence, danger, but they would all fall to his skills in seduction. No one had ever resisted actual attempts, not when he applied himself.

Lahar paused and turned to glance at him, as though she were going to say something, but she shook her head and gathered her wits. "I'll sleep on the floor tonight," she said, completely serious.

"Excuse me?" he laughed, throwing back his head unable to believe his ears. He scoffed, "You'll do no such thing, mi dulce, lest you forget the first night we shared quarters. I startle easily. We either sleep together or not at all."

He didn't bother to point out the minor fact that they had to share the aravel for the sake of appearances and for the good of the group. Zevran was sure that was the only reason that kept Lahar from doing anything rash. It was clear that his little mage wanted to do something foolhardy, but was too logical to do so.

"Fine, but... but don't do that again."

Puzzled now, not exactly understanding what particular thing it was that Lahar didn't want him to do, he asked, "And which action is it that displeases you that you are so -"

"Zev, don't just... offer yourself up on a platter like you're not valuable for beyond what you can do for me. There was enough of that in the Tower," she answered, speaking over him a second time in so few minutes.

It was also the second time Lahar had mentioned her life in the Tower, but it was still rather telling. Joining her beside the exit of the aravel, Zevran gambled, laying his hands on her shoulders and forcing Lahar to turn and look up into his face. The stony, calculating mask she had worn when they first met was still there when they weren't alone, but here, with no others to watch them, Lahar had dropped the pretense. She was still unreadable for the most part, but the habitual lack of response to much of what went on around her was currently overlaid by something Zevran couldn't put his finger on.

"Ah, I knew I would not be the only one to see your beauty, guapa." His words were flirty, but Zevran didn't allow the seductive caress to enter the statement. "And I am aware that I have not been the only one to have intruded into your -" he paused, seeking a politic way of touching on the night of forceful overtures, "personal space, but tell me, mi dulce, tell me something of these offers."

"No." The implacable and silent mask fell over her face, all openness being shuttered, and a wall thrown up between them with the finality of the trap door of the gallows opening.

He pursed his lips. "Go lay back down," he urged, "You are in no condition to play your part as a happily wedded wife at this moment."

"I can pull my own weight," she said frostily. Zevran knew Lahar could, and probably had in the past without any help from him.

He sighed, "Then allow me to dress, and follow after I have been outside for several minutes, mi dulce."

Deciding on how he would present himself, Zevran dug in his pack looking for the worn, butter soft golden brown leather trews he used for riding. Shaking out the wrinkles and tugging them on without his usual sensuality, Zevran left the top lightly laced and forwent boots. Making sure his hair was appropriately tousled, Zevran took a bracing breath. Hurrah for appearances, and into the mouth of the beast, he thought, knowing that he had to look every inch the newlywed in front of their Dalish 'hosts' or bring down risk of discovery of their subterfuge.

"You may wish to look more rumpled yourself, pequeña," he reminded Lahar one last time.

The scene before Zevran was not much different than the usual fair for their merry band of strays, everyone sitting around in various states of alertness eating breakfast. Wynne and Leliana were chatting about history, most of which Zevran always thought sounded more like fantasy rather than actual events. Sten had his back to the loose circle, always on watch, always wary, Ser Prize lounging next to him, tongue lolling, while Alistair made feeble attempts at drawing the qunari into conversation. Morrigan was leaning over the fire, attired in her scraps and rags while she worked miracles with whatever was on hand for the meal.

Casually Zevran hopped the rail of the aravel, ignoring the steps, landing with practiced grace. His arrival garnered rolled eyes from Morrigan as she caught sight of him, and Alistair grimaced before focusing on his food as though it were very interesting indeed. Relieved that the Templar refrained from making a scene Zevran sauntered to Morrigan, accepting the bowl she held with a lazy smile before settling in to eat. At the corner of his vision Zevran saw several Dalish looking their way, chiefly at him, measuring. Good, he thought, digging into the dried fruit laden oatmeal, Take a good long look at me. I do look rather satisfied, don't I? As though I spent all night and morning with my woman. Don't question it, don't challenge it. Accept it.

"Lovely Morrigan, your skills in this arena are most excellent," he said, the complement falling easily from his lips and his voice pitched to carry, "and very welcome. It is just what I need to replenish my energies."

Leliana suffered a fit of coughing, well aware of what Zevran was implying. Morrigan on the other hand was not quite as perceptive. Either that or being obtuse, but Zevran doubted it, there was something about the witch that bespoke a certain inability to deal with interpersonal politics and appearances.

"To be sure it is nothing more than the usual fare," she replied, brow crinkling with a frown on her very full lips. "And you wouldn't need to replenish anything if you kept all that hot air to yourself. You waste your breath on meaningless compliments, elf, for you'll get no more than your fair share."

"Ah, but what of Lahar? Mi pequeña is resting, but soon I imagine she will be quite hungry," he said, plastering on a winning smile.

Wynne was rubbing her temples while Alistair pinched the bridge of his nose, but Morrigan remembered herself finally. "Oh, yes. 'Twould seem I forgot about that. I trust that our fearless leader did get some rest at least?"

Just as Zevran was formulating a response, the hunter he had spoken with, Galot, that was the dour fellows name, intruded on the party's morning routine with several other hunters beside him. Trouble. He straightened imperceptibly, hoping no one would act out of turn and praying that the others could control their actions as well as Lahar had earlier.

He waved at the group of elves. "Anath ara, lethallin. Would you share this meal with us?"

"You are a fraud." Galot remained just outside the circle. "You play upon hospitality and lie about being bonded to the mage."

Zevran's eyes narrowed. "Such serious accusations, lethallin. Are you quite sure you wish to trod this path?"

The elf's voice rose, "I challenge your very right to be here. You are no lethallin of mine, your city ways betray you. The asha has no mark on her – the scouts have seen that this is so," he spoke, openly admitting to the fact that Lahar's bath in the spring was not as private as it should have been – but Zevran had already known that. "There was also no evidence of you joining with her last night. You are false."

Knowing that the situation could not be diffused, Zevran stood. "She is young, and I am not the sort to force her when she is not of a mind to share herself." What he spoke were only empty justifications, one last effort to stop the bloodshed.

Such a challenge to his claim couldn't go unanswered, and the Dalish all knew it, as did he. There was no warning, not that Zevran expected any. Such niceties weren't afforded to someone who had been accused of falsity. Galot was pulling his sword free from it's sheath when Zevran surged forward, shoving the heel of his palm into the elf's nose. It gave a satisfying 'crunch' as cartilage was sent into gray matter. Even as his attacker collapsed, Zevran grabbed the partially freed sword in hand, while the three other hunters came at him. Spinning into a low crouch, momentum carried the sword he held in a two handed grip into one elf's side. Kicking the dying elf away, left hand snatching the falling ax, Zevran turned to meet the other two, dancing to the swaying beat of blood in his head. Feinting right, Zevran closed with the third, engaging the elf's swords with Galot's long sword. A dizzying swirling motion and a flick of the wrist had the opponent almost disarmed. The elf overcompensated, an arm flinging wide, and Zevran took the opportunity to bury the ax in his head. There was a resistance of blade thwacking through bone to land in brain, and Zevran was already abandoning the weapon, leaning down to scoop up another long sword. Zevran watched the fourth hunter with a predator's eyes, a fine coating of fresh blood on his hands and several spurts on the ground at his feet.

This one was wary now, having seen how quickly Zevran dispatched the first three. Aware that the clan was now paying attention, even Zathrian had come out, and Zevran caught the scent of ice – a clear sign Lahar was about to enter the fray, probably having left the aravel at the first sounds of the altercation, he knew there was not much time left to finish this. Shouting out a manic laugh, he dove straight into his last opponent, recently healed muscles protesting the speed, while he made a set of very large scissors of the long swords as he cut the legs out from the elf who's life was ended with a last slash of blade.

"What is the meaning of this?" Zathrian was roaring, energy gathering around him like a dark mantle.

Whipping around, Zevran thrust his weapons point first into the ground, crossing his arms at the wrist and making two fists pressed to his chest as he knelt. "They challenged me for Lahar, and as her husband -"

The power hung around the ancient Keeper, held at the ready. "I was told that she does not bear your mark."

Thinking quickly, Zevran spoke, "Please Keeper, I have been separated from my clan for much time, taken by slavers so many years ago. Once free, I left Antiva some while ago after being unable to rejoin my people. I have only recently claimed Lahar as mine, but with no Keeper nearby to oversee the Bonding... " Keeping his head bowed, but looking up through his loose blond hair as he continued, "I had hoped to ask this of the first Keeper I could as I knew we searched for the elvhen, but did not wish to impose once seeing the state of the clan. I did not want to burden my clansmen in their time of need, feeling that once the business with the curse was taken care of would be a better time to make such a request." The entire clan was watching intently, and Zathrian would not be able to back out of the corner Zevran was pushing him into, "Never did I think it would cause such issues that she and I had not marked each other during the interim. I wish to rectify that. Please, Keeper Zathrian," he paused, bowing now to touch his head to the ground, "I beseech you to do us this honor."

"And you, Warden," Zathrian aksed, staring at Lahar. Zevran held his breath, hoping that she wasn't about to ruin all of the work he had just done. "Do you claim this man? Is it your wish to Bond with him?"

Beside him Lahar knelt, joining Zevran and mirroring his pose, "I am not Dalish, but I want no other than him. Though I am not your kin, nor your clan, I ask this of you as well."

Zathrian looked like he swallowed something incredibly unpleasant, but no matter the power he held over his clan, he couldn't act against such an entreaty. Not openly at least. The Keeper still had his own appearances to keep up.

"Very well then. It will be prepared. I trust you will explain to the Warden what this entails," Zathrian finished with a nod.

"Yes, Keeper Zathrian," he replied, touching forehead to ground once more, mainly to hide the triumphant twist of lips that threatened to ruin the moment.

XXX

"This has gone too far," Alistair whispered, fingers digging into Zevran's bicep as he pulled the assassin aside. "You can't marry her."

The clan had mostly withdrawn from the end of camp that Zevran and his compatriots had claimed, leaving them to their own devices. And arguments. Zevran could tell that there were still some watchers, but they were not near enough to intrude, merely to keep watch and discourage the group from leaving. Effectively they were being held under an outdoor arrest that they could not win free of easily.

"Oh, I assure you I can, and I shall," he replied, shaking off the hand. Zevran was deceptively mild, "And you will not say another word about it until we are far from these forests."

Sten was looking extremely disapproving, more than Zevran had ever seen the large qunari. "We should quit this meaningless course of action and seek the archdemon. These side excursions are wastes of time."

Defending Lahar's decision to seek allies, Zevran asked, "The archdemon, it is a very large high dragon, is it not?"

As it was a rhetorical question the qunari didn't answer, his glare only intensifying.

"And this archdemon, it has many hundreds, thousands, perhaps millions of darkspawn at its beck and call, no?" he continued, prying Alistair's still clutching fingers away.

"And it's also in the Deep Roads, somewhere under miles of rock, and through twisty tunnels and -" Alistair was almost being helpful, but the Templar shut up when Zevran elbowed him.

"And to fight so many with so few of us would be suicide. It would not work." He hoped using logic would beat some sense into the huge man, "Would it not make more sense to have an army to field against the darkspawn horde as a distraction whilst we sneak through the lines to find this giant corrupted dragon? The chances of success, my stern friend, increase this way. It may seem like a waste of time, but is it not a greater waste if we fail?"

"This is true," Sten relented even as he countered, "But this situation, these elves, they seek to kill us. They will not honor their treaties. Pashara, they have no honor and ignore their duties."

Zevran was glad that Lahar made an appearance when she did, stepping up and placing calming hands on the qunari's forearms. "This clan is sick, Sten, and if we were to kill them all for no other reason that they hinder us, then we are derelict in our duties, and besmirch our honor. If we cure this sickness then we have gained an ally. And other Dalish will hear of it, word will be sent out, and more of them will come to bolster our numbers."

"Your will then, kadan, is to wed this," his chin jerked towards Zevran, "Vasheden'bas?" If Zevran were any other man he would have been offended

Alistair tensed at the reminder. "Yeah, what he said."

Lahar sighed, a sound that made her seem so much older, "It gives us protection, and that too is my duty. I have to ensure we survive this trial, and if that means I have to marry Zevran to be conferred that protection, then I will. It isn't as if it's a real marriage anyway, just something for... convenience to get us a step closer to the archdemon."

"We have a saying in Antiva, that it is a long walk to death," flashing a momentary smile, "unless of course you take a wrong step and the fall is, how you say in Ferelden? Ah, yes, a 'doozy'."

XXX

The women were talking amongst themselves – minus Lahar, about the situation. Wynne was clearly trying to wrap her mind around everything, and Zevran could almost sympathize. Zevran was sure she was a firebrand in her own right when she was younger. She was still a handsome woman and strong willed, but this was not an instance where book knowledge and magic would be of any help.

"Marriage to that scoundrel for no other reason than it's expedient. I just do not see the wisdom in this." Zevran listened in, of course, as he went over his vials of antidotes. It wasn't like the mage was trying to be quiet.

"Morrigan, you're closest to Lahar -" Leliana's voice was soft, dripping concern.

A disgusted huff, "I know where you both are going and I do not care for it. If you believe that I could dissuade Lahar, then you are mistaken." Zevran glanced their way to see that Morrigan was not a willing participant, having been cornered by the other two. "Lahar is her own person, and I am not one to try and convince someone once their mind is made up. 'Tis foolish and you are all blind if you cannot see that from the courses available that this is the best one."

"Morrigan, surely you must realize that he is a danger to her," Wynne said patiently, as if she were speaking to a child.

Or one of her apprentices, Zevran thought, I have seen her try that with Lahar. Not that it worked in her favor then either.

"Think what he may do to her, Morrigan. I know something of this Bonding ritual. The pair go off on their own for several days of seclusion..."

Having set aside his work, Zevran had slunk up to the trio, draping his arms over Wynne and Leliana's shoulders. "And mate. Yes, they make mad passionate love to each other until their souls are as one," he said with a grin. "Ah, of all the ways of marrying another, I do so like the Dalish's method. So very... wild, no?"

The bard shrugged off his arm, making a face, "Zevran, it is rude to eavesdrop on private conversations."

"Ah, but then it would not be eavesdropping if it were public, correct?" he replied with a wink. "By the way, my sweet ladies, I do have a suggestion if you worry so much for mi pequeña's safety so much."

Wynne was looking at him with suspicion. "And what, may I ask, would that be?"

"Since it is in our good witch's nature, and I hazard the guess she was planning on it anyway," he said, sidling closer to Wynne, "Perhaps she could watch from afar as to ensure my good, as it were, behavior."

Throwing her hands in the air, Morrigan huffed, "Yes, everyone rely upon Morrigan. Am I to be some nursemaid then? Will I next have to tie Alistair's shoes, mend Leliana's undergarments and take up making soft mash for those too old and feeble to care for themselves?"

The women scowled, clearly angry, which Zevran compounded by grabbing both ladies' bottoms. This action caused Wynne to crack him on the head with her staff before walking off regally, muttering under her breath, and Leliana to stand and stare before she too fled. Watching them go with no hint of remorse while rubbing the sore spot on his crown, Zevran hid a smile behind his other hand.

"You are a most vile little man, elf," Morrigan said, tinkling laughter softening the words.

"And I trust you shall be keeping an eye on the Warden. We will be very exposed in this ritual, quite vulnerable. I expect that you would be watching me like a hawk, yes?" he hummed. Not needing to hear agreement, but seeing it in the Wild Witch's eyes, he continued, "But it is not I you will need to watch so closely, lovely Morrigan, but the other watchers."

"I will never understand you elves," she said, snorting indelicately.

"They are desperate Morrigan, can you not smell it?" He sniffed the air in demonstration. "And our sweet Warden, she is a tasty morsel to them that they covet as she is a woman, a real one." Morrigan scowled, and Zevran smiled. "You human women, they want nothing to do with. A Dalish woman has rights and a woman of an Alienage can earn those same rights if she's strong enough. But an adult, a sullied one... One who has been touched, and is no Dalish at all... All she has is the strength of the man who claims her. And is it not true that a mage will likely breed true, or have the talent crop up a generation or two later? Ah, such a prize. One who has no rights, cannot earn them, whose offspring will make the clan stronger, and any man powerful enough to take her... yes, very enticing for a people who are dying out."

S is for Spanish, E is for Evlish, Q is for Qunari

bonita (s) – beautiful
mi dulce (s) – my sweet
guapa (s) – good looking (feminine), guapo – good looking (masculine)
pequeña (s) – little one
Anath ara (e) – informal greeting
lethallin (e) – cousin/kin, (masculine)
asha (e) - woman
vallasin (e) – blood writing/tattoo
elvhen (e) - elves
Pashara (q) - enough
kadan (q) – where the heart is
Vashaden'bas (q) – literally crap/trash thing/foreigner, I had to come up with this insult by stringing Vashaden and 'bas together, as here was no insult in Qunari listed on dragonagewiki that would suit. It is intended as a 'shit head' or 'stupid loser' sort of thing.