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5

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AN: This chapter is looooooong. So long in fact I'm splitting it in half. Originally I was going to edit the adult content down to something that could still fit with the whole T rating, but upon input from the most wonderful person who has asked to not be named, and her general loveliness and encouragement, I've decided to go ahead and just simply go "Oh well, here's the smexings!" and bump up the rating. Though part of my original idea was a rather good one I think, of putting an adult content only set of stories that take place throughout this monstrosity and call it Murderous Interludes. I think I'll probably still do that, for when the need to write some plain old PWP strikes. And also because I tend to get random images for scenes thrust into my brain (um, pun NOT intended) at inconvenient times that either lead to me sitting down and writing a behemoth like this, or something without context. So, why not prevent myself from being sidetracked by another large story (I've got FOUR going at the moment, I Wish and Lurking in the Shadows both of which are from the whole Chronicles of Narnia fandom, Wake Up Call for Ninja Assassin, and of course this thing) by going ahead and writing the scenes that have little or no context, unless of course I use the famework of this story for it. Hmm? Seems logical to moi.

Also, warning: there are references to drug use. They are based in some fact, of course heavily warped for my purposes. I shall neither name nor discuss the real life basis because I don't want anyone to ever take that as encouragement to seek these things out.

Also, further warning: As I'm remembering past issues from friends and their expectations of their love lives, please remember that this is fantasy, not reality. Things can happen in it that are not acceptable or likely in real life. As in, don't expect to have fifty orgasms from one magnificent session of sex. Yes, I have heard complaints that that doesn't happen in a friends life before. Erotica is much like porn – it raises expectations to unrealistic heights for some. Instead of using it as a form of simple entertainment, or aid to intimacy, at times I've found and heard instances of people using it as a replacement for such. So, please, if you take anything from my writing, let it be simple enjoyment and the knowledge that this is a story.

Ooops, I got on my soap box. Sorry.

As usual translations at bottom.

Unbeta'd at the moment.

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Lahar betrayed no nervousness, if she felt it at all, as they knelt each facing the other, not even he could tell if his mage was hiding anything. Zevran had only explained in part what would happen, just the surface of the ritual. They couldn't afford for her to balk, and Zevran was sure she would have if he went into detail. In the time spent with the wild clan in Antiva, Zevran had seen several of these Bondings take place, at least the public part of it, and Arainai had told him in veiled phrases more. As for the rest, Zevran had pieced it together from what he knew of how people were, both good and bad. The only differences that would be notable in this ritual would be that instead of being in Antivan, the prayers would be said in Ferelden. Which would take away the musical quality in Zevran's opinion.

Zathrian took Zevran's left hand, laying a long shallow cut on the palm, "Elgar'nan, he who is of sun and earth, the father of all things give blessings of strength to you, who are a man of the Dales." The Keeper held Zevran's hand over two cups, letting the blood drip into them, mixing with the herbs that sat in the bottom, "Mythal, she who was born of earth and sea give blessings of protection and teach you mercy." Now Zathrian took Lahar's hand repeating the cut, "Falon'Din, one of two who were inseparable show you the way to walk the paths between you both." Now Lahar's hand was beside his, her blood also added to the mix, flowing freely, "Dirthamen, twin of Falon'Din may show you the way to not hide secrets from each other." Both Lahar and Zevran pressed their cut palms to the other's, fingers twining, "Andruil, she who shows us the ways of Van Tanadhal, may she bless you with bounty, guide your arrows and your words." The contents of the cups were stirred until blood, herbs and hot water which Zathrian added were mixed evenly, "Sylaise, may she keep you both well and strong, help you both so that you may heal the other's wounds." A cup in each hand Zathrian held them out for Zevran and Lahar to take in their uncut hand, while they remained pressing their sliced flesh to the other, "June give you the ways to keep and hold each other until such time as you part."

Zevran could tell by the smell exactly what was in his cup, even before he drank it at Zathrian's bidding. Downing the contents while Lahar copied him, Zevran didn't bat an eye. He would not give away his knowledge that the Keeper had given him a hearty dose of a slow acting poison. As an assassin Zevran knew he could resist most, and it was unlikely the Keeper knew of any poison that he did not. Dalish were too traditional by far, and Zevran was aware of each poison that they employed. Zathrian lay his hands over their entwined palms, which gave a soft glow, healing magic settling over them sealing the wounds and making them disappear.

"Na'nehn," Zathrian backed away, giving them a slight bow.

Lahar and Zevran intoned as they gazed into the other, as was expected of course, "Ma emma lath."

And it was done.

Helping Lahar to rise, maintaining his grip on her hand, while Zathrian presented them with two packs, "Now it is time for you to go, the place you were told of is not far, and within the scouts' range for your safety so that you may go to your seclusion."

"Ma serannas," accepting both packs, not allowing Lahar to shoulder the burden – she would be feeling the effects soon, "Keeper Zathrian."

XXX

At some point Zevran had to let go of Lahar's hand, it took too much concentration to pay attention to his footing. The poison and euphoric drugs were a potent mix taken together, and his resistance to poison had decreased as the last few months he had ceased bothering to keep himself strong. It just hadn't seemed important anymore. Note to self, start chewing deathroot again in the mornings, and adding as the stray image of Ser Prize fighting him for the root popped into his mind unbidden, And also make sure that damned hound gets none of it either.

Stumbling, Zevran lost his balance, and Lahar was there, "Zev, what's wrong?"

Twisting a smile, "It does appear that I have not drunk from the poisoned cup enough of recent." Noting the mounting alarm in her face, the assassin waved it off, "I shall be fine pequeña do not worry for me, it just makes things interesting."

"He poisoned you," tone flat, "and you tell me not to worry?"

"I'll be fine pequeña I know my limits, it is just this particular mix, it has been quite some time since I indulged in it." Grimacing, Not since Teliesin forced me to go on that wild bender after... No, no I will not think on that. It is only the drugs. I will not let them affect me like that. Looking down into Lahar's face, I dare not. Seeking to reassure her, "The place should not be much farther, once I am able to sit for a bit I shall recover quick enough."

Noting that Lahar was showing no signs as of yet, Zevran guessed that Zathrian had given him a much stronger dose. Probably hoping I would fall apart, and succumb more quickly. Unwilling to give an inch, Zevran forged ahead. What felt like hours of hiking was probably only a fraction of that time, and then Zevran saw the place that was to be their intended haven for the next few days. It had everything, lush green grass that was able to grow because of the hole in the treetop canopy, boulders making an enclosed area on one end, and a stream that poured from a jagged spire of rock that formed a pool before meandering on its way further into the forest. It looked more like a painting of a forest scene than a naturally formed one, but in his time among the Dalish, Zevran had come across similar ones – places so lush and lovely that they couldn't be real, but were.

"Hmm, these Dalish demonstrate impeccable taste sometimes, hmm?" letting his burdens fall, Zevran began to lower himself to the ground, Lahar grabbing his arm and steadying him. "This is as good a place as any to be one with nature, such lovely symbolism."

Hovering, face pinched, "I'm going to put a regeneration glyph on you."

Flopping backwards Zevran chuckled, "I look that bad then?"

"You look," hesitancy, "you look gray. You're dripping sweat, and your eyes are feverish."

Mulling over the list of symptoms, "It's nothing more than a variation of venom, quite common. I will not succumb to it, even though it has been mixed with... other more potent substances."

"I'm still going to put that glyph on you," so saying Lahar's hands went through a series of complex motions, fingers contorting as nimbly as any thief's, and the air began to hum, the scent of wildflowers and figs mixing with the already heady smells of loam and forest.

Strength seeped into Zevran's muscles, and the cramping in his stomach let itself be known more by its absence than anything else. A groan escaped him, it was as if a crushing weight had been taken from him as the glyph did its work. Lahar must have been satisfied with the result, for she left to make a sort of camp. Later when he felt up to it, Zevran knew he would have to go over the supplies the clan had provided, but for right now he would merely bask, regaining his strength.

He must have dozed off because he startled when his Warden called his name, "Zev, I've got the bedrolls out, you can sleep there if you need to."

Picking his head up off the ground, noting that Lahar was standing a good distance from him – a wise decision on her part, not wanting to tempt fate, "No mi pequeña I am much better now." His senses were hazy, limbs moving slowly to his commands as he pulled himself erect, "But you should tell me how you are feeling."

Shrugging, "I'm fine, just a little warm. I wasn't expecting the weather to be so..."

Knowing full well what was beginning to happen, Zevran sighed, "It is not the weather mi encantadora but the result of the Bonding." Noting her confusion, "Do you remember what was in those cups?"

"Blood, some herbs, and not much else," shrugging. "At least it wasn't like the last time I had to drink blood."

Side-tracked, brow bouncing high, "Oh? You make a habit of consuming life's waters with some regularity then?"

"No," spitting in a most unladylike way, as if she wished to rid herself of something disgusting. "No, I don't. But to become a Warden," shuddering. "I shouldn't tell you. Forget I mentioned it."

Ah, so it is working, fascinating that she is resisting the effects so well, but curiosity won out over Zevran's desire to let it lie, "Ah, do not tease me so guapa, I answer so many of your questions without hesitation. My interest is piqued, do not leave me hanging so."

"And we're getting away from the point." Reminding him, "You didn't tell me why it's important what sorts of herbs were, oh blood, I'm warm." She was yanking at the collar of her robes, and flapping them to generate a breeze, "Aren't you warm? It's... it's... I'm warm."

"In Antiva there is a flourishing drug trade," assisting in the removal of the collar from her robes, tossing it aside while loosening the ties. "Many of these goods can be used for poison making or for the herbalists' arts. In other cases they are

used for intoxication, like one would use drink to become inebriated."

"He – he drugged us?" flushed, but settling as more air hit her skin.

Nodding, "The.. euphoric sorts have been utilized in ritual for centuries, perhaps even thousands of years. Dalish are expected to be monogamous without fail. But to ensure that, the Keepers would make the pair feel as though they were one. And to do that the... drugs are administered with much pomp and circumstance to make the first times together so intense that they feel that their souls are joined. It is an experience only repeated if one of the two dies at a later date and remarries." Rubbing circles on the tops of Lahar's shoulders, "In Antiva we used these drugs often as they make every touch beyond pleasurable."

Lahar was blinking owlishly up at him, "So we've been drugged so that we'll... consummate this... marriage?"

Grinning, "And to ensure we do not stray to anothers' bed."

"But it's a lie," pulling away, and Zevran allowed his hands to fall, "it doesn't actually do that."

"No - " agreeing, "it doesn't. But it is their belief."

Making a distressed noise, looking entirely too resigned, "Fine, so we'll have sex so that they'll stop harassing us."

With a certain fatalism Lahar went to their bedrolls and began to remove her underthings. Zevran was displeased with her actions, and his wandering mind struggled to remember a way to draw her back.

Wresting the words from his thoughts, "Lahar, mi dulce, you have yet to tell me of the last time you drank such bitter brews."

Pausing in the middle of tugging the short robe up to her hips, "I drank darkspawn blood, and some lyrium and choked on it. Now -" falling back eyes clenched shut much like the small fists that were clutching the blanket, "let's get this over with."

"We could wait until you're feeling the effects more," offering, crossing his fingers that Lahar would be willing to wait. His body may be able to perform the act, but Zevran refused to do so if Lahar was going to treat it as some unwanted chore. Which it was in her current mindset. Hoping to erase some of her tension, "It will be more enjoyable for you that way."

"No, I'd rather do this while I've got my wits about me Zev, so... just... do your thing," grinding it out.

Even from there the assassin could see the careful way his Warden was blanking everything. Nose twitching, This is distasteful, but she leaves me no choice. Making his way over to the prone mage, Zevran didn't let his gaze stray below her face. It was flushed with the drugs, but at the same time pasty with whatever dread she struggled with. Which monstrous memory are you facing alone bonita? And shall you use me to add to their numbers? Sinking slowly, he sat so he wasn't touching her, but could lean over enough to stroke her cheek, Will you take this small barrier I use to keep myself separate from those who ruin all they touch? Catching the small recoil at his caress, No, I am not that. I will use you mi dulce, but on my own terms.

Lying with studied ease, "I cannot do this, not under the current circumstances." Stretching out beside her, head propped in his palm, "I am no construct who can simply perform as ordered whenever you will." Tracing the bottom seam of pale skin and rosier lip with the tip of an index finger, Zevran leaned close, voice low and sultry, "Relax and rest for a time. Ask me a question, any question you wish and I shall endeavor to answer it." Under the careful touch Lahar remained stiff, so Zevran changed the direction of his trailing fingers to take the hem of her robe and pull it down so it would cover her sex, "Come now, surely I can tempt you to ask for some story. Or would you rather tell me one of your own?"

A full body shudder wracked Lahar, "Please I just want this done in some way that I can control it."

"So you can deny it happened?" Nodding while musing aloud, "Or maybe to ensure that you will not like it, to paint the act as something horrible and unrepeatable." Lahar blanched, but Zevran forged on, "Ah, I see. You think that it is possible that if you like this with someone," correcting himself, seeking the harshest description, even as his voice dropped lower, "something like me... A whoreson, murderer and probable bastard whose hands are drenched in blood, who has dipped his wick in many a place... if you like it with me guapa, then it may be possible you liked it with those others, hmm?"

"Stop," rolling onto her side, Lahar curled into a ball.

Laying his hand on her hip, massaging the curve, "Allow me to assure you lovely Lahar, that the act of lovemaking, sex," lips curling around the word, "fucking, in all its glorious forms is wondrous. What you went through I can guess at, and I shall tell you that those are not the acts I speak of." Grip firming, Zevran forced her to face him, "Look at me."

Only shaking her head, knees drawn up tight between them, "No."

"Then maybe I shall tell you I have been put through the same," sighing.

That statement was unwilling. But there was no taking it back now. Braska, but if it makes this easier...

Clearly shocked, eyes flying open, "What? How, what, why? Why would..."

"To break me? To make me able to withstand anything?" the bitterness was a surprise, Zevran long thought himself over all that. "Maybe the ones who made me what I am were just sick. I don't claim to know their minds or reasons."

Lahar responded not in words but action, scooting close so that she could wrap her arms around his shoulders. The hug wasn't entirely unexpected, but the hand at the back of his head, cupping it as she pulled him to rest his head on her chest, cradling him was strange. Submitting to it, Zevran nuzzled a breast but it struck him as inappropriate to do more than that, not while she was running fingers through his hair murmuring meaningless sounds. Realizing that she was trying to comfort him Zevran knew what real trepidation was. Like earlier that morning there was no demand made, no measured response required, just simple connection to another being.

Struggling to not break away from Lahar's grasp, to not run far, straight into the point of a fellow Crow's blade, Zevran locked his jaw. His skin was crawling, at the moment he would rather be anywhere else. Unlike that morning Zevran was not in control of the embrace, and thoughts muddled by poison and drugs left him scrambling for some method to regain mastery of the situation. Intending on rolling away, Zevran broke free, sitting up, only to drag Lahar into his lap. Andraste's soiled knickers, exactly how much did Zathrian give me? The forest sounds were distant rushes, and his vision spun, the creeping sensation that slithered over his flesh turning into liquid fire that demanded Lahar's touch to sooth it. His body was acting of its' own volition with little to no input from his brain guiding it, arms snaking around Lahar and squeezing her tight enough to make her squeak.

A surprised 'oof' worked it's way out when she thumped him on the back, "Breathe, can't breathe Zevran!"

Mumbling, relinquishing his desperate grasp to brace his hands on the ground, "Perdóneme, I did not mean to do that." Ducking his head, "It appears that I am feeling the strength of my dose quite keenly, and yet I find it odd that you are still so much more in control of yourself bonita."

Shrugging, "Lyrium. If we don't learn to keep our heads while using it, we tend to never get elevated in rank."

"Ah," nodding in understanding he didn't really have. "And see here I was looking forward to you rolling around like a cat in heat. Which is about how I myself feel at this time."

A giggle that could only be described as girlish escaped, "Don't you always feel like that?"

"My dear, I cannot always be so, otherwise I would never get any rest," chuckling which quickly ceased when Lahar began running inquisitive fingers over his ears.

"How do you do that?" and Zevran felt Lahar pushing at his ears which if he wasn't mistaken were no longer pressed as close to his head as usual, in fact they were probably more horizontal than vertical. "You almost look like one of the cats from the Tower."

Wriggling them just to hear her astonished laughter, "Mph, it seems that I not only feel like a cat but look like one. How embarrassing, no?"

"You act like one too," fits of little snorting giggles, At least she is feeling something from this, as she cupped the appendages, "And you're practically purring. Does, does it really feel that nice to have them touched?"

Leaning into one of her hands, raising one of his own to stroke her ear, "You tell me, how does it feel for you with the tables turned?"

Eyes dropping closed, Lahar's palms moved to his shoulders, fingers digging in as clearly unfamiliar sensation assaulted her for what was likely to only be the second time in her life. Encouraged Zevran dared to rush further by tugging her close, dragging his tongue over the delicate shell. A full body shudder accompanied an appreciative moan. Surprisingly Lahar's did little more than twitch at the gesture, rather than swivel or move at all the way any remotely normal elf's would have.

Curiosity piqued, "And tell me guapa, why is it that your ears do not move as mine?"

Gaze dreamy as he continued massaging the sensitive organ, "When I was little, the man who raised me, he taught me to hide them always." A slow smile spread as she quoted, "'I've got a secret, and she's got two little secrets, but the big secret is how cute those little secrets are!' and he would pinch my cheeks before plopping a kiss to my forehead." Lahar leaned into him, the smile slipping away to be replaced by a contemplative moue, "He used to glue them back so that I wouldn't move them, wouldn't make them obvious. Where I grew up, elves weren't welcome, and a human man raising an elf... would have brought too much attention. Maybe even danger," her voice was distant, foggy. "When I was old enough to keep them back on my own I did so, now I forget so much of the time... I don't feel like an elf, I don't feel like a human. So – what am I Zev?"

She looked so vulnerable and Zevran had to remind himself that it was the drugs that caused her to open up so much. It has nothing to do with me, even as he sought what to say to the Warden. Just a girl right now, just a woman – not a Warden, not at this moment, not here, but the light was hitting the mage just so, and it made her appear as little more than some strange spirit come to taunt and seduce. Barely coherent, Not a Warden here with me.

"What are you, you ask me?" giving it a moments thought. "You are yourself I suppose, a Warden, a mage, a leader, a woman, a girl-child, you are... whatever you are. You are a friend of Morrigan's, a companion to Alistair, wise for one so young to Wynne, a master for Ser Prize," straightening up so he could hold her face in his hands, "a leader for Sten."

More walls dropped as Lahar stared at him, "And what am I to you? A conquest? A chore, burden..?" Face sad, whispering the last, "Some new slave master to appease so that you're spared the whip?"

Too deep, shying away, too deep, she looks too deeply at me.

"I made my pledge to you my Warden," deflecting as best he could considering how difficult any lying was when so intoxicated, "and that oath is to you alone. Not the Wardens, not Ferelden, certainly not Alistair. You are the sole holder of that oath. It is to you my loyalty lies." Forcing a smile, "I have chosen my master, and that is more than most receive, is it not?"

Sighing as she shook her head, "You're not a slave Zevran Arainai, surely you can understand that?"

"Oh quite the contrary sweet Lahar," using her name for the first time, hoping to gain her attention – and some understanding, "I am a slave. Purchased for three sovereigns may I remind you. You have seen me nude, yes? Did you not pay attention or at least give me a cursory inspection pequeña?"

Quizzically, "Yes but I've never ogled you."

Snorting at the mage's choice of words, "Next time you should. I have many marks on me, do I not? Surely you noticed that at least, mi dulce."

"Well yes," drawing out the last word, and Zevran figured she wasn't aware of it, but for the last few minutes she had been wiggling in his lap, further evidence of her state, "you're lousy with tattoos and scars. And the scars I understand, but the tattoos?" She reached up and dragged a nail down the marks on his cheek, "I don't understand why anyone would do this to themselves."

Chewing at his lip, anxious, Zevran elaborated – it was obvious how sheltered Lahar was by those statements, "They draw your eye? You look at them, others look at them, yes? Always they look. Many exist to cover... scars." Burns, my flesh it was so shiny then, no amount of the healers arts could rid me of them, seeking to banish that memory. "Many are there for Crow purposes. And a handful are there by my choice." Grasping her cheeks tighter, leaning so that they were nose to nose, "I have brands, slave brands. No healer can remove them, they forever mark me as chattel. My body is not my own, it has not been something I have ever possessed, even before I was born. I am a slave. No words you say will change this. And anything I can do to myself by my own hand, I do."

She blinked rapidly, and Zevran watched as some connection was made in her head, but what she said stunned him, "You resist by making yourself... undesirable?"

Recoiling, thoroughly insulted, "You think these marks make me ugly? I assure you, Warden, that others do not feel this way."

"No, no, I, ah I said that wrong," embarrassed and wincing, Lahar was backpedaling, but Zevran was offended. No one had ever said such a thing to him before. "I meant, Zev, um. Let me think a moment and I'll figure out a better way to phrase that."

Turning his face away, and saying as evenly as he could muster, "Take all the time you need Warden. I am how you say – a captive audience."

Remaining statue-still as Lahar tucked her face into his shoulder, voice muffled, "I mean you mark yourself, in what has to be a painful manner, by doing what for anyone one else would be mutilation. It's like you're saying 'here I am, I'm marked within an inch of my life, I've taken the scars you would inflict on me and made them beautiful'. You've taken the ugliness that others would force on you and you take it to the next step, owning it instead of allowing them to dictate the way that they can damage you." Her lips were soft as petals where they moved against his throat while she spoke, the unintentional kisses sweet, "So you rob them of making you undesirable, you take all hideousness that they would inflict and use it as a strength, a weapon against them."

Snorting, but softening his manner, Zevran nuzzled his face into her hair, "And here I thought that tattoos were simply beautiful artwork for my skin, only a minor rebellion." Wrapping his arms around her, laying back and taking her with him, "My slave pen – for that is what it was, even if it was an apartment, was beautiful enough once I gained status, I could pick which whores I lay with when I had coin, and if I had no coin I could... acquire it by doing favors for wealthy patrons. So long as it was nothing that fell under Crow jurisdiction of course." Lahar burrowed close, her slight weight on him like a bizarre magic wielding blanket, "I could chose how I wore my hair, and amongst any willing partners in the Crows. And when on the job I could pick what sorts of poisons or methods I used unless otherwise specified. So deciding where, when and how much extra ink to lay in my skin – I did that and counted myself lucky."

"That's not a big list of things Zev," sounding sad, "I hope you realize that you actually have options here. I don't want a slave, a person should be free to come and go as they please."

Refraining from pointing out that what she wanted wasn't an option at this time, Zevran gave her a tight smile. He could appreciate the sentiment as impractical as it was. The Crows would come for him eventually and he would need protection, and what better protection than a Warden who had others with strength and power that answered to her?

Unbraiding her hair, "Be that as it may bonita, I am still bound by my oath, and do not discount it as it was made of my own choice. I am well content with such a deadly sex goddess as my mistress."

Propping herself up on her elbows Lahar searched his face, "I don't own you."

"Do you not?" Forestalling argument, "Let me make this simple for you, you hold my oath – one which states that I am your man, without reservation – this means I will do whatever you bid, no questions asked, and without judgment. I gain from this as much as you, it is not a contract with one benefactor. In return for my service I gain my continued breathing, a chance to be free of the Crows, I want for nothing, I have food, I have shelter, I have others who shall watch my back in a fight." Giving her a cheeky grin, "And I have a luscious woman in my arms, what is there for me to complain about then?"

Lips puckering into an almost pout, Lahar mulled that over for long minutes, face flushed, body warm against him, "That sounds more like a friend and companion, not a piece of property Zev."

A friend? Zevran wanted to scoff, but chose not to so as not to alienate her. Let her keep her illusions then, they do no harm, knowing that her views benefited him more in the long run, even if they were disconcerting to the point of almost-annoying. How could anyone be so naïve and still be so powerful? The sway Lahar held over others, the determination to do what had to be done, the intimate understanding of why certain actions must be taken no matter how distasteful – and yet she was untouched by them by and large. There was no railing against the Maker, no anger at what had to be an impossibly difficult burden to carry. Of their group Lahar was the only one who didn't complain – excluding himself, and a thought occurred to Zevran suddenly. Is it possible that any semblance of freedom from the Tower is so valuable that any trial is worth it? Looking at her in anew, Zevran couldn't deny that possibility, and added it to the growing list of similarities between himself and the tiny mage.

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Next section has sexings.

E is for Elvish, S is for Spanish. In order of appearance. Also, question, should I keep including a list of words he uses frequently? Like 'dulce' and 'pequeña'? Or should I only include words that haven't been used often, or are new?

Na'nehn (e) – Your joy (to your joy statement)

Ma emma lath (e) – you are my love

Ma serannas (e) – thank you

pequeña (s) – little one

encantadora (s) – enchanting, enchantress

guapa (s) – good looking

dulce (s) - sweet

Perdóneme (s) – forgive me, sort of a "excuse me/I'm sorry" statement

bonita (s) - beautiful

Reviews are always welcome!