This is to all those who review, read, favorite and alert this story: ya'll make my world go 'round. Especially when I get reviewed, because that makes me go spinny, happy, jumpy dance all around the house.

Title: A Murder of Crows 11/?
Author: Rhion
Rating: AO
Summary: F!Surana and Zevran each have their secrets. Some are stranger than others. The trouble with secrets is that they are best kept by only one person. But there's always someone else who knows the hidden things.
AN: Trying to keep the writing ahead. So sorry for late updates.
Beta'd as usual by bellaknoti, zevguy is busy being a dope somewhere, he keeps makin' chicken soup for people.

XXX
Murder 11
XXX

Zevran was doing a final check of his gear from Varathorn, as tomorrow they would be leaving after one last, good nights' sleep. Ah, then it is open road, privation, and battle once more. He sorted through some of the more basic components for poison. Best to be prepared, no? Hmmn, perhaps I should teach Lahar how to throw a few grenades, at the least, though... he mused, thinking on how best to ensure that even if she ran out of mana during a fight, she would still be able to stay from the bulk of the fracas. Yes, she was coming along nicely – so well that it was actually spooky – in her ability to use a staff. Next he would have to focus on expanding her ability in Baile, or the subsets of Cuerpo Volante that mixed well with weapons.

Interrupting his thoughts, staring almost as intensely as he was capable of, Keeper Lanaya joined him as he leaned over the table of goods. "Lethallin, do you have a moment?"

No, actually he didn't. Well, he did, but he knew that sort of hungry look. He watched her from the corner of his eye. It is not lust, no, nothing so simple as lust. A need, of body and mind. Bah, I've no wish to deal with this.

Even so, he raised his head from his work, bestowing a tight smile. "Of course Keeper Lanaya."

"I would very much like to speak with you." She turned so she could rest her hips against the work table, too close to be merely friendly, crossing her arms under her bosom, so that her 'assets' would push up.

Under some circumstances, he would appreciate the effort. Lanaya wasn't unattractive at all, merely... too Dalish for his tastes. He had lost the desire for such years ago, knowing as he did his status amongst them. I have given up such rights, nor do I wish to regain them. However, he knew that a woman – anyone really – who had that particular look in her eye would not be easily dissuaded.

"Ah, I was under the impression we were speaking, Enansal'asha," he said, making a show of selecting a wax paper square, and sniffing the contents. "But as some of my brethren used to say to tease shems, 'I am all ears'."

An honest laugh welled up in the young woman. Then again, she may not be so young, spending so much time with the Dalish can change anyone, for good or ill. "That's clever! I'll have to remember it." She turned serious quickly. "Then I must ask if I may speak plainly."

Separating components out, he added an extra mortar and pestle; Zevran disliked the fact that he and Lahar had been making poisons andpotions in the same container. "As you wish, Enansal'asha; plain speaking is rare these days, especially amongst our kind."

"I know why you Bonded with Lahar," she began, stating as plainly as she had said she would. "Your number were in a bad situation, and... with things the way they were, you had no recourse but to do so."

Grunting, he nodded. "And here I thought you would not dance around the subject you wish to speak on." Waving his hand, "But, yes, my hand was forced. What of that has to do with whatever you want from me?"

"You are Dalish." Lanaya braced her hands behind her, and her short robe flashed what should have been a tantalizing bit of thigh, yet wasn't. "But you are also city-wise. I take it you know that the belief that the ritual unites two souls wholly is not entirely... true."

Sighing, Zevran turned to face her, nodding. "Yes. In Antiva there are many who... enjoy the effects of the herbs for leisure. Again, come to the point."

"My tribe, it is dying, this you know, and there are no suitable males amongst my group who have your inborn talents." Pursing her full lips, Lanaya clearly didn't want to be rushed.

"My dear, I am already Bonded," he reminded her, measuring her coolly. "I have no wish to dissolve my relationship and stay here, flattered as I am for your consideration."

She shook her head, aggravated. "No. I would not request you stay."

"Then what is it you wish of me, my dear woman? Hmmn? You say there are no-"

"I wish for a child," she replied, interrupting him. The admission cost her, he could see that, as she was a proud woman. This did not stop her from continuing, however. "You are a ranger of abilities not heard of in this tribe in generations. You are intelligent, and a quick study to anything you put your hand to. You are an artist, and a warrior, a philosopher, and teacher. All of these traits are things that can be passed down, even if only one or two of your talents are carried through your seed – it is... It would be a gift and a chance for revitalization."

That, he wasn't entirely expecting. Rubbing the side of his nose, the Antivan frowned. "I cannot give you what you so desire."

"Why not?" Exasperation was clear in every inch of her bearing. "I ask no commitment; I ask for nothing more than a few minutes of pleasure that could result in something immensely precious for my - our people."

"And I say again, I cannot give that to you." Gritting his teeth, Zevran reiterated. "I am not able to do this thing, for more reasons than you can understand."

"You're sterile?" A flicker of surprise caused her to blurt out in blunt tactlessness.

Chuckling, he seized upon that explanation. "As good as. Yes." Understanding what drove the Keeper to such a request, though, made him sympathetic. "However, there are other solutions if you would hear them."

She nodded tentatively. "If they will result in some improvement for my clan, I will do just about anything."

"In Antiva, my... clan..." He paused, knowing he could not truly refer to his mother's clan as being 'his'. "...Has many who are knowledgeable, from craftsmen to lorekeepers. We even have several who have mage talent, last I saw them. You could send some scouts via Denerim or Amaranthine. Send ones who are able to deal with shemlen, or are at least polite enough to hold their tongues no matter how distasteful they find city-dwellers. They should make for Antiva City. There, in some of the outermost markets, are usually Dalish who are there for trade. Keeper Harathin is well known, and there are always some of my tribe's number there." Taking a deep breath, the bronze elf forged on. "Send them with messages, requests for aid. Meanwhile during the scouts' trek, your clan should go north, to the outskirts of Amranthine. I am sure there are other Dalish there, as well, for there are many forests. Even there, you would find help, to be sure."

"That will... take much time." Lanaya frowned at him.

Smiling tightly, Zevran returned to his work, needing to keep his hands busy. "Keeper Harathan's duty is to ensure that as many of us have knowledge of ourselves and our history as possible. Time it may take, but it is time that must be made for such things."

"So, I shall send a message, saying that Arainai's -"

Snapping, Zevran slammed his hand on the table in a sudden fit of irritation. "No! You shall make no mention of me!"

Startled the Keeper jerked away. "Pardon? Why not?"

Licking his lips, the Crow glowered at her. "That is not your business."

"Uhalamlin." Her eyes were wide. "You are... uhalamlin aren't you?"

"Kin killer, one who is alone in blood." Hands balling into fists at his sides, Zevran growled out the dreaded thing he had not said to any. "I am forsworn."

"What... how? Why?" Covering her mouth, Lanaya looked as if she wished to creep away.

He bared his teeth. "As I said, it is none of your business." The Crow stared her down. "Now you know, and now you know why you should not mention me, or my existence."

"Your clan... they would... they would kill us all for harboring you!" She gasped, but there was no anger in her that he could see.

That was shocking.

"Unless, of course, you brought proof you had killed me; an ear perhaps?" Reaching up, he flicked his ear. "Or maybe my hands," he said, holding them out. "Hands that gutted my aunt Arainai, their finest of rangers, who taught me all it meant to be Dalish. To be sure, they would much rather my head." Gathering up what he had selected from Varathorn's supplies, he continued, "It is good we leave on the morrow then, yes? Or shall you drive us out, now that you are aware of what vipers you have had so near to hand?"

Lanaya closed her eyes, shaking her head. "I do not know you fully, Zevran Arainai, but I will not betray one who has freed my clan, one who has... given freely of information and methods to regain our ways. No. You may stay, and you may return so long as I am Keeper." He was surprised when she reached out, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Such a thing is atonement enough in my eyes."

His lips thinned into a flat line. "Then, if I were you, I would speak to Sarel, so he is informed that he should keep a closer watch on his tongue. As for the others, they are unlikely to know much, other than my appearance and given name. No one would hold you or yours responsible for my presence." He ducked a quick bow of respect. "Keep such a compassionate and understanding attitude, and you will be a most wise Enansal'asha, and a good Keeper."

XXX

He awoke by inches to the smell of Lahar – that peculiar perfume of ice, ozone, amber, roses and herbs – as well as of himself, hanging in the air, a heavy, comforting thing. Today they would be leaving the Dalish, and today, he would be leaving behind the game of playing at still being Dalish. Such things were best kept in locked boxes, deep inside where they could not sting. Zevran would be grateful for that.

Lahar was tucked into him, her cheek on his chest, an arm thrown over his waist, wearing – as usual – one of his shirts. The arm he had curled around her shoulders tugged her closer, and the hand belonging to that appendage stroked the back of her head, and the side of her cheek. He wondered if she would care that he was uhalamlin. Probably not; the mage had no real understanding of such things, what with her ability with people as basic as it was. To be sure, she was persuasive, she got things done, but Zevran didn't think she much cared one way or another what people did, so long as it didn't get in the way of her goals.

Sighing, he began the process of waking her up. This was their last leisurely morning, and he wanted to enjoy it. Reaching under the blankets, Zevran pulled one of her legs over his, tucking his head down so he could kiss her forehead. This garnered him the expected snuffle, as well as a wiggle. Slipping his hand under the hem of his tunic, the elf ran light fingers over the curve of the underside of her bum. To that Lahar squeaked, squirming away.

"Ah, you are awake mi cielo." He chuckled at her as he continued stroking her lightly, curling his fingers around to her inner thigh. "Do not deny it; Zevran is wise to your ways, sleepy one."

Lahar's face scrunched before she rubbed it over his chest, her always-cold nose a hard ridge against his pectoral. "Nooo... I'm warm, the bed is comfortable, and you smell good. I don't want to. It can't be morning yet, I protest!"

Zevran laughed outright, rolling them both over so he could hover above her. "Ah, but I have something for you."

Of late, Lahar would verge on downright playful in the mornings, a side of lightheartedness that he was glad to see. She was so serious amongst the others, overly adult for one so young. So, these times when she would relax with him like this, Zevran found himself reveling in.

She groused, even as her hips arched up to his. "It's the morning, of course you have something for me. Is it even normal to want it that much, or is it a man thing?"

He dipped down to nip at her neck. "Ah, an old adage of the Crows comes to mind."

"Umf, and what's that?" A single eye popped open enough to squint at him.

"'Waste not, want not'; it would be a waste to not utilize this, hmn?" He traced the swirling ink on her throat with his thumb. "But, if you do not wish to receive, then all you must do is say so, mi vida as I am well equipped with two hands."

Hands slid up his arms to his shoulders, curling into his sleep-tousled hair, probably making it stand up in clumps. "But you like it."

Both brows arched high on his forehead. "And you do not?"

"It's... not that." At least it wasn't a denial.

He leaned in to lick her bottom lip. "Explain."

"I just- You touch me nicely, Zevran; I like that part, but, it is..." She looked away, staring at the wall to what was soon to no longer be theiraravel. "It is intimidating. Frightening, sometimes. When... a man would touch me before... it hurt."

He relaxed so he could rest his weight atop her. "Have I ever hurt you, mi diosa?"

She shook her head adamantly. "No, but you are demanding. Twice a day? More if you can get me alone? You are... intense. Even when you're gentle with me, there's this... intensity. This... demand. Sometimes I feel like I can't say no. Like, like it would be wrong to or... or something like that." Lahar huffed. "I'm not saying it right, I don't know how to."

"Ah, it is not my intention to make you feel thus." Zevran lowered his voice, purring in that way he knew would make a woman – or man – shiver. "It is merely that when I see you, when I hold you, I feel a flash of desire. Like food and rest, there may be times when I shall have to do without. So, I would like to store up as it were."

"Times like when I was in the coma?" The eternal scent of blizzard on her breath, her fingers traveled over his jaw and cheeks. "How long was I really out?"

Shaking his head, Zevran didn't answer, only licking her lips open before sinking the muscle into her mouth. Under him she moaned, meeting him partway. That much he knew he could take pride in, for his elven lass had given up the fight long since in enjoying that much, at least. In fact, she would sometimes, upon entering their aravel, shyly grab his hand before stepping into him, so she could lean up and press her lips to his, entirely on her own. He still had yet to convince her that sleeping nude was more comfortable than wearing some dirty shirt of his. Especially since she tended to ignore his clean ones, as if she had some desire to roll around in sweaty linen or wool. Lahar reminded him somewhat of a cat in such behavior, and it was as disturbing as it was adorable. So long as the shirt was merely sweaty or dusty rather than bloody, Lahar would snatch it from his hands as soon as he had removed it and yank it over her head.

When the kiss ended Zevran said, "You were out as long as you needed to be, and you took as long as you needed to, to recover. No one will begrudge you that, and if they attempt it, then I shall deal with them. You are no good to anyone if you are not at your peak of performance as long as possible."

With a tiny sigh, Lahar conceded. "I suspect I wouldn't really like the answer anyway, not that you've ever spared me disagreeable facts if you felt it was needed."

"Hmn, now, back to the earlier matter, I have something for you that is long, hard and shall never fail you." He distracted her with his tongue along her ear. "Tell me, do you want it?"

Lahar arched, her legs and arms wrapping around him. "Yes."

"Good." Levering himself up and away, he snickered at the young Warden's vociferous protests. Slipping from the bed, Zevran snagged the staff he had created for her, the leather case it was in having masked what it was. Returning to her with it, he laid it across her palms. "From now on, use this, rather than those useless hunks of wood or bone that do nothing but boost your powers somewhat."

She frowned at him curiously, sitting up and opening the case, withdrawing the staff, her mouth making a tiny 'o'. "It's... beautiful."

Reaching over, he tapped the center of the staff. "There is even a groove for a rune. That way, you do not have to cast a weapon spell upon it for it to be effective against certain enemies."

To his surprise, Lahar set aside the weapon quickly and turned to him, wrapping her arms about him forcefully and going to her knees. She practically crawled over him, her lips pressing all over his face. Zevran was not one to complain at having an armful of exuberant woman. He groaned when her mouth found one of his ears, and she set about giving it as much attention as he so often gave hers. She had never done this before, never going beyond a few licks or a kiss or two, as she was still obviously unsure of the entire interplay between lovers. Now his lass was making up for that ten times over, the wet slide of cool tongue making him shiver.

He shuddered when she finally obliged, unable to help himself. Aie, you are a woman of passion, amante when you finally release yourself of all your confines. Now if only he could request her mouth elsewhere on his body... but an exploration like that could wait, for right now he was well content with the slow roll of her hips over his, and the wet sounds echoing in his ear. His eyes rolled back in his head. Only another elf would understand, truly. Aie, I do not know how humans can do without this... It was like tickling sparks of intense sensation sent bolts over his flesh, making his blood go afire and pool heavily between his legs.

He was going mad with this play, but he was going to be dammed if he pushed Lahar at all. As she had said, he did tend to be a little demanding, at least to her way of thinking, so he refused to. However, she was driving him insane, and he could feel how wet she was as she rocked against him ceaselessly.

He was brought from his fog by moist lips whispering against his ear. "Touch, touch, touch, touchtouchtouchtouch..." It was a tiny whimper, the only break in the repeated word, "Please – touchtouchtouchtouch... want to touch you, pleaseplease, touchtouchtouch!"

Arching, Zevran moaned. "Mmnnoh, wha-what?

"Want to touch you." Such a small whine, it was high pitched, and pitiful, accompanied as it was with grinding. "Please-please?"

His answer came out as a hiss, his hands clenching spasmodically on her hips. "Yess..."

Zevran refused to guide her, no matter that he was no longer used to being the center of such drawn out foreplay. He was a Crow; he could withstand torture, and turn it into pleasure. He could withstand pleasure that was so good that it was a torture in and of itself. And if he kept telling himself that, maybe some point soon he might believe it.

"I can; you want me to? Please, may I?" Rocking back so she was sitting, her hands hovered over his chest.

"Lahar, amante I am dying without your hands on me." His tight throat made the words come out unbelievably hoarse. "Touch me anywhere, everywhere – however, I do not care, just... do it."

There was still a momentary hesitation, and Zevran feared he may actually have to take over. However, just as his body was snapping and snarling in need, Lahar touched him. Palms ran over the breadth of his shoulders, down his chest to his stomach. Again, there was hesitation, but it too passed. Lahar swallowed once, rising up to her knees, balancing her weight on one hand that she pressed to his shoulder, the other going to his manhood. The very sight of her poised to impale herself on him, her hair wild, her skin flushed, lips swollen, thighs clearly moist, his shirt rucked up around her waist – came close to being his undoing.

His lids hooded, but thankfully did not close, for he was sure he would scream in frustration if he were to lose the magic sight at this moment. Slowly – agonizingly so – Lahar slid down him, having some trouble at figuring out how to do this on her own, and then they were joined. Finally!Zevran made a soundless cry at that, his body bowing up from the bed for a moment. There was something exquisite about a woman riding him. It gave him the opportunity to do more, to participate in ways that being atop did not. His hands were free to roam, and he could watch as his cock slipped in and out of her body, her firm breasts sway gently with each motion, and the rapturous expression on her face.

Tight rippling over his member, the sweat-slicked slip of flesh on flesh, soft yet muscular skin filling his hands as they flexed over Lahar's hips, was what his world spiraled down to. His bottom lip folded over his teeth when Lahar's smooth palms pressed to his pectorals, her mouth dropping open as she picked up speed, grinding against him hard. He was lodged deep and Zevran arched his back and groaned. The Crow cupped a breast, his thumb circling the pale pink nipple until it tightened into a pebble. Growling at the heat building at the base of his cock behind where testicles and manhood met, he deepened his breathing, meeting each of Lahar's down thrusts with slow rocking.

A whimper, needy and desperate, bubbled from Lahar's mouth. "Zev-!"

Rumbling low in his throat, he kept one hand locked on his mage's hip, forcing her to continue as he ran his free hand down to her sex. Slipping his hand between them, he spread Lahar's inner lips wide, hooking his middle finger under his prick so that with every motion it was striking his Warden's walls perfectly, even as his thumb massaged and circled over her button. His breathing was ragged and the tightness on him was unbearably good, especially when Lahar sat up straight, her nails scraping down his chest to his stomach in the process, leaning back as she wailed, locking him inside her body. Clenching his jaw, Zevran continued to rock up against Lahar, easing her through her completion while denying his own.

Panting and sagging over him, his Bonded's lips sought his own, moaning into his mouth, her breasts pressed to him, her hands moving to his hair. When he could hold out no longer, Zevran's hips snapped up and off the bed, his world going white, no matter that he had had the barest presence of mind to yank Lahar off of his pulsing member so he could release far away from the mouth of her womb.

In a tangled, sweaty heap they lay, chests heaving as they each sought to catch their breaths. Wrapping his arms around Lahar's back, Zevran turned his head enough so he could kiss her temple. There was a sleepy murmur of approval, and for the moment, he was extremely glad that he had purposefully woken her several hours before they would have to rise. He was no fool, and thought that at least he would have been the one to instigate such physically demanding play.

"Oof," she murmured with a jaw-cracking yawn. "We have to get up now, don't we?"

Chuckling, Zevran rolled over with Lahar in his arms. "Not to worry, amante, I planned on allowing us some time for play, then rest."

"Sneaky." She blinked owlishly at him before wiggling on the bed as he tugged their covers around them.

"Ah, it is part of my charm, yes?" he asked, kissing her on the chin before slumping to his side.

XXX

The forest was quiet save for the sound of the elves in determined combat. Lahar spun gracefully, ducking out of the path of the flat of Zevran's blade, her staff whipping up in an arc behind her to block the attack coming in low on the other side, while lashing out with one foot, swinging in a hooked arch aiming for his hip. Lips quirked in a pleased smile before smoothing away, Zevran countered his Warden's attack with one of his own. In a quick flurry, the Crow made himself into a spinning circle of blades and kicks – flashy and effective – but slow enough for Lahar to counter him, which she did neatly, the end of her staff finding the opening he had purposefully left her. In reply he shoved her, as though to unbalance her. She stumbled - it looked like she stumbled as her arms flung wide while she fell backward - but at the last moment, she planted her staff, her foot snapping up as she let her momentum carry her upward and over again, putting her on her feet and at a distance. The moonlight bathed her in silver and shadow as she turned to face him again, her feet skidding across the dew-slick grass.

"Good, good! Excellent, mi niña," he praised her, sheathing his weapons. "You are improving in finding weaknesses and combining Baile with what the spirit gave you."

Lahar's nose crinkled. "It feels very strange, Zev. The first time, it was like someone else was... controlling me. But when you started showing me more, it... was more like I could feel hands inside my hands. Guiding, rather than controlling."

Zevran grabbed his discarded shirt, wiping the sweat from his chest while listening. "It is better to not rely upon the memories, I think, and to use them to help you learn what to do. What if those memories fade, yes? For now, let them guide you, control you when there is no other choice..."

"I don't really mind having that thing in my head Zevran." Lahar leaned on her staff, face turned up towards the trees as if she were searching for unnamed stars. "It feels kind and warm. Whoever, whatever that warrior-mage was, is gone, but is still in me. Not living, but content with this shadowed existence. I get the feeling like it says 'at least I am no longer alone'. Like an echo of a person - nothing left but a handful of skills and a feeling of contentment."

Curious, Zevran held out the waterskin to her. "Do you feel that way, amante, having it in your head? Like... at least you aren't alone?"

She gave him a startled glance, then looked away. "Sometimes."

Pressing the skin to her hand, he touched her cheek, rubbing his thumb over the high bone. "But you are not alone, mi diosa."

"I'm not?" There was a rueful cast to her lips. "Alone, Zevran, is what I have been for the entirety of my life. It is like... you being a slave. It is part of how you define yourself. I define myself by being alone."

"And what of this unnamed man who raised you? Surely you will not claim that he left you alone in... the place you were raised." Shaking his head, the elf frowned. She would make offhand comments about the place she was raised, and the man who raised her - but never putting names to anything. Ever. It was so strangely secretive. "You speak too fondly of him for him to have done such a thing."

Her full mouth tugged down in a frown as she took a perfunctory pull from the waterskin before passing it back to him. "He was under constraints and unable to do more than he did. It was not as though he could simply raise me as his own; the place I was kept was not conducive to him doing as he clearly wished. And so – I was left alone, Zev." She slung her staff over her shoulder in a graceful movement that slid the wood into the light harness she wore. "I put no names to things because names are power Zevran. Never forget that." She cast a clouded look his way. "I know I'll never be able to forget that. It's probably best you don't, either."

Tugging his shirt on, Zevran gathered his weapons and trailed after his Warden. Names have power? That is merely a fishwives' tale. However, Lahar clearly believed in it. If Lahar believed in it, then there must be at least a little truth to it.

He moved to catch up to her. "Lahar."

She paused, turning to face him, her expression peculiar. "Yes?"

"Talk to me bonita." Taking her face between his hands, he tipped her head back so he could watch her eyes. "Why put such stock in old wives' tales? This is a modern world, and I would think someone as educated as yourself would not believe what is whispered by frightened peasants around their cookfires."

He watched as she licked her lips nervously. "You don't use my name much, I thought you would... know."

Generally Zevran would laugh at that, but instead, he said, "Mages are not bound by their names. encantadora, otherwise they would not be bandied about so much."

"Names have power. You say my name, I stop. I say your name, you listen." A small hand pressed over his heart. "Name a thing – a fear, a person, a hope or dream... and you understand it. If someone were to call your name in a crowd, what would you do?"

"I would stop." He shrugged, even as he noticed the tiny furrow between her brows. "My name is not common, even in Antiva. Names with 'zev' in them I have heard, yes."

"But not 'Zevran'?" He nodded his reply as she continued. "Say something steals the chickens from the farmer's coop, but he isn't sure if it is a fox, a person, or a wolf. How is he to combat the thief?"

The Crow stroked her forehead, wanting nothing more than to erase the lines there. "He would have to find out."

"Why?" He felt like he was being led to some conclusion that should be clear.

Once he figured it out, Zevran would probably feel stupid. However, he humored her. "So he would know how to combat it. If it was a fox, then wires and a dog would work. If it was a wolf, then a dog would be enough. If it was a person, then the person could be caught by having a guard on watch..."

"He would have to identify what it was. He would have to name it, Zev," she pointed out, tapping his chest. "Once a thing is named, it can be known, understood, controlled, even stopped or killed." Shaking her head, Lahar stepped away from him. "Demons are the same – if you know its name, you can control it, contain it, destroy it. For a time, at least. If I were to tell you where I was raised, who raised me – you would know more, you would be able to hurt me, stop me, kill me. Control me. I already have enough leashes - I don't want more - my phylactery in Denerim, my forced conscription to the Wardens. And you - don't you have enough power over me already in trade over the power I have over you?" Waving a hand, she encompassed both of them. "Must you have it all?"

"That was not my intent mi cielo," he tried to assure her, reaching out to touch her again. Needing to convey his meaning to her the way he was best at, Zevran pulled her to him, cupping her cheek once more. "My intent is to understand, yes, but only so that I may serve you better, amante, and for no other reason that."

He was pleased that she leaned into him, her face pressing into his chest as her slim arms went about his waist. "I don't want you to 'serve' me."

He gave her a gentle squeeze. "You and I apply different meanings to the same words, pequeña. I say 'serve' and you hear 'servitude'. Yet I mean 'assist' or 'care for'. Do not forget that this is not my native tongue, and you perhaps may know more meanings to a word than I."

"You speak it better than most." He could feel Lahar's breath warming a spot on his chest through the linen of his shirt. "Don't try and play dumb; the only reasons anyone would know you weren't raised speaking Ferelden is because of your accent, and speech patterns. They're more suited to what Fereldens would consider prose rather than conversation."

"Ah, just so," he admitted, leaning away so he could catch sight of her face. "I have to go check the perimeter, so why not go and speak with our companions as is your wont? I shall join you shortly, and we can continue your language training."

She gave him a tight smile, but it was a smile nevertheless. "You know, sometimes I wonder about you."

"Oh? Do tell, mi hermosa amante, I am all ears." He leaned down and smiled, wiggling said appendages just to tease a bigger smile out of her.

It worked, her nose scrunching up, and her eyes twinkling. "I wonder how you can be such a good teacher, because you are really good at it. Makes me wonder how you picked up that skill."

"Hmm, that would be trade secrets," he murmured, pressing his lips to her temple before giving her a push back to the camp fire. "Perhaps tonight I could be convinced to impart such things."

"I'll hold you to that," she replied, waving as she left him.

Making his rounds slowly, Zevran wanted to savor the few minutes he had to himself each day. Squatting by the base of a tree, he ran fingers along the trigger, assessing its sturdiness. Satisfied, he moved on, pausing to look over his handiwork periodically. Most evenings were a flurry of activity to set up camp, to get clean, fed, and spend a little time socializing. Zevran, however, avoided the others, except Lahar, as he had never been one who enjoyed other people's close company, by and large, and they all seemed so blastedly young sometimes that it grated on his nerves.

Perhaps 'young' is not the correct description, he thought, musing for a moment, as he massaged the back of his neck absentmindedly. Ignorant is much more apt. Even the Orlesian flower smacks of that sour tang of superiority. Sten 'knows' he is superior because of his Qun. Morrigan for her being apostate who has refused all leashes, Alistair because he is a 'hero' and Wynne... Actually, Zevran didn't dare think of Wynne much at all, or he would see red.

She got on every one of his nerves, set his teeth on edge, and had the audacity to stare down her long nose at him as though he were some uneducated dockwhore. Whore and slave and killer I may be, but I am far from uneducated, or stupid. Grunting to no one, his train of thought soured.Stupid Crows don't live long. Ugh, let them all live in their little tra-la-la worlds. I do not need them or want them. In the world he came from, heroes were the first to be killed, before even the weak. Then the stupid would come next, again, even before the weak. The weak were to be controlled, and if somehow they became strong, then they would be used, but properly. The Guild did not waste any of its many resources.

Content that the perimeter was properly protected for the evening, Zevran headed back to the main body of the camp. Lahar was the only person to ever seek him out, and as young as she was, and could seem, she was the only one who didn't aggravate him to distraction. She would pester him with questions, or simply sit with him after sparring, content to listen or to share in the quiet. It was soothing. There was never any hint of reproach or disdain for him in her eyes, no judgment ever waiting in the wings. His mage appeared to only be happy to let things be, accepting them as merely part of his nature. A bit naïve for her to be that way, but it was pleasing to him. Amongst his own kind there was a similar acceptance, however it was always tainted with having to be vigilant against attacks, for any friend could become an enemy, very quickly, and any enemy could become an ally.

Nodding to Alistair who waved at him in a fair approximation of an amicable fashion, Zevran went to his and Lahar's tent, fetching his armor so that he could check its stitching. Earlier in the day, he had thought he felt a knot where it should not be, and planned on fixing it, and he also had a few shirts that needed mending, and if he remembered correctly, one of Lahar's leather stockings had a tear. Kneeling as he dug through their packs, the Crow found himself wondering, not for the first time, about Lahar's upbringing.

A Crow had raised her, this he knew for fact. He also knew she came from a place where elves were not welcome at all. Clearly it was an orphanage of some sort, but what kind? The way she had referred to it set Zevran's hackles to rise, but he couldn't put his finger on why. Adding up what he knew of the young mage, he realized there were gaping holes everywhere. He knew her age, he knew how old she had been when she went to the Tower. He knew her favorite spells, foods – honey and anything he cooked apparently - he knew she preferred to fall asleep on her left side, with him curled around her. He knew the way she braced her feet when she was staring down someone larger than herself, telling them in no uncertain terms how things would be. He knew she liked when he brushed her hair, or pressing her ear to his chest or back as he spoke – the better to hear the 'rumbles' as she described it. All these things were knowing 'of' the woman, but not knowing her. Zevran didn't even know what her favorite color was, or if she even had one.

In the end, what he didn't know was far more than what he did. Sighing as he gathered what he needed for repairs, Zevran backed out of the tent carefully. Silently he vowed he would pry those pieces of information from her, because one never knew when such knowledge would be needed for him to be able to anticipate her needs, or to ensure her safety. And she seems to view me wanting to know these things as an invasion to her privacy. Tchk, as much as I understand wanting to keep ones' secrets, surely she must be aware that it is abnormal to hide these things from everyone?

Settling by the fire, not quite facing it, Zevran leaned over his self-appointed tasks. In the process of searching his cuirass' stitching for anything worn or knotted, he felt Leliana approaching long before she was near enough to hear, as she was light-footed. Then again, it was probably some part of his mind noting her body language subconsciously, always aware of surroundings and possible threats or targets. Any change tended to put him on the alert, especially with so few people. In Antiva City, he had been far more comfortable than out here, simply for the fact that his senses hyper-focused on everything rather than sifting out only the most necessary of information. It was like being in a large room with a handful of people yelling and screaming with every single movement and flickering expression. He was just better suited to solitude or clashing stimuli, not this... limited exposure to vast amounts of information.

Not looking up from his work, he addressed the woman. "Is there something you need fair bard, or is this a social call?"

Gracefully the red-head sank to her haunches. "Can it not be both, Zevran?"

"Ah, it is to be business and pleasure, then?" He found the troublesome frayed edge of thick twine that was used to hold his armor together; flicking a slim knife from the sheath that resided at the small of his back, Zevran cut the thread, tugging enough of it free for him to knot further down the seam. "But I would first have to ask my Warden for permission; I am not the sort to travel around behind a lover's back needlessly."

Those overlarge, faded blue eyes barely even batted a single exaggerated lash at him. "I came to inform you that it has been decided you should continue to take first watch from here on."

Threading the leather-working needle with catgut, he began restitching the loose patch of his armor. "And when was this decided?"

"Lahar taxes herself, did you not say so yourself Zevran?" The way his name rolled around in her mouth would almost be enticing if the Crow didn't have a deep-seated mistrust of Orlesian bards in general.

"Travel has been easy, fair bard, and my Warden has not pushed herself unduly," he responded mildly, however the 'of late' hung unspoken in the air between the two rogues.

Leliana smoothed her hands over her backside as she sat fully, legs crossing. "It is plain to see she is not used to travel or fighting, Zevran. You know this, as do I. She is a delicate flower that will be trampled if she is not rested and protected."

Ah-ha, I thought I saw you making eyes at her backside when no one was 'looking'. I knew it! he chortled in the confines of his own mind.

"And yet, this equates to me taking first watch somehow?" he asked, probing the logic that the others would have used.

"You are being difficult Zevran," she stated primly. "Speak plainly, and I may tell you what you wish to know."

Slyly, he glanced at her from the corner of his eye. "I wish to know if all your hair is red."

That had the intended response, of a little incredulous huff. "It is, and why would you even wish to know such a thing? Oh, never mind. The noise the two of you make during your nightly, and morning, exertions is enough to wake the dead. Alistair brought up the point of worrying about her not getting enough rest with such goings on, and Wynne voted on putting a stop to it. I said it was sweet, if a tad detrimental to my own sleep." Leliana leaned forward, resting her chin in her palm. "But even so, Lahar seems to have been well-rested, during the day; I would even say revitalized. You did not see how she used to be, up all night and walking all day, as she was. I worry that if you take a watch that may break her sleep, she won't get the chance. So in this, we are all in agreement. On the nights you take watch, you shall take the first one. Alistair is next, then Sten, and then myself."

He hummed his understanding. "That is rather thoughtful, and agreeable." Since she insisted on sitting with him, he passed her one of his shirts and the tin of regular thread, along with its attendant needle. "Do you think you could patch this while I work on Lahar's thigh guards?"

"You do realize you're impossible, yes, Zevran?" she mock-groused, even as she took the garment in hand.

Smiling as he chuckled low, he responded, "On the contrary my dear, I am told how very easy I am."

"Oh you would say that wouldn't you?" she snorted, giving him rolled eyes and a feigned grimace.

It didn't take him long to patch Lahar's thigh guard and he set it beside his repaired cuirass. Frowning, he looked around, having expected his elf to have long since joined him. She was nowhere to be seen; the last he had caught sight of her was when she was heading towards Bodahn.

Restless, he asked of the Orlesian who was still beside him, working on another of his tunics, "When was the last you saw Lahar?"

"I think she went to see Morrigan." It was absentminded, as she hunched over his shirt, laying neat stitches. "I called out to her, but she said she wasn't feeling like talking. She seemed to be in a bit of a mood actually."

"Ah." Rising, Zevran nodded his thanks and aimed his feet towards Morrigan's lean-to.

Traversing the distance to the outskirts of camp took only a few moments, but he was met by Ser Prize who headbutted him once, wagging the stump of tail he had. Patting the beast on the head, Zevran approached the Wild Witch's fire. Muffled voices reached his ears, one of them obviously Morrigan's, the other belonging to Lahar.

"I don't want to go back there right now." Lahar was hugging herself as she paced back and forth, slightly hunched, as if in pain.

"You needn't if you do not wish to." Morrigan was tugging a pile of blankets into something resembling order. "You know you may stay with me as long as you require."

Lahar heaved a heavy sigh, fraught with relief. "Thank you. I'm sorry to impose, but thank you."

One of those strange smiles was on the Chasind's face, that were only ever granted to the Warden. "My friend, you are never an imposition on my hospitality." Pulling back the edge of a few blankets, she patted it. "Come, lay your head down and rest. Cast your worries over such men from your mind for a time. Shall I put a glyph of good dreams upon you?"

Zevran watched quietly from beside a tree, beyond the fire's light, surprised. He had no idea what would have driven his Warden to renege on their usual sleeping arrangement, and turn to the Witch for succor rather than himself. But even so, he watched as Lahar climbed under the covers, curling into a kittenish ball, facing Morrigan. The Witch tugged the blankets up and over her, before laying down to face her. Their hands curled together between them, making an odd pair. From this distance they almost looked like sisters, with their fair skin and dark hair.

"Morrigan, you must think me silly." Lahar's voice was muffled by the blankets, but still intelligible.

"No, my friend, I do not think you silly," Morrigan said, accompanied by a laugh. "I think you young; I think you worried and stressed. I think you overburdened, but silly, no."

Lahar's voice drifted, strained and sleepy in one. "Morrigan?"

"Hmm?"

"I wish you were my sister." A small, scooting wiggle shifted the blankets that covered her.

There was a long pause before the Witch draped an arm over the Warden, pulling her closer. "You are, in all the ways that matter, my one, true friend."

Groaning to himself quietly, Zevran went to keep watch on the camp. It seemed he would be sleeping alone tonight. Ugh, careful what you wish for Arainai, you just might get it. And here he had been praying for some further solitude. Seems he would be getting it.

XXX

Baile, S - dance, short for Baile de Muerte (dance of death/death dance)
Cuerpo Volante, S - Flying Body, martial arts form that is meant to be open-handed, but can also be used in conjunction with weapons.
Lethallin, E - cousin
Enansal'asha, E - woman of blessing, word for a female Keeper
Shemlen, E - quick children, humans
Uhalamlin, E - one who is without blood/peace, forsworn
Mi cielo, S - my sky, my sweet, sweetheart
Mi vida, S - my life
Mi diosa, S - my goddess
Amante, S - lover
Mi niña, S - my girl, my little girl
Bonita, S - pretty girl, beautiful girl
Encantadora, S - enchantress
Pequeña, S - little one
Mi hermosa amante, S - my beautiful lover