023: A Murder of Crows

by Rhiononon

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. M from chapter 5 onwards

16. Chapter 15

Title: A Murder of Crows 15/?
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: I seem to have a cold. Stupid weather changes.

briala has graciously beta'd this, and pretty much blown through anything I had that was ready to go. Frankly, I'm floored. And grateful.

XXX
Murder 15
XXX

"Is something amiss?" Lahar had been easily convinced that she shouldn't leave him behind again, and she slowed her steps to speak with him more privately.

"No, preciosa, why do you ask?" giving her an easy smile, and laying his hand at the small of her back for a brief second.

Her brows furrowed, and her lips pursed as she searched his face, but he kept his expression mild, "You seem... off. You're acting different." Soft as a butterfly's wings, fingers wrapped around his where he had cut the leather away on the gauntlets so he didn't lose the sense of touch that was so necessary for his style of fighting. It was all he could do not to flinch. "Tell me what's wrong. Please?"

Widening his smile, Zevran turned every ounce of his attention on putting forth his usual amount of warmth, "Mi nina there is -"

"Stop that," and she stepped closer her head tipping back all the way, reminding him of just how tiny she was, even as an adult. "You've been off for days." Her hand wrapped itself tighter about his fingers, and he had a flash of remembering just how small they had once been, "You're always staring at me now. Do you stare like that at everyone? I don't understand."

The Crow hadn't particularly noticed that he had been staring at her of late. He had only taken to watching over her more carefully. To bringing their meals to their tent and waiting for her to make her rounds with the others. To watching her move and speak, searching for any little sign that there was something he could do. Straws, I am clutching at straws...

"Not everyone, no, mi vida preciosa," pulling her even closer, wrapping an arm around her slender shoulders, and tucking his chin against her forehead. "Only at that which I find intriguing."

Releasing her, Zevran stepped back, putting some small space between them. Do you still look right through people? Are we all connected by umbilical cords of Fate and Fortune that you can pick and choose like our fair bard does the strings of a lute?

"Hey you two, do you think, maybe you could wait until after we get to the town up ahead to start being...all..." Alistair interrupted, making little waving gestures and clasping his hands tightly together whilst wiggling side to side. "You know? There could be oh, I dunno, some darkspawn or other suitably nasty things around here that we might want to keep a look out for?"

Lahar only had a faint blush over her cheeks, but it was there, giving her a diffuse glow, "There shouldn't be any darkspawn around here yet."

Giving the mage a nudge, "And that means we do not have a wardens' senses to alert us, only those that we were born with mi cielo, so we must be vigilant."

"We'll talk later then," and he knew she wouldn't let his behaviour go.

Levi Dryden had told them of this small blot of a town, that boasted as its main attraction an inn, and a lot of woodworking, as well as a nominally talented leatherworker. Picking up his feet, Zevran hitched his pack a little higher and knocked his heel on the ground once to shift a fold in his sock, Pfah, I need these things resoled. I did not think there would be so much walking in this blasted country. And I need more socks. Also he hadn't counted on living long enough that ten pairs of socks would be insufficient. Or on the fact that a certain woman had a fondness for borrowing his clothes.

Including his socks and not just his shirts.

Not too far behind the small deer track that might aspire to become a footpath when it grew up, was Levi, the Feddics and the others. But ahead was the tiny lumber town, that may or may not have a name. Zevran didn't particularly care. What he wanted was a bath, some socks, new soles for his boots, and a place to hole up, bar the doors and bundle Lahar up safe and sound. In fact he had half a mind to see what could be done about finding more clothes for Lahar, and some heavier ones for himself. He had arrived in early spring, and now it was early summer. But there was going to still be winter, and rain. Lanaya had seen fit to ensure they were all well outfitted, plus there was the added supplementing that the Feddics did, yet that wasn't enough.

Making a list inside the corner of his mind, keeping his eyes on Lahar while focusing his other senses on their surroundings, Flour, salt, honey or sugar if they have it... tea or coffee would be too much to hope for. Wine, brandy, some strong spirits for wounds and poisons. Spices would be a dream come true, and far too precious of a commodity for a place like this... He was brought up short by Lahar stopping to poke at something on the ground with the tip of her staff.

"What's this?" an inquisitive little frown on her face.

Directing his gaze downwards, "A toy."

"A...toy?" the expression she shot him was utterly bemused.

Nudging the wooden disc the mage dug it up from the mud. Glancing up ahead, Zevran spied Morrigan and Alistair looking around some of the houses. No one seemed to be in town, or if they were, they had all run away, probably fearing bandits. With good reason. Desperate times and such made for insanities in a country that was as sprawling and disconnected as Ferelden. Things seemed safe enough, so he swung his eyes back to his mage, realizing that the toy she had found was a yoyo. One of those odd things that had become a children's toy that had never been meant as such.

"Si, pequena, a toy. You play with it," watching her reaction carefully.

She hefted it in her hand, brushing some of the dirt away, plucking at the string on it, "I don't understand. How do you play with it? I... I don't know how."

"You have never played with a yoyo before?" probing cautiously.

The Warden bit her lip, uncertainty coming off of her in waves as she held it out to him, "I've never had a toy before. I've... never been allowed to play either. I... I know what toys are and what play is. I just..."

Taking the yoyo from her out stretched palm, the Crow rewound the string, and showed her, "You play with it like so." Gravity, force and spin made the circle wind down quickly and bounce back up when he changed the angle of his wrist, and with another flick, he let it drop back down, "See?"

Her eyes had gone huge, hands tucked up under her chin, mouth open in amazement at such a small little thing. Right then, the Antivan thought his heart would break. If he had one. Swallowing back the bile that came with the knowledge of just how deprived this girl-woman-child of his had been, made him ill. That much was certain. And if the Crow kept messing with his head, such knowledge as he had now would have destroyed him, here and now if he had been fully connected. He only hoped that once the Crow was finished, the things he knew would not break him.

"Can...can I try?" the look in her eyes was like a strike to the kidneys it was so debilitatingly hopeful.

Biting his tongue Zevran nodded, and put the little ring-loop around her finger after taking her small pack from her shoulders. Stepping away to set aside their gear, he used the few moments to school his expression. He needed to keep his fractured thoughts from his face. Taking a deep breath, the Crow pressed the heels of his palms to his aching eyes, seeking to alleviate the burning discomfort.

Later he could blame it on inattention. Or confusion stirred up by Crow. Or by stupidity. But right then he couldn't do anything other than hear the pebbles shift overhead, and glance up in time to see a human shape on a roof of a nearby house. There was no time to shout, or if there was, Zevran wasn't sure he had done so. What there was time for was lunging forward and the sensation of impact.

XXX

"So we meet again, Ser Crow," Zevran snorted at the Spirit. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Do you realize you have a most distressing habit of getting yourself unconscious?" exasperated Crow threw his hands in the air.

Chuckling in odd good nature, "It is a talent, I must say. One I had thought well hidden." Turning serious, "I know what you're doing. I just do not know why."

Crow cocked his head, "Oh? And what is it I am doing?"

"Molding me," picking a direction in the tundra and began walking, forcing the Spirit to follow him or be left behind. "Creating a tool for the reason of guarding Lahar. Why? Why her in particular?"

"Yours is a singularly interesting mind," Crow hooked his thumbs into his belt as they trudged. "As a Crow, as one who has gone through hisCulminacion you had been broken down and scoured so that you could be shaped like clay. And then hardened into that shape. It is a process that someone who understands it, can change. There are some clays that, even after shaping and firing, are still able to be morphed into something else if you know how. You are like this."

Nodding his understanding, "I am familiar with pottery at a basic level, yes. But why?"

"Why you? You are here, and you are someone I can shape, someone who is ideally suited, or can be made to be suited to the task," shrugging. "I could bash Alistair into the mold, but he would not be an appropriate pick for many reasons, not the least of which is that he would crack under the pressure eventually."

"No, I mean why Lahar, that is what I have asked, and that is not what you have answered, stop side-stepping," grunting.

Crow only laughed, "You seek some simple answer, when you do not understand the nature of Fade Spirits. There are as many Spirits as there are types of demons. There is Justice and there is Vengeance. Faith and Doubt. Love and Hate. I am a Spirit of the Fade. My goal is as Crow. I am a tool that is used, a Spirit of some sort of... contract. Need called me here, to this band, to Lahar, to Alistair. To this Blight. So, I shape the tools that are needed from the ones available, even as I am a tool myself."

Zevran thought as much, having come to that conclusion already. Perhaps Lahar's willpower had called to the Fade, bonding with memories of some dead Crow to make the entity that walked beside him as though it were a man of flesh and blood. And not a construct of thought, will and Power with a truly unfathomable mind.

"We are all tools in the hands of those who use us," Zevran added. "And you have already reshaped me enough Crow, that for some reason I don't care that you're doing what you are. We both know my own personal will had long ago been overwritten."

Crow reached out, grabbing him, yanking him to a sudden stop, "By the time I am through with you Zevran Arainai, you will have your own personal will. It is not my wish nor my drive to steal that from you, but to reawaken it."

Tugging on his arm as he pursed his lips at the other 'man', "And what if my personal will, my personal choice and identity had no interest in guarding what you push me at?"

"You will serve well enough, long enough, that you can take having your own sense of self returned to you as your payment for undertaking the task," Crow let him go. "I shall make a contract with you. Your freedom of mind, sense of self, willpower - all of it, returned and reawakened in full. In trade for seeing this task completed, being the guardian and guide that sees them through the Blight."

Zevran stared for a long moment, then closed his eyes, willing blackness to pull him from this part of the Fade. He would need time to consider that contract and it's worth. Payment for a thing he was already bound to do made little sense. There would be some catch. Somehow, the Fade did listen to him, and he was allowed to leave.

XXX

He wasn't alone. Of course I'm not, tchk, Lahar is always - the smell was wrong. The air felt wrong. Lahar wasn't the one beside him.

"Relax, elf, no need to fall into a crazed state with me," Morrigan's voice dripped scorn.

Sucking in a deep breath that sent stabbing pains into his chest, he sat up, "Where is she? Is she alright?"

"Ugh, 'tis a wonder why I even bother!" rolling her eyes, the Chasind crossed her arms, the damp cloth clutched in one hand showing traces of his blood. "You are one of the dimmest buffoons I have ever come across, if you have torn out those stitches I shan't be putting new ones in."

The urge to smack Morrigan was ameliorated by the fact that he saw how hard her fingers clenched at the rag, and the sensation of moisture all over his upper torso. She had been washing me? A strange notion to say the least. One that showed a care, even if a little one. It was out of character, and still it was a kindness, and Zevran wouldn't repay such with vitriol. Most likely it was done not for his benefit, but for Lahar's, so she would not be forced to see the gore and grime.

Stilling his temper, he asked once more, "Well, is she alright or not?"

The expression on the witch's face was baffled, "Yes, of course she is alright."

Relief poured through the assassin, and he sagged back on the bed, "Mph, good then."

The Antivan closed his eyes and waited for a moment, while Morrigan shifted. He heard the cloth being dropped into the water and then a curse before it was wrung out. Eh? Strange creature, thinking that she would get the hint, Zevran waited a breath longer.

Warm droplets landed on his abdomen right before cloth touched him, and his eyes popped open, startled, "What are you doing? Why are you still here?" Catching the woman's wrist, halting the next swipe of the wash rag, "Go get Lahar already."

"You are an idiot. Vile, detestable, boorish, inattentive, and all around incompetent," her voice was soft, the faded sulfur eyes boring holes into him as she shook off his grip, so she could return to cleaning him.

Making a face, "I am? Really now, you say such nice things to me Morrigan, it makes it near impossible for me to keep my desires in check. Truly you drive a man simply wild with them."

Morrigan was ignoring what he said, and only asked, "Have you ever known her to lose her temper?"

That gave him a moment of pause, "Who? Lahar?"

"No, Andraste, the Maker's Bride - of course Lahar, you moron!" growling, and Zevran had to wince when the mage rubbed over a tender spot a little too hard.

Grunting instead, "My Warden does not have a temper to lose."

The apostate's answer came as he was inspecting his surroundings. A small room, wood, bed made from wool and rope on a frame, and a pervasive stink of fire. An all together unremarkable little room in someone's home. "If you continue to think like that, Zevran, people will get hurt. Many people."

Given pause by the fact that Morrigan had used his name, he conceded, "Alright, I suppose she does get irritated sometimes."

Usually with me, and then she always looks like she wants to stomp her foot and wave a fist around and call me something silly, and he had to repress a smirk, because it was endearing in its own way.

"Oh yes, yes I saw her irritated today. She was not angry a'tall, merely miffed," her voice lilting in a merrily mocking way on the words.

Unfamiliar with the word, "Miffed?"

"Oh yes, miffed," she nodded agreeably. "I know anger when I see it, elf, and Lahar was barely past irritated into 'miffed'. Not aggravated, but annoyed of a certainty."

This conversation was confusing him now. And the Antivan didn't particularly like it. What he wanted was Lahar, not Morrigan tending to him. He needed to ensure that his Bonded was whole and unharmed for himself, not be berated and told that his Warden was 'miffed'.

Giving the Chasind's hand a push so he could sit up - only to be forced back down by a branding iron-hot hand on his shoulder, "Alright, fine. She is miffed. And this is a problem?"

Morrigan's lips pursed into a narrow line, "You need new weapons now."

Blinking rapidly, Zevran had to think about that for a moment before he could choke out, "What?"

"She immolated everything," arching her brows. "Your armor barely protected you with the help of that ring you wear. And you were not even in the path of the blast."

Grimacing, "But she is not any good with fire. She can barely manage to heat up a tub of water let alone -"

"Tis a certain fact that I am aware of, elf," interrupting him, and all the air in his lungs came out in a whoosh of surprise. "Also, if you were to step outside this hovel, you would see a large, smoking hole in place of half of this grungy collection of similar hovels that the imbecilic Dryden calls a village."

He felt his eyes begin to bug from his eyes in shock, "She what? No, she could not - she did, didn't she? Braska!"

"Yes, she did. Because she was miffed," a vaguely smug tightening at the corners of her mouth.

Pressing his face into his hands, "And... what has this to do with me?"

"It is due to you that it happened, thus it is your fault she lost her temper," acerbic and sharp even as it was accompanied by more washing of his battered torso.

"My fault? My fair witch, I did nothing," protesting readily.

The noise of disgust was worthy of an actress, "'Twas it not you that fell in a fight, or was it some other elven male that has joined our party without my knowledge? Must I explain everything in small words for you?"

Gritting his teeth, "I suppose you must."

"Fine, then I shall be very, very clear elf, and you had best use those pointy ears to listen, for I will explain this once, and only once," the mage cleared her throat daintily. "People like Lahar do not lose their tempers, because it seems to be a wise thing for them to suppress their tempers, to their way of thinking. 'Tis a foolish belief, for they will lose their tempers eventually. And when they do, it will be no small thing as these feelings build when they are bottled up. Lahar is unused to dealing with anger and would unleash every ounce of force she could summon. 'Twould be a glorious thing. Just think on it: a mage with her brute mental power, with that fine tuned logical mind of hers, mixing so freely with anger."

Dawning understanding sent a tremor through him, "That would be a very unfortunate thing. Ah, rather bad."

"Bad? Unfortunate? 'Tweren't the sorts of words that could describe it at all!" Morrigan's eyes flashed dangerously. "She ripped half the town from the ground, incinerated it in a flash of a conflagration that was then frozen into ash before being sucked in a hailstorm to be flung far and wide! And 'twas when she was no more than mildly irritated! Anger on the magnitude that would slip the leash she uses on herself would be...catastrophic on a scale even I cannot dwell on without some inkling of fear, Zevran."

Zevran's mind swam with the implications, "My dear witch, are you saying that you -"

"I am saying, elf, that as a mage, Lahar is the most powerful person I have ever met that was unaided by demons," jutting her chin out stubbornly. "Twould seem that it should be obvious before now. In that Chantry-run kennel, we came across a demon of Sloth, who locked us all in the Fade. I was unable to break free. Alistair was unable to break free. Wynne was unable to break free. Lahar did, and freed us all to fight the demon," she huffed. "'Tis most likely that she would not have needed us at all. I knew I was in the Fade, I knew I was in a trap, and that the thing sent to keep me there was a demon and not Mother a'tall. Even so, my own skills and knowledge have limits."

Taking a deep breath, Zevran scooted to sit up slowly, "And your mother? This Flemeth? Is she not more powerful?"

"Mother is an abomination, elf, more demon than simple mage." The news rocked him. "Mother is one of the few I would say could frighten me, if I were ever to admit to such a weakness. And Lahar has no demon or spirit that backs her. Think on that very carefully Zevran. Very carefully."

Raking a hand through his hair, My Warden is very much sweetness and light on the inside. And on the outside a cold wasteland of logic. But inside, there is also the rage and the pain of what has been done to her. It has to be there, somewhere, hidden so deep that she is not even aware of it. What would happen if it were ever unleashed...? Shuddering, Maker help us all.

Taking the washcloth from Morrigan, he made a few quick swipes over himself, putting on an air of cheeriness that he didn't quite feel, "Alright then, it seems I must go placate our tiny, little, dangerous, fluffy ice princess of a bunny monster before she burns the house down around my very ears."

XXX

It was mainly because Morrigan had warned him that he didn't just sit down on the ground in amazement at the destruction that half the small village had gone through. When he stepped outside of the hut, he could clearly see what appeared to be a crater blasted out with lyrium sand infused grenades. A whole cart full of boxes filled with such grenades would leave the ground torn that way. Like some massive creature had taken a shovel and merely... scooped out a bowl shape from the groundsfloor.

But, he had been warned, so all he did was blink once and turn his feet to stagger to his mage.

"Bonita," unsteady on his feet, the Crow pressed towards the edge of the crater, where Lahar was squatting on her heels, chin on a fist. "Please, come away from the edge. It looks unstable."

"Oh!" Lahar shot upwards and was in his arms, like she was trying to steady him. "No, no it's fine, it's pretty sturdy right there, you're supposed to be in bed, and Wynne is on her way, and so are the others, and are you okay?"

Jaw dropping at the flood of words, "Ah, yes, I am quite fine, only a little winded."

"Good, good, um..." her face was tucked into his chest, but he could feel how careful she was to not put pressure on him, "I think I may have done something wrong."

He found that to be an interesting choice of words. "Wrong?" the Crow prompted, allowing the mage to support some of his weight.

It felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to him and then let a bear sit on him afterward. So he supposed he could be forgiven for letting Lahar take some of his weight. Besides she was being rather insistent, what with almost standing on his feet, her arms around his waist and such.

"I was playing," her voice having sunk to nothing but a shame filled whisper. "And I wasn't paying attention. You.. you got.. hurt. Because of me. Because I was being a stupid little girl and playing, instead of being responsible."

Really, whatever cruel jokes the Maker wanted to keep playing, He had best quit using him as the butt of it. Because the horror was what had crushed him, not whatever large item that had been thrown at him. Oh, amante, you pitiful thing. Why must you always judge yourself so harshly?

Taking shallow breaths, Zevran wrapped his arms around Lahar, cupping her head gently, as he felt his expressions ranging from anger to pain to horror chasing across his face. "I was not paying attention either mi nina. To say that it was your fault because you were doing something natural is... unjust. Inaccurate and unfair."

"But you got hurt, because of me," she darted a look up at him, and Zevran had to fight to stay on his feet, as it hit him like a load of bricks.

It reminded him of the way she had looked up at her 'papa' in the memory he had been subjected to. Everything hurt: his chest, his ribs, spine, stomach, head, eyes, his mouth. His throat hurt like it was being starved for air. And his skin felt like it was being slowly peeled away and rubbed with salt. Do not look at me like that, please, preciosa, like you are ashamed for something you could not help, and are afraid I will abandon you for that.

Sighing, he grabbed her chin, tilting her face back to look him in the eye, "You did nothing wrong, Lahar. You cannot stand here and beat yourself over something that could have happened even if we were paying full attention." Jerking his head to the side, indicating the crater that had once been half a village, "And to say you did not solve the problem before it became greater, is not something that is possible at all."

Lahar's eyes rolled to the side, glancing at the destruction, "I was annoyed that they caught me unawares and hurt you."

"And so you took care of the problem, simple, yes?" giving her head a little shake via her chin. "It is done and do not think on it so much. Now, if only there was a way to fill that all with water. I could go for a swim about now." Seeking to get a laugh out of her, "You know, in Antiva you would be hailed as a visionary - a new, labor saving method for making public baths. They would love you for it."

Her expression was so serious as she said, "I could put a few blizzards out there, and then Morrigan could melt the snow."

His ribs protested his laughter, but he couldn't help it as he threw his head back. Squeezing her tightly, ignoring the way his chest creaked, "Ah, mi vida you are such a joy!"

Lahar submitted to the hug, returning it, but she sounded utterly confused, "I don't understand."

"Do not worry over it pequena mia," chuckling as he turned to look out over the hole in the ground. "It is most impressive you know, but I do however hope that our packs were not ruined in the blast."

"No, but your dagger and sword got melted because they were half out," the Warden sounded very upset by this.

Waving his hand dismissively, "I have more in my gear, it was time to trade for upgrades anyway."

Smoke was still rising from the ground, and Zevran could see dirt and rock that had been melted into a layer of glass. Hmm, Lahar indeed, she truly was aptly named, raising an eyebrow at the concave blast site. He could tell where she had been standing, for it was shallower there, with the force having spread and deepened as it traveled away from her. The Guild would love to harness someone so powerful, but at the same time would probably deem her too powerful to control. Worse than the spitting cobra Rinna had kept as a pet, for that was merely a dumb animal and incapable of willful action or outsmarting its keeper. Rubbing his palm up and down his Bonded's arm soothingly, the Crow wondered for a brief instant what he would do when he brought her to Antiva. That gave him pause, because he knew it would be unlikely he could ever return, and most certainly not with a prize like the Warden in tow. The Guildmaster and the blood mages would be unable to resist the chance presented to add a mage of this much raw power to their hats as a pretty new feather.

Then again all they would have to do is aggravate her and then it would be unlikely that Antiva City itself would exist afterwards.

Qun'ari invasions, Blights, the Imperium, and Guild wars have never destroyed my beloved and fair Antiva City, casting a glance down at the Warden who was merely looking at her handiwork with a very clinical eye. If one mage lost her temper fully it would be gone. Perhaps if we survive this Blight I shall send a letter to the Guildsmaster, tell him of my intention to return and give him reports on what Lahar is capable of. And make sure that he understands just how much he does not want to get in her way, let alone onto her bad side. In that case, perhaps she and I shall be left alone to vacation there, or to start a cell of my own. It was an interesting thought.

Lahar would adore Antiva and the City itself. Gardens and museums, libraries for her to bury herself in - it would be a veritable Golden City. And there would be food, glorious, delicious food that did not make his stomach ache, or his jaw hurt from too much chewing. And he would be able to drape Lahar in silks and linens fit for her delicate skin, in a climate where maybe she could be warm for once, hang jewels from her beautiful little ears so that they would sparkle and shine under piles of artful curls the way only a few women could truly wear their hair. And there too, Lahar would be as the event that was her namesake, rolling over and destroying or subverting all in her path, leaving a track of destruction behind her, as everyone would fall at her tiny little feet, gasping at her beauty.

Unable to stop the laughter at the image, the Antivan shook his head, waving a hand at Lahar who looked as though she were about to question him.

Mierda, I am besotted... Oh, how the others would laugh if they could see me... How far the mighty have fallen, yes?

XXX

His chest was still sore, particularly around the breastbone and the connections between his collarbones. And he was also still heartily disturbed by the memories of what had been done to Lahar. Because of those alone he had held off seeking sex from his mage since a return to their usual sleeping arrangements. But it had been long enough, and sore chest or no, he wanted to resume their normal activities.

Locking his hands about her waist, he tugged her to press her back to him where they stood in the small hut, "Mmm do you have any idea how lovely you look when playing?"

Lahar tipped her head back, resting her cheek on his chest, looking up at him, sweetly baffled, "I wasn't doing anything."

"Oh?" leaning down enough to kiss her temple. "Then perhaps I was imagining you toying with a string moments ago, probably thinking of attempting to spin the yoyo."

Shame washed over her face, and he felt her trying to pull away, "I'm sorry."

Turning her in his arms, he dipped down so that he could catch her eye, "Lahar, amante, cease. Desist. There is nothing wrong with it, did I not say that I thought you lovely this morning? I would be happy to see you play with the yoyo, you still had yet to get the hang of its use."

She couldn't look him in the eye, but rummaged in the folds of her robe for a moment before presenting the yoyo, "Take it please. I shouldn't have this."

"Tchk, Lahar, do not be so difficult," folding the slim fingers over the simple toy. "Even I had toys as a child if you must know. A horse on wheels and a string to drag it behind me was my favorite." The memory dredged up with a little prodding, "I used to pretend I was Ga'hals Iunimasilsh as I trotted around the rooms and back alley behind the whorehouse. Dragging it by its string and letting out all sorts of mad cries. Or I would pretend I was a wild Dalish, stealing horses from the Ga'hals, in retaliation for some transgression or another." His mage's eyes were large, as if she were trying to imagine him as a child, playing wildly. "I also had a yoyo, a gift from one of the patrons who said every child should have one. He was a woodworker, and brought a large box of them for the children. Of course, Zamitie, the whore who paid the most attention to me, painted a horse on one side, and a halla on the other."

Lahar's fingers flexed around the wooden toy, looking down at it and then up at him again, "I used to hide in the bushes, pretending no one could see me. I would curl into a small ball, and wedge myself between the base of the wall and the roots." White teeth dragged over her bottom lip, making it blanch, "Or I would hide behind a bookcase, or in a closet. Or under the bed in one of the cells."

Zevran knew some of this, but asked anyway, "And what did you pretend?"

"That no one would find me, that if I closed my eyes, I wouldn't exist," voice barely more than a whisper. "I never thought to pretend anything else. They didn't give us any toys, we were taught that we were abominations, and that our existence was to be punished. The human children would run and play tag, or other games. I just... hid. Always. When I learned to read, I would take books or hide in the school rooms and read."

Stroking her cheeks as he tilted her face back, so he could kiss the corner of her mouth, "You need not hide any longer. I shall stand between you and whatever may come."

"That's... my job," it was a sigh against his jaw. "I need to keep the Crows from you."

"Only the Crows, amante, all else I shall keep from you," reassuring her in the hopes of helping her relax.

Lahar stepped up closer, tucking her chin into his chest, "So you'll just simply carry me through the Blight, and then tell the Guild when they come that I am a very formidable and scary person, and you are under my protection, rather than vice versa?" She snorted softly when she rubbed her cheek over his chest, "And never mind that you, yourself are formidable. Do you really think they will buy into this?"

Auck, woman, can you not simply accept things? And must you be so perceptive? Holding a groan of frustration back, "Princessa, they will err on the side of caution. And while they may think there is a possibility that you are no more than a figurehead, they will not dare to test it. You are a mage of... vast means. By simply surviving a Crow attack you have proved this. And to make it through the Blight, even with help, will say to them that you are not to be trifled with, and any that you grant protection to are to be left in peace."

"It means you would have to stay with me, doesn't it?" whispering. The expression on her face was heartbreaking, "Won't you ever be free? Even of me?"

For a second he was completely incredulous, the thought at the forefront of his mind, Why would I ever want that? but what came from his mouth, thankfully was, "Freedom is in the mind, mi cielo. It can never be taken from me."

Before he could say anything else, something too revealing, or at the least something that sounded not all that intelligent, Zevran was leaning down to cover Lahar's mouth with his. The silken smoothness of her tongue as he sucked it between his lips silenced any further commentary from his mage. Which was a bonus. She made him think too much. His Warden swayed in his arms under the onslaught and he felt his ribs creak. Wynne's healing did work wonders, but the connections between ribs and breastbone were still tenuous. Masking the wince, he held Lahar tighter, ignoring the way his chest strained as he squeezed her to him.

He had her half undressed and was pushing her onto the bed, when she regathered her wits, "Wait..."

Moaning into her chest, Zevran knelt on the edge of the bed, pushing her knees apart, "Please, preciosa, I need you."

Fingers were in his hair, tugging firmly, "Your chest, you... you're hurt still."

"I am fine," straightening up, and shoving his leggings down, leaning back on his heels, and stroking his length for her to see him becoming fully aroused.

Large eyes followed the motion, and the blush on her face went down her neck to her chest as she sucked her bottom lip. "They threw a cauldron on you, and Wynne only gave you a partial healing..."

"Mmm, Lahar," tightening his grip on the thickest part of his shaft, Zevran used his other hand to work his sheath along the sensitive part of his cock, letting out a soft groan at how good it felt. "I do not wish to talk about other people while we are in bed together."

His mage scooted around on the bed, tucking her legs under her, and he could see how she wanted to watch him. And if the way her hands clenched her knees were an indicator - touch him. Thrusting against his hand, the edges of the box the bed was in, digging into the shins of his folded legs, Zevran carefully caught her eye, raised his hand to his mouth and licked his palm before returning to use the now slicked callus on his member.

"I just, we need..." it was actually kind of endearing to see her struggle. Her body was telling her one thing, her head another. Lahar's obvious desire for him, as well as her desire to not risk hurting him touched that strange little spark that had almost made him blurt out that he didn't have any reason to be 'free' of her, and fanned it. "I could touch you..."

Slipping from the bed long enough to shuck his leggings, sucking in a sharp breath as Lahar met him on the end of the bed. Her hands were reaching for his hips and she was looking up at him, and all the Antivan could think of was how good her mouth would look on the end of his cock. Stroking her hair, and tangling his hands in the locks, it took inordinate effort to not simply pull her to his aching erection. Instead, he leaned down to feather kisses over her upturned face.

It was the touch of her fingers combing through the dense curls around the base around his prick that elicited a low hum, and caused him to aim for a delicate ear so he could make his request. "Mi tierra, I would like to suggest something, if you are amenable."

Hunched awkwardly as he was over her, it gave the Warden free reign to press her mouth to his chest and mumble, "What do you need me to do?"

Flexing strongly in her grip, "Please mi diosa tierra y cielo your mouth."

For a brief time he thought he would need to give her more direction than that, but he hadn't wished to push. Lahar was completely comfortable touching him with her hands, and rubbing her face into his stomach and chest, but had never ventured below his navel before, so he had wished to be cautious, all things considered. However, his damaged little mage blinked a few times, pulling away to look at his manhood for a moment as though seeing it for the first time, cheeks turning even rosier than they had been before flicking a glance up at him.

"Like how you do to me?" the crystal white of her eyes almost glimmering in the dim light thrown by the tallow candle.

Releasing a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding, "Si, hermosa diosa, por favor, just so."

The flash of her tongue over her bottom lip drew his eye as she set out slowly, shy and unsure. Tentative kisses to his hips and stomach as she gradually worked her way to the throbbing heat of his prick, left shivering moist trails. Zevran stayed still, watching Lahar while he brushed his fingers with exceeding gentleness over her hair, encouraging his Bonded without words. When he finally felt the still very tiny kisses along his shaft, he let out a sigh of relief. Her lips, just like her hands and feet, were always cool, and against the heat of his length, it was half relief, half torture. An experimental pass of her tongue left a long line of rapidly cooling wetness down the underside, making him shudder.

Like butterfly wings, the press of her lips was a barely there thing, that was joined by brief exploratory swipes of tongue. When she finally reached his tip, she pulled back a moment, tilting her head to the side and blinking rapidly before taking a deep breath and parting her lips. Zevran moaned as chilly lips and warm tongue contrasted along his sheath, moving the skin back. Lahar flinched away in surprise, eyes darting up to look at him and then back down.

Stroking her jaw, "Shh, it is alright mi cielo, you do not have to -"

"I didn't think about that," nose scrunching, and her upper lip folding over her bottom one in a peculiar expression of curiosity. "Um... do I just, push it back?"

"If you like," shrugging as he ran a thumb over her bottom lip. "To me the only important thing is that you like doing this well enough that you would be willing to do it again."

The mage's eyebrows drew down tightly over her nose, "But this is supposed to please you."

Stretching his shoulders until they popped, the Crow slid his hands over Lahar's cheeks until his hands were buried in her thick wavy, hair, "Amante, anything we do is not solely for one of us, or the other. If you are uncomfortable or your experiences with me are not pleasing to you as well, why would we repeat such an act? No, this has to be pleasant for you."

Lahar barely took a moment to think about that, before she was easing his foreskin back, "Is this what you meant by exploring you the other night?"

His answer was a cut off hiss, because she squeezed behind the head of his cock, "Yess."

A bead of pre-cum welled from the slit which his Bonded examined for a moment before her tongue came out and she licked it away, "Oh! That'swhat you taste like..."

Zevran was about to speak, but wound up only grunting for his Warden's mouth wrapped around him once more and she began swirling her tongue over him inside her mouth. Head lolling back, his grip tightened in her hair and he had to resist the urge to thrust against the sensation rolling over him. Sweet Fortuna! was all that popped into his mind. With Lahar, Zevran had not felt much need to hold himself back in his pleasure, only in his demands, so he did not struggle against the building tightness in his groin. Besides, it is not as though I am not going to reciprocate,unable to fully stop himself from slowly rocking against Lahar's ministrations. She let out a tiny little hum of surprise the second time he did that, which in turn sent vibrations all the way up his length, and the Antivan groaned his encouragement.

His orgasm was fast approaching, and his breathing picked up speed, and as if Lahar sensed his need she too picked up speed. Her entire focus had been on his tip, while one hand held him at the base, as her other arm was wrapped around his hips. Growling Zevran disentangled a hand from her hair, and began jerkily rubbing his shaft, while her mouth suckled at him, her bright eyes staring up at him watchfully. There was nothing purposefully artful in that look, almost entirely comprised of innocent curiosity. In some ways that expression itself was enough to send him over - no one had ever watched him other than her with such patent questions on their face, as if he was the most fascinating thing in existence. And since it was combined with the feeling of her tongue repeatedly running over and around and up and down the crown of his prick - well, that was quite a bit to resist. Which he hadn't planned on doing anyway.

Attempting to pull his hips away from Lahar resulted in her issuing a tiny growl of her own, and the mage's hold on him increased. So it was with a laughing moan that Zevran attained his bliss, because the way her eyes had narrowed up at him, and the fact that even with his cock in her mouth, she had almost pouted up at him, was far too priceless and comical in one. There was a surprised little mewl as he felt himself pulsing between her lips, but then the suction increased and he could no longer help himself from clutching her head closer to him as he pushed deeper into her mouth. Even so, the Crow kept from being forceful or push in too far, Oh yes, I want this again, I want you pulling the seed from me and that strange expression in your eyes.

Spent the Antivan let Lahar go gently pulling away, and watching as she blinked slowly, licking her lips after she swallowed, "You taste interesting. Sometimes I can taste myself on you, but then other times, it's different." She ran a finger along the tendon that ran the length of the inside of his now highly sensitive thigh, "Now I know why."

Sinking down on the bed, Zevran grabbed her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm, "I had not intended on releasing myself in your mouth, at least, not the first few times, as it is considered... ah..." he took a moment to find the right word, "Impolite. Some find it unpleasant..."

"It's... different," the Warden gave a tiny shrug, before tugging her hand from his and began wriggling out of the last vestiges of her clothes. "It's really salty, and thick. A little bitter too."

Reaching out, he pulled her close to him, and partially covered her body with his own, "There is a creature, a ah... shellfish? Oyster, it makes pearls. It is also considered a delicacy. I myself have always found them quite tasty." Nuzzling at the corner of Lahar's jaw, while one hand snaked a meandering path over her side and hip, "It has always reminded me of how a man should taste, although, that very much depends on what he has eaten of late."

A smooth leg wound around his thigh, Lahar's arms wrapping around him, and stroking his shoulders, "I've never had an oyster. If they taste like you, then that's not bad."

Arching over the other elf, Zevran's lips sought out that spot behind her ear, his still busy hand continuing to run over her soft skin, working his way slowly to her flower, "Mm well, then we shall have to see about finding some. Rivers have their own brand of shellfish, and they all have certain qualities that a body needs. This Ferelden habit of consuming only meats from four legged creatures, grains that grow in dry fields or tubers, is rather tiresome. No wonder everyone is so pasty, they are unhealthy."

"I don't think it has to do with -" her thought was cut off with a soft gasp, and he smiled as he massaged her nether lips open with his fingers. "Zev -"

Tracing over her entrance with his middle finger, the Crow used his thumb to skip over the peak of her clit, 'writing' the letters of his name around and on the ridge, as he worked his finger slowly into her channel. Kissing the corner of her lips as they pursed in a tiny moue of broken concentration, Zevran felt how her muscles clenched around the shallow intrusion of his fingers, seeking to pull them in deeper. Rotating his wrist as he withdrew and thrust back into her channel, Lahar whimpered, her face turning to his in restless desire. Meeting her questing mouth, he gradually sped up the touches until Lahar arched, letting out a soft cry against his lips.

While she was still floating in the aftershocks, he withdrew his fingers, to replace them with his manhood with a deep thrust. A strangled keen, and his Warden's limbs clamped about him, her hips bucking upwards, drawing him in all the way. Wetness and tight flutters around his length clasped him, and Zevran growled, burying himself entirely in Lahar's embrace. Her gasps and moans were right beside his ear, spurring him to ride her mercilessly, sucking on a patch of flesh on her shoulder, as his hips rose and fell. Nails scrabbled over his back, and his Bonded's back bowed, her breasts pressed to his chest, with her mouth open in a soundless cry. Forgetting everything other than her, Zevran let the heat burst from him into her body as she suddenly went lax.

With a sigh, Zevran let his weight sink fully on Lahar, a hand slipping into her hair and clutching it tight, as he whispered in her ear, "Amante, es mío, toda la mina. Nunca permití que vaya."

XXX

Preciosa - precious
Mi nina - my girl
Mi vida preciosa - my precious life
Mi ciel - my sky
Si, pequna - yes, my little one/girl
Bonita - beautiful girl
Amante - lover
Mierda - shit/fuck
Mi tierra - my earth
Mi diosa tierra y cielo - my goddess of earth and sky
Si, hermosa diosa, por favor - yes, my beautiful goddess, please
Amante, es mío, toda la mina. Nunca permití que vaya - Lover, you are mine, all mine. I will never let you go.