Chapter 9: Maker's Blessings

Zevran was looking at Cat with an indulgent smile as she was carefully picking the lock on the side door of the small village Chantry. Her obsession with locks never failed to amuse him. While he could easily deal with the simpler mechanisms himself, she was a master of the art, always on the lookout for new challenges. She even carried a set of intricate locks with her for practice, and she'd squeal with delight whenever she'd solved a particularly intriguing puzzle. He much preferred to enter by way of roofs and balconies himself, but then his victims would usually rely more on guards than on complicated locks. In his line of work stealth served him better, and he'd never been much interested in thieving and robbery.

Not that they had come to rob the place tonight. There wouldn't have been much point in it; the village was poor, the Chantry almost deserted even in the daytime. The Revered Mother was an ancient, rather sweet lady, who was now peacefully asleep in her little house across the village square. No, they had come for something else.

The lock opened with hardly a noise and he could almost see her triumphant smile despite the darkness. Cautiously they moved through the aisle, making sure all was quiet. The building was completely silent and looked quite beautiful in the dim light of the small lamp burning in honour of Andraste. Zevran pulled Cat towards a quiet spot close to the western wall, where a carpet covered the floor.

"Finally some privacy!" he breathed into her ear as he drew her into a close embrace.

She laughed, torn between qualms and desire. "Zev, you're mad," she whispered. "Why here?"

He shrugged, his hands already busy with the fastenings of her armour. "Why not? It's warm, safe, reasonably comfortable. Much cleaner than our inn. And I'm sure the Maker sees all that we do anyway!"

She shook her head, unsure whether to laugh or to scold. "You're impossible!" she moaned against his lips, but his quick, feather-light touches were very convincing, and she didn't really put up any resistance when he began to undress her.

Alistair couldn't believe his eyes. He'd asked the Revered Mother for the Chantry key earlier that day, telling her he wished to come back later to pray. That was only half true, however. What he really needed was a quiet place to think. The realization that Arl Eamon and Bann Teagan expected him to take the throne after the Landsmeet had hit him like a ton of bricks. He was no king, he knew that. The peace and quiet of the Chantry would help him weigh his options, or so he hoped as he settled into a corner pew, half hidden in the shadows.

He didn't hear them come in. They were moving so silently, so stealthily, that he only noticed them when they stepped out into the brightly lit patch where the moon was shining through the huge side window. For a second he considered making his presence known, but then he heard them laugh and whisper, and he held back for a moment, curious as to their intentions. They were only a few yards from him, yet he couldn't make out their words. It was only when they began to kiss passionately that he realized what they were doing here.

He was shocked by their audacity, appalled at the affront to the devout, yet at the same time he couldn't bring himself to step forward to call them out. The sheer unearthly beauty of the scene was utterly captivating as they embraced each other, their lips hungrily seeking each other, their hands dancing over their bodies to quickly remove their armour. When Zevran started to pull up Cat's thin linen shift, Alistair couldn't suppress a quick gasp. They both froze for a second, then he could see Zevran whisper something in her ear.

She laughed with abandon and slowly, gracefully raised her hands to pull the shirt over her head. The soft movement of her breasts as her arms rose and sank back again to her side was the most seductive thing he'd ever seen. His own amorous exploits after leaving the Order had been limited to hasty fumblings in the dark with willing barmaids in the taverns on the road. This was a completely different experience. He watched, almost in a trance, as they both undressed, their naked bodies locked in a tight embrace, their limbs tangled, their faces ecstatic.

When Zevran's lips closed around her nipples, he could hear her cry out softly. Alistair trembled, realizing that watching them had made him more aroused than he could remember ever having been. It was all he could do to keep his hands away from his own, rock-hard erection, when he saw Cat slowly getting on her knees in front of her lover and he heard the assassin groan with pleasure.

Zevran pulled her up again into a long kiss, then turned her around, making her bend down over one of the pews. Alistair had a full view of the scene as Zevran slowly, languorously, entered her, taking his time as she moaned with pleasure. The knight felt a furious flame on his cheeks, an urgent heat in his groin as he desperately fought to keep some vestige of control. As their sighs got more breathless, their movements more frenzied, he couldn't take it any longer. Snatching the opportunity when they both cried out in ecstasy, their eyes closed, he quickly snuck past the pews and out through the side door, his whole body shaking with need and confusion.

Zevran pulled Cat's body closer to his, licking the pearls of sweat off her naked back, and laughed softly. "Well, do you think he enjoyed what he saw?" he whispered against her ear.

She made a small sound, halfway between lust and amusement. "I bet he did," she purred. "I have a feeling we had a very appreciative audience."