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The lovers are silent as they enter their private quarters, which are hidden far from the every day hustle and bustle of the other Grey Wardens. Lynx scans the room and happens upon many objects that she knew had gone missing from their Antivan cottage years beforehand. She had sneaked back in hopes of finding her assassin awaiting her after the fire, but only found the modest space to be ransacked, most likely by the Crows after their capture.
Zevran, taking her silence as consent, quickly strips himself, then her, of their armor then takes her hand once more.
"This way amore." With a gentle tug on the limb, she acquiesces and he guides her to the en suite, where the waiting tub of water has already been heated with fire runes. After a quick kiss, he bids her to settle into the steaming bath first, then gracefully sinks down behind her.
He gently washes her, his lips occasionally grazing a line of tattoo here, a puckered scar there. When he is within reach of her lips though, he hesitates. "I have missed you, my wife," he purrs in his native tongue, his tawny gaze drinking in her vulnerable yet love filled expression, "I swear to you, if I had known-"
"You would have gotten yourself killed trying to stop me from exacting my vengeance," she interrupts with a kiss, her words also flowing in Antivan, "Then both of us would have been dead and it would have been for nothing. Stop worrying about it Zev, what's done is done. We are both here, together, and this-us-is all that matters. Now take me to bed and make me scream before I explode."
"Gladly," he growls, then kisses her, lifts her into his arms, and nearly runs to their destination.
Willing down his eagerness, Zevran gingerly deposits his mage on the duvet, then begins covering her with trails of kisses that only add fuel to her already raging desire. When he has exhausted that route, he uses his tongue to trace the lines and swirls of ink that encompasses the left half of her lean frame.
When his taunting mouth dextrously avoids the ever growing throb hidden between her thighs, she keens a protest and extends her arms to push him where she wants him, but he holds fast. "Tsk tsk beloved. If you try to force me again I fear that I will have to cease my ministrations altogether. You don't want that, do you?"
She growls in frustration, but shakes her head violently and moves her arms upward until her fingers touch the ornately carved headboard. He laves his tongue over one taut nipple as a sign of his approval, lingering long enough to toy with the silver ring attached to it, then shows equal attention to its aching twin.
After a second thorough tour of her physique, the elven man rises from the bed for a moment and ignores her whimpered protest. He rifles through a small box, then turns to show her a bottle filled with a soft blue liquid before returning to the bed and pouring some into one hand. Content with the amount after a few seconds, he knocks the cork back into place, then tosses the bottle aside and lifts one of her legs.
Once her foot is comfortably resting on his shoulder, Zevran quickly dribbles a bit of the oil onto his free hand and mere seconds later his lover lets out a deep moan as his fingers dig into the flesh of her calf. The scent of sugared vanilla wafts upwards, seducing her olfactory senses nearly as much as her lovers strong hands as they seek out every bump, bruise, and unpleasant ache she has and eradicates them.
Understanding now that this is how he wishes to express what turbulent emotions are assaulting him, she accepts the Antivan's sudden change of pace with a languid smile and allows herself to fall as limp as a ragdoll.
Some time later, after having been on both her back and stomach twice, the elf blood is nearly asleep when a jolt of pleasure unexpectedly races through her lower half. She opens her eyes to see his amber orbs hovering over her skin, his gaze swirling with a tempest of feelings all laid bare.
"Aurora, I need you," is all he whispers against her skin. It is enough.
"Please," is her breathless reply.
By the time the couple re-emerges to sate their rumbling bellies, most of the Keep's other occupants have long since retired to their own rooms for the night. Like young lovers they slink through the shadows, Zevran clad only in his breeches as his wife has stolen his long tunic to cover herself with. Soft echoes of their laughter and bare feet dancing lightly over stone ring through the hallway as the descend to the lower levels in search of sustenance.
They eventually make it to the kitchen and immediately begin piling food onto two trays. Spiorad, who has wearily followed them down, chooses to stay behind and aim his focus on a large bone the cooks had left for him while his mistress and her mate disappear into their secluded chambers a second time.
Too ravenous to hold a civil conversation, the assassin waits until they've each had their fill before speaking. "You didn't kill them, did you love?"
Lynx shakes her head and exhales the smoke drawn from her pipe, "No I didn't. I did help them find a working Eluvian that would take the three of them out of Flemeth's reach though."
"But didn't we kill Flemeth? Twice?" he prods after accepting the offered pipe.
"It doesn't appear to have made a difference. Flemeth is still out there running around somehow. Morrigan may be scared of the woman, but she's absolutely terrified of what is coming and how it might involve her child. It is because of her need to protect her son that I believed her," the mages stretches out and rests her head on his leg, "She is also the one who told me that you were still alive and where I could find you."
His features betray his sadness at her shorn locks as he strokes her head, "Did she ever say what she thought was coming?"
"Only that it was going to change everything," she confesses, not bothering to hide her own vexation, "After that, she hinted at some trouble brewing in Amaranthine that needed to be dealt with. It was her ardent warning that convinced me to travel through the area on my way here, but other than a few extra patrols and the occasional lone darkspawn, I could find nothing amiss. She could have been lying, or was wrong...or maybe it just hasn't happened yet."
"The Orlesian Greycloak who Alistair put in charge of Vigil's Keep has reported a recent surge of darkspawn activity," he explains before she can ask his thoughts on the matter, "I am actually set to go investigate her claims in a few days time. You are more than welcome to join me. As a matter of fact, I insist that you do."
She aims a half-hearted back slap at his stomach, "You and an Orlesian Warden? A female Orlesian Warden? I remember how enamored you were with Leliana's accent, so you bet your ass I'm coming with you."
"Ah, how I love it when you get so possessive of me," he announces proudly and leans down to kiss her.
"I have to remind everyone of who you belong to," she snickers, then gasps as his hand travels beneath the hem of her tunic.