Another long one, bring snacks! Also, sometimes my mind goes quicker than my fingers and I leave words out, type the wrong word, etc etc. I felt like that happened a lot this chapter. I tried to catch them all, but I'm sure I didn't. So, sorry for the typos!

In the time since her bold words, Sigrun had run the gamut of emotions. Giddy elation, dreadful suspicion, tentative joy, and now, what seemed like hours after Leliana and Zevran had left: nauseous anxiety.

Someone suddenly loomed next to her, and she flinched. Craning her head back, she blinked in surprise to see the King. "Your Majesty," she blurted out.

He nodded a greeting and dropped to a crouch beside her. For a long minute, he didn't say anything. Sigrun wondered if he just needed some company to distract himself from the fact that his former Blight companions were, at this very moment, looking for his wife. And he couldn't help them.

"You know, Lorelai was always good at this sort of thing," he finally said, rubbing his hand over his hair roughly.

"Good at what?"

He glanced at her sideways. "This…pep talk, matchmaking stuff."

"Matchmaking?" Sigrun echoed, her heart giving a couple ill-sounding thumps.

The King gave her a tired smile. "You haven't really moved from this spot since we got here, and when you did, it was only to help gather firewood." He gestured with his head to where Anders and Nathaniel were crouched, conversing quietly.

"I'm…tired," she said lamely, following the shadows along the lines of Nathaniel's jaw with her eyes.

"Sure you are," he agreed, raising an eyebrow. "Tired from all that over-thinking you've been doing, no doubt." She opened her mouth to protest, but he held up a hand to stop her. "Harsh times let you find out who you really are, and who those around you are." He glanced around the camp. "I found out what I was made of during the Blight, and I found out what Lorelai was made of."

A bright, boyish grin suddenly appeared on his face. "I liked what she was made of…and I liked that she made me want to be better." The smile faded. "Life is too short to waste time thinking about why we feel what we do, especially for Wardens. Just…trust in what Nathaniel has to say to you. Don't wonder, don't question. Just trust." He shot her another glance. "You do trust him, don't you?"

"Yes," she answered quietly, her fingers tying themselves in knots in her lap.

"Maker, am I botching this up or what?" the King asked, a sheepish expression on his face.

"No," she said, her face feeling hot that she was having this conversation with him of all people. "You, ah, you actually helped. Thank you."

He brightened considerably. "Oh…well, good." He looked up, and then hastily got to his feet. Clearing his throat loudly, he abruptly departed.

Sigrun looked up in confusion at his sudden exit, and found herself staring at Nathaniel, his lean body on the opposite side of the fire from her.

Her breath slid in with a gasp. In the time she'd had to herself, Sigrun had laid out the contents of her heart. The conclusion she'd come to was as terrifying as staring off a ledge: that she wanted him to kiss her again. Not just in that flippant, off-the-cuff way she'd mentioned earlier. Wanted it with an intensity that she'd never felt for anyone or anything before.

Her chest tightened and tears burned in her eyes. What could the son of a noble want with a casteless dirt clod from Dust Town? It was so stupidly illogical, so implausible. She was nothing special. And he was…

Trust him.

Clenching her fists tightly, she blinked to clear her eyes and forced what she hoped looked like a semi-normal smile. His lips mirrored her, and held just as much anxiety. Walking slowly, he made the half circle around the small fire to her side, and sat down.

"I don't care where we talk," he began. "We can do it here, or we can go off into the jungle, if you'd like."

The deep, quiet murmur he was using to keep their conversation private shivered along the edges of Sigrun's spine. Would his voice sound like that in bed, with his arms wrapped around her? "Here's good," she answered in a slightly strangled whisper.

"All right." He took a deep breath, and blew it out loudly. "I…apologize for the way I kissed you. It was wrong to do it in front of everyone, to do it without talking to you first."

"It wasn't wrong," she disagreed, shaking her head. "I was shouting at you like an idiot. It was an efficient way to stop me," she explained to his shocked face with a quiet laugh.

Nathaniel was taken back by her response for a minute. "I just hadn't seen you in so long, and all that time I spent thinking, and then Zevran-" he snorted. "Let's just say we might not be having this conversation if it weren't for his…persistence."

"Zevran?" she asked, confused. Her mind flashed back to the first moment she'd met him, his uncomfortably blunt questions, and she felt her face drain of blood. That slick assassin had pegged her from the minute she'd spoken in Nathaniel's defense. And Leliana-

Sigrun let out a harsh exhale, and then started laughing. She covered her face with her hands and leaned forward. The manipulation was superb, really. And from so many miles apart, too, if Zevran had been working on Nathaniel all the while they were together. By the Stone, those two were as dangerous to their friends as to their enemies.

"Something funny?" Nathaniel asked in that low voice.

She raised her head, meeting his confused eyes. "Not you, Nathaniel, don't worry. Just," she gestured vaguely toward the fortress, "those two slippery, conniving-"

"Yes," he agreed with a smile, now that he was aware she wasn't laughing at him. "I felt quite, ah, stupid after someone else had to point out something I should've known myself."

"What should you have known?" Sigrun whispered, her breath catching on her tongue. Laughter at their blindness aside, she needed to hear certain…things. She didn't know what they were, and it was unfair to expect Nathaniel to be able to figure it out, but she needed to hear something.

Nathaniel bowed his head for a moment, strands of his dark hair dangling down. When he finally raised it again, it wore a tantalizing mixture of bravery and vulnerability. "That you make me want to be a better man. For you." He blinked and took a deep breath, like that wasn't exactly what he meant to come out. "I want to be a better man for you, to be the man you deserve." His mouth twitched, like that wasn't quite right, either. "I want to be…yours. If you'll have me, that is," he added with a self-deprecating laugh.

That was it. Each different wording, each slightly adjusted incarnation. Exactly what she needed to hear. And even though her blood was singing its way through her body, even though she did trust him, she couldn't stop the words her past pushed out. "Even though…I'm nothing? Even though I'm a casteless, ex-legionnaire, surface dwarf?"

His face hardened. Reaching over, the nobleman's son cupped her cheek in his calloused hand. "I don't want to ever hear you say that again. You are not nothing. You are fierce and loyal. You are demanding and undeniable. A fast-thinker and a sweet-talker. You are impossibly lovely. You are a Grey Warden," his face softened as he paused, "and you've captured my heart like only an accomplished pickpocket like yourself could've managed."

The song coursing in her veins rose to a volume that drowned out almost everything else. "So, is that how you think this is going to go?" she managed with a half-smile. "You're just going to tell me what I can and can't say?"

He laughed and dropped his head shyly, and that single gesture sealed the deal for the scout. She gave one of the loose, dangling pieces of dark hair a gentle tug. When he looked at her, Sigrun leaned forward until their noses were almost touching. "Well?" she challenged.

Swallowing hard, he still met her stare for stare. "You're not allowed to speak badly about yourself," he insisted in that low, crawling-across-the-bed voice. "Am I yours?" he asked.

She held her breath for a few seconds, drawing out the delicious moment as long as possible. "Yes."

He closed his eyes briefly. "Then I defend you…even if it's against yourself," he explained when he opened them. "So, see, I'm not really telling you what to do."

Their lips were very nearly touching. She could feel the breath of his words against her skin. "Nathaniel?"

"Hmm?"

"Will you kiss me?"

His serious eyes flashed with a flare so distinctly male that Sigrun's stomach clenched. She breathed in, and it was like her inhale pulled his lips against hers. It was so unlike the first, which she'd been too shocked to enjoy. This was…thorough. With each beat of her heart, her bones seemed to melt more and more.

Maybe they should have taken this away from camp a little bit.

"Leliana?"

Anders' voice severed the moment, and Sigrun whipped her head around to see Leliana and Zevran ease out of the night. The mage had the bard in a crushing embrace before anyone else could think of moving. The King was the next over to invade their space, and as soon as Anders released the Orlesian, he squeezed the life out of her, too.

Sigrun got up and hurried over, feeling Nathaniel right behind her as the rest of camp converged on the returned pair.

"Is no one happy that I have returned in one piece?" Zevran asked in feigned pain. "It is heartbreaking, truly."

Sigrun stepped forward quickly, and wrapped her arms around the elf. "Thank you," she whispered in his ear, before backing away toward Nathaniel again. "Can't have anyone feeling left out," she said in a louder voice.

"Indeed," Zevran answered, his piercing eyes flicking from her to Nathaniel. "That will not do." He inclined his head, then gave her the courtliest bow she'd ever seen.

"Please tell me something," the King begged into the silence as Zevran straightened up.

"We need to gather all the food Zevran and I can carry…reasonably," Leliana said. When the King paled drastically, she patted his arm reassuringly. "They're feeding her, dear one, not to worry. They are also drugging her, however. We can't get her out while she's under its influence. It makes her clumsy."

"It is also smothering her ranger abilities," Zevran added. "I am familiar with this drug. She is in no physical danger, but she is hampered, definitely."

"She's all right, Alistair," Leliana said firmly, staring the man in the face. "As all right as she can be, at least," she admitted with a shrug. Grabbing his hands, she swung them playfully. "She asked after you."

"Did she?" the King asked thickly, watching his hands involuntarily move from side to side.

"First words she spoke," Zevran confirmed.

"Once we flush the drug from her system, we'll be able to work from there," Leliana finished. "We'll have to be quick; we need to go back tonight."

"Tonight?" Anders squeaking, losing all his color. "Like, right now?"

"Easy, witch boy," Oghren snorted. "I know she's yer cherry-pie and all, but there's a job to do, so keep yer girlie blubbering to yerself."

The mage swallowed hard, eyes glazed over like he was about to be sick.

"Anders," Sigrun said calmly, and she waited until he looked at her. Then she glanced pointedly at the King.

The mage turned to face the other man, and he swallowed again. "Forgive me, Your Majesty," he mumbled, dropping his eyes. "I shouldn't be- I hope you don't think-"

"It's all right, Anders," the King said gently, patting the blond on the shoulder. "I understand the gut reaction, believe me." He turned back to Leliana. "Who are they?" His voice growled along the edges.

Leliana flicked a glance at Zevran. "That's not terribly important right now. Let's gather the food, and when Zev and I come back, we'll talk about that."

"It's what? 'Not terribly important'?" the King demanded, muscles tightening. "What do you mean-"

"Alistair," the bard hissed. "Suffice to say things are not what they seem. Lorelai, and yourself, are in danger. All that is important is that we find her a way out. There will be time for bloodletting and blame later, trust me."

The King stared at her for a moment, his entire body trembling. Then he slumped. Eyes locked miserably on the ground, he nodded.

Sigrun could only dream of mastering the kind of control that Leliana had. And yet, with the King's eyes safely on the ground, the dwarf could've sworn she saw a wave of tight pain cross the bard's face.

Must be a trick of the darkness.

"Now off you go," said Zevran, shooing them with his hands. "Collect food like good little gatherers."

As they dispersed, Sigrun couldn't help the small smile on her face as out of the corner of her eye she saw Leliana allow Anders to embrace her again. This one was less desperate, and filled with tenderness and relief instead.

Her smile quickly faded, however, as she watched the bard part from her mage and turn to the King. Taking his hands, she sat down with him on the camp's periphery. Sigrun obviously couldn't hear what she was saying, but her chest filled with painful steel as the King's whole body swayed forward, his face crumpling in exhaustion and worry.

Only Leliana's hands on his shoulders kept him upright.

Lorelai couldn't stop trembling. Alistair was here. On this island in the middle of nowhere. He'd found her, and brought enough strength to level these bastards and their Andraste-damned fortress.

No more eating their drugged food. Eat only what Zevran and Leliana brought back to her. Once she was no longer chained by Ranger's Reins, she'd know what she was capable of. If she could escape, despite her child's heavy weight. If she could defend herself should she need to.

All right, so the second part of the plan was a bit fuzzy. And calling it "fuzzy" was being generous. She was fine with that. It would occupy her time to attempt to come up with a solution. One thing she knew for certain: a frontal assault, something Alistair would no doubt be calling for, was absolutely out of the question. Unless he had some siege engines hidden under his breastplate.

She had to trust Leliana and Zevran to keep him from doing that. Whatever it took.

The child in her belly shifted again, pressing against the inside of her womb, bringing both a smile and grimace to her face. That wasn't the only thing she had trusted them with. With Andraste's mercy, Leliana would keep her mouth shut. Lorelai knew Zevran would.

There was a polite knock, and the door swung open without invitation. Grady strolled through the door, as nonchalant as ever.

Lorelai's mouth went dry with terror. Leliana and Zevran would be coming back. She had to get him out of here. Now.

"I trust you're enjoying your stay?" he asked, lacing his finger together behind his back.

She gave him a glare worthy of the Queen of Ferelden. The less she talked, the shorter this conversation would likely be.

"You think you'd be feeling nicer towards me, after that bath I so graciously gave you," he thought aloud. He tapped his chin for good measure, painting the picture of a puzzled, rejected suitor.

A low snarl purred in her throat. Not from him. From Keep. Could the man not give any kind of "gift" without taking from someone else?

"Now, that's how I'll get you to talk to me," he said. He wagged a finger at her like she was a disobedient child at the dinner table. "All your silence counts for nothing when I get under your skin." He leaned forward, dipping his head into the shadows where she hid. "We haven't gotten a response from your husband yet. Perhaps your great love story is all a farce, hmm?

"Perhaps I overestimated your ambition. Perhaps he put you up to betraying Anora. Did he marry you because you were the last woman of the Cousland line? To strengthen his tie to the crown?" He laughed suddenly, almost to himself. "If that's the case, then you're the best actress I've ever seen."

The concoction of fear and anxiety that had taken the place of her blood swirled with irrational anger. "Are you a capable…leader, Grady?" she questioned, her voice so distorted with fury it sounded like a stranger's.

"I beg your pardon?" His slick smile faded.

"I hear things…in the halls. Unflattering things. Makes me wonder…what kind of man lets those…under him think such things? Say such things?" What was she doing? He certainly wasn't going to leave now. And she may have just signed Keep's death warrant.

The naked confusion on his face brought such a wave of deadly satisfaction that her lips parted in a muted gasp.

"What do you mean?" he asked quietly. "What have you heard?"

She lowered her eyelashes, affecting an innocent, pained look. "I can't remember…particulars. I can't remember…much anymore. This drug makes it…so hard to think." Lorelai bit her lip for an added flair. "But they say…such awful things. And the other night-"

"What happened the other night?" he interrupted harshly. The energy that emanated from his body was…what? Wound tight as a spring, that was what.

At least now she wasn't even lying. The best deceptions were those with that bit of truth mixed in. "Someone came to the…door of my cell. He said…awful things. He spoke of blood on his hands…threatened me." She didn't need to feign the shiver that shook her words.

As he stared at her numbly, Lorelai drove the spike home. With tears in her voice that she wasn't sure were fake, she accused, "You promised me…safety as long as my husband…and I complied with your demands. I do not feel…safe, Grady, and I think you…can guarantee…nothing."

By Andraste's battle-scarred armor, Grady weaved on his feet like a tree in the wind.

"My lady, if my demands are met, I assure you you're in no danger," he said after a few minutes of gaping silence.

"That you…know of," she retorted, the wounded tone not an act, at all. Through this man's insane scheme, now her life, the life of her husband, and the life of her unborn child were jeopardy. "If you are…wrong, the blame falls at…your feet."

His eyes became dark, sunken pits in his face. Letting out a strangled moan, he fled from her cell, slamming the door shut behind him.

Shaking uncontrollably, Lorelai clasped her arms around her knees tightly.

Oh, Keep. Forgive me.

Leliana managed not to stumble back into the camp, but it was only through a massive effort. As Zevran laid a gentle, comforting hand on her elbow, she took a deep breath. They had better rescue Lorelai soon…if only because she couldn't keep this pretty mask in place for much longer.

They'd gotten back in and out without a fuss, which annoyed the bard. If they'd had to deal with either the pregnancy or Ranger's Reins, she felt confident they would've been able to get her out right now. But the bizarre circumstances of both made it too risky to attempt. It was simply infuriating. With the horrific security detail these bastards were pulling, the whole thing should've been quick and easy.

Her friend had been upset about something they'd arrived, her body wracked with uncontrollable trembling. When pressed, Lorelai had shaken her head, telling them it wasn't important. She'd hurried them out, concerned for their safety if someone were to come by. They'd made sure her food was well-hidden, even though the Warden had assured them hardly anyone came to see her.

Then why had she been so concerned about someone finding them in her cell?

Alistair seemed to materialize in front of her, as Leliana was so preoccupied and drained. Before he could say anything, she raised a hand and plastered a broad, fake smile on her lips. "Everything went well, dear heart," she said.

"It did?" he asked, as if he didn't believe her.

"Of course," Zevran insisted. "Would myself and the lovely bard be here if it had not?"

Tension hummed in the tall man's shoulders for a moment, before he sagged a little. "Yes, of course. Silly thing to question, really. Sorry."

"It's all right," Leliana soothed, patting his arm. "By tomorrow night, the drug should be out of her system, and then-"

"Then we go get her," Alistair finished for her.

"We'll see, darling. It may not be as simple as all that," she said warily.

"Why not?" he demanded.

Oh, Maker, what was she going to do? Leliana bit the inside of her cheek, using the sharp pain to drive back the tears that had suddenly sprung to her eyes. It wasn't just the drug, of course. But how to delay Alistair without telling him? And further more, how to actually get Lorelai out? They couldn't just keep sneaking food up to her. That was going to accomplish next to nothing. If she couldn't fight, couldn't sneak, how were they going to-

"My friend," Zevran chimed in, diverting the ex-templar-to-be's attention away from her. "It's been a long evening. Let's sit down, and I'll tell you everything Lorelai told us about who's behind this."

Leliana's chest contracted with relief. Zevran was a gift from Andraste, she'd swear it. He knew she was about to crack.

"Come, come. Gather everyone around. It will be like story time, yes?" Zevran put a hand on Alistair's shoulder and started leading him away. The elf called out softly, and the rest of their group followed, seating themselves in a loose circle. A couple faces turned to her in question. Whether it was the darkness or her weariness, she couldn't tell who they were. "Ah, no. Our beautiful song bird needs some rest. She already knows the story, she would spoil it for the rest of you, anyway," Zevran explained, waving a hand at her in gentle dismissal.

Oh, thank Andraste in all her mercy.

Leliana walked past the huddle of lean-tos. The shelters were hunched against the rock face that Zevran and Nathaniel had expertly chosen to hide behind. It allowed them a fire without being seen by the fortress, and it helped block the carrying of their voices. The lean-tos struck a strange chord in her chest, making her think of Morrigan. The apostate had never slept in any of the tents with them during the Blight, always keeping to herself.

She entered the encroaching jungle, leaving the murmuring hum of Zevran's voice and the crackling of the small fire behind. She inhaled, the heavy scent of the flora and fauna filling her lungs. Morrigan would've liked this place. Dark. Dangerous. Strangely beautiful. Odd, to think of the witch at a time like this. She had disappeared after the fall of the Archdemon, and Leliana's lip curled in contempt.

Her expression abruptly went blank. Were the rest of them any better? They had stayed for the party, the wedding, for some of the rebuilding. And then…they had up and left Alistair and Lorelai as surely as Morrigan had.

If they had stayed, would they be in this soul-squeezing jungle right now? If she and Zevran had stayed, would they have seen this coming? Would they have been able to protect Lorelai from this ordeal, protect Alistair from his helpless fury?

Leliana's hands twitched into fists as the tears flashed down her cheeks. Lorelai…alone for these five and a half months. Taken by strange men, held against her will, drugged into crippled uselessness, kept for ransom.

And pregnant.

The Orlesian could only imagine how it felt. The idea that men could overpower you, could take you, was something every woman lived with. Sometimes it horrified Leliana to think the only thing protecting people from one another was this idea of civility, of human decency. Sure, religion had a hand in that, but it was still just a belief. There was nothing actually keeping people from slipping the cloaks of sophistication they wore and becoming animals.

But she and Lorelai were both strong women. The idea of men having any kind of power of them was a thought neither woman entertained often. It was simply not something they thought they had to deal with. Now, in this heated jungle, Leliana felt the very harsh reality trying to crush her bones.

She closed her eyes and tried to envision it, needing to put herself in her friend's place. In the dark. Left alone. Hobbled. Trapped. At the mercy of at least two, perhaps more, men filled up to their throats with fanaticism. No word from your friends or family. No reason to believe they could find you. Paralyzed with fear…and yet galvanized with fierce protectiveness by the child in your body.

Leliana's throat seemed to shrink, and the air she drew in turned to a thin whistle. Oh, Maker. Men did not understand what it felt like to be pregnant. The bard had no experience of it herself, but every woman knew the base sense of it. Leliana let out a strangled laughed. Lorelai would probably be feeling just as trapped even if she weren't held hostage. Her baby chained her.

But while she felt chained, she could've been surrounded by friends and family. Doted on as was proper for a loved wife, and especially a loved Queen. Cocooned on a couch, she could've sent Alistair scurrying for countless strange foods from the kitchens.

Instead…

She choked, and her tears increased, washing her face. Damn! Maybe if she let it all out now, she'd be able to keep her act up for long enough to get her friend out of there-

"Leliana?"

She spun around frantically, not thinking about her tears, the absence of her mask of flawless control. "Anders," she whispered in horror. "What are you doing here? You should be…with the others. Getting caught up with what's going on."

"I came to look for you," he answered, taking a small step towards her, his face filled with apprehension. Like she might run.

"You shouldn't have," she snapped bluntly, scrubbing at her face with her fist. "You should be-"

"What's wrong?" he interrupted, ignoring her retorts. "I mean, that's sort of a strange question, considering, but…you're," he took another step forward, hands held out in supplication, "clearly really upset. Please, talk to me."

She glared at him, furious at his intrusion. Was there to be no peace? No few minutes to break and then rebuild herself? She couldn't be a statue all the time; she was human, for the Maker's sake. She'd just needed a little while to let her guard down in private, and then she'd be able to put the mask on again.

"Don't do that," Anders reprimanded softly. "Don't…do what you're doing."

"What's that?" she snarled.

"Bricking it all up again. Don't. It's…it's going to make you snap." When she didn't answer, he continued, "Look, I know what you do for everyone, for Alistair. Thank the Maker you're capable of it, because no one else could've handled it. But…you've got to let go just a hair, darling." He waved his hands in surrender. "If you don't want to do it in front of me, that's fine. I'll go get Zevran," the elf's name was a jealous grunt, "and I won't tell a soul that I saw you this way."

She just stared at him for a moment. All their verbal foreplay, all their outrageous flirting…did she intend for it all to be for nothing? She'd promised Sigrun she wouldn't toy with his heart, and she'd kept that promise. All the while getting herself buried deeper and deeper in his company, his presence. Now, she couldn't keep up her mask and be with Anders. Her heart wouldn't permit it. It was all or nothing.

So, again, the question remained. Did she intend for all their witty dancing to be for nothing?

In her silence, the mage had taken a few steps backwards, retreating from her heated eyes. "I'll get him, you just stay right here."

"No!" she gasped out, lunging forward and grabbing a fistful of his robes. Burying her face against her chest, she wept uncontrollably. She felt his arms wrap around her, holding her tightly against him as she cried.

Zevran had watched Anders follow Leliana's path out of camp. Good. His crimson-haired flower was quite a catch, but it would be foolish of her to expect the mage to stay at arm's length forever.

"Are you all right, my friend?" he asked Alistair, now that everyone else had left in stunned silence. The truth laid out before them had shocked them all.

The Warden King rubbed at his beard's stubble convulsively. "Anora. I can't believe she- After all we-"

"Lorelai did point out that Grady never actually said Anora was involved."

"And you believe him?" snorted Alistair, his bloodshot eyes filled with bitterness. "He's defending his obsession, of course he said that."

Zevran shrugged. "One problem at a time. Once this is over, perhaps I shall pay a visit to Loghain's daughter." The thought brought a hot jet of glee to the assassin's chest. "Just to pose a few polite questions, of course."

Alistair's stare went flat.

Ah, perhaps he should not have said that in front of the sainted, good-hearted King.

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," Alistair said, getting to his feet, "but you'll have any resources at your disposal that you need. After all, one can't keep track of everything. If supplies go missing, who's to say where they went?"

Zevran grinned fiercely. "What an astute observation, Your Majesty. You are a paragon of wisdom."

Smiling tightly, the Warden walked away, leaving the elf alone for a minute. Although he was happy with Alistair's opinion of his future endeavors, he was slightly alarmed nonetheless. He did not want this ordeal to change the man. As difficult as he sometimes made things, Zevran liked him the way he was.

Pushing himself to his feet, the former Crow bled into the darkness of the jungle. He needed to…stab something, and there were trees aplenty. Once he was far enough away not to attract attention, he smoothly removed one of his throwing daggers. Balancing the blade lightly, he gave it an expert toss. The sound of metal burying itself into the wood was satisfying.

Not as satisfying as stabbing, let's say, Grady would be. But it took a bit of the edge off.

He threw his other two, then walked over to the tree to retrieve them. When he turned to go back to his throwing spot, he jumped and cursed luridly.

"Ladies," he said once he recovered from the shock, bowing low to the two elves who had apparently followed him. "To what do I owe the considerable pleasure?"

"Aideen," the one with the curls said. She gestured to the blonde. "Aednat." With a small smile, she added, "You've been busy, so you hadn't gotten a chance to introduce yourself to us."

"Indeed," Zevran agreed, his heart pounding somewhere in the vicinity of his throat. Something about her manner made him feel like he was fourteen all over again, setting back his seduction skills. Well, it would not do to let her know that, would it? "I beg your forgiveness for my poor manners."

"No worries," Aideen assured him. "It's understandable. There's a lot to be done. And you've done so much already."

"We thought you looked like you needed a distraction," Aednat commented, twirling a lock of blonde hair that had escaped the intricate braids she wore. Even in the darkness, Zevran could see her deep blush.

Dear Maker, were they going to offer one of themselves to him just like that? Normally a huge fan of the chase, he was surprised to find his blood running hot at the idea that these two warrior elves would so blatantly, so confidently, approach him. No thoughts of rejection whatsoever.

Feeling much more comfortable addressing Aednat, as she was coyly shy, the assassin replied, "How thoughtful of you ladies. However, I seem to be at a loss. I would not dream of offending by choosing one over the other. Perhaps you should make the choice yourselves…or perhaps you already have."

Aideen's eyes flashed. "Who said anything about choosing?"

Aednat smiled and pulled a few pins out of her hair. With a shake, the massive waterfall of blonde tresses cascaded down.

Zevran was astonished that so few pins could hold the entire thing up and was that actually what he was thinking about right now? His whole body quivered, and without turning around, he drove his three throwing knives into the tree behind him. Anywhere to put the things, anything to free up his hands.

Aideen came to him first, and the kiss she laid on his lips threatened to drown him in power and sensuality. As Zevran kissed her like his life depended on it, he felt delicate teeth nibble the skin of his neck. Reaching blindly, he buried his fingers in Aednat's smooth, thick hair.

He could no longer differentiate who's hands belonged to whom, and when he felt his leather armor start to be peeled away, it was with an alacrity he wasn't used to. Calloused, battle-worn hands slid across his bare chest, making his breath hiss between his teeth.

Andraste's generosity knew no bounds, apparently.

When the crushing despair had finally lessened, when she'd finally run out of tears, she raised her head a bit. Pushing her face against his neck, she let out a shaking breath. "Thank you."

He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat bobbing past her eyes. "Just happy I could be here for you."

"I must look a mess," she said, suddenly self-conscious. She patted ineffectually at her tear-swollen face. Maker, it felt twice its normal size. And patting wasn't going to cut it. Between tears and all the garbage coming out of her nose, she was going to need a cloth the size of a bed sheet.

"You're always beautiful, no matter what. Here, use my robe," he said, offering his sleeve.

"Oh, Anders, I couldn't. I'll ruin it," she protested.

"I don't mind. Besides, you've already cried all over the front, why spare the poor thing?" he said, smiling.

Feeling utterly silly, she used his sleeve to wipe her face off. Finally, she could breathe through her nose again. "Thank you," she said again.

"You don't have to keep thanking me. I'd, ah, I'd do anything for you." He cleared his throat roughly, suddenly finding the leaf-littered ground very interesting.

Leliana felt a sudden urge to feel some joy, to push the despair back that much further until it lost so much footing that she could hold her own against it again. "Anything?" she purred.

The mage's head snapped up, and he dropped the hand that had been rubbing the back of his neck. "Anything," he whispered. Swallowing again, he reached out a tentative hand toward her cheek.

Leliana was not in the mood for tentative.

Snatching his hand, she used it to pull him toward her. He came forward with surprise, but the growled groan that slipped out when she licked her tongue against the thumping vein that lead to his heart was filled with nothing but desire. His hand snaked around her, fingers digging into her back.

"Look at me," he commanded gently, and Leliana obliged, lifting her head to stare up into his piercing eyes.

When he kissed her and slid his hands to the small of her back, pressing her against robes that blessedly hid nothing from her, Leliana couldn't help the moan of pleasure that somehow made it out between their lips.