Unsubtle Threats

Zevran Aranai was a pretty good assassin, even if not the best. He had potential and that had kept him alive over the last few years and granted him some nice contracts. While he was above average, he was not among the very best. With this knowledge he had taken an impossible contract: To kill the last remaining Grey Wardens in Ferelden. He had made the highest bid and that had not been very difficult. Not many had been keen on this mission. It was a suicide mission if he had ever seen one, and should have meant death either by the hands of the fabled Grey Wardens themselves or by the Crows upon failing. Ultimately, that had been his reason to take it. He had come to die and as he had been laying on his back, a dagger hold to his throat and one of those Grey Wardens straddling him, her eyes grey fire, he had thought he had reached his goal.

He had laughed then, had been glib. Not because he hadn't been afraid, but because he was searching death – and death at the hands of a beautiful woman was even better than death at the hands of some random warrior. But she had looked at him and listened and then she had let him live. It puzzled him, to say the least. She had simply stood up, sheathing her daggers, and thrown him a last glance before she turned around. "Come, we need to bandage your wounds", she had said and walked off, expecting him to follow.

So while he knew perfectly well how he had ended up here in this camp, in the midst of a very strange group, it still puzzled him. The Warden had let him live in exchange for a promise, just like that. She had bandaged his wounds, allowed him to rest under her vigilant watch and then she had led the group on. A smile crept onto his lips as he turned to look at her as she emerged from her tent. She had slipped out of her armor and wore nothing more than her tunic now, which was riding up her thighs as she stretched with a satisfied moan.

Yes, that woman was indeed a deadly sex-goddess, so much was sure. He had watched her, watched in battle where her movements almost looked like a dance, raining blows and thrusts in quick succession and with deadly precision, spinning out of harm's way all the while. His gaze traveled up her long legs – marvelously long – and over her flat stomach – pale and soft skinned, he knew that much by now, having help to dress her wounds. He let his eyes roamed further up her slender figure, taking in the soft curve of her bosom, finally unrestricted by her chest bindings – small, but tender; just the right size to fit into the palm of his hand – and further up to her face. She had her eyes closed and a smile on her face, enjoying the cold breeze on her skin, and his smile widened. She was not the most beautiful woman he had ever seen – there had been beauties from Rivai with dark skin and even darker eyes; he had seen the noble women at the Orlesian court, clad in silk with pale skin and alluring smiles and graceful elven girls, their features far more delicate and their eyes like the sea and the forest all at the same time. No, his lovely Warden was not the most beautiful woman, she was too grim for that, her eyes too hard and her smile too hesitant. She couldn't be described as pretty, either, not when she brought death with a single movement and commanded her hound to rip them apart. But she was something else altogether, strong and dangerous and bewitching like few other women. She was something else altogether, because she was the kind of woman who threw herself at emissaries to protect her comrades, who shouted angry insults at an ogre for daring to lay a finger on her dog, who kept on going even when she was broken and bleeding.

Zevran also knew without doubt that a night spent with her would be delicious and unforgettable. A night with those long legs wrapped around him, a night in which he could make her smile and moan and-

The elf looked around when he grew aware of a set of eyes lingering on him. The Warden's mabari, Fang, was sitting just on the other side of the fire, his dark eyes fixed on Zevran, almost unblinking. Only after a few moments the animal let his tongue loll out and panted once and then twice, before sitting down, never looking away. The assassin raised an eyebrow quizzically, but Fang just kept sitting and staring.

"What are you up to now?", Alistair suddenly asked, appearing at his side. He had removed his armor, but still wore his gauntlets and boots. His gaze showed suspicion as always and Zevran finally looked away from the dog, a grin pulling at his lips. The young warrior only wiped the look of distrust from his face on rare occasions. He was vigilant and certainly not as trusting as his fellow Grey Warden. Well, save for those moment when he got… distracted – by none other than his fellow Grey Warden. Zevran had the impression it was something sexual, especially with the way Alistair kept looking at her. But then, Zevran had that impression about most things…

"Why, what should I be up too, my handsome Templar?", he asked and almost chuckled when Alistair immediately took a step backwards, careful to keep his distance. "I'm not a Templar", he clarified and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "And I will keep my eyes on you", he warned him before he finally turned to open the buckles of his gauntlets. At that Zevran laughed heartily, putting his chin in his hand as he watched Alistair, his eyes lingering on the broad shoulders and the delightfully taunt muscles that he could make out underneath the tunic. Well, the warrior was a prize to be had, too, but it would be quite challenging to make him jump borders. Especially because he didn't get half of the lewd comments the elf let fall then and again.

"If you want to look, all you need to do is ask. I will show you whatever you like", he practically purred with a grin, fully aware that he would just make the warrior bristle and blush. It was an amusing part-time, much more fun than to try and talk to Sten or get Morrigan to loosen up a bit. It took a moment, but as soon as the meaning registered, Alistair started to fidget sure enough, his back growing stiff as he threw Zevran a glance over his shoulder, the blush evident on his cheeks. "Maker help me, then", he bit out and hastily pulled of his gauntlets.

Satisfied by that reaction, Zevran turned to catch a glimpse at the Warden again, but she had already turned her attention towards her mabari. The dog trotted over to her, rubbing his big head against her thigh with a low rumbling sound that Zevran could hear all the way over to where he was sitting. She crouched down to take his head between her hands, rubbing her thumbs over his skull and the animal closed his eyes in pleasure. When she stood up again to move off towards the river, the hound opened his eyes again and they immediately landed on Zevran. He started to move towards him slowly and there was a tension in his body that made the elf uneasy. Carefully he shifted his weight and got up, never looking away from the approaching dog. When Fang reached the camp fire, he lowered his head to sniff at the heap of firewood. After a moment he closed his jaws around the biggest log and started to pull it from the stack. It was easily as thick as Alistair's upper arm and nearly as long, but the mabari lifted it after just a short struggle and brought it over to the elf, where he let it drop. Their eyes locked again and Fang wagged his tail, just once, cocking his head to the side ever so lightly.

Zevran raised an eyebrow and nodded towards the log: "You want me to throw that?" The mabari let his tongue loll out, panting patiently without so much as blinking. Now the assassin raised his other eyebrow and felt something akin to nervousness stir in him. "I'm afraid, my smelly little friend, you'll need to ask the quanari for that favor. Throwing tree trunks was not part of my job description", he suggested carefully. At that Fang looked back towards the tree line, where his mistress had vanished, and then back at Zevran. He panted – only two breaths long – and his nose twitched as he stared unblinking. Very slowly he took the branch back between his jaws and raised his head, before he bit it in half with a crunching sound, the wood breaking under the pressure of his jaws with a groan. The pieces dropped to the ground, one by one, landing on the ground in a mound of devastation. Slowly Zevran inclined his head in something akin to a nod and only then the mabari turned away from him, trotting over towards the river to follow his mistress.

"Did our canine companion just threaten me?", the elf finally asked carefully and turned to look at Alistair, who had followed the exchange. The deeply amused grin that lit the warrior's face was enough of an answer, but Alistair still commented gleefully: "He'll snap your elf-y limbs like a tiny twig if you even think of harming her."

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I want to thank you guys for your lovely reviews. :) It really makes me very, very happy to read that you enjoy my writing and I hope that now after my holidays are over, I'll be able to write a bit more often and bring some more ideas to paper. If there are any mistakes, please feel free to point them out; my beta is currently very busy with private matters, so I can just hope I didn't make too many mistakes in this one here. :) Thanks again!