The dragon raised its great chest as its scales seemed to pull against flesh, it was ready and it was poised to strike — this was her moment to embrace death and die. To never look Ferelden, the Blight, or Alistair in the eyes again. She screamed and ran forward leaping into the air with impossible strength prepared to create a reckoning and correction all of Thedas would feel as she slayed the Archdemon. The Blighted Beast.

Only death never came.

"Vetri?" His voice is soft, his Antivan accent as rich as the day she met him. He was shaking her shoulders and she could feel herself being pulled from her dreams. The roar of the demon, and Alistair calling her foolish, reckless, and wretched was fading away. That had been Alistair's word for her since she'd metaphorically ripped his heart out of his chest and told him to stuff it down his cowardly, kingly trousers. She had called him impotent too, just to put salt in the wounds and because she could.

Yes, these dreams have been more vivid recently and filled with memories of the past, but something sinister lay beneath the surface. A song, a very old sour song.

"Hm, I cannot see your face, but I just know it's reflecting all the dark little thoughts in your head." Her bedmate quipped.

Vetri shook her head, not dignifying him with an answer. Menace. That's what he called her, even if it was in jest. Her labels always stuck, she supposed that's what she was. A wretched menace. Her choices hadn't always been the most digestible ones.

" Vetri…?" The quip was replaced with concern and he tugged her against him and she could feel his warm body pressed against her back and their limbs were still semi-entangled due to the previous night's fervor.

"Zev..." Try as she might, she couldn't conceal the contented sigh releasing from her lips, and it was impossible to resist touching the very arms holding her. Rough, yet so soft from the expensive salves and lotions he used. He always cared so much for his appearance and she felt proud for having taken something as simple as a bath.

Zevran interpreted her touch for reciprocation, and his lips were on her in a heartbeat. He kissed the back of her neck and then nipped down to her exposed shoulder and she shuddered at the feathery touch. The suave rogue never disappointed her in his skill to be a lover, and while her body did not protest him — her mind did not share the same sentiment.

"Zevran," Vetri said more sternly and he halted.

She turned and faced him, struck by just how beautiful he was. Not just in the warm colors of his skin, but the plumpness of his mouth and the subtle fragility hidden behind his golden gaze. She had always yearned to be sun-kissed on the beaches of Antiva. He'd whispered to her one night that despite being unable to return he did yearn to have a little cottage on the coastline and retire, just the two of them, in the lap of luxury with no want for anything. She had called him an idealist. An alienage elf, even one marked as a hero, and a shamed Antivan Crow did not get happiness.

Vetri didn't want anything else, her Crow was enough.

"We need to get up." She broke the silence which had been tense and before he started to whisper his sweet nothings in her ear and before he could protest. She pushed herself up and abruptly rose unashamedly by her nakedness, but unwilling to look at him because she didn't feel guilty in denying him the intimacy he so desired.

"Already? But we've barely started love. The morning is still young." He chuckled, teasing her but there were things left unsaid. Zevran, even after 11 years, still didn't fully trust her. She could say the same. There was a strain in his voice, and the way he said the word love, she could tell he wanted her to say it back to him. Just once. She couldn't. Wouldn't.

Vetri Tabris did not love.

How many years have they been like this? Intertwined together, never putting a name to it. Why would he want to destroy something comfortable?!

"Alright." He resigned when she stayed silent, "If we must get up, I do insist that you at least buy me something to soothe this rejection creeping up." His tone was jovial again but by the slow movements she heard coming from the bedroll, there was a heaviness to him.

"I'm not made of money." She simply replied as she pulled up her clothes, they would need to find a place to clean off. That will be the first task on the list for the day.

"Tell that to all those corpses you keep looting." He retorted lightly but it just earned him a glare.

"Perhaps-" She started, watching him cover up with his own set of clothes, "I'll buy you a lockpick that would grant you the ability to open a chest for once in your life!"

Zevran stopped mid-pulling a shirt on, and his lazy grin was replaced with something else.

That's right, Zev. Hate me, kill me. Tell me what I am. A villain.

Her inner thoughts always won. She hated how carefree he was, how she could murder someone in cold blood and he'd not care enough to call her a monster.

Like Alistair did, and as they all did.

Just like that, as if her words didn't sting, his grin was back and he pulled the shirt on, adjusting it to fit before reaching for his leathers. "That would be nice, my poor wrists can't handle all the hard work and effort to even attempt such dastardly feats." He chuckled and her heart jumped. Zevran was everything she wanted and needed and yet she treated him like shit.

"Just get dressed." She threw one of his boots and he caught it with years of assassin expertise.

"Are you sure you want all of this covered up?" He motioned himself and she could feel her walls cracking. That's something he could do that Alistair never really figured out.

"If you want to walk around naked Zev, I won't stop you. But I don't think Leliana would be very pleased. " She warned before grabbing her sword and dagger. The runes inscribed upon them by the curious dwarf Sandal were losing their glow. They had set off to Kirkwall many years prior — last she heard from Bodahn it was like old times.

"Ah, I doubt our dear Nightingale would protest that much, do you not remember the night we all had—"

Vetri sighed, "Yes. I remember. Alistair nearly lost his fucking mind."

Zevran narrowed his gaze and then he rose, pulling his pants on with a hard tug. "So that's it then, you are back to wallowing about Alistair!?"

She gripped her blade tightly, pulled the harness over her leathers, secured it to her chest, and then slipped the dagger into its holster around her leg. "I am not wallowing about Alistair. At least you're finally showing an emotion besides jokes and casual indifference. Does it trouble you that I still think about him?"

Zevran clenched his fist, grabbing his bow and daggers. "You know what Vetri, I will not get into this. You're not well."

"I'm fi—"

"Just stop it. Leliana says that before they disbanded the Inquisition had a lead on how to stop the Calling. To stop the taint from…killing you…you might have a death wish, Vetri but I am not yet willing to lose you."

"You left me for three years, Zev. I don't need you always by my side like a pathetic little puppy."

He laughed, it was empty and it stung. "Always a way with your words, yet never direct my little menace. Come, let's get moving. We are nearing the rendezvous point." Zevran had the last word, he opened the flap of the tent they had been sharing and stepped outside. Leaving her to her thoughts. There had always been a darkness inside her, an unexplainable rage that grew the more and more she lived