It took a little longer than anticipated to return to the party camp. There had been a brief stop after crossing the bridge connecting Avernus' workshop to the main building, during which time an increasingly agitated Rhodri had bolted into the nearest room with a door to wash off the dried blood on her person and robes. Morrigan had rolled her eyes, loudly (and boredly) announced she would be back at the camp, and sauntered off. Leliana looked once in the direction of the camp, gulped, and said, rather more quietly, that she was in no rush and would wait with Zevran. And so he and Leliana sat together in a comfortable silence until Rhodri re-emerged squeaky clean and positively brimming with energy, and they went on their way again.

They reached the party camp to find Alistair sitting by the fire with Jeppe's head in his lap. Sten and Shale were perched together nearby, audibly noting the shortcomings of humans as a whole, and Levi Dryden was pretending to have his attention wholly consumed by the book in his lap. It would have been far more believable, Zevran mused with a wry smile, had the book been the right way up.

Alistair, who made no efforts to conceal that his attention was on them, greeted the returning three with a sullen look (and a quiet apology to the displaced Jeppe as he ousted said dog and got to his feet).

"You got your blood magic rituals done?" he asked snidely. "Was it good? Was it worth it?"

Rhodri shrugged. "It was one spell using a pot's worth of blood, and it's delayed my Calling– well, my death, too, by a hundred years."

Alistair's pout evaporated.

"A– a hundred?" he echoed weakly.

"Mmm," she nodded. "Plenty of time to find the Cure, enjoy my loved ones, live well in Minrathous. 'Was it worth it…'" Rhodri laughed exultantly, "Maker, Alistair, I'd have done that spell twenty times over for half the years Avernus gave me. 'Worth it,' doesn't begin to describe it."

The Templar bit down hard on his bottom lip, his eyes wandering over to the door they had just come through. Leliana, who never missed the chance to get her hooks into someone, sighed loudly. When Alistair's gaze went onto her, she fixed him with impossibly large Orlesian eyes.

"Aht-aht!" Alistair waved a finger at her and looked away. "Don't. I'm not falling for that."

"One hundred years, cher," Leliana insisted, her eyes widening further still. "If your blood had been harvested, would you not wish it was used for something good?"

"I'd rather I weren't harvested in the first place!" he spluttered indignantly.

Rhodri piped up now with a shrug, "You'd probably have to give Avernus some of your blood first anyway, if you wanted this spell." She looked at Zevran, "How much did he get from me, dulcis? Just over a pint?"

Zevran fought back a wince. "Almost two pints, by the end."

"Ah. Well, there we go, something like that."

Alistair's face went curiously blank.

"You… gave the blood mage some of your blood?" he asked in a whisper. "You let him extract– how much was it–? Almost two pints of your blood?"

"Well, you get at least that much back when he transfuses you with whatever he has in the pot–"

Rhodri was cut off as Alistair held up his hands.

"Right, that's enough for me, thanks!" he declared. With that, Alistair turned on his heel and marched for the door, announcing over his shoulder that he would be having some time to himself and was not to be disturbed until Levi, whose turn it was to cook, declared dinner ready to serve.

Leliana stared after the departing Templar, even as the door slammed shut behind him, her shoulders slumping.

"I love him for his principles," she said, turning back to Zevran and Rhodri with a sigh. "Most of the time, anyway." Her lip started to wobble now, her voice dropping to a whisper, "I am so afraid he will not take that spell. He knows what will happen if–" she sniffed and wiped under her eyes, barely stifling a sob, "if he doesn't–!"

Leliana was cut off there as Rhodri, inveterate and often sole handler of distraught party members, hurried over and folded Leliana in her arms. The bard's face got lost in the vast expanse that was Rhodri's chest, and wretched, whole-body crying ensued that would no doubt require the latter's robes to be laundered afterward.

What Zevran was meant to be doing in all this was hard to say. The matter seemed to be more than adequately handled as it was; Rhodri was swivelling at the hips to rock herself and Leliana both, nodding away at the woman's anguished (not to mention extremely muffled) remarks, and there were soothing back rubs aplenty. What more was there to offer? More to the point, what was there that Zevran, a man who was no comfort to anyone or anything, could offer?

But Leliana had stood there beside him in his own devastation, hadn't she, and held his hand like he was worth the trouble it took to make the gesture. Unbidden, no less, and unflinchingly. Perhaps there was nothing that Zevran had to offer in terms of consolation, but fellow-feeling– friendship, even, obliged him to at least make an attempt at reciprocation.

He edged over to the pair, watching carefully for any signs of unwelcomeness. When he was almost toe-to-toe with them and no hostile indications had been given, he gingerly put his arms around them both. To his unending mortification, Zevran nearly jumped when one of Leliana's arms flew off Rhodri and onto him to drag him into the fold. Sedimenting the action, Rhodri negotiated one of her arms out of a direct embrace with Leliana to wrap around Zevran's back, locking the three of them into an awkward triangulation while Leliana's fingers dug into Zevran's waist like fish hooks. And uncomfortable as it all was, Zevran stayed precisely where he was, and he would stay there until he was told to do otherwise, because Leliana deserved nothing less. But even so, he did this duty with a pang of guilt that infused down to the bones, because unlike Alistair, Rhodri, newly invigorated and forecast to live another century, stood to his right, as she always did, always would. Her long, warm fingers were sweeping up and down his back, and even with his head to the upper portion of his chest, the steady, strong beat of her heart was perfectly, wonderfully audible. And even now, as he comforted the woman drowning in pre-emptive grief, Zevran basked in Rhodri's life, in her vigour, and in the relief that it was Leliana's lover and not his who had eschewed Avernus' offer.

§

Once Leliana was sufficiently assuaged, she peeled herself off Rhodri's robes with a sigh (and, it had to be said, a small but audible unsticking noise). She declared herself to be in need of a bath and an early night with no disturbances from anyone, and after pecking a quick kiss onto both Rhodri and Zevran's cheeks, Leliana took herself off to the designated washing annexe.

For a time they stood there together, Rhodri and Zevran, staring at the door through which Alistair had stomped out. A cold, uncomfortable heaviness registered in the pit of Zevran's stomach, and when he pondered what might ameliorate it, the thought of Alistair striding in and announcing he had changed his mind was the first thing that came to mind.

"He may come around," Zevran offered, more to himself than to Rhodri. "Perhaps sooner than we think. Alistair has had brushes with death before, no? Surely that would make him think carefully about such a rare opportunity."

Rhodri tipped her head from side to side, her shoulders drawing up into an unreassuring shrug.

"Perhaps he will come around," she said after a moment. "But he also might not. Alistair isn't one to abandon his principles readily." Rhodri turned to Zevran and cupped his cheeks with her hands. Her head descended down until their foreheads touched with the lightest bonk. "Are you all right, dulcis?"

He glanced at the door; the sinking in his guts worsened. And then, very suddenly, it grew tight, numb, inert. A bitter smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.

"Why shouldn't I be?" he asked– though whom he was asking, he couldn't decide. "We are constantly facing death, no? Any day of the week, we could all be killed. Very gruesomely, too, I imagine." He ran his eyes over Rhodri and let the sight of her shift his thoughts to the filthy, "Nothing to do but enjoy the moment, no? In fact, I think I can think of several ways you and I could enjoy quite a few naughty moments together right now." Zevran winked, "Provided it is of interest to you, of course, and you are feeling well enough."

There was something terribly rewarding about having the ability to control the blush on someone's face. Particularly when the someone in question had a blush one found oneself wanting to see. Rhodri's, in this case, was already making a comeback, and the colour was engulfing her cheeks like a forest fire.

She ducked her head closer to him, dropping her voice to a murmur.

"Are you changing topics because you don't want to talk about this any more? Or do you really feel like… you know…?"

"Can it not be both?" he chuckled, stroking a finger along her scarlet jaw. "There is nothing to be said or done for the situation, and you know me. I like to make the best of things, no? We are here, we are well, and utterly gorgeous, too. If there is a better way to celebrate that than sex, I do not know it, though I'm always open to other suggestions if something comes to mind for you."

"Could we go to the…?" she glanced in the direction of her tent. "Just to talk– well, maybe other things, too, but we should talk first."

Zevran smiled and followed her to her little canvas palace– which he, too, had been staying in this week. In fact, since they got together, Zevran's tent had stayed bundled up in the back of Bodahn's cart. That wasn't indicative of anything relationship-wise, of course; he would probably stay in his own tent again soon enough. But being the lazy man that he was, why wouldn't Zevran take the opportunity to stay in someone else's tent? It saved on having to set up his own, and though he helped Rhodri set up her tent, it was still less work on average.

… Was it his imagination, or had Rhodri stopped referring to her tent as 'her' tent? The last few days, he was sure he had heard her say 'the' tent. Maybe? Possibly? Perhaps he had only just started noticing how she referred to the tent– her tent. Or maybe she was aware of it and it was a conscious choice, and now they were cohabiting in a tent as a cemented couple, which was a horrifically dangerous and decidedly stupid thing to be, and Maker have mercy what the Crows would do to her if they even suspected—

Oh, enough! Enough!

Zevran, ignoring the swooping plummet in his belly, shook his head and let Rhodri take his boots off before stepping into her tent to perch on the bedroll. A moment later, Rhodri's own feet were unencumbered and she sat down beside him. Not quite able to resist the opportunity, Zevran shuffled into her lap, a gratified sigh escaping him as hard, heavy arms looped around him and sealed him in place.

"What did you want to talk about, lovely Rhodri, hmm?" he purred into her elbow. Rhodri's low chuckle vibrated by his ear.

"You should know that I won't be sleeping tonight," she said, her hand starting a slow path up and down his flank.

Zevran didn't bother to hold back his grin as he looked up at her. "Will you be staying awake for the reason I think you are?"

Rhodri smiled and shrugged with one shoulder. "That depends on what you think the reason is. I will say there's more than one, though."

"Ooh, you are coy today! Could one of the reasons be that you plan to make wild, passionate love to me all night? I do hope it is the main reason."

"Hmm. I wouldn't make a plan like that without your consent first, but if you're interested…"

He winked, "I couldn't be more interested if I tried. And what about these other reasons, hmm? I seem to remember Avernus said all sorts of appetites will compete tonight. Shall we take breaks for eating? Drinking? Making merry?"

"All of those," Rhodri nodded, "And I'll need to be busy. Running, heavy lifting, something else, maybe, to use up some of this energy."

"Ooh, mi sol! If you wanted a workout, you should have said so!" Zevran waggled his brows, "I can run you ragged without you ever having to leave the tent!"

Wide, darkening eyes met his and lingered there.

"... I do mean it when I say 'all night,'" Rhodri said cautiously. "Between eating and moving and, well, this," she briefly pointed her nose at her undercarriage, "I won't even be trying to sleep. Even if I did it all very quietly, you're a light sleeper at the best of times. I could help you set up your tent, if you like, so if you got sick of it you could sleep in there?"

"Now, now! Did I say I wanted to sleep tonight?" Zevran touched a hand to his chest. "Who could blame me for wanting to stay awake when a most delicious opportunity presents itself, hmm?" With a gentle smirk and intentions of administering a thorough kissing, Zevran leaned in, only to pause as Rhodri stiffened underneath him with a sharp, hard gasp.

"Ah-? Forgive me, I–" he made to shift away again; Rhodri's hands snapped onto his waist and stilled him before he could finish the movement.

"Sorry," she said hoarsely, her eyes tightly shut and brow drawn. "The, ah… pressure, from you moving, it…"

That was the difficulty, wasn't it, with expressions like that. Pain and pleasure were almost identical! Why that was the case, Zevran couldn't imagine. Had the first people, elves and humans alike, originally experienced pleasure as pain or irritation? Physiology could change dramatically over many generations, he had read once, so it wasn't impossible. Perhaps the original people were a terribly sadistic lot, and favoured partners were the ones who looked like they were least enjoying themselves. Here and now, Rhodri's face was red and in a near-wince, and it was hard to say if that was a good thing or a bad thing. She sat pin-rigid, taking measured breaths and holding onto Zevran's waist like he was a flight risk. Zevran gulped, hoped for the best, and when Rhodri didn't say anything more, he spoke up again.

"You are in pain?" he asked gently. "From the– from earlier today?"

Relief and something rather more sinful washed over him as Rhodri shook her head.

"No, no," she sighed. "I'm completely fixed. Morrigan's a far better healer than she gives herself credit for. No, this was pleasure. Just then, I nearly–" she gave an embarrassed laugh and looked away (and thus completely missed the way Zevran bit his lip and glanced down at the beginnings of a bulge! Oh, good pornography was wasted on her sometimes!). "Incredible, isn't it… the Taint gives me plenty of stamina in everything else, but two little movements after a Warden infusion and I'm hanging on by a thread."

Zevran chuckled darkly and stroked a finger along her cheek, the coquettishness of which was quickly reduced when Rhodri gave a contented hum and nestled her entire face into said finger. The rest of his hand immediately joined his finger's attentions to her cheek; the nestling continued. Zevran smiled in spite of himself.

"Hanging on by a thread, you say?" he purred. "Just one?"

"Mm…" Rhodri wobbled her head. "One and a quarter, now that you've stopped moving."

"Hmm? And suppose I were to keep moving?"

"Hah! I think we both know what would happen there."

"Is it unwanted?"

Rhodri's eyes shot open. "Not at all! No, I just– it was so sudden, and you didn't know what you were doing was pleasurable, so I stopped it. It wouldn't have been right that you unknowingly participated, without the chance to opt out if you wanted."

There was something to consider there. Zevran had noticed in himself a growing habit of holding up this dalliance against previous ones. For comparison, for dissection, for making a mental note of how terribly spoiled he was becoming. With every advance, he was drowning in options. Opt in, opt out, wait and see… what a wretched way to be, getting a taste for the good life knowing that it wasn't his to keep, and never had been. He would rather have never had it to begin with.

But that, ironically enough, wasn't an option, and for now, losing such splendid conditions remained a bleak spot far in the distance. More to the point, Zevran was a man who knew how to appreciate what he had in front of him, and what he had in front of him was a Warden who was watching him with blown eyes, red cheeks, and a bitten lip.

With a smile, Zevran emptied his head and trailed a hand down her belly.

"To quote you," he whispered as Rhodri's eyes fluttered shut, "I want this. Badly." She sighed and kissed the inside of his wrist; Zevran laughed warmly. "We have quite the night ahead of us, I think, my darling."

§

By the time the sun had come up the next day, Zevran had exceeded his personal best for both the number of orgasms experienced and given in one night. What precisely the respective numbers were, he couldn't remember, but he would swear up and down both were in the double digits.

He was also made aware of, and treated to, spells that increased stamina and prevented overworked muscles from aching the next day. Provided Rhodri kept casting them, he could have gone on in perpetuity, and he said as much in protest when she eventually suggested it was time to lay off the spellwork, for his sake.

"Ah, but look!" He propped himself up on one elbow and indicated the gentle pink glow of the rising sun, only just visible through the western aspect of the tent canvas. "The sun is up, and still I am not tired. If anything, I feel better than ever!"

A panting, salt-encrusted Rhodri dropped the rag she was cleaning herself off with. She looked at the bedroll, which was now sporting a few tears at the seams (and many more new stains), and then she looked at him. There was no denying that they were both in need of a long and thorough wash, but surely it paid to get even filthier first, so as to truly get the maximum value of the inevitable bath.

"You're overtired, dulcis," she said gently, and wiped a fresh flush of sweat off her brow. "That's why you feel so good, but stamina spells are no substitution for rest. Plenty of mages have fucked themselves unconscious or dead, I promise you."

"Ooh, but what a way to go, no?"

"Hah. I'd rather see you coming than going, if you don't mind." She smirked as Zevran snorted at that. "For now, though, you need to rest."

"And what of you, hmm? Will you sleep with me?"

Rhodri's eyes widened comically. "A-gain? I spent all night scratching your itch–!"

Zevran's groan cut the second, horribly Alistair-esque joke off there. "And people complain about my filthy humour."

"I don't!"

He sighed. "No, that is quite true. Well, if we are playing the semantics game: will you slumber as well?"

"I'm not particularly tired yet, but I should at least try… ooh! Maybe I've got–" she turned and rifled through her satchel, laughing victoriously as she extracted a small, familiar-looking vial of glittering purple liquid. "Perfect! This should do the trick!"

"You know, I think I have seen that before. What is it?"

"This?" Rhodri handed it to him. "It's called a somnifer . Somniferi are a very rare, very powerful class of soporific elixirs. A drop of this will nail you to the bedroll for about six hours. If you feel wide awake but know you should sleep, this is just the thing."

Zevran tipped the vial onto its side, watching mindlessly as the shimmering particles swept and cascaded around within. Vague, shapeless thoughts floated through his head: of how strange it was to see an unfamiliar draught, of what a boon it would have been on all those sleepless nights, of the target on his back that a single drop would paint.

Rhodri chuckled, "You look like you could use a drop, yourself, but first we'd better wash ourselves and this bedroll. My goodness, I do wish I could magick us clean, but it's just spread so far… how two people make so many sexual byproducts, I'll never know."

He looked over at her slowly, an eyebrow quirked and a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Would the fact that we have been doing this for about fifteen hours perhaps be a contributing factor?" he enquired playfully.

"Fifteen?" Rhodri's eyes widened. "Has it been that long?"

"It has indeed. We started just after sunset."

She grinned. "Time really does fly when you're having fun. Fifteen! That's a very respectable number. All the more reason to wash off and go to sleep, sic?" Rhodri got to her feet and extended a hand to him, "Let me help you up, dulcis. I'll wash off the bedroll while you get clean."

§

That somnifer was the most marvellous substance Zevran had ever had.

The moment the tiny, glittering drop left the dropper and touched his tongue, his body became sweetly warm and heavy. His mind, normally racing, drew to a fuzzy standstill, observing and caring about so very little that it was impossible not to be content– even when his head was lolling in a way that would lead to a crick if left uncorrected. Rhodri's soft chuckle vibrated the air by his ear, but it was so quiet, so far off that it could have come from the next room.

"I see it works very well for you, dulcis," she murmured. One hand (Maker, had her hands always been that huge?) went to his head and gently righted it, the other slid under his back to ease him off her and onto the bedroll. That wafer-thin bedroll sat under him like the ocean, barely suspending him above the waterline. He sank and sank and sank, and an absent part of him was almost afraid to drown in the bed. He should have been afraid. But the Zevran he could reach, the him, the whoever he was now, was bathed and sated and hadn't an ounce of resistance left. His bare legs were so smooth against the sheet. Rhodri's shirt– his shirt, for the time being– swam on him, caressed every bit of him it covered. Infused him with salt and linen dried in the blistering sun, and he'd leave a bit of himself in the shirt, too, for her. A giddy laugh swelled in his lungs and never made it out.

Soft knuckles brushed over his cheek; Zevran mumbled happily. Rhodri smiled down at him.

"Sleep, dulcis," she crooned.

He did.

And then, when he woke, it was dark again.

The usual aches were barely noticeable, and if Zevran had had nightmares, he couldn't remember them. Rhodri was tightly curled around him, in the beginnings of stirring, herself. Sparse conversation floated over from somewhere outside near the campfire, and if Zevran wasn't mistaken, someone had been cooking meat recently.

Now a week into the habit of signalling to Rhodri to assure her that he, too, was awake, Zevran took her hand and kissed the pad of her thumb.

"Mm…" she rumbled approvingly. "Did I wake you, dulcis?"

He shook his head. "I was awake before you. Not by much, though, I do not think."

"Mm…" she said again. "Are you hungry? Thirsty? Shall I bring you something?"

"I think I smell cooking meat outside. We must have woken after dinner, no?" Zevran flipped over to face Rhodri, who was watching him with a placid smile, "Shall we go and get fed? I am quite hungry, myself."

"I'll–" she paused to clear her throat, and gave him a careful but meaningful look. "I'll… need a few minutes before I can go out, but I'll join you as soon as I can. Go ahead and start without me, if you like."

Effective as Rhodri's spellwork had been the night prior in preventing muscle soreness or tiredness, Zevran couldn't say he had woken now with a strong desire for pleasure. Oh, it wouldn't have taken any convincing from Rhodri to slip under the cover and suck on her until she forgot how to speak. If she asked him, he'd do it and enjoy it. At this moment, though, left to his own devices, he could have simply left the tent and eaten without any bodily complaint of unmet urges. Breakfast– or dinner, as the case may be, had perhaps a little more of a draw.

And it was hard not to wonder if Rhodri's frequent disclaimers of his right to bow out of such moments extended from actively not wanting pleasure all the way to the simple lack of an urge. To genuine, good-natured situational indifference. She had always implied that such a reason was perfectly legitimate, but it was one thing to imply as much, and another entirely to follow through with it.

Curiosity being sufficient persuasion to test the waters, Zevran stroked her cheek, sure of the beginnings of an answer as Rhodri smiled and hugged his hand with her head and shoulder. It was almost enough to put him off his experiment (huge, newly-awoken eyes were difficult to resist), but Zevran was an enquiring man, and an answer was good to have.

Unless–?

No, she wouldn't try to stop him leaving. Of course she wouldn't.

… Would she?

No. Certainly not. Probably not. And even if she did, was that new expectation of him anything different from the life he'd had before this? No. In fact, if this were the only issue, life in the Wardens' party was still a dramatic upgrade to Antiva.

But then why were his guts still going cold at the thought of once again being unable to leave?

Oh, it answered itself, didn't it? 'Once again.' Trust the spoiled little shit to think he'd ever been free.

But Rhodri said he was. She didn't say what she didn't mean.

Resolving then and there that however it went, things would continue as normal (no they won't no they won't) , and nothing would change between them either way (oh Maker it changes everything), Zevran smiled and jerked his head at the tent flap.

"I shall go and save you a plate of whatever today's meal is, then, hmm?" he offered.

A breath that had been stuck in his throat finally found its way out as Rhodri grinned and nodded. She thanked him in advance for the allocated breakfast like he had saved her firstborn child, and Maker, she even helped him to find his shirt and breeches. Zevran was out of there fully dressed before he could finish taking stock of the relief– and, admittedly, the guilt of having clandestinely tested his lover. A swell of something else entirely, localised mostly to the upper body but a little in the lower half as well, had tempted him to go back into the tent and do something, kissing or otherwise, to render Rhodri thrilled and breathless. But, Zevran reasoned, it didn't do to simply excuse oneself only to go dashing back in. He had chosen breakfast, and breakfast was what he would have.

Levi Dryden made a beeline to his own tent as soon as he saw Zevran step into the room, an act from which Zevran could only conclude indicated the man was hopelessly attracted to him. Who could blame him? Zevran snorted to himself and, finally noticing the loud, indignant rumble of his stomach, sauntered over to the campfire with his thoughts turning to a strong cup of tea and the biggest breakfast-and-or-dinner he could manage.