bamftastik
in
zevran
Reunion = Angst + Smut
So maybe I struggle with the whole happiness thing because this went through so many different endings. And it almost wasn't smutty, but it was pointed out to me that it's not fair to have adulterous smut and not the real thing! :D
Also toying with the idea of another chapter. The completely gratuitous and indulgent angsty reunion threesome. Y/N? Just for the hell of it?
And many thanks to kismet_1976 for the Antivan!
Title: Grey & Gone - Reunion ( Part 1, Part 2, Part 3)
Characters: Zevran/f!Tabris (implied Tabris/Nathaniel, Zevran/Selena)
Rating: NSFW
Words: 4,000
Summary: Tabris has left Amaranthine to make her way to Antiva. Zevran, now a Crow master, continues searching for confirmation of her death.
Lifting her skirts, Mira made her way through the market. Strange that she was almost growing accustomed to these trips, the smell of brine and mold amongst the waterside stalls, the rough and varied tongues of the hawkers. She had spent her childhood in a place very much like this, but she did not think she had been this close to the docks since being sold to the Crows.
Master Visarius had sent her on errands, of course - seeking fine silks, fine food, fine wine - but Master Arainai’s tastes were decidedly more… unique. First had come the ales, thick and stinking, made from grain instead of proper fruit. Ferelden’s finest, he had called them, chuckling as he offered her a sip, watched her lips twist for the bitterness. More she had brought him and it seemed that he could name them all, a self-proclaimed connoisseur of swill. And each had come with a story.
She could remember the first night, the tightness of his fingers round her wrist, the dangerous flash of his eyes. Away he had led her, leaving behind the crowds of the hall, those watching, knowing smirks. She had almost thought it pain that she saw there as Visarius fell, grief and guilt and fear. He had a woman, they said, had grown soft in his time abroad. But as he had dragged her from that place she had recognized the hunger behind that sneer.
Master Arainai had found the chamber with ease, producing a small, golden key as he pulled her inside and rammed home the bolts. Mira had trembled beneath those eyes, her quaking hands moving to loose the knot at the neck of her dress as he glared toward the bed.
But the expression had softened as he turned, that now familiar chuckle soft as he shook his head. “No, piccolina.” Close he had stepped, that touch gentle as he slid the silks back up and over her shoulders.
Mira blinked, stunned, causing him to laugh all the more.
“You are quite beautiful, do not fear.” Moving to the wall, he drew a chair close beside the bed. “Perhaps we might talk?”
She had sat slowly, hesitantly, watching as he lay back amongst the pillows. So small he seemed then, sagging visibly, something in him seeming to deflate as he sighed.
“Why-?”
“-Because they will expect no less.” His smirk softened, turning almost bemused as he tilted his head to look up at her. “What is your name?”
“Mira, Master.”
“Mira.” He nodded. “I am Zevran. Zev, to my friends.”
“Yes, Master.”
He had laughed at that. “If we are to be trapped in this predicament, there is no harm in getting acquainted, yes? Come, tell me of yourself.”
And so she had. It had seemed so strange to speak of herself again, to remember the details beyond her duties, her training, but he had coaxed them out of her, eyes never straying from the ceiling. But her life was a small one, with few enough stories to share. The talk had turned to him then.
It had continued all these nights, she in her accustomed chair at his bedside, he staring upward with those distant eyes. And such a tale he had told. She knew now the truth behind those whispers, knew now of Her. In all of Antiva City, she was the only one who had seen the Master weep.
One of the boys, Rollo, had taking to sitting with him on alternate nights, pushing aside the furniture to train within the Master’s very chamber. When she had asked Zevran about it, he had only chuckled, speaking again of appearances with a knowing wink. But never had he touched her, never had he asked more than a willing ear. And it was not long before she realized just how eager she was.
She had been approached, of course, twice now in so many weeks. A bit of poison in his wine and she would be a rich woman, they said, slip this into his food or she would sorely regret it. But never had the promised blows come, never had she felt so much as a shadow dogging her steps. She was the Master’s now, his and his alone.
And for the first time in her life, Mira was growing bold. More she pressed him, urging him to send letters, make inquiries. Surely such a hero as his Warden-Commander would have survived the attacks in Amaranthine. But all of the news had been bad, vague but terrible still. Each time it seemed to wound him anew, the bottles that she brought him emptied once again. She looked so like her, he had once said, curling round the pillows in a drunken half-sleep. His hand had found hers, protective in its tenderness as he promised Mira that no harm would ever come to her.
If only she could do the same for him.
The stalls here were familiar, the casks and barrels stacked high as they were unloaded from the southern ships. The merchant, Damlen, smiled to see her.
“Che cazzo stai dicendo?!”
An elven woman pounded her first of the wood of the next stall, leaning close to argue with the proprietor. “I don’t bloody understand you! Where?” She gestured wild. “Where?”
“Go straight through the square, a left at the fountain, a right at the-”
The woman sighed exasperated, letting loose a virulent string of curses in near-perfect Antivan. And yet she could not understand a few, simple words.
As she turned, Mira caught a glimpse of the face beneath that hood, felt herself gasp. The accent, the eyes flashing eager despite her scowl, the decided lack of social graces.
Spotting her, the woman blinked. “What?”
Mira grinned.
* * *
“It’s not fair! I didn’t even place a bid!” Silvio paced the hall, hands clasped behind his back.
Leaning back in the room’s only chair, Zevran watched the young Crow over the rim of his glass, smiled as he took a long, slow sip. It was Silvio who had most recently attempted to poison him, Silvio who even now seemed ready to strike him where he sat. The others were not oblivious to the exchange, clustered round the steps of the low dais at the chamber’s end. All had likewise made some attempt at testing him, but only Silvio had dared mount the stairs to stand before him, glowering up at him still.
Setting down the glass, Zevran nodded. “No, you did not.”
“Then why?”
He raised a hand for silence, hiding the bit of wicked satisfaction as they acquiesced. “You are all men, women of skill, yes? The General has requested out very best. And I think you in particular, Silvio, could benefit from a Seheron summer.”
The younger man could not keep the flush from his pale cheeks. No, he would have to do better than that.
Zevran glanced up as the door at the end of the hall swung open, Mira dropping into a shallow bow as the others turned. Good girl. Truly, she should not bow for them at all. But there was a smile there as she raised her eyes, the grin barely contained.
“Leave us.”
The others looked to him now, Silvio’s eyes narrowing. “Master-”
“-Leave. Now.”
They moved as one for the doors on either side of the hall, glances roaming openly between them. Let them wonder. Whatever rumor was spun here were surely be more salacious than the truth. Both Mira and Rollo had played their parts well. Already word had spread of his strange appetites, the cries coming from his chambers, his watchful, sleepless hours. But as to the truth of those…
He rose from the chair, the steps of the dais falling away beneath him. And still Mira smiled. She was a perceptive enough girl, if young, so like She had been when first they met. But could she truly know, truly understand what this proof would bring him? Did he even understand himself? Whatever sign she had found, whatever news… It would be over, she would be… Zevran hesitated. Still he could not think the word. Hope, even now?
“You found something.”
Mira straightened, grin splitting wide. “Oh yes.”
He had taken half a step, wondering still at that excitement. But he saw it then, moving from the shadows of the doorway, the figure cloaked and hooded. Slight but proud and strong, so strong, that slow, determined grace. He knew before she raised her eyes, lifting slender, trembling hands to lower the hood.
Reikha’s breath caught in her throat. So long he had feared to forget that face, soft beneath the weary lines, those eyes wide and innocent despite all that they had seen. So many sleepless nights he had put ink to page but he was no artist, not truly, each fading detail stirring guilt anew. They had burned beside the letters, written even still, wasted words and canvas. Too late, they had said it was too late.
Beautiful she stood in her disbelief, joy and panic and relief warring behind her eyes. They watered now, overwhelmed, his own sight blurring as he grinned. Only dimly was he aware of Mira bowing slowly out of the room.
Reikha laughed then, streaking cross the tiles as she let the cloak fall fluttering behind, closing the distance between them to crash against his chest. Zevran caught her as they staggered, the warmth of her, the feel, the scent, the taste as his kisses fell wild against her chin. He had lifted her, he realized, her hands tangling impatient in his hair as she pulled his mouth up her hers. It was slow that he lowered her, shuddering to feel her, all of her sliding against him.
Zevran’s chest heaved, breath hot against her cheek. “We are being watched.”
Her chuckle was little more than a throaty sigh, delicious and wicked as he had remembered. “I know.”
Reikha spun, drawing her blades as the tiny knife came flying from between the pillars. Silvio did have marvelous aim. But she was faster, striking quick, deflecting it with ease. Already she was dashing cross the hall, the knife clattering against the steps. Silvio hit the wall with a grunt, Reikha’s dagger coming to his throat as she pressed him back against the stone.
Zevran moved behind her, wrapping his arms round her waist as he rested his chin on her shoulder. “Dear, dear Silvio. This is the second time this week.”
The man’s eyes roamed between them, something like fear flickering behind his sneer. How they must look to him, she pale where he was dark and dark where he was pale, but fitting together with perfect ease. Tighter he held her, breathing deep of her hair, nuzzling his cheek against hers.
Reikha mirrored his grin, her grip on the blade unwavering. She pressed closer, enjoying herself.
“Here, amora. I believe this is yours.” Zevran slipped Fang from its place on his back, laying it in her hand.
She chuckled as his fingers closed over hers, tilting her head to look back at him. Her gaze held as she switched the blades, Silvio squirming anew. Still he was pinned, those hands moving before he could react, and now he was being thoroughly ignored.
Something passed behind Reikha’s smile. “Is he…?”
Zevran nodded.
Half-twisting, she rolled her hips against his, one of his hands cupping her cheek to turn her face to his. The force of the kiss was staggering. Silvio struggled, attempting to slip round the dagger still at his throat, but Zevran’s other arm braced hard against his chest, shoving him back against the wall. Opening one eye he sighed deep, winking for the other man.
Reikha whirled full to face him then, Fang slicing in a neat arc as she pressed her chest to his. The blade fell forgotten as Silvio slumped, her lips again finding his. Away from the wall Zevran drew her, lifting her above the spreading pool, her legs wrapping round his waist. Her hands seemed to be everywhere, her teeth nipping at his neck as he slipped a hand beneath her tunic.
She moved with him, shivering for the trace of his fingers up and cross her spine, laughing as the last of her leathers tangled round her head. He threw them aside, her gasp thick as he buried his face against her breasts.
So pale that skin, so soft despite the scars. Once he had thought to memorize them all, begged her to let him trace them with his inks. But there were new marks here, fresh if fading, a yellow bruise marring the tender rise of her left breast.
“Amora…”
Held above him still, she sighed against his hair. “You have no idea how I’ve missed that.”
“Mm.”
Reikha’s hands roamed as he lowered her, deft fingers already working at his laces, the tunic sliding up and over his head. Again she buried her face in his neck, hands slipping over his back as she chuckled. But they hesitated, her breath seeming to catch as they found the scars, the still-rough lines of Selena’s claws. Pulling away, she blinked, stepping round to stand behind him.
She traced the tattoos, something of that smile twitching still, but it was to the scars that her fingers strayed.
Turning, Zevran caught her wrist. He had not intended… but she knew, her face falling as she held his gaze. Before he could open his mouth to speak her eyes flickered away, those lips trembling, cringing… guilty.
“Ahh.” Looking again to the fading bruises, the telltale shape of eager teeth, he traced gentle fingers along her cheek.
Reikha shook her head.
“Amora.” He turned her eyes back to his. But she must have seen something there, some surprise or hurt that he had failed to hide, for still she refused to look at him.
“I… I didn’t know if… I thought you were…” She sobbed as he pulled her close, burying her face against his chest. Her arms wrapped round, twitching as they again found Selena’s final gift.
He scowled. “I told you that I had to do many things in my time as a Crow.”
Reikha pulled back to look at him. “It’s okay. I… I understand. You… did what you had to.”
“No. So it was once and so I convinced myself it was again. But it was a mistake.”
She chewed at her lip. “Who is she?”
“It no longer matters. She is dead.” His eyes strayed cross the hall to where Fang lay forgotten on the floor.
Reikha followed his gaze, finally looking up at him. “I’m sorry, Zev.”
Shaking his head, he cupped a gentle hand beneath her breast. “But you, amora. Were you… hurt?”
He would not say it, but she had to smile for the softness of that whisper. “It was nothing I did not ask for.”
Zevran blinked at that. They had experimented, true; there was little that they had not done in their time together, but…
She was watching him. “I… wanted it to hurt. I wanted to hurt, I think. Just to feel, feel something beside the numbness, the emptiness, the wondering-”
“-Ahh.” He pulled her closer, pressing his lips against her forehead. It was a long moment before he spoke, the question looming unasked. “And yours…?”
“Not dead. But I’m pretty sure he despises me.”
Zevran chuckled, shaking his head. “Perhaps it is better that I do not know.”
“Zev. I… I’m sorry, truly.”
“As am I.” He smirked, tsking beneath his breath. “But if we are keeping score of depraved acts, I must admit that I am still some years ahead of you. Lifetimes, perhaps.”
Reikha’s hand fell against his cheek as her scowl softened. “I told you that doesn’t matter.”
“Does it not?” He ran fingers through her hair, smiling as they found the earring nestled there. “Mm. You are right, I think. But it cuts both ways, yes? Amaranthine does not matter; the Crows do not matter. This…” He bent to bring the gem gently to his lips, straightening to lay kisses on her cheek and forehead, pausing just above her lips. “I once said that by your side I would storm the gates of the Dark City itself. And in this I have failed you. But know that I will never leave your side again.” He grinned. “If you think that you could bear my company.”
For answer she threw her arms around his neck, laughing as he lifted her, bearing her toward the dais. How he had hated this room, the final trap springing shut, Visarius’ lies hanging still heavy on the air. But as he lay her back against the steps, rocking back on his heels to admire the effect of her dark hair cascading cross the pale marble, Zevran smiled.
Leaning over her, he traced her lips only fleetingly, moving to chin and neck and shoulders.
Softer still those kisses as he moved to her breasts, tongue flitting over the bruises to circle suckling round the nipple. Reikha stirred, but he was teasingly gentle. Marks or no, he could not imagine her laying still for anyone - and certainly not quietly, as he recalled. She would have given as good as she got.
Zevran found himself laughing, hands bracing against the steps as he slid lower. He had not expected such a thought to be so… tantalizing, but his back arched now as he traced the lines of her belly, his hips rolling against her knee where it fell between his legs.
Again Reikha’s hands found his back, digging hard against the scars, nails biting to open them anew. Both hands she dragged, her marks longer, deeper, possessing him entire. Zevran hissed, grabbing at her belt, his chuckle tracing the slipping line of her breeches. Away he pulled them, Reikha shifting to help, to kick them off. Her head snapped back as he threw them aside, burying his face against her.
She seemed to be sliding up the steps now, crawling back and away from him, gaining balance to wrap her legs round his shoulders. Laughing still, Zevran breathed deep, one hand snaking high to cup round her breast, the other pushing him upward, using the full length of his body to rock with the swaying of her hips.
After a time, the hand moved low, feeling beneath the rhythm of his tongue, looking up to see her chest heave with delicious anticipation. One finger and then the next, the flick of his tongue quickening as she whimpered.
“Zev.”
“Mmm…” He let the sound stretch long, lips pressing harder against her.
“Zev. Please.”
The merest play of teeth, her breaths quickening as he laughed.
Again her hands curled against his back, pulling him upward. It was regretfully that he allowed himself to be drawn away, leaving lingering, sucking kisses, his fingers withdrawing slow as her eyes pinched shut. But her hands worked quickly, sliding free his belt, jerking hard upon his laces.
“Tsk, amora. Such impatience.” He let his hips roll against her, those final leathers between them still. Such warmth, and sure to leave a stain.
With no small difficulty he pulled away, rising up just enough to kick the breeches off and away. Reikha wasted no time in drawing him to her, fingers dimpling hard against the tender flesh of his backside.
His hands fell against the steps to either side of her, catching himself, bracing just enough to tease. Reikha’s head lolled, the moan deliciously exasperated. True, he quivered as well, the heat of her close enough to touch, but how he had missed that sound, that bemused pout.
“Andraste’s ass, Zev!”
Ahh, the things that he had made her say…
Reikha’s touch slipped round now, gripping him, a single thumb trailing light over the most tender bits. His elbows buckled, her laugh triumphant as he fell against her, drawing him into her at last. Zevran gasped for that possessing heat, the snake of her tongue between his lips… gone perhaps, but never forgotten. Not this.
She smiled now, hips rising again and again to meet him, hands tangling in his hair to bring his mouth to hers. But he buried himself against her neck, back heaving with something like laughter. Here, at last, it was over.
* * *
“From the moment of her arrival, word spread that any who crossed the master would also face the Hero of Ferelden, the one-time Commander of the Grey. Less than half a year they remained in Antiva City, the Crows flourishing beneath their merciless but changing rule. Many disappeared during that time and the city whispered, but always it was those who were said to be cruel, those who would not be missed. Darkspawn raids increased but always they were turned aside, the master’s bride herself commanding from the walls.
“It was a spring evening that they vanished, slipping away in the night without word or reason. But there had been a strange air about the master in those final days, a smile that would not fade. Some say that they returned to Denerim, to her family. Others claim that they remain in hiding within the city or that they wander still. But as to why they left, none could say.”
She shifted Adaia against her hip, laying a thoughtful kiss upon her forehead. Little more than three years old and already the girl had her father’s wicked grin. “Tell another, Nan.”
Mira smiled. “I’m afraid we don’t have time, little one. Perhaps when next you visit, hm?”
“But I wanna hear about the Blight. About Oggin and King Alistair!”
She laughed. “That is a story for your mother to tell, I think.”
Reikha made her way up the dock now, whatever argument she had been having with the ship’s captain well and truly settled. She took the girl from Mira’s arms with a grateful smile as Zevran slipped behind her. “You’ll see them soon enough.”
Adaia grinned up at her, but Zevran shook his head. “Oghren, a Grey Warden. This I must see.” As Mira turned to the rest of their packs he smirked, arms wrapping round Reikha and the child as he bent to whisper in her ear. “Tell me you and he did not...”
She laughed, eyes narrowing wickedly. “I thought you didn’t want to know.”
“Morbid curiosity, then.”
“No. Not Oghren.” She chuckled. “But I will say that he is not a dwarf that you want to cross.”
“Oh?”
“He was… less than pleased with me. Defended your honor, actually.”
“My…?” He buried the laugh against her hair. “Now that I would like to have seen.”
Mira returned then. They had not packed much, but she had insisted on helping, on seeing them off. Zevran smiled for them both. “I still do not see how you convinced me of this. Ferelden? Again?” He shuddered.
“Will you be visiting your arling, Commander?”
Reikha shook her head. “It’s not mine to visit.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Zevran took Adaia from her arms. “Perhaps a bit of idle threatening? Keep those wicked humans on their toes, as it were?”
“They’re not all so bad.”
“Ahh.” He quirked a brow, the old joke unspoken. As he turned for the ship, he tsked. “Such a scandalous change of heart.” They had spoken of it eventually, of course, the gentle mockery seemingly the only price they each would pay.
Reikha laughed, turning to give Mira a final hug before darting after them. Linking her arm through his, she brushed Adaia’s hair from her face. “Alistair has a son now, you know.”
“Hm?” Zevran pulled her closer, shifting as the girl squirmed eager for the waiting ship. “And we have left them in peace long enough, yes?”
She smirked. “My thoughts exactly.”
As they made their way up the ramp, he lay a chuckling kiss on Adaia’s forehead. “Somehow, I pity them both.”
Also toying with the idea of another chapter. The completely gratuitous and indulgent angsty reunion threesome. Y/N? Just for the hell of it?
And many thanks to kismet_1976 for the Antivan!
Title: Grey & Gone - Reunion ( Part 1, Part 2, Part 3)
Characters: Zevran/f!Tabris (implied Tabris/Nathaniel, Zevran/Selena)
Rating: NSFW
Words: 4,000
Summary: Tabris has left Amaranthine to make her way to Antiva. Zevran, now a Crow master, continues searching for confirmation of her death.
Lifting her skirts, Mira made her way through the market. Strange that she was almost growing accustomed to these trips, the smell of brine and mold amongst the waterside stalls, the rough and varied tongues of the hawkers. She had spent her childhood in a place very much like this, but she did not think she had been this close to the docks since being sold to the Crows.
Master Visarius had sent her on errands, of course - seeking fine silks, fine food, fine wine - but Master Arainai’s tastes were decidedly more… unique. First had come the ales, thick and stinking, made from grain instead of proper fruit. Ferelden’s finest, he had called them, chuckling as he offered her a sip, watched her lips twist for the bitterness. More she had brought him and it seemed that he could name them all, a self-proclaimed connoisseur of swill. And each had come with a story.
She could remember the first night, the tightness of his fingers round her wrist, the dangerous flash of his eyes. Away he had led her, leaving behind the crowds of the hall, those watching, knowing smirks. She had almost thought it pain that she saw there as Visarius fell, grief and guilt and fear. He had a woman, they said, had grown soft in his time abroad. But as he had dragged her from that place she had recognized the hunger behind that sneer.
Master Arainai had found the chamber with ease, producing a small, golden key as he pulled her inside and rammed home the bolts. Mira had trembled beneath those eyes, her quaking hands moving to loose the knot at the neck of her dress as he glared toward the bed.
But the expression had softened as he turned, that now familiar chuckle soft as he shook his head. “No, piccolina.” Close he had stepped, that touch gentle as he slid the silks back up and over her shoulders.
Mira blinked, stunned, causing him to laugh all the more.
“You are quite beautiful, do not fear.” Moving to the wall, he drew a chair close beside the bed. “Perhaps we might talk?”
She had sat slowly, hesitantly, watching as he lay back amongst the pillows. So small he seemed then, sagging visibly, something in him seeming to deflate as he sighed.
“Why-?”
“-Because they will expect no less.” His smirk softened, turning almost bemused as he tilted his head to look up at her. “What is your name?”
“Mira, Master.”
“Mira.” He nodded. “I am Zevran. Zev, to my friends.”
“Yes, Master.”
He had laughed at that. “If we are to be trapped in this predicament, there is no harm in getting acquainted, yes? Come, tell me of yourself.”
And so she had. It had seemed so strange to speak of herself again, to remember the details beyond her duties, her training, but he had coaxed them out of her, eyes never straying from the ceiling. But her life was a small one, with few enough stories to share. The talk had turned to him then.
It had continued all these nights, she in her accustomed chair at his bedside, he staring upward with those distant eyes. And such a tale he had told. She knew now the truth behind those whispers, knew now of Her. In all of Antiva City, she was the only one who had seen the Master weep.
One of the boys, Rollo, had taking to sitting with him on alternate nights, pushing aside the furniture to train within the Master’s very chamber. When she had asked Zevran about it, he had only chuckled, speaking again of appearances with a knowing wink. But never had he touched her, never had he asked more than a willing ear. And it was not long before she realized just how eager she was.
She had been approached, of course, twice now in so many weeks. A bit of poison in his wine and she would be a rich woman, they said, slip this into his food or she would sorely regret it. But never had the promised blows come, never had she felt so much as a shadow dogging her steps. She was the Master’s now, his and his alone.
And for the first time in her life, Mira was growing bold. More she pressed him, urging him to send letters, make inquiries. Surely such a hero as his Warden-Commander would have survived the attacks in Amaranthine. But all of the news had been bad, vague but terrible still. Each time it seemed to wound him anew, the bottles that she brought him emptied once again. She looked so like her, he had once said, curling round the pillows in a drunken half-sleep. His hand had found hers, protective in its tenderness as he promised Mira that no harm would ever come to her.
If only she could do the same for him.
The stalls here were familiar, the casks and barrels stacked high as they were unloaded from the southern ships. The merchant, Damlen, smiled to see her.
“Che cazzo stai dicendo?!”
An elven woman pounded her first of the wood of the next stall, leaning close to argue with the proprietor. “I don’t bloody understand you! Where?” She gestured wild. “Where?”
“Go straight through the square, a left at the fountain, a right at the-”
The woman sighed exasperated, letting loose a virulent string of curses in near-perfect Antivan. And yet she could not understand a few, simple words.
As she turned, Mira caught a glimpse of the face beneath that hood, felt herself gasp. The accent, the eyes flashing eager despite her scowl, the decided lack of social graces.
Spotting her, the woman blinked. “What?”
Mira grinned.
* * *
“It’s not fair! I didn’t even place a bid!” Silvio paced the hall, hands clasped behind his back.
Leaning back in the room’s only chair, Zevran watched the young Crow over the rim of his glass, smiled as he took a long, slow sip. It was Silvio who had most recently attempted to poison him, Silvio who even now seemed ready to strike him where he sat. The others were not oblivious to the exchange, clustered round the steps of the low dais at the chamber’s end. All had likewise made some attempt at testing him, but only Silvio had dared mount the stairs to stand before him, glowering up at him still.
Setting down the glass, Zevran nodded. “No, you did not.”
“Then why?”
He raised a hand for silence, hiding the bit of wicked satisfaction as they acquiesced. “You are all men, women of skill, yes? The General has requested out very best. And I think you in particular, Silvio, could benefit from a Seheron summer.”
The younger man could not keep the flush from his pale cheeks. No, he would have to do better than that.
Zevran glanced up as the door at the end of the hall swung open, Mira dropping into a shallow bow as the others turned. Good girl. Truly, she should not bow for them at all. But there was a smile there as she raised her eyes, the grin barely contained.
“Leave us.”
The others looked to him now, Silvio’s eyes narrowing. “Master-”
“-Leave. Now.”
They moved as one for the doors on either side of the hall, glances roaming openly between them. Let them wonder. Whatever rumor was spun here were surely be more salacious than the truth. Both Mira and Rollo had played their parts well. Already word had spread of his strange appetites, the cries coming from his chambers, his watchful, sleepless hours. But as to the truth of those…
He rose from the chair, the steps of the dais falling away beneath him. And still Mira smiled. She was a perceptive enough girl, if young, so like She had been when first they met. But could she truly know, truly understand what this proof would bring him? Did he even understand himself? Whatever sign she had found, whatever news… It would be over, she would be… Zevran hesitated. Still he could not think the word. Hope, even now?
“You found something.”
Mira straightened, grin splitting wide. “Oh yes.”
He had taken half a step, wondering still at that excitement. But he saw it then, moving from the shadows of the doorway, the figure cloaked and hooded. Slight but proud and strong, so strong, that slow, determined grace. He knew before she raised her eyes, lifting slender, trembling hands to lower the hood.
Reikha’s breath caught in her throat. So long he had feared to forget that face, soft beneath the weary lines, those eyes wide and innocent despite all that they had seen. So many sleepless nights he had put ink to page but he was no artist, not truly, each fading detail stirring guilt anew. They had burned beside the letters, written even still, wasted words and canvas. Too late, they had said it was too late.
Beautiful she stood in her disbelief, joy and panic and relief warring behind her eyes. They watered now, overwhelmed, his own sight blurring as he grinned. Only dimly was he aware of Mira bowing slowly out of the room.
Reikha laughed then, streaking cross the tiles as she let the cloak fall fluttering behind, closing the distance between them to crash against his chest. Zevran caught her as they staggered, the warmth of her, the feel, the scent, the taste as his kisses fell wild against her chin. He had lifted her, he realized, her hands tangling impatient in his hair as she pulled his mouth up her hers. It was slow that he lowered her, shuddering to feel her, all of her sliding against him.
Zevran’s chest heaved, breath hot against her cheek. “We are being watched.”
Her chuckle was little more than a throaty sigh, delicious and wicked as he had remembered. “I know.”
Reikha spun, drawing her blades as the tiny knife came flying from between the pillars. Silvio did have marvelous aim. But she was faster, striking quick, deflecting it with ease. Already she was dashing cross the hall, the knife clattering against the steps. Silvio hit the wall with a grunt, Reikha’s dagger coming to his throat as she pressed him back against the stone.
Zevran moved behind her, wrapping his arms round her waist as he rested his chin on her shoulder. “Dear, dear Silvio. This is the second time this week.”
The man’s eyes roamed between them, something like fear flickering behind his sneer. How they must look to him, she pale where he was dark and dark where he was pale, but fitting together with perfect ease. Tighter he held her, breathing deep of her hair, nuzzling his cheek against hers.
Reikha mirrored his grin, her grip on the blade unwavering. She pressed closer, enjoying herself.
“Here, amora. I believe this is yours.” Zevran slipped Fang from its place on his back, laying it in her hand.
She chuckled as his fingers closed over hers, tilting her head to look back at him. Her gaze held as she switched the blades, Silvio squirming anew. Still he was pinned, those hands moving before he could react, and now he was being thoroughly ignored.
Something passed behind Reikha’s smile. “Is he…?”
Zevran nodded.
Half-twisting, she rolled her hips against his, one of his hands cupping her cheek to turn her face to his. The force of the kiss was staggering. Silvio struggled, attempting to slip round the dagger still at his throat, but Zevran’s other arm braced hard against his chest, shoving him back against the wall. Opening one eye he sighed deep, winking for the other man.
Reikha whirled full to face him then, Fang slicing in a neat arc as she pressed her chest to his. The blade fell forgotten as Silvio slumped, her lips again finding his. Away from the wall Zevran drew her, lifting her above the spreading pool, her legs wrapping round his waist. Her hands seemed to be everywhere, her teeth nipping at his neck as he slipped a hand beneath her tunic.
She moved with him, shivering for the trace of his fingers up and cross her spine, laughing as the last of her leathers tangled round her head. He threw them aside, her gasp thick as he buried his face against her breasts.
So pale that skin, so soft despite the scars. Once he had thought to memorize them all, begged her to let him trace them with his inks. But there were new marks here, fresh if fading, a yellow bruise marring the tender rise of her left breast.
“Amora…”
Held above him still, she sighed against his hair. “You have no idea how I’ve missed that.”
“Mm.”
Reikha’s hands roamed as he lowered her, deft fingers already working at his laces, the tunic sliding up and over his head. Again she buried her face in his neck, hands slipping over his back as she chuckled. But they hesitated, her breath seeming to catch as they found the scars, the still-rough lines of Selena’s claws. Pulling away, she blinked, stepping round to stand behind him.
She traced the tattoos, something of that smile twitching still, but it was to the scars that her fingers strayed.
Turning, Zevran caught her wrist. He had not intended… but she knew, her face falling as she held his gaze. Before he could open his mouth to speak her eyes flickered away, those lips trembling, cringing… guilty.
“Ahh.” Looking again to the fading bruises, the telltale shape of eager teeth, he traced gentle fingers along her cheek.
Reikha shook her head.
“Amora.” He turned her eyes back to his. But she must have seen something there, some surprise or hurt that he had failed to hide, for still she refused to look at him.
“I… I didn’t know if… I thought you were…” She sobbed as he pulled her close, burying her face against his chest. Her arms wrapped round, twitching as they again found Selena’s final gift.
He scowled. “I told you that I had to do many things in my time as a Crow.”
Reikha pulled back to look at him. “It’s okay. I… I understand. You… did what you had to.”
“No. So it was once and so I convinced myself it was again. But it was a mistake.”
She chewed at her lip. “Who is she?”
“It no longer matters. She is dead.” His eyes strayed cross the hall to where Fang lay forgotten on the floor.
Reikha followed his gaze, finally looking up at him. “I’m sorry, Zev.”
Shaking his head, he cupped a gentle hand beneath her breast. “But you, amora. Were you… hurt?”
He would not say it, but she had to smile for the softness of that whisper. “It was nothing I did not ask for.”
Zevran blinked at that. They had experimented, true; there was little that they had not done in their time together, but…
She was watching him. “I… wanted it to hurt. I wanted to hurt, I think. Just to feel, feel something beside the numbness, the emptiness, the wondering-”
“-Ahh.” He pulled her closer, pressing his lips against her forehead. It was a long moment before he spoke, the question looming unasked. “And yours…?”
“Not dead. But I’m pretty sure he despises me.”
Zevran chuckled, shaking his head. “Perhaps it is better that I do not know.”
“Zev. I… I’m sorry, truly.”
“As am I.” He smirked, tsking beneath his breath. “But if we are keeping score of depraved acts, I must admit that I am still some years ahead of you. Lifetimes, perhaps.”
Reikha’s hand fell against his cheek as her scowl softened. “I told you that doesn’t matter.”
“Does it not?” He ran fingers through her hair, smiling as they found the earring nestled there. “Mm. You are right, I think. But it cuts both ways, yes? Amaranthine does not matter; the Crows do not matter. This…” He bent to bring the gem gently to his lips, straightening to lay kisses on her cheek and forehead, pausing just above her lips. “I once said that by your side I would storm the gates of the Dark City itself. And in this I have failed you. But know that I will never leave your side again.” He grinned. “If you think that you could bear my company.”
For answer she threw her arms around his neck, laughing as he lifted her, bearing her toward the dais. How he had hated this room, the final trap springing shut, Visarius’ lies hanging still heavy on the air. But as he lay her back against the steps, rocking back on his heels to admire the effect of her dark hair cascading cross the pale marble, Zevran smiled.
Leaning over her, he traced her lips only fleetingly, moving to chin and neck and shoulders.
Softer still those kisses as he moved to her breasts, tongue flitting over the bruises to circle suckling round the nipple. Reikha stirred, but he was teasingly gentle. Marks or no, he could not imagine her laying still for anyone - and certainly not quietly, as he recalled. She would have given as good as she got.
Zevran found himself laughing, hands bracing against the steps as he slid lower. He had not expected such a thought to be so… tantalizing, but his back arched now as he traced the lines of her belly, his hips rolling against her knee where it fell between his legs.
Again Reikha’s hands found his back, digging hard against the scars, nails biting to open them anew. Both hands she dragged, her marks longer, deeper, possessing him entire. Zevran hissed, grabbing at her belt, his chuckle tracing the slipping line of her breeches. Away he pulled them, Reikha shifting to help, to kick them off. Her head snapped back as he threw them aside, burying his face against her.
She seemed to be sliding up the steps now, crawling back and away from him, gaining balance to wrap her legs round his shoulders. Laughing still, Zevran breathed deep, one hand snaking high to cup round her breast, the other pushing him upward, using the full length of his body to rock with the swaying of her hips.
After a time, the hand moved low, feeling beneath the rhythm of his tongue, looking up to see her chest heave with delicious anticipation. One finger and then the next, the flick of his tongue quickening as she whimpered.
“Zev.”
“Mmm…” He let the sound stretch long, lips pressing harder against her.
“Zev. Please.”
The merest play of teeth, her breaths quickening as he laughed.
Again her hands curled against his back, pulling him upward. It was regretfully that he allowed himself to be drawn away, leaving lingering, sucking kisses, his fingers withdrawing slow as her eyes pinched shut. But her hands worked quickly, sliding free his belt, jerking hard upon his laces.
“Tsk, amora. Such impatience.” He let his hips roll against her, those final leathers between them still. Such warmth, and sure to leave a stain.
With no small difficulty he pulled away, rising up just enough to kick the breeches off and away. Reikha wasted no time in drawing him to her, fingers dimpling hard against the tender flesh of his backside.
His hands fell against the steps to either side of her, catching himself, bracing just enough to tease. Reikha’s head lolled, the moan deliciously exasperated. True, he quivered as well, the heat of her close enough to touch, but how he had missed that sound, that bemused pout.
“Andraste’s ass, Zev!”
Ahh, the things that he had made her say…
Reikha’s touch slipped round now, gripping him, a single thumb trailing light over the most tender bits. His elbows buckled, her laugh triumphant as he fell against her, drawing him into her at last. Zevran gasped for that possessing heat, the snake of her tongue between his lips… gone perhaps, but never forgotten. Not this.
She smiled now, hips rising again and again to meet him, hands tangling in his hair to bring his mouth to hers. But he buried himself against her neck, back heaving with something like laughter. Here, at last, it was over.
* * *
“From the moment of her arrival, word spread that any who crossed the master would also face the Hero of Ferelden, the one-time Commander of the Grey. Less than half a year they remained in Antiva City, the Crows flourishing beneath their merciless but changing rule. Many disappeared during that time and the city whispered, but always it was those who were said to be cruel, those who would not be missed. Darkspawn raids increased but always they were turned aside, the master’s bride herself commanding from the walls.
“It was a spring evening that they vanished, slipping away in the night without word or reason. But there had been a strange air about the master in those final days, a smile that would not fade. Some say that they returned to Denerim, to her family. Others claim that they remain in hiding within the city or that they wander still. But as to why they left, none could say.”
She shifted Adaia against her hip, laying a thoughtful kiss upon her forehead. Little more than three years old and already the girl had her father’s wicked grin. “Tell another, Nan.”
Mira smiled. “I’m afraid we don’t have time, little one. Perhaps when next you visit, hm?”
“But I wanna hear about the Blight. About Oggin and King Alistair!”
She laughed. “That is a story for your mother to tell, I think.”
Reikha made her way up the dock now, whatever argument she had been having with the ship’s captain well and truly settled. She took the girl from Mira’s arms with a grateful smile as Zevran slipped behind her. “You’ll see them soon enough.”
Adaia grinned up at her, but Zevran shook his head. “Oghren, a Grey Warden. This I must see.” As Mira turned to the rest of their packs he smirked, arms wrapping round Reikha and the child as he bent to whisper in her ear. “Tell me you and he did not...”
She laughed, eyes narrowing wickedly. “I thought you didn’t want to know.”
“Morbid curiosity, then.”
“No. Not Oghren.” She chuckled. “But I will say that he is not a dwarf that you want to cross.”
“Oh?”
“He was… less than pleased with me. Defended your honor, actually.”
“My…?” He buried the laugh against her hair. “Now that I would like to have seen.”
Mira returned then. They had not packed much, but she had insisted on helping, on seeing them off. Zevran smiled for them both. “I still do not see how you convinced me of this. Ferelden? Again?” He shuddered.
“Will you be visiting your arling, Commander?”
Reikha shook her head. “It’s not mine to visit.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Zevran took Adaia from her arms. “Perhaps a bit of idle threatening? Keep those wicked humans on their toes, as it were?”
“They’re not all so bad.”
“Ahh.” He quirked a brow, the old joke unspoken. As he turned for the ship, he tsked. “Such a scandalous change of heart.” They had spoken of it eventually, of course, the gentle mockery seemingly the only price they each would pay.
Reikha laughed, turning to give Mira a final hug before darting after them. Linking her arm through his, she brushed Adaia’s hair from her face. “Alistair has a son now, you know.”
“Hm?” Zevran pulled her closer, shifting as the girl squirmed eager for the waiting ship. “And we have left them in peace long enough, yes?”
She smirked. “My thoughts exactly.”
As they made their way up the ramp, he lay a chuckling kiss on Adaia’s forehead. “Somehow, I pity them both.”