Fic: Patchwork - Patched Up, M, 5/6

[1smut_princess]

Title: Patchwork - Patched Up
Author: Rhion
Rating: M
Disclaimer: Me no own, you no sue
Summary: When the total far exceeds the sum of the parts, something infinitely beautiful can be created from bits and pieces of random things.
AN: I think Amku got to this story to beta it, but haven’t asked her. So if there’s fubars - my bad. I’ll ask her later on tonight.

XXX

Her room smelled of tea and roses, an altogether pleasant thing after the business of dealing with the nobles. The Arlessa's quarters were larger than anything Lyna had ever lived in, and she felt lost simply by entering the foyer. It was more than quadruple the size of she and Zevran's flat in Antiva and her family in the Alienage made use of an apartment that would fit in just the sitting room. Seeking the more familiar and comforting – and subsequently smaller – setting of the bower Lyna ignored the trappings of noble station. It was a cozy affair by a noble's estimation, but even so Lyna felt swallowed whole sometimes.

“Ah, you shall have to pour yourself some of this tea, my hands are rather engaged at the moment,” Zevran said from his position near the fireplace. He was almost hidden by the massive chair he was ensconced in. “I find that my estimation of the time of your arrival was a touch off, I take it that this means things either went exceedingly well or quite badly with those whom seek the Arlessa's favor?”

Rolling her eyes, Lyna stepped towards the red upholstered chair, “You could say that it was some of both. Apparently Rendon Howe left us a present in the way of a tangled situation.”

“Oh-ho? I do so love a good posthumous conspiracy, do tell amora,” rather gleefully, Zevran laughed. “Spare me no details!”

Grunting as she tossed off some of her over clothes to be left in naught but her long sleeved under tunic, “Oh it was nothing really, just the former Arl promised Lady Packton some of Ser Derren's land in return for supporting Loghain in the civil war.” Finally moving around the chair so she could take her customary seat, “What in the Maker's name are you doing Zev?” slack jawed, Lyna was flabbergasted and staring as she pointed. “And is that oil?”

Having come to a sudden stop, Lyna eyed Zevran who was wearing not much more than a smile, and a pair of cotton trews rolled up to above his knees. That wasn't what was so odd. No, that was rather normal – or at least it had been in Antiva, and aboard the Swift Mabari the assassin had worn the same with the addition of a sash to hold two small knives. It was the fact that at his feet were two pans, one filled with what looked like oil, the other soapy water. And his hands were in a bowl that sat balanced on his knees, which was the source of the rose scent. At his elbow sat a teapot, with a small candle under it to keep the contents warm and two cups, as well as a variety of implements that seemed best suited to a dungeon.

Glancing down and back up, with a quizzical tilt of the head, “Yes, it most certainly is. Have you never done this? It is quite relaxing I assure you.” Jerking his chin towards what was 'her' chair – a less overstuffed version of his, done in green velvet, “There are pans there for you as well. Sit down, and let your feet soak for a few minutes in the soapy one. You don't have as much callus to remove as I, amora.”

Still confused, “I don't understand.”

“I spent much time up in the Swift Mabari's rigging amora,” setting aside the bowl of fragrant water, sorting through the various tools and selecting what looked like a strange whetstone. “Hemp is cruel to the flesh, no? Far worse than the leather of a hilt or boot, and now my hands are... excessively rough.” Holding up one beautiful hand palm outwards, Lyna saw that indeed the once smooth skin had become thick and coarse, “callus serves a purpose but doesn't have to be so... unkempt.” Watching Zevran eye his hand speculatively, “Hmph, disgusting. No one would wished to be touched by something so inelegant.” Then he raised a foot, showing off how pruned they were from soaking, however Lyna could tell where the skin had become tough, “And my feet are much worse, no? How hideous, to be sure Ogrhen and I currently share in this ugliness and I've no wish for it to continue!”

“And so you're... soaking your feet in oil,” frowning, gingerly sitting down and poking her own bowl of oil with a toe not asking about who he would be touching.

An indecisive Alienage girl could make no claims on Zevran when she had already forfeited them.

The strange whetstone was grasped and then rubbed vigorously in his palms as the assassin hummed, “Yes, it makes the removal easier by far.”

“And these, tools?” pointing to them. “What are they for?”

“To scrape and smooth,” examining his palms and switching to a file, buffing the edges of the nails of his fingers. “This -” tapping a cruel device that had some sort of blade attached along with a guard with his elbow, not stopping his filing, “is for cutting away the dead parts, you see? You must be gentle with it or it will slice into the living meat which... would be undesirable, yes?”

Making a face, “That sounds dangerous Zev.”

With a flick of a wrist the file was tossed onto the table and the round handled thing for scraping was picked up, “I do like to live dangerously amora. Otherwise I'd make a very poor assassin.”

“Leli's estimation of you was right,” watching as Zevran hoisted a foot onto his knee, beginning to saw at a heel. “You're insane. But you're my insane assassin I suppose.”

Zevran's only reply was a 'hmmhmm'. Bent double, thin trails of what looked like white mushy slivers of disgusting goop shed from his foot, his long braid slithered over a broad shoulder, tapping his bicep with each motion, making a soft sound with each strike. It looked altogether unsafe, and Lyna could take it no longer. Moving from her spot, nabbing a footstool she halted his actions with a hand on his wrist.

“Show me how to do this,” wrapping fingers around his ankle, and pulling it to her lap.

Quickly she picked up the mechanics and set to it, using more care than Zevran had been showing his foot. With a contented sigh the Antivan slumped into the chair, relaxing into it like a cat into a good session of petting. Smiling at the image, Lyna continued.

Interrupting the rhythmic motions, “Hmm... what do you think of Anders?”

Flicking her gaze upwards for a moment before returning to the odd grooming, “Good mage, funny, a little cracked around the edges.”

“Aren't they all?” chuckling gently.

Pausing, Lyna thought about the mage for a few seconds, “Actually he reminds me of... you and Alistair.”

“Oh? How so amora?” one lid popped open to look at her as he folded his hands over the taut muscles of his abdomen.

“Well – if you and Alistair had some sort of child,” nose crinkling at the thought. “He looks like Alistair, and is goofy like Alistair, but has your libido. And inability to take 'no' for an answer.”

Pressing a hand to his heart in mock pain, “Oh, how you wound me amora! I am a gentleman and never foist my attentions on a completely uninterested woman or man!”

Dipping a hand into the bowl of now tepid water she flicked a spray of droplets at him, laughing, “You know what I mean!”

“Hmm.. yes I suppose I do,” teeth flashing in a wide grin, eyes twinkling. “Perhaps that is why I don't mind his presence so much, it is like be around myself if only I were an idiot who wielded the elements!”

Countering, “What do you think of Sigrun?”

Watching him mull it over for a moment, “Hmm.... a bundle of fun that one. To be sure she would be boundless and up for almost anything. Dwarven women are supposed to be as tireless as the males so I hear. Interesting, but complicated in the end.” Clarifying before she could ask, “She has needs amora that would breed entanglements, and is deserving of someone who would be prepared to give her more than a good time.”

Lyna supposed she could see that. The dwarva was sweet, and sharp as a honed blade – but there was an underlying vulnerability that wasn't apparent at first blush, well covered as it was by her optimistic demeanor. In all actuality Sigrun reminded Lyna of Zevran more than Anders ever could.

“Nathaniel then, he is a rather dark sort if one is into that.” Zevran feigned a swoon, the back of his hand draped over his forehead, eyes to the ceiling, “Oh so handsome and brooding, from a noble family laid low by dishonour – even as he struggles valiantly to regain it!” Snorting, “Our little sonstress would love him, yes?”

Lyna liked Nathaniel, but the reminder of his 'nobility' left a bitter taste in her mouth, “Yes she would.”

“But not you?” sounding as if he were taken by surprise. “Truly?”

“No. What about you? Wouldn't you like the cut of his features?” wishing to deflect, to not be on the receiving end of the thought of Howe in any way involved with her intimately.

The answer was swift, “No, I have had enough with dark Ferelden shemlin assassins. I have found the taste of their presence in my life to be... lacking refinement and entirely uncouth.”

Blinking Lyna had to reach into memory of what Zevran could be talking about. And then she remembered. Taliesin. Knowing that at one point the two had been friends – and more – Lyna wondered if Zevran ever suspected that Taliesin may have known of Rinna's innocence. He had seemed the cruel and possessive type and she wouldn't put it past the dead Crow.

“Perhaps Ogrhen would be better suited?” hoping to bring the smile back to the assassin's face.

Scoffing, even as the hard cast to his features slipped away, “I would sooner bed a rotting corpse! It would smell better.”

Pointing out, waving the odd scraping tool about, “Well we do have one of those standing around if you'll recall, he's hard to miss.”

“Please, even I am not that deviant amora,” it was his turn to roll his eyes.

“Well if not a rotting corpse, what of Velanna?” asking about the gorgeous elf.

If there was anyone that Lyna actually envied for their looks, it was the Dalish Keeper trained mage. She had a body that even Lyna knew would draw the eyes of others, and while the Warden had never exactly wanted to be looked at like an object... if she had to be one, then Lyna would wish to have such a figure. And ever since she was a small girl, Lyna had wished her hair was not so dark, but rather soft and flaxen.

Zevran tapped his chin in a rapid tattoo of fingers, “She is elven, and that would be nice. So often I'm the shorter one, and it does appeal to me to be the tall one every now and then.”

“I sense a 'but',” secretly thrilled that Zevran didn't appear to have any interest in the mage than height difference.

Shrugging eloquently, “But she would be all hissing and spitting and clawing like the wild beast she is. It has its place, yet that is what I most often have come across and have long since tired of it.” His expression turned sly, “Now though, I would not mind seeing an encounter between you and she, preferably in some forest glen, wrestling like wild things. And all the better if mud is involved...”

Lyna switched to Zevran's other foot, “Right, so if I just happen to take leave of my senses and decide to play for the other side, you'll want to be notified of Velanna and I acting on primal urges and getting in touch with our elven natures. Just so you know –“ leveling a finger at him, eyebrow cocked, “never happening.”

Pouting entirely too convincingly like a little boy denied his fun, “I wouldn't have to join in amora, I would be content to watch... Then again, can you blame a man for his idle fantasies?”

Shaking her head in amused disbelief, “How did we get onto this topic anyway Zev?”

“Oh I was merely trying to find out who you might find to be suitable company for any... needs you may have,” and Lyna picked up on the undercurrent of tension in the Antivan, no matter his apparent relaxed state.

Now that she had the hang of the callus remover, the work on his second foot went far more quickly than the first. Taking the time to think about why Zevran would bring up her 'needs' Lyna was aware she would have to tread carefully. They were still on shaky ground even though they had fallen back into the easy camaraderie they shared in Antiva. With the notable exception that they no longer shared quarters. Yes she could seek Zevran out and would be welcomed into his bed if the nightmares were too much to handle alone, but other than that she was banished from such an intimate role in his life.

Just because he called her 'amora', and she used his name however she chose – didn't mean that they had resumed the life they had before. Old habits were hard to shake free of, especially when it was all either one had to hold onto. So Lyna tried not to read anything into Zevran's questions.

Fixing her gaze on the sharp bone that jutted from the surprisingly thick ankle, “It would be inappropriate for me to find any gratification amongst the rank and file Zev. So I hadn't thought about it. A Warden Commander isn't allowed to have 'needs'.”

“Ah, is that so?” Zevran leaned forward enough so he could cup her chin. “I beg to differ amora. You are mortal as are we all, you are made of flesh and blood. Do you not eat? Sleep?”

Lyna snorted in derision, “On the last thing? Not much.”

“Oh, but I can attest personally to your being a creature of needs,” his voice soft, hypnotic. “Has your sleep been more troubled of late amora?” A freshly trimmed nail stroked the faded circle under her left eye, “I see that it has.” Closer still, near enough that Lyna could feel his breath on her cheek, smell the tea he had drunk earlier, “What shall you do about your needs amora? Shall you continue to ignore them?”

“I suppose you have a solution,” lids falling closed to block the image of intense golden eyes focusing on her with undeniable force. “But my needs are unimportant, they can be held at bay in favor of seeing to what is necessary.”

Voice dropping an octave, “Then what of my needs?”

“I suppose it has been awhile since you've last had to deal with a target,” biting the inside of her cheek, Lyna refused to open her eyes or to move either into Zevran's touch or away from it. “Except there's nothing stopping you from looking for whatever you need Zev.”

“Hmm, I think I see now,” Lyna could almost feel his lips on her cheek, only a hairsbreadth between Zevran's velvet soft mouth and her skin. “You believe that I have had many partners since meeting you my dear. That I have lain with targets before slaying them at the very least if not having sought out company elsewhere.”

That hit a nerve Lyna hadn't been aware was raw, “And didn't you?”

“No, I have not done such in many years now. Where once I mocked Leliana for how long she foreswore companionship, if I were to add up all the time I have done the same - it would possibly exceed her two years,” forehead pressed to her cheek now, and Lyna relinquished his foot. “However, that is not to say that I didn't do the minimum necessary to gain access to their throats, but beyond that – no. I have not lain with any other.”

Any other than herself.

Siempre fiel, apparently being 'always faithful' meant more than simple loyalty. Not that there was anything simple about Zevran and his devotion. Oh how easy it would be to just use him, yet that went against everything Lyna had learned to be. Constantly for the last four years she had woken up each morning admonishing herself to be watchful, to be cautious of hurting Zevran, of using him to just tear chunks of him off to stuff into the holes that sat empty and waiting in her soul.

“Fine, so why don't you tend to your needs? I'm not keeping you from them, I never have,” urging him to take the out she was offering.

Zevran deserved to have someone whole, not someone who was a hole.

Quiet huffing laughter and then the assassin was dragging her into his lap, and Lyna didn't want to fight him, it had been a week since she had last been held so tight. It was startling to realize how much she had lost when Zevran and she weren't as close as they had been, “I do believe that this is what we are trying to establish since your needs mean little to you, we shall approach this from the route of my needs instead amora.”

“And what... exactly do you need?” hesitating, the little voice inside her head yelling to get up, reminding her that she had only ever taken from Zevran, and that the one time she tried to give what she had... failed spectacularly.

“Hmm, I have a need for companionship, the touch of flesh to flesh,” moistened lips moved against the shell of her ear as he spoke. Forestalling Lyna who was about to tell him that he could have that from her if he really wanted to, sharp teeth nipped at her lobe, before continuing, “It may not be a thing undertaken when wild with drink, or a perfunctory act for simple animal release. I can achieve that with my own hand and have done well enough with that for near five years.”

Shuddering, Lyna pressed at Zevran's shoulders so she could look him in the eye, “Alright, no drinking.” One of his brows arched, waiting, and Lyna added in a rush, “No quickies either.”

“Such encounters will take place here, in your quarters so that afterward you may not flee,” features stern. “And if you must leave, you will awaken me if I do not rise automatically.”

Chewing her lip, Lyna squirmed. This felt altogether strange. Here she was making some sort of... deal. For sex. With Zevran, and somehow Lyna thought she should feel horrible about it. Rather she felt relieved. He was taking the burden off of her shoulders, and forcing the issue when she couldn't do so herself.

“I can do that,” agreeing, albeit reluctantly. “So, um... when would you like to...?”

Zevran relaxed, arms loosening their death grip around her, the tension no longer pouring off of him in waves, “Soon, not tonight. But soon.” A rueful twist of a smile, “I would not wish to touch you while I am so rough around the edges, amora.”

Sealing the deal with a kiss on his cheek, “Como desees guapo.”

XXX


Vigil's Keep was drafty, cold and damp, and that was when the weather was half way decent. On an evening like the one that Zevran was currently dealing with – steel gray skies, fat black clouds and gusting wind – that meant that the Keep was far worse. And the company wasn't much better, Justice walking a pace or two behind Zevran which made the assassin's palms itch for the handle of a blade at such dangerous proximity.

Up the steps into the bleak fortress – must all buildings in Ferelden be dark and foreboding? - Zevran stalked, ignoring Velanna and Justice as best he could for the moment. Soon he would be able to check in on Lyna, except first he must extricate himself from his two companions. And after that he would have to speak with Nathaniel... and after that Varel... and after that.... he would need to bathe.

And after that – he could see his Warden.

Maybe.

If no one came running to him for instruction like lost little children screaming for their papa to fix it.

Pinching the bridge of his long nose, Zevran groaned mentally. Such lengthy patrols he had to conduct, the highly limited forces of the Wardens consisting of bitter, untried, drunk, dead or – in the Antivan's estimation – stupid, persons, with only a few who were actually competent meant that he had his work constantly cut out for him. Zevran didn't know how Lyna did it. She would simply approach every problem as if it were a simple grocery run, and picked the best people for the job with quick mental calculations. How the former Crow longed for his Warden to be recovered, so that he could return to the days of only doing as he was told, and operating as her tool rather than having to shoulder the bulk of the responsibility.

Zevran bowed his goodbyes upon arriving into the main hall, “Rest well my friends, for I shall see you tomorrow.”

“When will the Commander be taking over again?” Velanna casually asked halting his exit, hiding a hint of concern. Poorly of course, as her social graces were as lacking as Justice's.

“As soon as she is able woman,” Justice intoned. “You flesh beings are not built to withstand several direct lightening strikes.”

Jaw muscles tensing at the reminder of the ghostly electricity charged high dragon, Zevran kept his voice even, “Alas, we are not all so well equipped as yourself. But Anders is taking care of the Commander at the moment, and so I trust she is in good hands. Now, I must take my leave, I have other duties to attend to.”

Velanna looked as if she wished to say something further, but Zevran escaped as quickly as decorum would allow. Varel was the first person he came upon and decided that the dignified man looked as harried as he felt. That only meant bad news. Nathaniel could wait.

Raising a hand in quick greeting, “A good drink would do us some good, no?”

“Ah, Master Arainai, I trust your patrol went well?” steel gray hair, armored even indoors within an inch of his life.

Shrugging, “Well enough. Shall we dispense with pleasantries? It seems there must be something going on if your expression is anything to go by.”

Varel shook his head, the haggard cast to his face becoming more pronounced, “I have just received word from Weisshaupt that they think it unwise to send any Orelsian Wardens to assist in replenishing their numbers in Ferelden.”

The splitting headache that had been waiting in the wings came on Zevran like a sirocco. Merciless and painful. That was dire news indeed, and while the Wardens were supposed to be apolitical the reality was that Fereldens wouldn't welcome an influx of foreigners. No matter that other than King Alistair and Lyna there were only six Wardens in Ferelden – Weisshaupt couldn't risk the backlash of the beaten and nervous population that would arise from sending Orlesians in to aid.

Masking his own worry, “Do not fret my dear Seneschal, the Blight itself was faced by far fewer than the number of Wardens that we have currently. Our dear Commander is expert in navigating these things.” Waving a hand, “Politics, darkspawn, the Archdemon and civil war have not laid her low but for a few injuries. This is nothing.” Clapping Varel on the shoulder, “At least this time we have much less worry for where meals come next, where we shall sleep, and whether or not Alistair had cooking duty.”

“As you say Master Arainai,” Varel oozed discomfort as he shifted foot to foot beside Zevran who had left his hand on the shemlin's shoulder. “I shall trust your word on it.”

Squeezing the metal clad shoulder with a hint of warning, “Hmm, yes then. Are there any other pressing matters? No?”

Varel was no fool and understood the velvet tone, “Ah, no, Master Arainai, there are none.”

“Good,” smiling broadly, Zevran left to speak with Lyna about the new developments.

Again, Nathaniel could wait. As could Zevran's bath. Lyna would need to know how little assistance she would be receiving from outside, and adjust her instructions to him accordingly.

Spying Sigrun as she wandered from the library, laden with books, Zevran spared the dwarva a moment. She was one of the few recruits that didn't rub him the wrong way, easily slipping into the armor he wore that kept most at armslength. All the other Wardens – excluding Ogrhen – tried too hard to replace he and Lyna's old companions, creating an undercurrent of tension that aggravated Zevran to no end. Two years filled with hardships, joys and general annoyances had forged bonds that were not the sort to be cast aside or refilled with the ease of snapped fingers. But the dwarf attempted none of that, only acted as herself, and in the interests of the group.

“Oh you look like death warmed over Zev!” head tipped back, the tattoos on her face wrinkling as her cheeks pinched into one of her typically huge grins. “That bad, huh?”

“Yes, and it only appears that the numbers of darkspawn are increasing,” shaking his head, carefully pacing his stride to match the dwarva's shorter one. “Amongst other irritating factors.”

Sigrun shifted her armload of books, head cocked, one of the short pigtails brushing her shoulder in the motion, “So just another day? This is why I'm dead I swear, takes all the worry out of living.”

“Rather lively for a dead woman,” unable to keep a smile from his face, Zevran relaxed thankful for at least one person who made no demands on his time, but rather shared experience in the day to day while keeping upbeat. It had always been up to him to be the one who smiled on and on without a break, to keep up the morale of the group – and primarily Lyna. “Perhaps I too should have a funeral.”

“That would be fun, get the booze flowing, and everyone so tossed that they dance naked,” Sigrun paused at the foot of the stairs that lead up to the private quarters, “I'd pay good money to see Nate in his naturals doing the oh... what's a Fereldan dance? Other than the Remigold....”

Zevran laughed, “I know of none! But in Antiva when there was a celebration, or everyone became utterly soused for no reason, we would get.... lively to say the least.” Gesturing for Sigrun to proceed ahead of him up the stairs, “I am rather fond of lavoltas myself, but I do not think I would wish to do such with good Howe.”

“Oh sounds like it must be really dirty if you wouldn't do it with him,” giggling. “And right up my alley.”

Shrugging a shoulder and raising a brow, “Not much isn't up your alley I would think.” Stopping at Sigrun's door and opening it for her, “But I shall take my leave and hope to scrub the image of lifting a naked Nathaniel Howe up in the air in lavolta from my mind.” Making a face, “Actually if you happen to see Howe, please inform him that I need to speak with him soon about a pressing matter.”

Now that the minor pleasantry of spending time with a fellow rogue was done, Zevran braced himself, ordering the list of items that needed going over with Lyna in order of importance. First off a debriefing on the trip to Amaranthine, then the patrol, and then the sour news from Weisshaupt. Entering Lyna's quarters and halting in the foyer, the assassin's ears perked, hearing a male voice coming from within.

“Yes, I do have magic hands, don't I?” tone full of self depreciating smirking. The voice clearly belonged to Anders, and continued, “So, now that I've done my magical healer schtick, can I just get on with laying my hands on you yet as reward for having you patched all the way up now?”

Zevran twitched, but held off storming into the Arlessa's inner rooms. But only just. He was too anxious to see how Lyna would react, needing to know exactly how much he would have to overcome. It had been several weeks since their conversation on 'needs' as one thing or another would come up – not the least of which was his elven lady's injury – before they had been able to establish a pattern to their encounters. And Anders, who so closely resembled Alistair, was the one person Zevran was sure had some chance to win Lyna's affections. As much as his Warden had been hurt by the King, there had been love for him, too much to be truly swept away by pain and several years. So Anders, who Lyna had said was unsuitable, who was a combination of himself and Alistair.... may yet win something from Lyna anyway with his looks and manner.

There was an amused grunt, “I would say 'in your dreams' but since you're a mage, and mages can play so much with the Fade.... I suppose I should say, 'not a chance' magic-boy.”

“Oooh, too bad Warden, your loss then!” Anders laughed in good nature, and Zevran sighed with relief pressing a hand to the stone wall for support. “It's really, truly a shame, see I can do this thing that would make you see sparks.”

“I'm sure, and I'll take it under advisement, but really -” the sounds of bodies moving around, and a rough smack of hand to what was probably a shoulder or back, “I've no desire to see stars other than those that hang in a night sky, thank you very much.”

Lyna was clearly unmoved by the Spirit Healer.

Entering as if he hadn't been eavesdropping, cutting through the air with confident self-assurance firmly in place, Zevran ignored the wealthy appointments, “My dear Warden, I have returned from tripping the light fantastic, wild forays into the swamps and braved the streets of gray Amaranthine to bring tidings!”

“Oh goody! What I always wanted, an Antivan suitor,” Anders quipped, arms crossing, weight balanced on a foot. “But you should know I call top. I play bitch to no man.”

Beside the mage Lyna covered her mouth with a hand, shoulders shaking, even as Zevran shot off a rejoinder, unwilling to be put off by an upstart, “Marvelous, I've always felt receiving was better than giving. Later perhaps I shall visit you then? I'll make sure to bring the various accoutrements necessary for a memorable evening.” Clapping his hands together sharply, “It is decided then, but I must warn you that my stamina is rather high, and my tastes on the wilder side of things. This doesn't disturb you, no?”

Anders eyes went momentarily wide before narrowing, “Probably no stranger than anything I've ever come across. There isn't much else to do in the Tower other than further one's studies.”

“Enough,” Lyna shook her head eyes rolling, gesturing dismissively. “Take your mating dance elsewhere before the images make me loose my lunch. Either that or take them out and measure yourselves, to see who is the bigger man, but whatever you do – please take it from my quarters, I'm a delicate flower who has little knowledge of such matters nor care to learn more firsthand.” Nose crinkling, pointing to the water closet where the only good part of having noble's quarters rested, “And Maker's Breath Zev, bathe first, you're filthy.”

Zevran took that opportunity to step closer to Anders, cupping his chin and giving the mage a thorough once over, from head to toe and back, “Hmm... well then. As I need a bath, and there is one so nearby, perhaps you would care to join me?”

Zevran had no true intention of doing anything with the mage, but was more than willing to go as far as needed to prove dominance in this arena. No one played a game of bluffs with him of this nature and won. Surmising that it wouldn't take much more pushing on his part to press the younger man into giving up the game, Zevran waited for Anders' next volly.

Anders still attempted to draw a win from the contest of wills shrugged, “Sounds fine by me. Lead on.”

It was all that Zevran needed to reach out and grab Anders' crotch, forcefully pulling him to the water closet, “Excellent!”

“Hey – hey careful with the goods!” there was resistance to his hold, but Zevran was implacable.

Besides, he wished to lay things out clearly for Anders. Gaining the washroom, Lyna's disbelieving laughter following them before being shut off by the heavy door, Zevran swung Anders around pressing his back to the wall. The Circle mage's expression was guarded, and Zevran realized he'd have to continue to get him to cease the struggle for dominance. Mentally rolling his eyes at the man's stubbornness, Zevran began disrobing, allowing the mage to take that however he willed.

Almost absentmindedly, shucking armor, “Do you know who you remind me of Anders?”

“I remind you of someone?” Anders stayed where Zevran had put him, watching the Antivan with a hefty dose of suspicion.

“Hmm, yes. Of dear Alistair, I always wanted to fuck that Chantry boy into submission,” cutting a glance at Anders. “You see, I know that you say you wish to take top, but you so closely resemble him that I think it may not be possible. He was Lyna's lover for so long, and he did do our sweet Warden Commander so dirty, that I find myself cross with him. And since I cannot punish him, I shall punish you as a stand-in. Fair, no?”

“Alistair? As in King Alistair? Monarch of Ferelden?” the casual facade crumbled on Anders' face, showing shock.

Completely naked, Zevran leaned down, turning on the bath so that it would fill, “Yes, King Alistair, but I knew him long before he gained such a vaunted title. You see elves aren't considered acceptable partners, let alone wives for such as a Ferleden king. Not by polite society.” Turning and resting against the lip of the tub as it filled behind him, Zevran crossed his legs at the ankles, “And so he and Lyna ended their romance. As if that weren't enough, when my merciful Warden spared Loghain's life making him a Warden – well. Alistair didn't take it so well, and was quite vile to her. So, as you would expect of one so devoted as myself to my fairest Lyna – I am angry with him.”

“And Lyna, is she still...” curiously stumbling, clearly unsure of how to proceed.

“Quite. She detests him, and all those like him, you wonder why it is that she avoids Howe? He is shemlin, as are you, and as a an added bonus, you look much like Alistair,” waving a hand as if he were leading Anders to the obvious conclusion. “Would that not mean she detests you to some degree?”

Anders shifted uncomfortably, “You're telling me to back off.”

“For your own good, yes,” nodding. “Let us keep this between friends Anders, before anyone gets hurt.”

Now Anders drew himself up, shoulders squaring as he leaned forward, the resemblance uncanny to the bastard King, so much so that Zevran wondered if Maric hadn't had any other... indiscretions lying about, “You're threatening me. It's not as if you and she are together. Shouldn't any decision be left up to the Commander?”

Snorting, Zevran slid into the tub, “No threat. I was speaking of Lyna's hurt. If you keep pressing a clearly undesired suit, I will be forced to act in her defense. Which will hurt her, as she is a good sort. Me? Much less so, mercy for me is only acting quickly and without excessive cruelty.”

“So all this -” waving at the pile of discarded armor and Zevran lounging indolently in the tub, “was to prove a point.”

Chuckling, grabbing the bar of sandalwood scented soap and lathering it, “I knew you were a sharp one.” Jerking his head at the door, “You may leave now. And if you'd be so kind, send Lyna in.” Quirking a brow, “Unless of course you want me to fuck you into submission? I can do that, just hop in.”

“Ah I think I'll pass,” holding his hands up, conceding defeat.

Mostly clean by the time Lyna entered, Zevran glanced up at her waiting patiently.

She came to sit on the side of the tub, taking the bar of soap from him so she could wash his hair, “Anders left in a hurry.”

“Hmm, yes. It seems he was not as game as he acted,” leaning into the Warden's touch almost purring at the sensation of her soapy fingers massaging his scalp.

“I wonder if he knew that you weren't interested much,” scooping handfuls of water beginning to rinse his blond locks.

Closing his eyes, Zevran slumped deeper into the tub, “Mph, boys shouldn't think to match wits with such as I.” Lyna was leaning over him further, fingers digging into his chest, rubbing away the tension, as Zevran went on, “True I would have given him a scare if need be. You may thank me suitably now for fending off the unwanted suitor by the way.”

Lyna pushed on his shoulders, dunking him, and as he popped back up spluttering, “You're terrible, you know that, right?”

“Mph, you love me anyway,” grabbing Lyna by the waist and hauling her into the tub in retaliation. “It is my rapscallion manner that ensures you never rid yourself of me, no?”

She was drenched and squealing, flailing as he held her tight in the water not allowing her to escape, “Zev! LemmegoorIswearI'll -”

Zevran cut off the running together words, rolling in the tub along with her, the water sloshing over the side and holding her under him. More squeaks and threats were quickly put an end to when he pressed closer sucking at her lip before giving it a hard nip. Releasing her waist, the assassin braced his hands on the back of the tub, holding himself free of his little Alienage elf, who was currently staring at him wide eyed.

“I hear tell that you are fully recovered,” hovering, giving Lyna room to move from the tub if she wished to, but she would have to rub against him to do so. “And there is a particular matter of an agreement that I wish to... discuss with you amora.”

“How long were you listening at the door?” motionless, searching him, and Zevran worked hard to show her whatever it was she wanted.

Tipping his head to one side, “Long enough to hear the good news, and to hear that the mage was being bothersome.” Pushing a strand of wet hair from where it had fallen into his eyes, “You need worry over him no longer, and any further wordplay will be only that – play.”

“You didn't have to Zev,” her shirt was soaked, revealing the unbound breasts as clearly as if it wasn't there at all, which tempted him to change his gaze from her kind eyes, but he refrained. “I didn't have any interest in him anyway. You know that.”

“Truly? Hmm, but I do recall a matter of promising to fend off unwanted suitors,” relieved by her clear admission. “And since your interest does not lay with him, does it still lay at all with me?”

Zevran allowed her to slip from the tub, sitting on the edge, and Zevran wrapped balancing arms around her, holding Lyna in place gently, while she stroked his hands, “You still want my... companionship?”

Twisting so he was sitting rather than stretched on his stomach, he nuzzled at a legging covered thigh, “Si amora, as we had discussed, if you're of a mind.”

She chewed her lip then as he watched, praying silently that it was him that she still found to be 'of interest', removed her shirt allowing it to land on the floor with a wet 'plop'. That was all the answer he needed, and Zevran set about helping her free of her leggings which were also tossed to the floor. Nudging at her knees, Zevran spread her legs so he could lean in and breathe in the dampness there. Zevran couldn't bring himself to actually do much kissing for foreplay, it felt too intimate and if this was only to be a meeting of mutual needs, he didn't want to invest too many of his emotions. For they were raw, even still these months later, and until Lyna was ready, he would hold himself back just the tiniest amount. But that didn't mean he would forswear fully enjoying every inch of Lyna's body and giving her as much pleasure in the acts as he was capable of.

“Shouldn't we go to the bedroom?” his Warden suggested.

Zevran just grunted, rubbing a cheek to the soft flesh of her inner thigh, “And give up this fortuitous position I have you in? No, I think not.”

Lyna sighed overhead, petting his shoulders, while he began licking at the water on her legs, aiming for her sex. Pulling one of her legs over his shoulder, tipping Lyna back so that all that supported her was the strength of his hold and the stone lip of the tub in the small of her back, Zevran probed her nether lips with his tongue. Above there was a tiny gasp that became a sigh as he swirled the tip of his tongue over her pearl before dragging it down to her entrance and stabbing it once. Back and forth from her opening to the nubbin Zevran rocked the wet muscle against her, his sweet, damaged Alienage elf beginning to quietly moan overhead.

The long years as a Crow had imparted several lifesaving habits in the assassin, for he was never unarmed, even in the bath, two small daggers always near to hand. So when the bathroom's door began to creak open during the act of pleasuring Lyna, Zevran didn't even think, reacting on pure instinct, grabbing one of the weapons and throwing it. With a loud 'cu-thunk' the blade buried itself in the lintel, beside the startled face of Nathaniel Howe as Zevran swiftly burst from the bath, the other weapon in hand, ready to attack.

Registering who it was just as he was pulling back to strike, Zevran growled, “What is it?”

“Ah,” the nobleman turned beet red, seeing the bathroom and its occupants. “Ah, um. Sigrun. Ah, she said.” Eyes locked and wide on Zevran and if the sound of sluicing water was any indicator, Lyna, the Howe stammered inelegantly, “Sigrun said that you, ah, needed to talk to me?”

Reaching out, Zevran jerked the still vibrating dagger from the doorway, brandishing it under Nathaniel's nose, “And you didn't think to knock? Upon what you knew was the bath?” Tutting, “Were you never taught any manners?”

A shame filled blush, and a cast glance down to his feet, “I didn't know the Commander was here. I thought it would only be you.”

“Well, it isn't. A moment, and I shall speak with you,” rubbing the hilt of a dagger into his temple as if to banish the headache that had come back with a vengeance. “And next time – knock! Even if it had been only myself in here, if I hadn't realized it was you, dear Nathaniel, I would have skinned you without thought!”

Zevran was put out in the extreme, but gathered calm about him like a cloak. Nathaniel stammered further apologies as he left the bathroom, but the assassin ignored the shemlin, not sure he had the patience to actually be polite if he had to speak. Laying his head against the large, oaken door when it was closed once more, Zevran counted to ten several times.

His temper slipped free when he felt Lyna's gentle hands on the backs of his shoulders, and he snarled into the wood, “Braska! Que me jodan! Muy estupida, cabron!”

“Hush now,” lips met a shoulder blade, arms going around his waist, wet, naked, flesh pressing along his spine. “What's done is done. Go deal with him, and I'll clean up the bath.” Another kiss, this time to the back of his neck, “Maybe I'll even refill it and be waiting for you?”

Sucking in a sharp breath, “Ah, now that would be suitable thanks for dealing with these headache inducing shems.”