#dragonageaspec

Anders ran a thumb over the letters on Fenris’ wrist as Fenris looked away, embarrassed.

“It really is you,” Anders said in an awed whisper. “You were so dismissive I thought I had to be mistaken. Even though—” He turned his wrist to show Fenris the name there. “I'd never met a Fenris before.”

Fenris pulled his arm away and shuffled his feet in the sand, looking down at the waves gently lapping against his ankles. This was what he had been hoping for, yet what he'd been afraid of even before meeting Anders.

Anders turned to look at the sunset.

“I always dreamed about my soulmate,” Anders said quietly. “Tall, dark, and handsome, maybe a bit reckless. My imagination was never short of scenarios. How we’d meet. Our first kiss.”

“I don’t think I can do this,” Fenris said quickly. “I'm not—”

“I'm not saying we should go home and have sex tonight,” Anders said. “We don't even have to kiss. But can you give it a chance?”

“I didn't want a soulmate,” Fenris said. “Everything I've seen in the movies—I don't like it.”

“This isn't a movie,” Anders said. “Real life is better than that. Let me just try to show you.” He turned back to Fenris.

Fenris looked upset. He gripped his wrist as if he could squeeze away the mark. He was biting his lips too. Anders decided to try a different approach.

“What don't you like about the movies?” Anders asked, squatting down to play his hands in the salty water.

Fenris took a deep breath. Then sighed.

“The one thing every movie has.”

“Soulmates?”

“Sex.”

“Oh.”

Fenris sighed again.

“You don't… want sex,” Anders said. It was starting to make sense now. He noticed that Fenris looked unhappy.

“There's nothing wrong with you,” Anders hurried to explain. “It's just the way you are. Nothing's broken.”

“Every movie I've seen would say differently,” Fenris said. “It's what soulmates do, sooner or later.”

“See,” Anders stood up. “This is where real life gets better.” He scrubbed his hands on his shorts to dry them.

“I'm indifferent about sex,” he said bluntly. “And obviously we would talk about everything. I wouldn't do anything you're uncomfortable with.”

Fenris looked sideways at him, a little wary of something that sounded too good to be true. Despite the things that should irritate him about Anders, he liked the man. He was thoughtful and intelligent. Fenris was really just afraid of the day when Anders would ask him for sex.

“If you never want sex,” Anders said, “that's perfectly fine with me.”

“I have heard about your… experience in sex,” Fenris said dubiously.

Anders turned to Fenris and reached for his hand.

“Fenris. I was young. I wanted people to like me and it seemed like what everyone was doing. I didn't love it, and I'm not proud of it. Isabela might be, but I'm not. It's been at least ten years since then. I'd give it up completely in a heartbeat for you.”

“... for me?”

“Haven't you felt it?”

Fenris felt his heart throbbing in his chest. He could hardly think of anything else. This man respected him, would gladly enter into a relationship free of sex with him. Fenris wanted to try it. So badly.

He nodded, once, blinking. The sun was setting over Anders’ shoulder. Each stray hair was silhouetted against the flaming orange, and Anders’ face was in shadow. But his eyes were bright. Liquid gold beckoned Fenris to trust him.

Fenris’ own eyes were partially closed against the sun, but the green was no less bright. Anders reached up with his other hand to brush back a strand of white hair that had escaped from Fenris’ hair tie.

“What do you want from me?” Fenris wasn't accusing, just confused and afraid. He searched Anders’ face for any sign that he would betray him.

“Nothing,” Anders said. “All I ask is a little trust to begin with. I don't want to be the man that hurt you. I won't demand anything you don't want to give me.”

Fenris reached up, searching for Anders’ hand. He grabbed it and pulled it down. They were linked by both hands and eyes now, the ocean nuzzling their ankles. They were an island on the lonely beach. Anders’ shoes and Fenris’ surfboard sat abandoned in the sand. The moment stretched into several minutes of comfortable silence. They searched each other, their hands resting between them. The sun went down and the water started to feel cold.

Anders broke the quiet with a subdued chuckle.

“Do you like this?”

Fenris looked puzzled. “Like what?”

“Holding hands together. Is this good?”

Fenris nodded and adjusted his grip so that he held Anders’ hands more firmly.

“I would like to try,” Fenris said, glancing away towards the horizon.

“We can go as slow as you need,” Anders said. “So holding hands?”

“I like this,” Fenris said.

“What else would you like? I don’t want to cross any li—”

“I’d like to kiss you.”

“Okay, so kissing is—” Anders’ eyes widened as Fenris pressed up and kissed him. Fenris’s toes sank into the sand and Anders had to shuffle one foot to keep from losing his balance, but then he closed his eyes and leaned into it. The kiss was too short, but Anders opened his eyes when Fenris pulled away.

“Okay?” He asked, slightly breathless.

Fenris smiled, a flash of brilliant white teeth. “Yes.”

Anders slipped one hand out of Fenris’ and rested it on his waist, at the same time lifting his other hand into a formal dancing pose.

“How about this?” He asked. “Do you dance?”

Fenris looked a bit unsure. “Not well, but…” Fenris put his hand on Anders’ shoulder and looked at him expectantly.

Anders began to dance, carefully, since they were standing in six inches of moving water and on soft sand. Fenris followed him, quickly catching Anders’ rhythm.

“You’re good,” Anders said.

“You’re the one leading,” Fenris said, smirking. Anders turned and now he was facing the fading light of the sunset. He swept Fenris towards him and away, gaining confidence. He led Fenris into a turn. The water sloshed softly as Fenris spun and Anders reached to catch his waist again.

As he stepped closer to Fenris, his foot twisted unexpectedly on the sand and he fell, turning to land solidly on his backside in the water. Fenris jumped back quickly enough that he didn’t fall, though he did laugh and offer his hand to help Anders up.

Anders’ mouth hung open in surprise for a moment, and then he scrambled to grab Fenris’ hand and stand.

“The water is cold!” He complained.

“It’s getting dark,” Fenris pointed out. “We should probably be leaving now anyway.” Anders was still holding Fenris’ hand. He gently pulled Fenris towards the beach.

“Can I come up and make you dinner?” He asked.

“You want to use my shower, don’t you?”

“Mine’s broken again. Fair trade?”

“This time let’s not try to set the toaster on fire,” Fenris said, bending to pick up his surfboard with his free arm.

“It’s a good thing I live in the same apartment complex,” Anders said. “My toaster isn’t eight hundred years old like yours.”

“It works fine for me,” Fenris said as Anders picked up his shoes.

“And how many times have you used it?”

“Enough,” Fenris said, smiling again.

“I won’t make toast tonight,” Anders said, then stopped and waited until the tug on Fenris’ arm prompted him to stop and turn to look at Anders as well.

“This isn’t a date,” Anders said. “I want to make sure you know that.”

Fenris cocked his head, as if asking why Anders was so concerned about it.

“This is just us being together,” Anders said, “as friends. Just like we’ve been doing.”

“I wasn’t aware that we were friends before,” Fenris teased gently.

“I considered you a friend,” Anders said, “but that’s beside the point. What I wanted to say was: will you go on a date with me tomorrow night? I want to take you out and treat you like you deserve to be treated.”

Fenris blinked, his mouth opening slightly. In the fading light, the blush was only barely visible.

“I was going to keep the destination a surprise,” Anders continued, “but if you aren’t comfortable with that, I’ll tell you.”

“No need,” Fenris said, tugging on Anders’ arm to pull him closer. He stepped closer to Anders, rising up a little on his toes until their noses were almost touching. “I accept your offer,” he said softly. “I will go on a date with you.”

Anders blinked, mesmerized by the light in the green eyes only inches from his face.

“Fenris…”

“I trust you.”

rhowe

Your payment should be arriving any moment now. Let me reiterate—kill her without leaving any clues. Make it look like an accident if you can. The last thing I need is the cops sniffing about because they suspect foul play.

Zevran rolled his eyes at the message. One Mr. Rendon Howe was for some reason convinced that the Crows weren’t professionals, and had taken every opportunity to talk to Zevran like he was stupid (or perhaps he was just racist—that was also possible).

Which, maybe he was, just a little, for taking such a contract.

It paid well, and that was enough motivation in most cases for just about anyone, but the problem lay in just how high profile the target was. Low-level celebrities have been targeted on occasion, and usually the Crows manage to send someone in to get the job done (he recalled quite vividly the time he’d been given the opportunity to kill a super model who had unfortunately offended the wrong person—that had been a good night).

The problem with this particular target was that, well, technically she wasn’t exactly a low-level celebrity.

Kira Cousland, adoptive daughter of Teyrn Bryce Cousland of Highever, was a rather well-known face even outside of Ferelden, if only by association. And by association, he meant that Bryce Cousland seemed to be using her to win some sort of points with “the people” because Kira has been a rather loud voice for non-human rights, in Ferelden and abroad. Or, he supposed, perhaps Prime Minister had asked the Teyrn to use her for publicity, since he was a staunch supporter of Minister Anora, and she wasn’t exactly popular enough with non-humans with an election coming up that she could sit idly by any longer. There was also the fact that the youngest Cousland had also, within the last few years, joined the Grey Wardens, so that was an added level of High Profile added to her already very high profile-ness…

Though, he thought, looking at the case file he’d been sent and the picture of her smiling face it contained, it was a shame—as far as he could tell, she would be his first truly innocent victim.

But, the money was good, and he still needed to eat. Whatever the case, one Mr. Rendon Howe seemed to think she deserved death, and so long as he got paid, Zevran was glad to deliver.

It was incredibly odd, Kira thought, flying under the Grey Warden crest.

She’d flown first class loads of times, certainly, but that normally didn’t really garner stares or special treatment—at least, not enough that she’d ever noticed. Warden-Commander Clarel insisted that the Wardens of Ferelden fly stylishly, however, in some sort of tastefully uncomfortable pant suit with the Warden insignia on the breast pocket. Kira, for some reason, always expected that as a Warden she’d be expected to blend into the background as much as possible (a reason she’d joined, truth be told—she didn’t particularly enjoy the spotlight), but apparently not.

When she’d asked Duncan, he’d just shrugged and said, “If we weren’t going to be in Orlais on an invite from Clarel herself, I would have insisted that we do exactly that. But you know how Orlesians are.”

And she couldn’t really argue with that.

What she hadn’t realized was that, of the newest recruits to the Order, she was the only one who had ever been on a plane before. Nadia was positively vibrating with excitement all morning, asking so many questions that Kira felt a little disoriented trying to answer them all. She’d even woken Kira up two hours early because she was just so excited. When they boarded, she insisted on the window seat, which was fine with Kira, honestly, especially since Alistair needed to sit as far from the windows as they could get him.

She worried for him, as he’d been pale and detached since they’d picked him up that morning. He barely responded to conversation with more than a grunt or a quiet, “Yeah,” and Kira thought he looked rather on the edge of passing out more than once. At one point, Duncan had had to poke him to get him to respond to a question, and he’d actually yelped, eyes wide with terror. Duncan had shot her a look, and Kira was left to babysit him as well as Nadia.

And by babysit, she meant slip Alistair a dose of cold medicine she kept in her bag for emergencies and hope it knocked him out before he could make himself sick with dread.

Luckily for her, it did work, and she laughed when Duncan thanked her quietly as Alistair dozed on, blissfully unaware of everything outside of his weird little pod seat.

It was evening when they began their descent into Halamshiral, and Nadia practically glued herself to the window to watch the city rise out of the clouds. Halamshiral wasn’t the great, glittering jewel that Val Royeaux was, but it did have its own personality. It felt older than the Capital—mostly from the architecture and the presence of the Winter Palace, but also from some of the old statues dotted here and there about the city.

She’d been here a few times in her 24 years—she always preferred the night life in Orlais to anything that happened in the daytime. One of her favorite memories as a child was walking along the riverside with her mother, the gently glowing streetlamp making the water shimmer as couples took boat rides up and down the river. It held a sort of magical quality all its own, in her opinion.

Her thoughts were broken as the plane touched down, and the jolting feeling of the wheels hitting the ground woke Alistair straight up. His poor, sleep addled mind apparently jumped to the worst possible conclusion because he yelped, “Oh Maker, I’m too young to die!”

Nadia burst out laughing, as did several other people in the cabin, but Kira felt a little bad for him. It didn’t stop her from snickering, but she still felt bad. “Al—Al, the plane is landing. We’re fine. Relax.”

He groaned and dropped his head into his hands. “I already hate Orlais.”

Kira grinned. “Just wait until the ball.”

Alistair just responded a louder groan, and Kira laughed warmly when Duncan shot her a disapproving look from his seat a few rows ahead of them.

“Holy shit, I’ve never seen beds this big in my life!” Nadia exclaimed just a moment before she took a running leap at the closest bed, flopping onto her back into the mountain of snow white pillows. She laughed breathily and continued, “Maker, do you nobles travel like this all the time?”

Kira hummed as she moved to the other bed and dropped her luggage onto it. “I have once or twice before, but my family isn’t exactly royalty or anything.”

“You have a castle named after you.”

“…Touché.”

As Kira set to unpacking—or, rather, finding her pajamas to get out of this suit as quickly as possible—Nadia reached for one of the pamphlets on the night stand between the beds. She hummed softly to herself as she read, probably making a checklist of things she wanted to see while they were here, and Kira felt the knot of travel anxiety in her stomach begin to unravel. It was only about 8 o’clock, but she was already exhausted enough to sleep. Maybe she could skip—

“What’s that?” Nadia asked suddenly.

“What’s what?” Kira asked as she followed her friend’s gaze right to a pair of boxes sitting on the dresser. One was shaped rather like a hat box, and the other was rectangular and flat. Kira felt a familiar sort of dread as she eyed it warily, but she shrugged it off as she walked over and opened the flatter box. “Maybe they’re courtesy pajamas or somethi—oh no.”

“What? What’s wrong?” Nadia’s bare feet made a soft thud on the plush carpet as she stood and padded over to stand next to her horror-stricken friend.

Kira pulled out the offending garment with a frown, the silky red and gold material soft as water in her hands. “This can’t be—oh no.”

Nadia laughed when she opened the other box and pulled out an intricate, red and black and gold masquerade mask. She held it up to her face, giggling as the horns on the mask tickled the tips of her ears. “Who sent these?”

Kira shook her head as she dropped the dress and reached for a piece of paper that had fallen out when she opened the box. It only confirmed what she assumed, and she growled under her breath. “Dammit, I’m—oh, I’m calling her right now. How could she—ugh!”

Kira stormed away, back towards the window with her phone raised to her ear, leaving the note on the dresser. Nadia picked it up curiously as Kira propped one hand up on her hip, rolled her eyes, and began to argue with whoever was on the other end of the phone.

Kira

Have fun at the Masquerade, dear!

xoxo

—Mum

Nadia grinned a little as Kira continued to argue with her mother.

“Mother, no, I’m—Mum, no! I’m a Grey Warden, Mum! I’m to go in armor and—what do you mean you’ve already told Sophie I’m going to be there? Photo-op—Mother.” Kira paused, sighing, before sitting heavily on the bed. “You cleared it with the Commander? Which Commander? …Duncan? You’re kidding. Why would—ugh. Okay, well, I’m going to go talk to him right now. Yeah. No. Love you, too. Whatever. Bye.”

With a strangled growl, Kira threw her phone at the pillows, falling back and looking, upside down, at where her friend sat on the other bed, cross-legged and smirking, chin propped up in one of her hands.

“Problem?” Nadia asked smugly, tilting her head.

Kira groaned, squeezing her eyes closed. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

Her mother had, in fact, been telling the truth about getting it cleared for her to attend the Masquerade—as Kira Cousland of Highever, rather than Warden Cousland. Kira tried to get out of it, but Duncan just brushed her off with something about needed sponsors for new equipment or something, which was a line she was much more acquainted with than she liked.

“At least it’s a nice dress,” Nadia offered as she adjusted her armor in the hall mirror, glancing over at where Kira was still doing her hair in front of the sink.

And it was a nice dress—all red and gold and satin, draped beautifully about the hips. It even had straps so she wouldn’t have to be tugging at it self-consciously all night. She actually even liked the mask that Oriana had apparently picked out for her—putting the imitation of a dragon skull on her face, even one covered with gold and black embroidery, was sure to keep at least some of the lecherous old men at bay.

Some.

“And at least you get to actually participate in the masquerade,” Nadia was saying. “I’ve always thought it sounded like great fun in the stories we used to read in the Tower.”

Kira shook her head, both at Nadia and checking to make sure her hair would hold up for most of the night, so long as she didn’t try to swing dance or anything. “If I could go the rest of my life without ever stepping another foot inside the Winter Palace, that would be fantastic.”

“It might be fun,” Nadia murmured, meeting her gaze in the mirror. “And, hey, you know what? Maybe it will be like the fairy tales and you’ll meet your true love tonight.”

Kira snorted. “Please. I might meet a few old men looking for an anonymous tumble in the sheets, and maybe one married thirty-nine-year old, but that’s being generous. And, all the women there are sure to be taken.”

Nadia snickered as Kira brushed past her to snatch her bag off the table in the hallway, along with her mask. “You never know!” Nadia said as she opened the door for Kira, bowing and winking when Kira raised an eyebrow. “Maybe I’ll grab a mask and sweep you off your feet.”

Kira laughed. “Promise?”

Oh.

Oh.

That was why they were here. It all made sense now, Kira realized as she listened to Clarel and Duncan talk to the reporters ahead of them. For once, Kira was glad most of her face was covered, because she probably wasn’t making a very nice face right now. Basically, from what she gathered, the entire Order of Ferelden had been invited because they had two women in their ranks. Kira and Nadia were the only women Wardens other than Clarel, apparently, save for maybe a few up at Weisshaupt. They were there to attempt to put off the rumor that the Wardens discriminated against women.

“You’d think they’d have wanted me in armor,” Kira commented dryly as she and her ‘date’ moved away from the reporters for another photo op, “considering the two of you are both mages. I’m the only non-mage woman in the Southern Order, aren’t I?”

And that’s not even true, whispered a voice in the back of her mind. Remember that thing that happened when we were 4?

Scowling behind her mask, she almost missed it when Nadia shrugged gently and mumbled, “You’re also nobility, though, if you’ll recall.”

“Only by name.”

She sighed, eyeing the end of the carpet and willing it to get shorter. She’d been on the carpet before, once or twice, and it never failed to stress her out. Too many sounds, too many lights, too many people yelling at you. The longer they took to get into the relative safety of the palace, the more grateful she became that she actually was wearing a mask. It might actually make it easier for her to blend into the background, in the dim lighting and drunken stupor most of the attendees would be suffering from within the hour.

Yeah. She could do this.

She could do this so long as the reporters stopped asking her who she was wearing, because her mother had conveniently left that part out, and every time she said, “I don’t know,” she could already hear the ribbing all the fashion shows would have to say about her in the next week. She didn’t get embarrassed that easily, but it wasn’t fun, and it just made her anxiety about parties that much worse.

It was almost orgasmic, the rush of pure relief she got by finally ducking out of the eye of the public and walking into the grand entrance hall of the Winter Palace. Everything gleamed as far as the eye could see—the women, the men, the stairs, the chandeliers, the walls, the pillars—everything. Nadia seemed starstruck beside her, as did Alistair when she caught sight of him near the stairs, and it made Kira smile a little.

She may hate parties with almost every fiber of her being, but watching her friends experience the grandeur of it all for the first time was actually pretty entertaining.

“You know,” Nadia said after a moment, just as Alistair walked up to join them, “I think my mother said she’d be here.”

“Really?”

Nadia hummed. “Said she was meeting with some ambassador about something for Clan Mahariel? I dunno.”

Kira nodded thoughtfully, hooking her arms through Nadia’s and Alistair’s and leading them up the stairs. “Well, we should go look for her before the actual dinner starts.”

“We should!” Nadia agreed, laughing a little. “I think she’d like you two. Well, I mean, she’d like me bringing home any friends at all, since you know…what happened with Jowan…”

“Now that you two are as uncomfortable as I am,” Kira said after a tense beat of silence, “how about we go into the Grand Ballroom, huh? Just to get a look before everyone’s finished coming in?”

They had nearly gone through the large doors that lead to the ballroom when Nadia planted her feet firmly, eyes fixed somewhere in the Hall of Heroes. Kira and Alistair both turned to look at what she was looking at, but all Kira could see was—

“Oh, there’s my mother! With—is that Warden Blackwall? Why are they—?”

Kira and Alistair both started laughing the second Warden Blackwall bent to press a kiss to Nadia’s mother’s hand, who just giggled into her hand, while Nadia herself choked on her own breath. Kira wrapped an arm around Nadia’s shoulders and leaned in close to say, “I think your mother might have lied to you about who she came here to see.”

“Papa Blackwall has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?” Alistair added helpfully.

Nadia just barely bit back a shriek as she shrugged out of Kira’s grasp and made a beeline for her mother and the Warden. When Kira turned to Alistair, he had his arms crossed and was smiling rather sweetly as he watched Nadia march over to her mother. With a chuckle, Kira nudged him and said, “If he’s Papa Blackwall that means he’s gonna be your father-in-law someday and won’t that be fun? I can already see the many manly man-to-man bonding trips into the forest.”

Alistair’s entire face went red (including his ears and neck) as he glared down at her, which only made her laugh. “He—I don’t—that’s not funny!”

Kira patted his arm sympathetically. “You’re right. You had better go rescue our friend from herself, though, before she punches Orlais’s Warden-Constable in the nose.”

“And just where are you going?” he asked as she turned to continue into the ballroom.

Gathering up the ends of her dress so she didn’t trip, she turned and shrugged at him. “Away. Make sure you ask her to dance at least once tonight, yeah?”

He just shot her another dirty look before walking into the Hall of Heroes after their friend. She smiled fondly after them, before turning back around and taking a deep, deep breath.

She could do this.

The ballroom was just as she remembered—grand, extravagant, drenched in gilded gold, and filled with a variety of nobles, lords, and minor and major celebrities of all sorts. It was beautiful and terrifying all at once, and she was quite glad that she didn’t actually want on the ballroom floor, because listening to the announcers call out each and every couple’s name was as embarrassing as it was annoying. If her family had been here, they would have insisted that she dance with someone, but they weren’t here and she hadn’t seen her cousin Sophie anywhere yet, so hopefully she could avoid at least one traumatic, anxiety inducing event for the night.

It wasn’t that she was afraid of the spotlight, she mused as she drifted towards the refreshment table at the other end of the room. She didn’t mind the spotlight when she was at a protest or a charity event or, hell, when she was with the Wardens.

It was just the nobility that bothered her so much. Not only had they had a tendency over the years to treat her as something other, they also had this nasty little habit just in general of getting away with things that ought to put them in jail. It pissed her off that some of them were still above the law because they were rich.

So she was glad, in a way, that her mother had forced her into this outfit. At least nobody she knew would recognize her and want to talk.

Kira drifted around the room aimlessly after that, realizing once she got to the drinks that she couldn’t actually have one without taking off her mask. She wasn’t about to give up her anonymity for some stupid wine—not here, not tonight. She watched the couples on the floor for a bit, leaning against one of the large pillars and absently picking at a loose thread on one of her gloves, eyes unfocused and mind elsewhere as the band played waltz after waltz. All she could see were the twirling colors of the dresses on the dance floor when a voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Care to dance?”

She didn’t respond at first, assuming that whoever that voice belonged to was talking to someone else. She blinked when a gloved hand waved in front of her line of sight.

He wasn’t all that tall, was the first thing she noticed as he pulled his hand back to his side—still taller than her, but not very tall. He was wearing a mask that was meant to look like a bird’s face—black feathers and a beak over his nose making him resemble a raven, or perhaps a crow. White teeth flashed against warm brown skin as he smiled at her, eyes gleaming a shocking gold in the low light.

Inclining his head so that a some of his long blond hair fell over his shoulders, the stranger continued, “Forgive me, my dear, I did not mean to disturb you. It is just, I saw you from across the way and thought you looked so beautiful and, well…would you care for a dance?”

Flattered though she was, and as much as she was sure his face was probably quite handsome under that mask, she shook her head anyway. “Not really the dancing type, I’m afraid. Sorry.”

His eyes fell a little and he nodded once, turning to take his leave with a quiet, “As you wish. Good evening.”

“I’m impressed,” Kira heard herself say, the words bypassing her brain entirely as they fell out of her mouth. Wait, what—? “The mask has been doing a pretty good job of keeping away suitors so far.” He turned back to look at her, a smirk playing on the edges of his full lips as he moved back to her side. Catching up with her thoughts a little, she tilted her head and asked, “The question is: are you brave, or stupid?”

“Was it your intention to keep admirers at bay?” he asked smoothly as he clasped his hands behind his back, and his Antivan accent sent another shock of excitement down her spine. She hated Orlesians vehemently, but Antivans…

“It was my intention to keep to myself,” she acknowledged, “but I could make an exception.” She wasn’t entirely sure why she wanted to make an exception, but as she said the words, she realized that she meant them. Maybe she was just bored. Or maybe…

“Oh?” he responded softly, taking a deliberate step closer. “Is that so?”

Oh, it’s very so, she thought, eyes flicking down towards his smiling lips. Huh.

Turning away and looking back over the dance floor, trying to be suave or something, she asked, “Have you ever been to the Winter Palace before?”

She saw him shake his head out of the corner of her eye. “No. This is my first time. Why?”

Red lips curled just beneath the edge of her mask as she looked back up at him. “It’s not my first time,” she said quietly. “Would you like to see the Grand Library? Or the Royal Wing, perhaps?”

She couldn’t see his eyebrows, but the look he was giving her suggested that they were raised. “You do not want to dance, then?”

Kira hummed. “I’m in the mood to cause a little trouble, I think, if you’re up for it.”

His answering grin was positively wicked. “That depends—are you looking for an accomplice? Or for someone to blame?”

“An accomplice,” she assured. “Sneaking into restricted areas isn’t fun if you’re doing it all alone, after all.”

“An excellent point,” he agreed, laughing softly. “Lead the way.”

The fastest and easiest way into the Grand Library, save climbing straight up the lattice in the Guest Gardens, was through the entrance hall. Which was fine, except her friends were probably still in the Hall of Heroes, and if they caught her wandering off with some random guy, she’d probably be in for the lecture of a lifetime.

She would deserve it, of course, since masquerades at the Winter Palace have, historically, been the site of many, many assassinations over the years. But, she was a Grey Warden, and she was sure she could handle herself against one man—probably could handle herself against several men if she had to.

She made him walk on her left as they left the ballroom, hand hooked around his elbow as she did her best to hide herself behind him. He was so skinny, it didn’t work all that well, but by the time they were near the stairs that led to the library, they had yet to be stopped by anyone that she knew. It was nice, she thought again as they slowed to a stop near the windows next to the stairs, that because of her mask, people couldn’t necessarily tell what she was looking at, or who she was.

“Okay,” she began softly, turning to face him and pretending to straighten his jacket, “there are two guards in front of the library, and another two in front of the entrance to the Royal Wing. We’ll need to get rid of both pairs.”

“You are not suggesting murder, I assume,” he responded, smiling a little to show he was joking.

She grinned and shook her head. “No, but we are going to cause some trouble.” Using her vantage point to look over his shoulder at the crowd, she spotted her first target. Two women were standing near each other near one of the statues, not speaking, but close enough that they could easily overhear each other’s conversations. She recognized them—they had a ‘frenemy’ relationship, last she checked. Kira patted his jacket and smiled as she brushed past him.

“Watch this.”

Carefully, she and her ‘date’ made their way towards the women, and Kira made sure she was close enough to be heard, but not so close that either of them would notice her.

“…And my boyfriend was texting her! I caught him, can you believe it?” gasped the woman in purple—Marcela, was it?

Kira shook her head a little and tried to listen for the other woman’s voice. She was talking to a man only a few feet away—something about a movie—and Kira closed her eyes, trying to get a feel for the exact lilt and tone of her voice. Tugging on the man in the bird mask’s arm to move him in front of her, she hid herself from sight, smiling up at him as she began to speak in a breathy, near perfect imitation of her voice, “And Marcela’s boyfriend? Antonio? Oh, he is so good with his tongue, I could not walk for—.”

She cut off when Marcela whirled on the spot and gasped, “Francine!”

Kira snickered quietly into her hand as the women began to fight, grabbing her stranger’s hand and leading him away as a crowd began to gather. The guards at the top of the stairs came down quickly, prepared to stop the fight, and Kira saw another opportunity. Moving to the side just slightly, one of the guardsmen barreled right into her, gasping and haphazardly righting her with a string of Orlesian apologies as he rushed off to break up the fight.

“Are you alright?” asked her masked friend, concern leaking into his voice.

She didn’t answer, instead choosing to grin and hold up the key she’d grabbed off the guard’s belt.

“Oh, you are bad,” he said, smiling, voice low and smooth, sending a shiver down her spine.

“Really?” she asked, brushing the compliment off, shooting a glance over at the guards as she began to push him up the stairs. “I think I’m actually rather good, myself.”

That made him laugh again, and she thought that she really quite liked his laugh. She’d have to try and make him laugh some more before they inevitably parted ways forever. It took her a second too long to get the key in the lock, fumbling with excited fingers as his hand pressed into her lower back, and they had to rush through the door, slamming it shut just as the guards reappeared at the bottom of the stairs. He leaned against the door, laughing softly, but she pulled him along, away from the door and behind some bookcases—just in case the guards thought something was odd.

He let her keep hold of his hand as they walked, and she swung their linked hands between them idly as she peeked curiously over the balcony at the party below.

“Oh, now they start playing good music,” she complained quietly as a familiar song faintly filled the air.

He sniffed distastefully. “You like Orlesian pop?”

“I like this artist,” she clarified. “And a few others.”

He hummed, bumping his shoulder against hers. “I prefer Antivan music.”

Kira snorted as they approached another set of stairs. She hadn’t had any plans when she asked him to sneak around with her, but now that they were close to the next room, she realized what it was she actually wanted to do. “Of course you do,” she replied. “I don’t know much Antivan stuff myself.”

With a chuckle, he tugged sharply on her hand, sending her stumbling into his arms. “Shall I sing to you, my dear?”

She didn’t really hear him through the sudden rushing of her pulse in her ears. Up this close and in the dark part of the library now, his eyes were practically glowing under his mask. She opened her mouth to tell him no thanks, and what fell out instead was, “You’re an elf!”

He laughed, a little too loudly, tossing his head back in mirth. “You have only just now noticed? Did the ears not give me away?

Kira flushed under her mask, pushing him away and straightening her dress. “I—well, I saw them, but I didn’t really register them, I guess? It’s always the eyes that get me, for some reason,” she rambled, looking away and drifting up a few stairs. “My roommate is an elf and she’s got these beautiful silver eyes that are absolutely terrifying in the middle of the night when she pokes me to tell me the wifi is out, or to ask if I want to go get some fast food.”

He didn’t answer, which was fine, because she’d finally pushed the door open into the next room.

The six urns that she remembered still stood in two neat rows in the middle of the room, tall and completely out of place in the middle of a library.

“Did you know,” she began, walking over to the far corner bookcase, “the Winter Palace has secret passageways?”

“Why? Are you about to show me one?”

She laughed and, hoping that she wasn’t about to make a fool of herself, pulled on one of the books. The wall beside her slid open and the two of them both peered curiously into the room beyond it. Everything was just as she remembered, including the veilfire on the wall.

As she continued into the room, picking up a torch and lighting it, he sighed quietly and said, “So…you really did want to snoop, then.”

She smirked, pausing near the desk. “What, did you think I brought you up here so I could blow you in the restricted section of the library?”

He laughed, unabashed, and shrugged. “Well…”

Kira giggled as she brushed past him, back into the room with the urns. She’d almost cracked this puzzle once, years ago now, with her cousin Sophie. It was one of the few good memories she had of this place—a night when she and her cousin had gotten along, there were no names called, Kira got to be out of those awful pinchy shoes for most of the night. Of course, they were in a lot of trouble when someone finally found them, after they’d scaled the lattice, broken into the library, and very nearly solved this fire puzzle, but it had been fun.

She lit them in the order she remembered, starting on the right side of the room and moving away from the door to the gardens. From there, she vaguely recalled that the other urn closest to the gardens had been the next correct option, but…no, that was too easy.

Wasn’t it?

Kira lit the next two urns in the same order as she’d done the other side and, lo and behold, the floor opened underneath one of the rugs. Biting her lip to keep from grinning smugly, she shot a look at her masked companion, meeting his shocked gaze with a laugh. Together, they walked around to the front of the opening, staring down a flight of stairs that simply descended into darkness.

“Come on, stranger,” she said after a beat, nudging him with her elbow. “I’ve been wondering what’s down there since I was a kid.”

He did nothing but chuckle as he followed her down into the dark, the only light coming from the green fire she held.

Now, Kira wasn’t afraid of the dark, per se. She’d describe it more as a fear of the possible existence of spiders somewhere in the dark—a fear that had her clinging to his sleeve like a frightened child, even though she’d been the one to suggest all of this. Rather than shrug her off, he slid his arm around her waist, tucking her into his side just as they finally reached the bottom of the stairs.

Much to her disappointment, the room was empty. It must have been emptied out ages ago, everything valuable moved to a safe in the capital, or maybe to a museum.

She sighed heavily, lowering her torch arm a little.

“Well, I suppose I should’ve expected this.”

“What were you hoping to find?” he asked quietly.

Kira shrugged. “Dunno. I guess I just sort of built this fantasy of finding long lost treasure or something.” Sighing again, she looked up at him, finding him grinning down at her. “What do you want to do now? It’s only fair that you get to pick next, since I dragged you all the way here.”

He nodded thoughtfully, looking away. “Are you still opposed to a dance?”

His arm was strong where he still had it around her waist, his body heat seeping into her skin in the chill of the basement. This whole night was turning out to be a lot different than she’d expected—truthfully, though, she hadn’t been expecting much. She hadn’t had so much fun at a noble event in years, and she owed that to him, didn’t she? If he hadn’t approached her, she’d have stood and stared at the ballroom floor until the party was over.

What was the worst that could happen?

Smiling, she tilted her head and said, “I suppose I could make another exception. Just for you.”

His answering smile turned his eyes molten, and her stomach flipped excitedly. “Perfect.”

They were playing a waltz again, as they walked back into the library.

He bowed when they slowed to a stop, taking her hand and kissing the back of it gently. When he straightened up, he reeled her in, pulling her close, one hand holding hers and the other pressing firmly into her lower back. His eyes drifted across her mask as he held her, pausing on what small part of her red painted lips he could see almost contemplatively. She was new to this game they were playing, this flirtatious dance, sparked by the anonymity provided by the Grand Masquerade. She found she actually quite liked it.

“Are you ready?” asked the masked man softly.

Smirking, she raised her chin with confidence that she wasn’t really used to having, and murmured, “Allons danser.” She paused thoughtfully, before grinning and adding, “Bird Man.”

Her companion laughed warmly at that as they began to dance, falling in to step to a dance they both knew well. There were no other dancers up in the library, but as she twirled, she could almost see the other dancers, the dresses, the glittering glare of the lights. She felt much more grand and powerful than she could ever remember feeling in a gown, and Maker’s breath was it wonderful. It almost made her understand the intrigue of The Game and these extravagant events.

Almost.

They danced for a long while, until the music switched back to modern music. When he spun her back into him, she ended up with her back to his chest, both of his hands grasping handfuls of the silky fabric at her hips. His breath was hot on her neck, lips brushing but not pressing as her hands covered his on her hips. Somewhere in the palace, a clock chimed midnight.

“The party is almost over,” she murmured, breath hitching when he pressed a soft, barely there kiss to her neck.

He hummed, kissing that spot again before dragging his teeth lightly against her skin. “Yes, but the night is still young, my dear.”

A little bit bewitched, Kira willingly turned in his arms, letting him walk her backwards until her back hit a wall. Gloved fingers pressed gently on her chin, tilting her head to give him a better angle to press a few more kisses to her pulse point. The skill with which his hands wandered and his kisses lingered spoke of experience, and if she were anyone else, it might have been tempting enough to have her going home with him (which was obviously where this was leading).

But she wasn’t anyone else.

His lips were on her cheek now, and he gently lifted her mask just a little, leaning in, breath washing over her lips and—she turned her head and his full lips landed softly on her cheek again.

“Ooh, you’re good at this,” she breathed, afraid that if she spoke any louder she’d give herself away by being hoarse or something. Gently, she pressed her hands to his chest, pushing him back a few inches so she could look up and meet his eyes. He was frowning a little and she grinned. “Unfortunately for you, Bird Man, I don’t really roll that way.”

He leaned away completely as she reached for her back, only vaguely registering the text she had from Nadia saying that it was time to leave as she pulled out the tiny notebook her mother had insisted that she always carry. It didn’t serve much of a purpose, except at times like this.

‘You never know, dear,’ her mother had said.

Funny, that that phrase and the stupid habit would both come in handy on the same night.

As she was scribbling down her number, he seemed to somewhat recover from his shock at being turned down.

“Don’t really roll…what way, exactly?” he asked.

“The one night stand way,” she replied easily, voice back to normal now as she slipped the piece of paper into his gloved hand. “Tell you what, though. I’ve had a really good time tonight and, if you want, you should give me a call sometime. Or, well, actually, shoot me a text—I don’t like talking on the phone all that much.”

He still looked a little dazed, even with that feathery mask covering most of his place, and it delighted her. Feeling just the slightest bit wicked, she lifted her mask a little and pressed a kiss to his cheek firmly, leaving a perfect mark in her place, right over the edge of what looked like a tattoo.

Huh.

Mentally shrugging it off, because he probably wasn’t Dalish, she patted his cheek and stepped away with a smile. “Thanks for a lovely evening, yeah? I had a lot more fun than I thought I would.”

And then she left, afraid that if she hung around too long he’d somehow manage to convince her to leave with him anyway. She knew the guards would still be outside of the library as she walked, but the party was over, and honestly? If she got banned from the Winter Palace forever, it wouldn’t be a tragedy.

Pausing with her hand on the doorknob, she cast a glance back at her mystery date, and smiled when she found him looking down at her phone number and touching his cheek lightly where she’d kissed him.

Good, she thought. At least I had an affect on him, too.

He was surprised, to say the least, when she didn’t show up to the party in armor.

He’d had a difficult task ahead of him, getting close enough to her to poison her. While his usual course of assassination involved seduction, one final night of passion before he killed them in whatever way he saw fit, he hadn’t originally planned on doing that, considering it would probably have caused a stir if a Grey Warden was seen leaving the party with some random elf.

But then she’d stepped onto the red carpet, a vision in red and gold, and his plans became that much easier. Luring away another party guest in a mask would be easy, he thought, even if she already walked the carpet. He had a special poison for her—a rare Crow poison that took several days to truly kick in. He’d be long gone by the time she dropped dead, and nobody would even think to connect him or anyone else to her death. It would be marked off as something spontaneous, a tragedy of fate and nothing more.

He hadn’t expected her to be quite so easy to isolate, however.

She’d been the one to suggest wandering off with him, mischief gleaming in her eyes beneath her dragon skull mask. He was actually impressed at the way she managed to cause contained havoc, too, and the way she pick-pocketed the guard as he ran past.

When he’d been given this contract, and when he’d begun looking into her, he’d expected someone more—well-behaved almost. A woman who grew up in the lap of luxury, who knew exactly which fork to use when, who had never played a practical joke in her life, and had never even considered actually breaking the rules.

Instead, she made him laugh, sneaking around and snooping through secret passageways and hidden rooms. She was cheeky, and fun, and as they danced he could already see her tumbling back into his sheets, giggling as he kissed her breathless.

But then…

“Unfortunately for you, Bird Man, I don’t really roll that way.”

She pushed him away gently and gave him her number, kissing him on the cheek as she bid him goodnight. Zevran was awestruck and confused. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d tried seducing someone and not ended up with them in his bed—this was…weird. All wrong.

By the time he managed to get a grip and stop staring dumbfounded at the piece of paper, she was gone.

For the first time in years, Zevran had let his target slip right through his fingers.

He had failed.

No, that wasn’t right. Focusing on the number again, he tilted his head thoughtfully. Maybe he’d failed tonight, but now he had a way to contact her. He could still get the job done, eventually.

It would just take a little longer than he’d expected.

Irene wanted to strangle that scout.

She knew it was him; it had to have been him. Cullen wouldn’t have told anyone — Maker, the man was nervous enough about having such a conversation without the entirety of Skyhold knowing about it too — and she had better things to do than rave about a relationship that didn’t even exist. Couldn’t exist, not in the conventional sense.

But here they were, these rumors. Dorian smiling just that tiny bit wider, nudging her with his elbow and feigning innocent when she interrogated him. Vivienne raising one perfect eyebrow and wishing her well in so many words, so vaguely that she didn’t even realize it was odd until later. Varric snickering into his glove. Something that they all knew about, or thought they knew about, and she hadn’t the slightest clue what until Blackwall, of all people, came out and said he was happy for her. <em>Happy</em>.</p>

The worst part was that none of it was true. They hadn’t kissed, hadn’t even held hands or stood less than two paces apart. Hearing the extent of the rumors — Blackwall took pity on her when she asked — was mortifying. Cullen had thought about kissing her, this was true enough. She had asked him whether he wanted to, prepared for the inevitable discussion about want and desire.

He admitted he wasn’t certain.

She’d been shocked into a laugh, and that was when the Maker-damned scout showed up. The hurt that had flashed over Cullen’s face at her reaction was channeled into irritation by the time the Commander turned around, and doubtlessly the scout had misinterpreted. Never mind that nothing had happened. Nothing would happen, not in that way.

Because he wasn’t certain. Irene had never been certain, either. Her husband had understood, bless his soul, and was willing to wait however long it took for her love to segue into want. Desire. Maybe someday it would have been easier, but then the Conclave blew and all hope of someday went with it. Her bones still ached. She was even less certain here; she knew there was something with Cullen but whether it was friendship or love or both was beyond her. She wanted to say all these things and more on the battlements, but Cullen had made his excuses before she could, and she, foolish brute, had let him walk away.

She stood outside the Herald’s Rest, listening to the raucous noise rattling the walls from within. There wasn’t anything to celebrate tonight as far as she was aware, except maybe their continued survival, but it certainly sounded like someone — probably the Iron Bull — had dragged out a cask and the majority of Skyhold was getting drunk. The Qunari’s laugh boomed above the others, and she wanted little more than to yank open that door and join them.

“Hey, broody britches! What’re you doing down there in the snow?” Irene recognized Sera’s voice immediately but it took a moment for her to find the rogue in the darkness. She leaned out of the window of her little alcove, waving down at Irene. “Come on in!”

“Can’t, Sera,” she called back, and took one last longing glance at the tavern door.

Sera slapped a hand to her forehead. “Aww, piss. Forgot. Hold on.” She withdrew from sight for a moment, and when she reappeared she was wearing a padded coat for the Skyhold winter. The elf threw the window open wider, and, before Irene could protest, climbed out the window and dropped to the ground. “It’s all good, innit?” She squinted at Irene, frowning. “No? Come on then, I know a better place.”

Sera’s smaller hand tugged her away from the tavern, and she allowed herself to be led. She hadn’t planned on talking to anyone, except perhaps Cullen if she ever found her suddenly-fled courage, but maybe this conversation would get that courage to return, as a run-up to the bigger one. She weighed how much she wanted to reveal — her husband’s loss nearly a year behind, she still ached. It still felt like a betrayal to even think about Cullen, sometimes. He would have wanted her to, but that didn’t make it much easier.

The “better place” turned out to be the loft above the requisitions officer’s quarters, a place Irene hadn’t known was even there. The officer — and Irene couldn’t recall his name, as she had little use for his services — was gone at such a late hour, and the loft was black as pitch. She felt around blindly, finding a covered crate and carefully sitting on it. Sera lit three candles and set them around the little room. “There,” she said with a giggle. “Romantic, right?” She, for her part, leaned against the tiny window and tapped her fingers on her thigh, satisfied grin on her lips. “You can tell Cully-Wully about this place, I don’t mind.” Irene flinched at the reminder, and Sera frowned. “Or not… Look, what’s wrong, ‘cause you’re acting weird.”

Irene huffed out an awkward laugh. It wasn’t funny, but it was better than punching something like her instincts usually demanded. “I don’t even know where to start,” she said, rolling her shoulders in a vain effort to release the tension gathering there.

“Well, start at the start,” Sera retorted.

“I don’t know where that is!” She stopped herself from throwing up her hands, curling them into tight fists instead. Maybe it wasn’t that complicated. “Fine. So, you know I was married before this.” She relaxed her left hand, letting the green glow escape and throw more shadows on the walls, on their faces. “We had a very… well, I suppose popular opinion would call it a strange relationship. I never wanted sex with anyone. Not even the slightest bit. Even him. I loved him, I did, but he just—” She growled and tossed up her hands before burying her face in them. “He never did it for me. Until the night before the Conclave.”

Sera sucked in a breath. “Ouch. And then he died.”

Somehow the rogue always knew what was up, before she realized what she was trying to say herself. She peeked through her fingers, slowly lifted her head. “Yes. Then he died. I haven’t wanted anyone after. Maker, I don’t know if I even want Cullen like that. I don’t know if I actually love him or I just feel like I could love him, either.” She slumped over again, mumbling into her hands, “I’m broken, Sera.”

“Shit. No, you’re not.” The vehemence, the conviction in Sera’s voice was startling, but then the rogue was right next to her, throwing an arm around her shoulders and shaking her gently. “You’re just got different needs than the rest of us, is all. Doesn’t everybody? Like me. I need ladybits. Dorian needs lordbits. Bull’ll take anybits. You? Maybe you don’t need bits most of the time, and only certain bits the rest of the time. Doesn’t mean you’re broken. Just— choosy? Something like that…” She trailed off, suddenly sounding very unsure.

Irene rolled her shoulders back again, the muscles at her collarbone twinging with the movement. Sera’s shaking loosened some of the knots, at least. “Thanks, Sera,” she said quietly. “I don’t know how to talk to Cullen, though. He kept looking at my mouth, on the battlements, and I asked him whether he wanted to kiss me. I wasn’t adverse to the idea. He said he wasn’t sure. And I thought, ‘What are the chances there’s someone else like me, and we happened to find each other?’ I laughed at how absurd that was. I think… I think he took it the wrong way. That I laughed at him.” Guilt settled in her, a sour taste in her mouth every time she swallowed. She fucked everything up. A veritable charging druffalo on the streets of Val Royeaux, she was.

“I dunno if he’s like you or not, but he likes you anyway. Gets all starry-eyed when your back is turned. It’s kinda cute. I think that’ll stay unless you don’t explain yourself. If you let him think you laughed at him too long, it’ll get in and you’ll never get it out. So go talk to him, yeah?” Sera shook her again, a bit harder this time, and Irene very nearly moaned as another knot unwound.

“Yeah,” she breathed. “Yeah, I need to fix it.” She stood up and started for the ladder.

The rogue blinked. “What, right now? It’s the middle of the night! Won’t he be—”

Irene paused on the top rung. It had disturbed her, when she realized just how little sleep her Commander was running on, but she knew he got even less when he was anxious. All the more reason to fix it. “He’ll be awake, Sera. He always is.”

“Yeah but—”

She heard Sera sigh from above her head; she was already down the ladder and across the floor. “Thanks Sera! You’re a good friend,” she called as she yanked the door open and let a gust of snow-swirling wind inside. She didn’t mind. Made as she was for warmer climes, her blood thrummed with giddy anticipation and the cold couldn’t affect her in such a mood.

“You’re frigging right,” Sera yelled back, just before Irene slammed the door shut behind her.

I hc Cullen as demisexual/heteroromantic. My Inquisitor Irene is demisexual/demiromantic. I myself am elsewhere on the ace spectrum, so please do let me know if I made any glaring or not-so-glaring errors.

“Zevran? What—?” Kira started, confused when he slid something into her hand in the firelight. A box?

He grinned into her skin, lips pressing soft kisses to her jaw, pausing when he reached her earring, nibbling gently. “Do you know what today is, my love?”

“I think it’s Thursday?” she asked breathlessly, clutching at the little box and tilting her chin for him as he pressed a firmer open-mouthed kiss to her throat. “What’s this all about?”

“Today is our five year anniversary,” he murmured against her neck.

She turned her head, meeting him halfway with a blissful sigh as he kissed her slowly and deeply. Laughing into his mouth, she asked, “Has it really already been five years? Maker, we’re getting old, aren’t we?”

Zevran laughed at that, warm and full, tossing his head back and letting his laughter fill up their tiny bedroom. “I love you,” he told her, shaking his head as he straightened up. “Open your gift, my darling wife, so that we can stop talking and I can kiss you like I’ve been dying to since we got here.”

“What’s been stopping you?”

He snorted. “Kira, you have been in that library nonstop since we arrived. The only time we are alone is when you finally decide to sleep, and I’m not about to keep you up with—with everything that has been going on.”

She frowned a little—she had been neglecting him, now that she thought about it. “I’m sorry, Zev.”

He shook his head. “I am just as interested in this mysterious Warden and his people—your people—as you are, my dear. You don’t need to apologize.”

Pecking him gently on the lips, she hummed and turned to her present. She hadn’t known the date and now she felt a little bad for not having gotten him anything.

Pulling the lid off, she felt her jaw drop a little at the little pendant inside. Tracing a delicate finger over it, she breathed, “It’s…”

“Just like ours,” he finished for her, pulling his matching necklace out from under his shirt collar. It glimmered in the light from the fire as he held it up for comparison. “Yes. I found it in a dusty old chest the other day and asked the historian if she wouldn’t mind if I gave it to you.”

“Does she know what it is?”

He smirked. “No. She just thought it was a pretty necklace, but I would bet money on the thought that it probably belonged to this Wan person.” Sighing, he added, “I have always felt a little odd about wearing the one your parents left you, but now you have another one and I don’t feel so bad.”

“Zevran, I gave you that necklace because I wanted to,” she said firmly, slipping the new necklace around her neck.

“I know.”

“If you felt bad about it, why didn’t you say something?”

“Because I was afraid you would try to give me the earring back,” he murmured, winking when she blushed a little. “And I know you would have.”

Laughing, Kira shook her head, sliding further into the cushions on the sofa, further into his side, resting her head on his shoulder as she looked into the hearth. “We’re a mess.”

He hummed his agreement, fingers sliding under her chin to tilt her head so he could kiss her. She sighed into his mouth as he sunk his lips into hers, soft and warm and familiar. They’d been together for over ten years, but somehow her stomach still filled with butterflies when he kissed her, somehow her face still flushed and she still felt like each time he’d pull away and laugh and realize that she wasn’t worth it. She still woke up in the morning expecting their love to have just been some sort of elaborate, very realistic dream, after all.

And, she thought as she shifted, straddling his hips and watching him smirk up at her, he was still one of the most beautiful men she’d ever seen in her life. He smiled into her mouth as she kissed him, and murmured into her lips, “Te amo mi querida esposa. Eres lo mejor que me ha pasado.”

She grinned. “Yo tambien te amo mi amado.”

He laughed, brushing his nose against hers. “I love it when you speak Antivan,” he told her softly.

“Funny,” she sighed, kissing him again. “I was about to say the same thing.”

She deepened the kiss, humming as his hands slid up from her thighs, following the natural curve of her body until they pressed into her back firmly, as he kissed her a little harder. Breathless, Kira giggled and asked, “Should it be concerning that we’ve been together over ten years and still find making out this exhilarating?” into his mouth.

He bit into her lip and she felt him grin when she hissed quietly. “No.”

His hand slid into her hair then and pulled, tilting her head to bare her throat for him. She whimpered his name when he sunk his sharp teeth into her neck, sucking gently as her nails dug into his shoulders. He seemed determined to leave a mark or ten on her neck, because instead of returning to her lips, he just kissed another part of her neck, nipping at the skin again and laughing quietly when she gasped.

As much as she loved this, she still had doubts in the back of her mind and, as she sat astride his lap, they wormed their way into the foreground. “Zev?”

He hummed, tilting his chin to kiss her lips again, assuming that was what she wanted. And that was what she wanted, sort of, just…

“Zev, does it bother you?” she asked, pulling away now so she could speak.

He tilted his head and she took just a moment to drink in the way he looked—pupils blown wide, face flushed, full lips kiss-swollen and red. Maker, she loved him so much.

“Does what bother me?”

“The fact that we don’t have sex.”

He slumped back against the couch, rolling his eyes and chuckling as his hands slid back down to squeeze at her thighs. “Kira, amor mio, if it bothered me that you don’t like or want sex, do you think that I would be here?” Reaching up to grab one of her hands off his shoulder, he brought it to his lips and kissed it gently. “Would I have continued our flirtation after I found out?” He kissed her palm then. “Would I have come back to you after dealing with the Crows that first time?” Nuzzling her palm and closing his eyes, he asked, “Would I have even kept up correspondence if it bothered me?”

“I don’t know,” she breathed, feeling very warm.

His eyes opened again, flashing gold in the light from the fire behind her. “Do you think that I would have asked you to marry me if I were truly bothered, my dear?” He laughed warmly, wrapping his arms around her waist and bringing his forehead to rest against hers, closing his eyes. “Would I have followed you to this frozen hell if I did not utterly adore you in every way?”

She kissed his grinning lips, sighing as he kissed her back. “Sorry, I just—I want you to be happy,” she told him quietly. “And Isabela’s voice still echoes in my head sometimes about how I’m depriving you of a basic need and—.”

“Mi querido amor,” he interrupted, chuckling. “The only thing that I need to be happy is you.”

He kissed her again, and then let out another low breath. “Besides, I don’t know that I’ve ever mentioned, but I have thought about it over the years and—and the fact that you don’t want sex at all, it’s been…” He hesitated, shaking his head and lowering his gaze to the scar on her neck to avoid looking her in the eye. “I joined the Crows because the only other option I had was to become a whore as well, you know. I did not want to be a copper-whore—I already knew that, even as a child. I didn’t—and I did not escape a life of having sex I didn’t want for money, really but…at least in the Crows I had the option of killing the people I truly did not want to sleep with.”

Oh…Oh no. “Zev…”

“That is not to say that I did not ever enjoy that aspect of the job—there were times, certainly, when it was fun, but…” he trailed off with a shrug. “I think I talked myself into enjoying it more than I actually ever did.”

“To cope,” she replied softly, and he nodded.

“Yes,” he mumbled. “Yes, and I think if we had had sex during the Blight, it would have felt—much too close to whoring myself out to stay alive and I,” Zevran paused, looking back up at her and smiling a little, “I fell for you so much harder without that. Without sex, there was never the doubt in my mind that you only wanted me around for sex—I had to face the fact that you saw me as a person, and that was…new and terrifying, but Maker’s breath, Kira, my love, I would never change that part of our relationship.”

He smiled a little wider, tilting his head. “You made me feel like I was worth something, in a time when I was convinced I was nothing, my dear. If sex had been on the table, I don’t think…I am not certain that I would be here with you right now. Not that I would leave you for ever wanting to have sex,” he laughed, “because it is you and you are my wife and I love you more than I could ever say and making love to you would be nothing like any of those shallow encounters, but—but our relationship would not have blossomed as it did, I don’t believe, if we had been having casual sex.”

“I would ask about the casual making out,” she mumbled, leaning in to press a kiss to his forehead, “but you started that, didn’t you?”

“I did,” he chuckled. “One of the best impulsive decisions I have ever made, I think.”

“One of the best impulsive decisions either of us have made,” Kira murmured, pecking him on the lips to punctuate her point, “only second to the decision I made to spare the assassin who had literally just tried to kill me and bring him along on our quest to save to the world.”

He laughed. “That was a rather stupid decision, all things considered.”

“Stupid or not, it brought me more happiness than I ever dared to dream I’d have, and the most wonderful, amazing—,” she cut herself off, laughing and settling for kissing him firmly instead. “It brought me you, and you are—you are—you are everything.”