#princessbatteringram

It had led to this moment, this cool evening, the two of them the only ones on watch, their daggers put aside as they sparred hand to hand. Lia catching the first punch Zevran threw with a forearm block and then quickly twisting her wrist, grabbing his forearm, pulling him off balance, stepping behind him, going to jab at his kidneys with another hand. But he had learned this trick of course and so he let her pull him, followed the momentum, spun out of the way of the second punch, pivoted on his foot and kicked, making light contact with her ribs.

“Damn. It’s cheating to have such long legs you know,” she said, swiping playfully in his direction as he danced out of her reach.

“That’s not what I heard growing up,” he said, bouncing from foot to foot, keep his movements light and easy. She knew from the placement of his feet and from his patterns that next he would use his back leg, a more powerful kick, though of course he would not hurt her, but it would keep his torso out of her reach. But if she could catch him, throw that balance off…

“You grew up in a brothel,” she said, watching, waiting for the dancing to stop, for the moment he would plant one foot and kick with the other. “Was anything considered cheating?”

“No,” Zevran grinned, and that was the moment the weight shifted and he committed to the attack, the moment she darted forward, caught his kicking leg by the knee, and pulled, once again upsetting his balance.

She earned herself a heartfelt whispered brasca for that trick, and she held him there. The difference in their height was to her advantage now. Held as he was by one leg, he could not kick with the other, and since she was shorter, he was struggling to make contact with her. The more cramped space she had defined for their sparring was now to her advantage, not his.

That’s what you’ll always do, her mother told her. You’ll take whatever they throw at you and you’ll turn it to their advantage. I know you will.

Instead of trying to hit him again, Lia decided on a completely different tactic. She tickled the back of his knee where she held it.

Zevran yelped, started hopping, but her grip was like iron, and he couldn’t get away.

“A low trick,” he said.

“See, the thing is, there’s no such thing as cheating in the alienage either,” Lia said, smiling.

“Very well,” Zevran smiled, and then he gave one last bounce and Lia felt the tense of his muscles and he was jumping, bringing up the leg she did not have a grasp on, kicking with that one towards her head. Lia ducked, let go of the leg she’d grappled with, put her guard up. Zevran spun, landed, stood there smiling and cocky and panting, the laces that held his linen shirt falling open and showing the rapid movement of his smooth bare chest beneath.

“Impressive,” she said, her eyes flicking back up to meet his.

“I am,” Zevran agreed. “But between you and me, my dear Warden, I wasn’t sure if that would work. It’s been a long time since I tried such a trick.”

Lia felt her pulse speed up at the endearment. It had sounded false to her when he first joined their party - an overt attempt to win her trust and favor - but she knew now that it wasn’t. The warmth that accompanied the words was real.

But - how real?

“Let’s go again,” she said, wanting him closer.

Zevran closed the distance once again, stood looking down at her. “As my Warden commands.”

Her heart sped again.

What a foolish thing to be doing - circling each other near the fire, ignoring the fact that daylight was entirely gone, that they were exhausted, that they had miles to cover the next day and the day after that, and darkspawn to fight, and treaties to uphold. She should be resting, planning. But Lia did not want to be anywhere else, she realized. This nightly ritual did not exhaust her. She drew strength and courage and renewal from it.

It’s just that it helps me hone my skills, she told herself as they went for another round, Lia leading off this time, getting inside his guard as quickly as she could to erase the advantage of his longer limbs, trying to hit the side of his head with an open palm so that he would raise his arms to block, so she could go low, for the softness of his stomach. Except, of course, it was not soft when she made her light contact there, but warm and firm as he tensed his muscles against the impact. She felt the soft puff of his breath as he did it. They were so very close to one another like this. She went lower still, sweeping for his legs, and he was not quite fast enough, and she toppled him, but he caught himself easily.

“Again! I won’t be fooled next time,” he said, still laughing.

They went on, attack, block, counterattack, longer this time, with less outward silliness, still smiling and laughing nonetheless, and slowly but surely Lia had to admit it to herself.

It’s just that he makes me smile, and I need that.

Zevran went on the aggressive as their sparring continued, quick and perceptive and ever seeking somewhere she could not block, hazel eyes watching her all the while, lips parted with his exertions now.

And this is the only time we get just the two of us.

“Careful, dear Warden.” The attacks stopped and Zevran had his hands on her waist, and she was abruptly aware that her retreating heel had caught on a branch, that she had been inches from falling.

And that was when the thought hit her, clear as the clarion call of a trumpet.

Months before, on her wedding day, she had looked at the stranger named Nelaros and seen his sweetness and thought I could love you. That feeling had been washed away in blood (like dogs, Shianni) and only blood had followed. The price she had to pay for all the adventures she’d wanted so badly as a child.

But now she stood there and she looked at Zevran - the gentle curves of his tattoos framing his cheekbones, the warmth of his golden-brown skin and his hazel eyes, the way his hands held her, like she was precious - and the thought came back to her, louder and clearer than ever before.

I could love you.

“Are you quite well?” Zevran asked, eyebrows knitting together now, seriousness chasing away the playful gleam in his eyes.

Lia straightened, stepped away from the branch that had nearly tripped her, and that only brought her closer to him, which only confused the issue further. She had responsibilities now, a Blight to quell, and who knew what lay at the end of that road, and Zevran was a wanted man, and this was not the time for this thought to be flashing through her mind over and over again, but here they were, and he was not stepping back, he was just letting her get closer, closer, and his hands were still on her waist.

“Of course,” she said, stepping back, over the branch this time.

“Are you certain?” Zevran said, still frowning, following her.

Lia let herself react to her first impulse, which was to sweep his legs again. He was still high in his stance and still focused on her and so it worked. He stumbled and was ready to fall and this time she caught him, steadied him, drew him close to her, and he was laughing, but it was a quieter, more intimate sort of laugh, and Lia knew there was nothing she could do now, no way to run from this. No joke she could tell to play the moment off.

“There’s something here, isn’t there?” She breathed the words out more than she spoke them. Like they were too fragile to truly voice. And maybe they were. She thought, again, of Vaughn, of Nelaros, of Shianni, of all the horror she had witnessed since. Ostagar and beyond. Of the hundred worries that kept her up every night.

Zevran raised one hand from her waist to touch her cheek, his knuckles brushing so lightly against her that it made her skin prickle all over, and he was looking at her the way elders looked to the vhenadahl, the way Chantry sisters looked to their carved images of Andraste. Like she was holy.

Lia fisted her hand in the fabric of his loose shirt, stood on her tiptoes, pulled him close, and kissed him.

Zevran Arainai did not hesitate for a single instant before kissing her back.

His arms went around her and he held her and he slanted his mouth against hers and he kissed her like this was the last time he would ever kiss anyone. Lia fell into it, kissed him back with the same fervor, let her hands roam over the body she had come to know through their sparring, feeling out with tenderness the places she had only felt through playful jabs before. His lean muscle, and all the soft places too, like the hollow of this throat, his cheek, the corner of his mouth.

They parted, panting, but neither of them let the other go far. Zevran’s hands were on her face and hers were on his waist and they stood there, looking at each other, and for that moment the rest of the world fell away.

“That was a yes, by the way,” Zevran said finally.

Lia laughed, tried to push him, but he held caught her wrists and pulled her closer and kissed her again, bending down to her, cradling her head, molding her to him, and he was warm and right and perfect and maybe she hadn’t been an idiot after all, asking him to stay.

“So will it be cheating if I start doing that to distract you while we spar?” Lia asked.

“I don’t know. Shall we find out?”