Dreams of Caramel

The Antivan nobleman had accosted Caitlin Hawke and her friends just outside the Blooming Rose with a request for help in hunting down a criminal. A rogue assassin, he said, an elf from Antiva, who had killed several men and found refuge with the Dalish. Caitlin hadn't trusted the man, and her instincts were rarely wrong. Yet, she had accepted the task, if only to see for herself what this was about. She was curious, and besides, any distraction from her personal life was welcome right now.

It had been ten nights since Anders had last come to her house. The clinic had been overrun with sick and injured refugees, apparently, and he needed more time to work on his pamphlets. Caitlin was feeling lonely and horny and thoroughly disappointed in her beloved mage. He had changed so much in the past two years. No more playful banter, no more furtive caresses, no more passionate kisses. She could see Justice lurking just behind his eyes, and he seemed absent-minded more often than not, even when they were making love.

And then there was Fenris. She had thought they'd become friends, but every time she was getting a step closer to him, he'd withdraw again, lock himself up in that dilapidated mansion of his. And he was drinking far more than was good for him. She was worried about him. It should have been none of her business, but she found that she cared. He was... special, and she liked him. A lot. But Maker, he was so skittish. Caitlin sighed. Being the Champion of Kirkwall was all well and good, but it didn't make her private life any easier.

When their little band of adventurers passed the city gates and headed towards the Dalish Camp, she breathed a sigh of relief. She was glad to leave Kirkwall, glad to smell the clean forest air again. Both Anders and Fenris had elected to stay behind, no doubt preferring to wallow in their own problems. Varric was with her, of course, with his beloved Bianca strapped to his back. And she had taken Merrill, who had jumped at the chance to visit her clan, even though she knew her welcome would be less than friendly. Aveline had agreed to provide much-needed muscle for the trip. After all, they were on their way to capture a dangerous murderer.

The Dalish were co-operative enough and pointed them to a cave on the slopes of Sundermount. Caitlin felt a prickling in her neck when she recognized the Varterral's hunting ground. They had fought the huge beast before and killed it, but Anders and Fenris had been with her then, and even so, it had been a close call. When she heard a familiar scraping noise in the tunnels, she shuddered.

"Merrill!" she called out to the elf. "Is it possible that there's more than one Varterral in here?"

Merrill flushed deeply. "Oh dear, Caitlin, I forgot to tell you. The Varterral will stay alive no matter how many times it is defeated. It has a duty to guard this place, you see."

Caitlin cursed violently. "You couldn't have mentioned this before?" They only had seconds to regroup before the attack. It was fortunate, really, that Merrill had spent so much time working on her entropy spells in the past few weeks and was able to paralyze the spiders that were attacking from all sides. Caitlin took them out one by one, leaving Aveline to take the brunt of the beast's attack with her shield, while Varric kept up a constant rain of crossbow bolts. But it was a narrow escape, and Aveline took some nasty wounds.

As they were applying poultices and draining vials of healing potions with sighs of relief, they heard steps approaching.

"Careful, Cait!" Aveline cried out.

Caitlin whirled around and came face to face with an elf in fine leather armour, carrying a beautiful longsword and a curved dagger. His long, blond hair was neatly braided, and framed a handsome face, adorned by a dark-red tattoo much like her own. But where she had whirling lines on her cheekbones, his was a pattern of three curving lines over his left cheek and temple. His skin was deeply bronzed, betraying his origin.

Caitlin stepped forward, sword in hand, her voice firm and carrying. "You must be the Antivan. They call me Hawke."

To her surprise he bowed gracefully, as if he was at court, throwing her a sultry glance. "My name is Zevran Arainai, adventurer and occasional assassin. I must admit I wasn't expecting the mighty, and may I say, extremely beautiful, Champion of Kirkwall." His voice was rich and deep, with a strong melodious accent. "Let me guess. A man named Nuncio has asked you to capture a dangerous killer, yes? What did he say this time?"

Aveline snorted loudly, but Caitlin grinned. For some reason, his flamboyant attitude and his obvious flattery amused her, and she decided to play along. "Well you certainly match his description of the wanted murderer. Unfortunately he failed to mention how... handsome this killer is."

"Cait!" Aveline was seriously annoyed now, but the assassin smiled, clearly enjoying this game.

"Ah, so you noticed," he purred. "I credit my high cheekbones and pouty lips."

Caitlin bit her lip in order not to laugh out loud. "So why does Nuncio want you dead?"

His face took on a theatrical expression of regret. "Ah, I left the Assassin's Guild some years ago. That is offense enough to the Crows, believe me. Of course, I may have also killed the last four assassins they sent after me and all their men, oh... and the Guildmaster."

Caitlin looked at him with renewed respect. If these claims were true, he had to be a formidable opponent - or very devious indeed. And to her surprise she found herself inclined to believe him, if only because his laughing, jesting air made her feel better than she had in weeks. "So it's a quarrel between murderers, then?" she asked. "It seems to me I should just let you go and wash my hands off it."

He spread his arms in another histrionic gesture. "Aaah, my dear Champion, I am afraid it is not that easy. You see, Nuncio will no doubt want to kill you too. Crows don't like loose ends."

"Well, then it is in our best interest to work together," she stated bluntly. "Let's join forces and make a plan."

The assassin led them to Nuncio's camp. He was not alone, of course. A large number of Crow assassins accompanied him and as Zevran had predicted, immediately attacked them when they refused to hand over the elf. Caitlin threw herself into the fight with gusto, wielding her massive greatsword with an ease born of long practice. She knew they had to be careful, though, and they had to protect Merrill at all costs. Without a mage, they wouldn't stand a chance to win the fight, so she signalled to Varric to stay back with her. Zevran proved to be a valuable addition to their party. A throwing knife, casually flung back over his shoulder, buried itself deep in the eye of the first attacker. Then he pulled his weapons from their sheaths and proceeded to attack his former brothers in arms with an unparalleled zest and indeed all signs of enjoyment. His two blades were whirling gracefully, and she threw him an admiring glance, only to see him smile back at her.

"A chance to see the Champion of Kirkwall in action!" he cried out. "A good day, to be sure."

She was about to reprimand him for his levity, when he suddenly buzzed past her at an almost inhuman speed and raced towards Merrill who was focussing on a sleep spell, her brow furrowed in deep concentration. Just as she was about to finish casting, an assassin appeared at her back, as if from thin air, and raised his curved blade for a killing blow. Caitlin cried out in shock, even as she parried a blow from another opponent, but then she saw Merrill's attacker slump to the ground, Zevran's triumphant face and bloodied sword appearing behind him.

They made short work of the remaining assassins, Caitlin taking off Nuncio's head with a mighty blow that sent it flying several feet through the air. Then they made their way back to Zevran's lair in the cave, where they had left their gear. They shared their rations with him, and were preparing to make camp for the night in a little clearing nearby, when he approached her with a suggestive smile.

"It is time for me to move on... unless you'd care to get to know each other better, Champion." He cocked his head, studying her face. "What do you say? A small diversion before we head back home?"

When the meaning of his words registered, she was struck speechless for a moment, suspecting another jest. But no, his eyes were serious, and he didn't bother to hide his desire. His gaze was wandering all over her body, and she could feel it on her skin, like a faint caress. Oh yes, he wanted her. And she, it dawned on her, wanted him, wanted this. It had been too long since Anders had looked at her like this, too long in fact since he'd looked at her at all. She realized he was awaiting her answer patiently. There would be no pressure, no persuasion, she understood. If she said no, he'd walk out of her life, just like that. But then again, she didn't want to say no.

Caitlin tossed back her head, feeling reckless. "All right," she answered. "I'll stay the night." He smiled then, not a triumphant smirk, but a genuine, happy smile, and took her hand to lead her into the cave. She could hear Merrill gasp in surprise, and felt Varric's amused gaze on her back.

"Cait! Do you actually intend to…? What about-" she heard Aveline cry out, but she turned around and cut off the knight's cry with an icy glare, before she could mention Anders' name.

"I'm sure you can manage one night without me. I'll meet you in the morning," she said firmly. She would have to talk to them tomorrow, make sure they kept quiet about the incident. But now, she followed him into the cave, feeling curious and a little anxious, hardly listening when he boasted about his qualities as a lover.

It should have been awkward, sleeping with a perfect stranger, but somehow it wasn't. Maybe because he wasn't. His demeanour changed abruptly as soon as they were alone inside the cave, all the boisterousness disappearing and replaced with a quiet attentiveness. He didn't speak a word, just went to build a fire while she was fiddling with her armour. Then he walked over to her and began to help her with the buckles. She sighed with relief as the heavy breastplate came off and she stood before him in a thin linen tunic and matching pants. He carefully stowed away her things, then proceeded to take off his own leather armour. He wasn't wearing a shirt underneath. When she saw him stand before her in just his breeches, she couldn't suppress a gasp. He stood still and let her look him over, the faintest of smiles on his lips.

Maker, but he was beautiful! His body was long and slender, yet well-built, the lines of his muscles emphasized by the most artful pattern of tattoos she had ever seen. Dark red, they wound across his chest and back in soft whirls, disappearing down under his belt, like a tempting trail, making her wish he'd take off his pants as well, because she wanted to see all of him, all of that glorious perfection. The flickering light of the torch painted soft swirls on his golden brown skin. Like caramel, she thought, unconsciously licking her lips. At the sight of this, his smile became broader, tiny wrinkles appearing in the corners of his amber eyes. He was wearing a single earring, she noticed as he brushed back his long, flaxen hair. The gesture would have seemed effeminate had it not been for the decidedly male air of barely contained danger in his movements.

Still not speaking, he pulled her into a firm, assured embrace. She breathed in his scent, of leather and cinnamon, and leaned into his strong arms, relaxing, taking a deep breath. And then his lips brushed over hers. Full, luscious lips that knew exactly what they were doing, that nipped gently at hers, until she moaned, allowing him entrance to her mouth. She felt like she was drowning in the sheer perfection of his kiss. His tongue caressed hers as he deepened it, pulling her even closer, one hand buried in her soft red hair, the other one wandering down to her neck and shoulder.

When he finally broke the kiss, she realized he had slipped her shirt off her body and his hands were now cupping her full breasts, carefully, almost reverently.

"You are beautiful," he said softly. "And dangerous. A most entrancing combination." Caitlin shivered as he let his hands travel over the strong muscles of her arms, then along her breastbone down to her navel. She reached out to stroke him, his silky, golden skin, the hard planes of his chest, and she saw him half close his eyes in delight as he leaned into her touch, savouring it, practically purring.

Caitlin took a step back and shimmied out of her linen pants, then got down on her knees to liberate his straining member from the confines of his thin leather breeches. He shuddered as she touched him, letting his head loll backwards with a contented sigh, his expression one of sheer bliss. But when she let her tongue wander lazily over his hard length, he wrapped several strands of her hair around his right hand and pulled her head back. "You are a woman of many talents," he growled, "but I think you'll enjoy what I have to offer as well."

He got down on his knees also, and then he kissed her harder than before, pushing her back on the bedroll. Caitlin lay back and looked up at him, relishing the dark look of desire in his eyes, as his gaze wandered over her full breasts and hips, her taut belly and her long muscular legs, then back up again to the bunch of dark red curls between them. When he bowed down and parted her legs with a firm, sure touch, she arched up against him in pleasurable anticipation, moaning softly.

He didn't disappoint her. His talented tongue soon found all her most sensitive spots and she felt her body heat up, a soft tingle spreading from her crotch all over her body. But she wasn't content to just lie back. She wanted to touch his hard, lean body, feel him, pleasure him as much as he was pleasuring her.

"Zevran, enough!" she rasped as she wriggled out of his grip, finding his lips again for another deep kiss. He laughed at her impetuousness, but complied willingly when she pushed him back on the floor and began to explore him, her callused hands rough on his skin, tracing his tattoos all over his body.

Zevran relaxed into her touch, willing his body to lie still, to go with the flow of pleasure without losing control too fast. She was far more exciting than he had expected, an experienced woman who knew exactly what she wanted and how to get it. When she straddled him, however, he growled. He was not ready to relinquish control so completely. With a well-directed push to her shoulder, he flipped her over, slid between her legs and entered her in one fluid, swift motion. He heard her gasp in surprise and she bit down hard on his shoulder, almost drawing blood. When she pushed up against him, trying to roll back over, it took all his agility to keep her in place. Maker, but she was strong! He caught her arms in a firm grip and hooked his ankles around hers, holding her down with his weight, kissing her roughly.

She laughed and bit his lip, and his excitement grew as he realized how much she was enjoying their small tussle. There was no need to be gentle with her, not now. With a husky groan, he arranged her legs around his hips, pulling her further towards him, entering her deep. She cried out, her eyes widening, as he thrust harder and faster, his hands gripping her firmly, his gaze locked on her flushed, rapt face. Mercilessly he pounded into her, feeling her tremble deep inside as she met his every move, her powerful body responding to him with a passion that matched his own. Just when he thought he couldn't take it any longer, he saw her head fall back, a strangled cry coming from her full, red lips, as her muscles contracted hard around him and her whole body grew taut with pleasure. His control slipped away from him at the sight of her, the feel of her. He slammed into her one more time and then he was tumbling, falling, as intense waves of lust suffused his whole being. He collapsed on her with a deep shudder, feeling boneless and heavy and utterly spent.

Afterwards they stretched out next to each other on his bedroll. Caitlin lay on her back, watching the shadows playing on the roof of the cave, like the characters from the fairytales of her childhood: a giant chasing a donkey, a witch with a huge hat, talking mabari dogs and raised swords. He lay on his side, propped up on his elbow, studying her face, one hand lingering on her belly, stroking her soft white skin lightly. One of the shadow figures looked almost like a cat, and she frowned as she was reminded of Anders. He hadn't even said goodbye when she'd left, hadn't been at the clinic when she'd come to see him.

"What makes you unhappy? A goddess like you should not be unhappy, especially not when she's just been worshipped like this." Zevran's words would have sounded ridiculous coming from anyone else, but the way he said them in his rich rolling accent, they held sincere concern.

She sighed and turned to him. "I was thinking about a man," she said, looking into his eyes to see his reaction, but he seemed unperturbed.

"And is this man the reason for your unhappiness?" When she nodded, he questioned further. "A friend, a lover?"

"Both, I thought," she replied, hardly able to hold back her tears. "Now, I'm not so sure any more."

She swallowed hard, and then, suddenly, all the pain and worry was pouring out of her, and she found she couldn't stop talking, about her fear for Anders, his odd behaviour, Justice's intrusions, the feeling that their love was slowly dying. And the attraction she'd recently begun to feel towards Fenris, the confusion in her mind and body, the guilt she felt about this, when Anders loved her and she loved him. Zevran didn't answer, didn't judge, just listened to her. When she was finished, the tears now freely streaming over her face, he pulled her closer and embraced her, kissed her forehead and soothed her with gentle strokes on her back until the crying stopped. She looked up at him in wonder, not quite understanding why she had been so open, so trustful.

It was then she realized that his own face looked sad and his eyes seemed to be looking at another time or place, far away from there. "And you, Zevran?" she whispered. "What is your sorrow?"

He shook his head and smiled, looking down at her. "A deep wound," he said lightly, "one that will never heal completely. But I've learned to live with it. Come now," he pulled her up into another kiss. "I cannot make your troubles go away, but I can help you to forget them for a little while. And you can help me forget too."

This time their love-making was less aggressive, more restrained, and Caitlin found herself revelling in Zevran's subtle, artful caresses. He had the sweetest, softest hands, she thought incoherently as she delivered herself to his touch and welcomed him into her body, over and over, wishing this night to last forever.

When they finally drew apart, she curled up against him and fell asleep, feeling perfectly safe in the arms of this stranger. She felt she knew him in a way she couldn't explain, and she trusted him completely, even as some part of her mind told her he was an assassin, a dangerous manipulator of people, a rogue well-versed in seduction and deception. She didn't care, didn't want to know, just wanted the peace and forgetfulness he could offer her. And he held her through the night, lending her his strength and his warmth, keeping the loneliness and the demons away for a few blissful hours.

When they woke up at dawn, they made love once more, tenderly and unhurriedly, a quiet, gentle goodbye. Afterwards, looking up into his handsome face, she felt a surge of regret at having to leave him. The temptation to stay was almost overwhelming, and she knew he felt it too, the sense of something beginning, something that maybe could grow into more. But she shook it off. Not like this, she thought, I have to be able to live with myself.

They said goodbye at the mouth of the cave, shivering in the cold morning mist rolling off the slopes of the mountain.

"So now we go our different ways," he said, smiling a little wistfully. "But perhaps we'll meet again, no?"

She shook her head. "Please do not look for me," she answered. "You know my heart belongs to another."

He looked at her face searchingly. "Yes, I believe it does, my beautiful warrior. But... maybe not to the one you are thinking about." She looked at him, confused and shaken, and he kissed her lips lightly. "Let us be friends, at least. When you need me, I'll be there."

She nodded, not trusting her voice, then watched him turn and disappear into the cave to gather his belongings. With a deep sigh, she headed towards the camp and her friends.

On the way back to Kirkwall, she kept to herself, lost deep in thoughts, ignoring Aveline's reproachful glares. She longed for him already, dreamed of caramel skin and the scent of cinnamon, of long blond hair and full lips, but then she scolded herself firmly. It wouldn't do. This dream could not come true, not now. Now, she had to focus on getting back to Kirkwall and sorting Anders out. Things had gone on too long, and it was time she took her life back into her own hands. And then, maybe, she could think about the future and try to understand what it was her heart was telling her, what Zevran had meant by his enigmatic words.

A/N: This was largely inspired by two wonderful songs by Suzanne Vega: Gypsy and Caramel. They both reminded me of Zevran and this encounter - but maybe this is just because I have Zevran on my mind most of the time...

A huge Thank you to zevgirl for beta reading this and making it so much better!