Author's notes: Hi! Welcome to my new story! I have had this idea in my head since I finished writing The Taint, but other projects always seemed to take precedence. There was always a new story to write, a new challenge to answer. I blame my fellow Cheeky Monkeys (they can take it!) It seems only fitting, then, that I found the motivation to finally write this story as an answer to yet another challenge on the Cheeky Monkeys of Dragon Age board (see my profile for link). I believe it can be read as a stand-alone, but those of you who are familiar with this couple from reading The Taint will maybe get a little more out of it. Some things in here have more meaning if you already know their story.

A very special, heartfelt thank you to Epiphany sola Gratia, for the challenge, for being an awesome beta and for being an awesome person in general. You rock!

Part 1: Him and her

The worst thing about his particular situation was not the cold, Zevran decided…

…and it was saying something that he thought so, because, as his stocky friend would have said, "the cold is biting me in the arse something fierce!"

There was absolutely no way in the damp cave for him to keep any part of his body dry long enough to warm up for a while. At night, when he had no choice but to press most of his body to the cold, hard stone to try and get some rest, he sometimes felt like ice was flooding through his veins instead of blood…

…but this wasn't the worst part.

It wasn't the discomfort either. He was used to discomfort. The fact that there was nothing to sit on but hard stone, that it was absolutely impossible to find any acceptable spot to lay his head and get some decent sleep did not bother him so much. He could even welcome the stiffness in his muscles, sometimes. It provided a certain… distraction.

The worst part certainly wasn't the ever present threat of being discovered, or attacked. Even an attempt on his life would have been welcomed at this point.

It wasn't even the big monster lurking nearby, enormous and frightening, crawling straight out of some terrifying Dalish legend. The unnatural beast left him alone, mostly.

No, the worst thing about his current situation was that, while he was sitting on the hard stone ground, feeling the cold creep up his legs and back, acutely aware of the soreness of his body and trying to be constantly alert to the sounds that might be coming from the adjacent cavern, there was really little for him to do but think.

That wasn't good at all, because whatever he could bring himself to think about, from weapons to poisons to attack moves to past lovers to bad jokes, his mind always, always brought him back to her.

That just would not do.

He rolled on his stomach, put his hands flat on the ground and began a series of push-ups, trying to concentrate solely on counting.

One, two, three…

It had been so long… years since he left Ferelden to go back to Antiva and deliver his message, in no uncertain terms: He was alive, he was free, and he was to be left alone.

Twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight…

A few of the Crow masters had been more… reticent than others. Sometimes killing theirs favorite assassin hadn't been enough. Sometimes killing their higher-ranked assistants hadn't been enough. Still, they all had to agree in the end: everyone had a breaking point and Zevran was pretty good at finding it.

Forty-four, forty-five, forty-six…

Only the guild master hadn't gotten the point. He had kept sending his men after him, each one of his losses apparently only angering him further. So, one night, Zevran had gone after the man himself. He had almost died that night.

Seventy-nine, eighty, eighty-one…

When he first met the Wardens, when he thought he was going to his death, he remembered wondering what he would see when he died. What it was that all his victims had seen, in their last moment, when their eyes widened and a last, gasping breath escaped their lips. He knew now. He had seen it, that night. He had faced death, had seen what everyone saw when they stood close enough to stare death in the eyes.

Regrets.

Ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred.

He let himself fall to the ground with a soft humph. To him, regrets had looked like… tangled white sheets… flashing daggers… blue eyes.

He rolled on his back. His regrets had sounded like… a soft giggle… a sad song on a lute… the twang of a bow.

He rubbed his hands over his face, sighing. His regrets had smelled like… leather and wood… and flowers. A white flower, to be precise: Andastre's grace.

He stood up in one fluid, quick motion, and resisted the urge to punch the stone wall. He knew from experience that it would do him no good. No good at all.

Now the Crows had reluctantly agreed to leave him alone, officially.

Unofficially, there were always those raw recruits eager to prove themselves; those seasoned veterans with some stain on their record they needed forgiven; those skilled lieutenants sent on "secret" missions.

Those like this Nuncio, or whatever he was calling himself these days.

"Brasca," Zevran mumbled. Whoever they were, they were… an obstacle… a barrier.

An excuse.

"Just one more. Just one more and then… and then it will be safe. One more and then I'll find her."

The first time he told himself that was ten corpses ago.

In this dark, damp cave, surrounded by walls of rocks and cold, there was no room left for lies or self-deception. There was nowhere to hide from his thoughts, from the truth. He wasn't staying away out of prudence or worry for her safety. He was afraid, and not for her.

"I'll forgive everything," she had said.

She could not have known what she was promising. She couldn't have predicted what he'd do… what he'd have to do. She had sounded so sincere… "I'll forgive everything…" but she didn't know.

When he closed his eyes, he could see her, hear her. After all these years of trying to decipher some hidden meaning in her tone, her eyes, each of her tiny movements, the memory was still perfect, imbedded in his mind as if sculpted in stone, "I'll forgive everything."

"How could you?" he whispered.

The beast screeched in the next cave, and a bellowing battle cry answered it. Zevran drew his blades, put his back against the wall and peeked around at the intruders.

Well, well: the Champion of Kirkwall and her merry band of companions.

It was still true. Whatever can be said about his life, it was always interesting.

The worst thing about her particular situation was the cold, Leliana decided. These big, high stone halls were certainly impressive, majestic and imposing like in the songs, but they were impossible to keep warm while sitting in them. It was all the more true for the small, secluded hiding spot she had found for herself, up the stairs, close to the throne. No heat from the fires or torches could reach her in the darkness she had surrounded herself with.

It wasn't the long wait that was bothering her. One didn't work for the Divine without getting used to long hours of waiting in empty, vast halls. Of course, she was usually better seated, cushioned chairs or wooden pews, but she knew how to deal with a little discomfort. At least she could sit. Hours on her knees, praying for the Maker's guidance, now that was uncomfortable.

She had visited so many of these great halls in the past years, all over Thedas; from Val Royaux and all over Orlais, then back to Ferelden, followed by a short trip to Rivain. She was even in Antiva for a while. She didn't really remember all that much about these places, but she remembered one thing very clearly: how many times a blonde head lost in the crowd had caught her attention, how many times she had heard someone laugh and turned her head, holding her breath, hoping… Antiva had been the worst, with all these people talking with the same accent.

"Wherever I am, if you want to find me, you'll find me," she had told him. She still believed that, with all of her heart. As the years had gone by without a word, however, doubt had slowly crept in. She believed he could find her still; she just wasn't sure he still wanted to. So many years had passed…

In the beginning, alone on the road on her way back to Orlais, she often found herself lost in thoughts, imagining, fantasizing about what their reunion would be like; how she would see him and her heart would stop, and he would look at her and smile this wicked, charming smile of his… she would start running and he would reach out to her, laughing, and then she would be in his arms and he would whisper in her ear how much he had missed her…

Real life, she knew, had a funny way of not measuring up to the songs and legends it inspired. The reunion her heart had been dreaming of, her head was constantly making it crumble. However horrible it could be, though, it certainly couldn't be as horrible as this, this… uncertainty, this nothing. Any reunion, any news at this point would be better than nothing at all, because if he came to her, whatever might come out of it, she would know that he still cared. If he hadn't come back to her yet, she was afraid it could only mean that he didn't care enough to try and track her down.

She had been so clever, too: "Sister Nightingale." She knew he would get the bird reference, if he was looking for her. If…

"Wherever I am, know that I'll be waiting," she'd said, and she had been. She was still waiting. Every time a door opened, letting some strangers in, whether it was in a shady tavern, a Chantry, an empty waiting room or a great hall, there was always that second of hope where her heart would seem to stop, waiting, wondering.

If the stranger was blond then the second would stretch, hope would soar, right until the eyes were visible, and then hope was crushed, over and over again, every time. It seemed hope was not a thing a heart could get over with, or get enough of.

Even here, even then, she was waiting. Everywhere she waited, whether it was for the Divine, a Grand Cleric, some random dignitary or the Champion or Kirkwall, she was also waiting for him. What was one more, after all?

The door opened and her heart stopped, soared, and crashed:

Thugs.

Well, that wasn't surprising. The Champion would be here soon, and Leliana would get to see her worth. She silently got to her feet, crouching, ready.

When the door opened again and the Champion walked in, she was prepared. Her heartbeat did not flutter.

Marian Hawke was certainly a formidable woman. She had listened to his story and had actually believed him. Well, maybe Isabela helped; Isabela who had been one of Hawke's companions, who had been there, in his cave, of all people.

Hawke had been flirty, too. That had been unexpected. Surprising, even, until he heard the white-haired elf by her side growl. Yes, growl, literally. Her eyes had sparkled, then. She had bitten her lip to hide a grin and he had finally seen what her game was.

Why, yes, jealousy could indeed have some interesting… effects, and the role she had given him to play was certainly one he could play well.

"We'll take care of this Nuncio for you, do not worry your pretty head, hum… Zevran, was it? Yes, but not today. I have a mysterious midnight meeting with a nightingale, and I must get back to Kirkwall before sunset. Tomorrow, then, right?" she had said, already halfway out of the cave.

Yes, she was an interesting, helpful woman who, for some reasons he was not privy to, had decided to spare his life… funny, how that seemed to keep happening to him. So he did what he had always done in these situations: he followed her, discreetly, of course.

If his eyes weren't deceiving him, he was following her right up to the Viscount's keep.

"Odd place to meet with a bird at midnight," he thought.

"The Champion was indeed impressive," Leliana thought as the fight unraveled before her eyes. Strong and quick, powerful… and charismatic, judging by the enthusiasm of the people following her.

Her name was Hawke, she remembered. That had made her smile, arranging a meeting between a hawk and a nightingale… She wondered what Shale would have had to say about this meeting of the birds.

Leliana also wondered if Hawke knew she was being followed.

A dark figure had slipped in behind her and was keeping to the shadows, rather aptly, if Leliana was any judge. If she hadn't caught the slightest of movement when the door closed back, she would have missed the intruder. Even then, she couldn't exactly say where he was.

Well, he wasn't an immediate threat, at least. For now, Leliana had a grand entrance to make.

She was here.

He could not believe his eyes at first. When that last thug dropped dead and the smoke cleared, he was not ready for the sight of her, all gleaming blue eyes and flashing daggers, stunning as ever, even in the ridiculous leather armour she was wearing. Then she spoke and her musical voice filled his ears, unmistakable, undeniable. She talked to Hawke a while, she even laughed, once, and then she spoke of him and he felt his heart sink when he heard the longing in her voice.

Then Hawke left and for a second he thought about slipping out behind the Champion, because however this was supposed to happen, he could not think of a worst way than accidently stumbling upon her secret mission. He was… unprepared. He didn't have a plan.

He wasn't ready.

Part 2: Fighting words

Leliana stood there, atop the stairs, arms crossed, smiling to herself, until the echo of the Champion's footsteps faded away.

"So… friend, or foe?" she called out. "Step into the light, if you please. Are you a secret admirer of the Champion? She does seem like the kind of woman to attract all sorts of… unwarranted attentions. Or one of mine, perhaps? I do so love the stealthy ones…"

The shadowy figure stood still, hesitating a second longer before moving slowly, carefully taking the few steps that would bring him into line of sight.

"Yes," Zevran's slightly amused voice said, "I do recall you falling for the ever-elusive ones…"

Emotions quickly chased one another on her face as he appeared from around the column: shock, incredulity, denial and then suddenly a wide, ecstatic, relieved smile.

"Zevran!" She took a step forward, then two quick ones, as if she was about to start running to him. "You found me!"

He stepped back. Not by much, a small movement, about half a step. She stumbled then froze, the smile fading from her lips.

"Not exactly."

"Not exactly?" she repeated with confusion. "What does that mean? You are here, are you not?"

Taking a deep breath, Zevran drew his shoulders back, spreading his hands.

"I did not mean to be."

"You did not mean…?"

"I was following the Champion."

It was Leliana's turn to step back, the forced look of calm on her face slowly cracking. One of her hands came up to wrap around her side, her arm draped across her belly as if she'd been struck.

"You did not want to find me?" she asked in a small voice.

Zevran took a step forward, but stopped in his tracks upon meeting Leliana's warning stare.

"No! Yes… I wanted… I meant to… it was not safe."

"Safe?"

Her voice was now cold, dripping with anger. One foot behind her, she turned her body slightly, presenting her side to him in a protective stance. He let his hands drop to his sides.

"For you, for us. I am a wanted man, Leliana."

A look of uncertainty flickered across her face as her hand gripped her side harder.

"I don't understand."

Zevran shook his head and looked down, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I did things. Unspeakable, horrible things. The kind of things people seek revenge for. The kind of things that is unforgivable"

Leliana's arm dropped back to her side as her expression softened visibly.

"I told you I would for…"

"Yes, I know what you told me! I know very well!" he yelled, moving suddenly forward. "You think you can forgive the scheming and plotting, the thieving and fucking, and all the blood on my hands, Leliana? Do you think you can forgive what these things did to me?"

Her eyes went wide in surprise as he began yelling, then her expression hardened, jaw clenched, brow furrowed. She turned to face him again, feet firmly planted, arms crossed.

"What they did to…"

"I loved it!" He took two more steps forward. "I trained relentlessly, until my body was my own again, the deadliest of my weapons. I am faster, sharper, stronger than you have ever known me. I lied, I stole and I fucked for information. It didn't matter who. Then I went after my enemies and I killed them, and I was good at it. I loved it. I am at peace with it. This is who I am, Leliana. Can you forgive that?"

"You don't even want me to!" she yelled back, moving forward. "You don't even want to be here with me! Why does it matter what I think?"

They were standing face to face by then, inches apart from one another. Zevran was the first who broke eye contact, turning his head on the side to look away.

"It is not like that," he said, his voice softer.

"You think my hands are clean then, Zevran?" She moved to the side, trying to catch his eyes again. "That they are not red with the blood of the innocent? You think I never killed? Or do you think I never enjoyed it? What is it you think that I can't understand?"

Zevran sighed, then turned his head to look at her again.

"It is not… it cannot be put into words. It is a feeling I have, that I could never explain myself so you would understand. I wish… I wish for you to see me. I wish you could see me as I am. Then, if you see this and can really forgive everything, then I will know the forgiveness is… well-deserved. Honest."

She stared at him for a while in silence before slowly uncrossing her arms.

"Show me, then."

His eyebrows rose.

"What do you mean?"

"A duel. Show me the man you have become. Show me everything you are capable of. Come at me. If you win… I'll grant you forgiveness."

"You are going to let me win?"

"Not in the least. You have never bested me before, if I recall. Earn my forgiveness, Crow. Fight for it. Show me you want me… it, and it's yours."

Part 3: What we're fighting for

They were circling each other, eyeing each other carefully, under the dull stare of the dead thugs still littering the ground. Zevran moved first, shoving his sword forward in a tentative, unrefined attack. It was a test, a question. The meaning was clear: "What do you want from me here?"

His blatant attack was easily blocked, his sword pushed aside, violently, impatiently. Her angry eyes spoke volumes: "I want you to fight!"

He stepped back, weapons raised to cover the opening, then he paused with knees slightly bent, ready to strike. He nodded, once, a quick jerk of the chin: "Fine!"

He charged, his attacks following each other swiftly, each of them precise, methodical strikes aiming primarily for the usual weak spots of the standard leather armour, each of them a test of her resolve. "Can you block this? And this? Are you going to let me off easy?"

Each one was blocked with ease. "I am not!" Then she kicked him hard in the chest, forcing him to step back, breaking his chain of attacks. "Come again! Be serious, this time!"

Weapons in hands, arms at his sides, relaxed but ready, he took some time studying her defense stance. Then he shifted his grip so he wouldn't strike with the flat of the blade anymore. His eyebrows rose, slightly. "Are you sure about this?"

Her jaw clenched as she looked back at him, her grip on her weapons tightening. "Yes!"

He charged again, launching a series of attacks meant to wound, to weaken. He stroke hard and fast, without holding back. "Is this what you want?"

She dodged most of the blows, eventually blocking his weapons with hers and shoving him away in frustration. She huffed. "Is this what you wanted to show me? Pathetic."

She launched herself at him, executing the same series of attacks he had just performed against her, finishing with a blunt, powerful strike he barely had time to parry. The blade grazed his upper arm, drawing blood.

She stepped back and took her defensive stance again, a challenge in her hard, blue eyes. "Come at me! Show me what you can do!"

He brought a hand to his injury, looked at the blood on his fingers, then stared back at her, eyes wide. " Do you know what you are asking?"

She shrugged, lowering her guard a bit, pointing to the double doors with the tip of her sword. "If you don't want it bad enough, just get out." She took her stance again, her expression resolved. "Or you can show me what it is you're afraid I'll see."

He closed his eyes a second, taking a deep breath. When he opened them again, something had changed: in his whole behaviour, in the way his body tensed, in the focus of his cold stare, in the new resolve painted on his features. "There is nothing I want more."

She gave him a tight smile, bracing herself. "Bring it, then. Show me who you are."

He raised his sword, the blade catching the light, shining it in her eyes. She blinked.

He vanished.

One second he was there, in front of her, taut and ready, the next he simply… wasn't. She barely moved, raising her guard, ready to block left and right, up and down. Then she froze again, every sense on alert.

He stuck from behind, quick as a snake, his arm coming around her, his dagger only inches from her neck when it was blocked in extremis by her own blade. She inhaled sharply, the acrid smell of poison suddenly heavy in the air. "I will take any advantage I can get, fair or not."

She whirled around the blade, pushing his dagger aside, and faced him, her chin jutting up. "I am ready for it."

He feinted left, throwing the dagger at her, the blade almost catching the right side of her face, forcing her to dodge out of the way. He was already there, his sword at the ready. He struck. "I lie. I cheat. I deceive."

His blade was blocked, again. "Not with me!"

He pushed on, using the momentum to shove their locked swords aside. As she brought her dagger down on him, he crouched low, letting her blade bite into his shoulder, and he swept both her legs with his. She fell on her back as he sprung up, drawing his second sword, blood trickling down his arm as he towered over her. "I am not afraid of getting hurt in pursuit of what I want."

Before he could swing his weapons, she rolled, catching one of his legs with both of hers, destabilizing him just long enough to allow her to get on her feet again. She grinned at him, a fierce glint in her eyes, her triumphant smile more like a feral baring of teeth. "Come and get it then!"

He charged, striking with a blunt, strong attack. Blocked. He pushed the blocking weapon down and her body followed before she could counter. He jumped, rolling on her hunched back, and stood behind her, his other sword swinging to backstab her. Dodged. He raised his weapons high as she spun to face him, attacking her with two strong strikes on each side. Parried. He came at her, again and again, from left and right, jumping high, crouching low, each of his strikes powerful and decisive. "I am strong. I am relentless. I won't stop until I get what I want."

Leliana blocked, dodged, parried, but it was obvious she was getting overwhelmed by the onslaught of blows trying to get past her defenses. Her guard was put up more and more slowly, she left her sides open just a bit longer, all little telltale signs that she was tiring. She wasn't trying to do any attack moves anymore, concentrating solely on defense. There was a new light in her eyes that didn't quite match her increasingly desperate situation: a glint of admiration and pride as she surveyed her opponent. " I can see that!"

He finally came at her in a full frontal assault, striking right, left, then right again, not aiming for her body but for her weapons, forcing them open, breaking her defensive stance. He got inside her guard and she froze, feeling the cold kiss of his blade against the skin of her neck, the heavy weight of his hand against her heart where the grip of the sword came to rest.

They stood there facing each other, both panting heavily, as Leliana's grip on her weapons loosened and both blades shifted in her hands, dandling from her fingers, pointing down. Zevran swallowed.

"What do you say?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

She stared back at him in silence, breathing hard.

"What do you say?" he yelled.

She smiled, then, a sudden, wide, elated smile, as her arms spread wide on each side, opening, welcoming.

"You win."

He stepped closer, his blade pressed between the two of them, his eyes searching hers frantically. "What…"

"But also," she cut in, a familiar, mischievous glint in her eyes," we should get out of here. I believe I hear guards coming."

They ran until they were out of the city, in a small clearing at the edge of the forest. There they stopped, panting, and faced each other… then burst into laughter.

"Oh, Maker! I wish I could have seen their faces when they saw the bodies!"

"They will pin this on Hawke, not to worry. They saw her well enough. She actually congratulated them on her way in, telling them what a great job they were obviously doing at guarding the Keep."

"Well, technically…"

They stopped talking, then, as the smiles slowly faded from their faces.

"We still need to talk," Zevran said at length, softly.

"I know. This… this, here, this is just so… easy."

She bit her lip before taking a step towards him, pressing a hand against his chest.

"I have been waiting for you…"

He covered her hand with his, sighing.

"I have been afraid to come back. Afraid of what you'll say."

"I don't understand. How did you think I would react? You know what I have been through myself."

"Yes, and I know you've changed because of it. This man that comes back to you now… you never knew him. I was never that man with you. I feared the change was too great."

"You have not changed Zevran. This was who you always were. Only your own perception of yourself has changed. You… you always felt like the skills you have acquired were shameful because of the way they were taught to you, yes? But they are a part of you and you can choose to use them as you want. The skills, the weapons, they do not matter; only intentions matter, only purpose. These things are yours to decide, Zevran. How will you use these weapons? These skills? What purpose will you give yourself? These are the important questions. I believe you know the answer now."

"Yes. I do. This is, however, a discussion for another time, perhaps."

She nodded, smiling, as her fingers clenched under his hand, over his heart.

"I thought you did not want to come back to me…"

She raised her other hand to his cheek and he leaned into it.

"I missed you so much," he sighed.

She turned his head, forcing his gaze to meet hers.

"I forgive everything," she whispered. She freed her other hand, brought it up to his other cheek, framing his face. "Close your eyes…"

He smiled as his eyes closed. She stepped closer, pressing her whole body against his.

He gasped softly when their lips finally met, his arms encircling her, holding her gently against him. Time seemed to hold, suspended, as they leaned against each other, barely moving, lips to lips, bathed in the soft moonlight as the forest around them grew quiet. Then a gust of wind made the tree leaves quiver, her fingers dug into his hair, his hand moved up her back and the spell was broken at the needy sound of her gasping against his mouth.

The kiss grew more intense, almost desperate, her fingers grabbing his hair, his hands roaming over her body as if he was trying to touch her everywhere at once. He pushed her back against a tree without letting go, his body pressing against hers as her hands joined behind his neck, their lips moving together hungrily. She moaned once, softly, and his eyes tightened shut. His hands settled on her hips and he pushed himself slightly away from her, the kiss softening, deepening, until they were once again almost unmoving, joined at the lips, breathing each other in.

He broke away from her lips and gathered her in his arms, holding his cheek against hers.

"I love you," they both breathed simultaneously. She chuckled.

"Then maybe I'm still the one winning after all."

"Mi amor, maybe, this time, for once, we both do."