#the man holding her back is taliesen
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Breath of Life
In which Zevran meets a familiar Crow in the streets of Denerim
(Full version (Explicit) on AO3 here)
CW: Hurt/comfort; Blood, wounds, combat, death, spiders; references to near-death experiences
“When I heard that the great Zevran had gone rogue, I simply had to see it for myself.”
Arianwen stared up the stairs at the stranger with the cruel face. Her hand rested on one of the daggers at her back; if Zevran had not made it clear that he knew this man, she would have thrown it already.
“Is that so?” Zevran said, his voice holding an unfamiliar cold note, “Well—here I am, in the flesh.”
“You can return with me, Zevran,” the Crow at the top of the stairs said, his face twisting into an expression of false sympathy that set Wen’s teeth on edge, “I know why you did this, and I don’t blame you. It’s not too late. Come back and we’ll make up a story. Anyone can make a mistake.”
Somewhere behind her, she heard Alistair take a slow breath. There was no need to look at him; she knew his hand was already on the hilt of his sword.
Ready to step between them if Zevran tried to stab her in the back.
Anyone can make a mistake. Yes; that was something Wen knew all too well. She’d made far too many herself, though she tried to think about them as little as possible. Had it been a mistake to trust Zevran? To fall in—
No.
No, she didn’t think so.
Wen turned to look at her lover, lifting her chin, and spoke.
“Of course, I’d need to be dead first.”
Zevran met her eyes, reading something there, and gave her the smallest nod before turning again to Taliesen.
“And I’m not about to let that happen,” Zevran said, resolution coloring every syllable of the words.
She had not doubted him—not really, not after the past few months—but even so, some unnamed fear melted away in Arianwen’s chest.
“What? You’ve gone soft!” Taliesen spat. Scorn painted deep lines on either side of his mouth, and to her right Zevran’s shoulders loosened slightly.
Someone was creeping closer to Wen’s group; she could see them out of the corner of her eye, shifting slightly beside the stairs. The blade at her back came free from its bandolier soundlessly, slipping into her hands like the touch of an old friend.
“I am sorry, my old friend,” Zevran said, and Wen knew him well enough to know that the note of sadness in his voice was real, “But the answer is no. I’m not coming back…and you should have stayed in Antiva.”
The Crows who’d been creeping closer struck, Taliesen among them. As Zevran finished speaking, Tabris’s hand whipped out from behind her back and her blade bloomed from the throat of the fighter by the stairs. They fell soundlessly, not that any of them could have noticed; battle had been joined in full, and she and her friends had their hands full already.
Zevran darted past her and up the stairs, sword and dagger in hand. That seemed right; a betrayal by an old friend must be his to handle by rights. She did not try to stop him, nor did she follow him. When another Crow raised her blade to intercept Zevran, Arianwen threw another dagger, and then another when the first failed to incapacitate the woman. While the steel spiraled through the air, she slicked her sword with poison and blocked a blow meant for her shoulder.
There had been a break in the crowd right at the beginning, which was how Zev had gotten through, but the rest closed ranks around them now. Wen found herself back to back with Alistair, batting away another slash at her torso before she stuck two fingers in her mouth and whistled hard.
She’d no idea where the lovely spider kept herself while they traveled through Denerim, but Princess dropped down from a rooftop nearby and leapt for a bowman, snapping him up in her pincers with a sickening crunch.
“Ugh,” Alistair said emphatically, and Wen laughed, already caught in the high she always felt when fighting.
“Don’t fuss, Ali, I’m sure it’s delightful—right, Morrigan?” Arianwen said, but it was no use; the mage in question did not have a mouth fit for speaking at the moment. A bear battled at their side instead, batting one Crow into another with a crushing blow of the paw. When the two fell, the crowd around them opened for a moment and she had a clear view of her lover, still fighting at the top of the stairs.
Zevran could hold his own; she knew that. What Wen did not know was how to balance her feelings for him with an honest estimate of his abilities. For example—he bled from a wound along his side now, and though it was plainly a slice across the ribs the sight of it filled her with an unbounded rage.
How dare this stranger lay hands on one under her protection? How dare he harm what was hers?
She fought all the harder, some of the joy of battle going from her all at once. She threw a handful of dust into the face of one man, then slit his throat while he was still coughing. When he fell away, she shifted forward, and drove her foot between the legs of the man who tried to block her. It would have been smart to stab him in the heart when he fell to the ground, but she leapt over him instead and started up the stairs. Alistair cursed behind her, and there was another horrible crunch, but Arianwen paid them little mind.
Taliesen was laughing, batting away Zevran’s dagger and returning the attempted blow with a strike across Zevran’s forearm. She could see the jump in the muscle along his jaw, a sure sign that he was in pain, and his sword fell from his hand.
A body was in her way; Arianwen hardly even looked at it as she drove her longsword into its belly and shook it from the steel.
At the top of the stairs, Zevran danced away from another blow and sliced Taliesen’s cheek. The latter laughed as blood poured down his cheek, then swung hard at Zev. Dodge, dodge, strike—but Zevran had overextended himself and knew it, from the way his brows drew down even as his dagger drove toward Taliesen’s throat.
She was not moving fast enough. He needed her—he needed her and she was—
Wen spat in the face of the person before her, drove a dagger through his eye, then threw it at Taliesen. It would have hit—she knew damn well how to throw a dagger, even one with a hilt like this—but another Crow got in the way, dancing back from the bear ascending the steps behind her. The dagger killed the woman, but it was too late.
Taliesen caught Zevran’s wrist, grinned, and drove his blade into her lover’s belly.
“No,” Tabris screamed, ducking the Crow’s body that slumped before her. Magic hissed past her face and struck Taliesen, but Wen paid it little mind. Zevran slid from Taliesen’s blade, his face turned up, one hand still clutching a dagger—her mother’s dagger, the one her father had hidden under the floorboards for over a decade.
Arianwen felled another assassin and dodged their falling body to race upward. It felt like all of this was happening too slow; she couldn’t seem to lift her leaden legs, nor to make her eyes focus as they ought.
Taliesen laughed when Zevran hit the ground. Then, he bent and reached for the rosewood and silver hilt of her mother’s dagger.
No; he would not. Could not. She would not allow it.
Wen found a burst of speed from some hidden well within her and threw herself at Taliesen, knocking him back several steps before he recovered.
“Don’t be mad,” he laughed, “It’s what he wanted!”
Wen dodged a blow, rapidly scanning the wounds Zev had scored into the man’s body. He was favoring his left side and his arm was bleeding badly. Good; she would make this quick, damn him.
Zevran needed her.
“Didn’t you know?” Taliesen went on, swinging for her arm and dodging back when she took advantage of the opening to stab at his side.
“He came here to die. I’m only giving him what he wanted.”
Taliesen grunted when her sword dug deep into his bicep, then dropped his dagger when Arianwen pulled away. Good; she’d hit something important, then. There was a buzzing in Wen’s ears that did not entirely sound like the usual battlesong her blood hummed to her. No; it was fear, fear she never felt when she fought anymore.
Zevran lay on the ground beside her, choking on his own blood—and the man who would call him dead was still talking.
Wen ducked a strike, spun up beneath his guard, and drove her poisoned dagger sideways between his ribs—a trick Zev had taught her.
Damn him, he had to live.
“Clever tr—” Taliesen began as the blood began to spread beneath his tunic. He did not go on; ice spread from his chest to his mouth, stilling his tongue, and Arianwen did not wait for Morrigan’s spell to wear off.
She kicked her mother’s dagger into the air, replacing the one she’d left on the stairs, and caught it in one smooth motion. When she drove it into the man’s heart, it made a soft crackling noise, as a kitchen knife cutting into frozen meat.
“Shut up,” she spat, and pulled the dagger loose with a practiced tug.
Taliesen fell to the stone behind her, but she was no longer looking at him—or anything else. The fight might still be going on down the stairs. She didn’t know. She didn’t care. The others could take care of themselves; her Zevran could not.
“Zev, Zevran,” she said, falling to her knees and dropping both blades without a second thought, “Look at me. Look at me?”
His eyelashes fluttered against his cheek, as if he was trying to do as she said, and one hand pressed over the gaping wound in his belly.
Maker; she’d seen the blade go through to the other side. He wasn’t—he wasn’t—
“Open—open your mouth,” she said instead, slipping one arm under his neck and tugging a potion from her belt with the other hand, “Open—for me?”
Zevran’s lips did not move; Wen had to do it instead, pressing his lower lip open so she could tip the viscous red potion into his mouth. He swallowed reflexively, his breath wheezing horribly as soon as he’d finished.
“It’s going—you’ll be—” she could not find the words. Wen had never been good at comfort, and now that she needed to know what she was saying the right words flew right out of her head. She positioned herself more fully underneath him, cradling the curve of her head in one hand.
“...wen,” he said, the words more of a rasp than they were words, and she huddled over him.
If anyone stood behind her with a blade, the strike to end her life would be very easy. She could not even say that she was wary or paying attention; there was no ounce of her focus directed anywhere but at the limp body in her arms.
“...I,” he tried again, but she shook her head.
“Don’t—don’t try to talk,” she said, though it felt like there was a hand gripping her throat to stop her words, “Rest, just rest, please.”
Zevran sighed, the exhalation whistling painfully, and he went still in her arms.
“Zev?” she said, jostling him slightly, and pressed a hand to his throat.
Was his heart beating? Could she feel the pulse there? She couldn’t tell; her hands were shaking too hard to feel his skin properly, and he was so still.
“Zevran?” she said again, her voice high and unfamiliar, “Zevran? Look at me, please, oh—No, no, you can’t. You can’t. You promised me, you promised—”
Water dripped down his face, and it was several dizzying breaths before Arianwen realized that they were tears. Her tears, and he was not stirring at the touch of them. She kissed him instead, desperately and repeatedly somehow certain, certain beyond the touch of any doubt, that this must be the thing that made him open his eyes again.
His lips remained still and unmoving beneath hers. Even dozing in the mornings, he responded to her touch; he had never failed to kiss her back. Never, never.
“You promised,” Wen said again, weeping in earnest now. Her grip was tight around his shoulders, and as she spoke Morrigan knelt across from her.
“Hush,” the witch snapped, firmly enough that Wen’s mouth snapped closed. She could not see the magic the other woman called, but she could feel the hum of it in the air, like a struck tuning fork. An armored hand settled on her shoulder—Alistair’s—and she flinched at the touch.
“Is he—” Wen began, but Morrigan glared at her until she shut her mouth again.
It only took a moment; she knew, because she’d seen Wynne cast this same spell a hundred times. Even so, time seemed to stretch before her like a hallway in a nightmare, looming and threatening and dark. Wen’s hands curled into the warmth of Zevran’s body, a silent entreaty, and Alistair’s hand bolstered her, steadying Tabris when she felt she might shake apart.
Morrigan’s hands fell away. Arianwen, still weeping no matter how she tried to stop, curled over Zevran again and cleared the bloodied golden hair from his face.
“Come back,” she whispered, as if words could hold him to her, as if words had done a single thing when she’d watched her mother cut to pieces in the street before their house in the alienage.
“Please,” she said, “Please. Come back to me. You promised.”
A moment; one silent, awful moment, and then—
Zevran coughed, convulsing in her arms, and dragged his eyes open. They took a moment to focus on her properly, but when they did a smile crept slowly up the sides of his mouth.
“Now, Warden,” he said, his voice worn and ragged, “Tell me you are not crying over a little flesh wound.”
She stared at him for a moment, tears still falling unchecked from her cheeks. Zevran beamed up at her, as if he’d just done some clever knife trick, and that was what did it.
“I hate you,” she sobbed, bowing over his body until she clutched him too close to see his face, “I hate you, you awful man, don’t you ever—”
“You do not—”
“—ever do that to me again, I thought—”
“—hate me, my dear, I am far too—”
“—you were dead, I thought you—”
“—handsome and clever to hate, and in any case—”
“—left me alone!”
At the vehemence of her words, Zevran sighed and fell silent. The others shifted on either side of them, and soon she heard feet on the stairs beyond. Thank the Maker for that; she felt like she was shaking apart, and the only thing holding her together was the arm he’d wrapped around her back
“I am right here, mi vida,” he murmured, and she squeezed, “Though I may not be if you hold me any tighter.”
Arianwen loosened her grip, sniffling faintly, and turned away to wipe her face clean when he sat up under his own power.
This—this was exactly what she’d feared when he’d kissed her by the fire all those months ago. She cared too much; it hurt her too much to see him hurt, and the thought of him dying—of leaving her—
She could not bear it. She had to bear it. Tabris was caught between the knowledge of both, the very breath squeezed from her lungs by the conflict between the two.
Wen lifted her mother’s dagger from the stone beside her, pulled a cloth from her pocket, and turned her face away from him while she cleaned it. She took her time, as if the task demanded all her attention, as if each speck of blood on the steel was a personal affront. Zevran drank another potion from his belt before resting his arms on his knees and sighing.
“And there it is,” he said after a moment, “Taliesen is dead, and I am free of the Crows.”
Wen glanced at him, wiped her face on her shoulders, and returned her attention to the blade. She would need to oil it, she thought, once they returned to Eamon’s estate. It ought to be fully, properly cleaned.
It was several minutes before Zevran went on.
“They will assume that I am dead along with Taliesen,” he said, ”So long as I do not make my presence known to them, they will not seek me out.”
Wen had to take a drink from her waterskin before she could answer him; her throat still felt too thick, too dry, as if the nearness of losing him had tattered her vocal cords.
“That’s a good thing, right?” she said at last, and Zevran chuckled. The chuckle grew to a laugh, until he clutched his stomach and coughed instead.
“A very good thing—it is, in fact, what I’d hoped for ever since you decided not to kill me,” he said, once the coughing stopped.
Wen nodded once. Away down the stairs, the other two were arguing over a body, Morrigan’s hands in the air and Alistair’s on his hips. Princess was slowly and methodically wrapping a corpse in her web, her long legs delicate and graceful as they spun the body around. Good; they were all fine for the moment.
Arianwen held the dagger by the blade and extended it to Zevran without looking. He took it from her hand, careful not to cut her, and she heard the soft noise of steel against leather when he tucked it away again.
“ I suppose,” he said tentatively, “it would be…possible for me to leave now. If I wished, I could go far away, somewhere where the Crows would never find me.”
Arianwen stood and retrieved her sword, leaning against the wall beside the platform. She could not watch him while he told her he was leaving; she could hardly look at him at all after what had just happened. He was still sitting in a pool of his own blood; was she to ignore that while he spoke of traipsing across Thedas without her?
Zevran rose with a grunt of pain and she straightened at once, ready to offer aid. He didn’t need it—he rose without help and ran a hand over the blood covering the front of his armor.
“I think,” he went on contemplatively, “however, that I could also stay here. I…made an oath to help you, after all. And…saving the world seems a worthy task to see through to the end, yes?”
Zevran looked up at her, then, a hopeful glint to his eye, and her heart thudded against her ribs. Stay—oh, she wanted him to stay. Hope hurt her, almost more than the fear had, and she had to push past both before she could bring herself to speak.
“I would be glad to have you stay,” she said, and the words sounded wooden, not like her at all. Zevran didn’t seem to care; he moved closer stiffly, one hand still pressed to his stomach. Tabris turned to face him when he moved, until both of them were leaning against the wall, only inches apart.
“Then stay I shall,” he said, resting one hand on her face and stroking the swell of her cheek, “I am with you until the end.”
It might almost have been romantic; Wen was already stepping closer to kiss him, in fact, the relief of him living and staying stronger than her need to find a small, quiet place to hide away in.
But—then Zevran went on talking.
“Provided you do not tire of me first,” her lover said with a foolish little smile, “Or I die. Or you die. But—there you go.”
Arianwen tipped her face against his chest, incapable of speech. Or I die—like it was a joke! Like she hadn’t thought she’d lost him not twenty minutes earlier!
Zevran kissed the top of her head by way of apology.
Arianwen snorted, then laughed; there was absolutely nothing funny about this, or anything that had just happened. She had killed one of his oldest friends; she’d held his dying body in her arms, incapable of doing a single thing to keep him here.
And she was desperately, endlessly glad that he was still here to make the stupidest, most ill-timed jokes. Wen tipped her head back and laughed, and laughed, until his mouth caught hers and swallowed the sound of it.
They stood there kissing for a long time, his lips still tasting strongly of elfroot, until the other two went silent behind them and Wen had to walk away to make sure neither had killed the other.
But she could feel him still, walking along behind her, watching her back—as he was meant to do, for as long as he’d stay by her side. She had only to reach a hand behind her and he would be within reach, reassuring her—reassuring both of them—that this had not been an end after all.
“Let us move on,” he said when they neared the others, and Arianwen finally let herself relax.
(For @greypetrel's prompt, "a kiss shared while holding your dying lover." It got away from me a bit, but I hope you enjoyed the pain!! c:)
#zevran arainai#arianwen tabris#zevwarden#zevran x warden#zevran x tabris#dao#my writing#da fanfic#zevwen#am i expanding this to include a nice 'i thought you were dead and i have to touch you right now' scene back in her bedroom? oh yes#as soon as i finish this other prompt lol#no way is she actually level yet after that; just level enough to walk away#god i love this trope!! best trope top trope all other tropes inferior in comparison imo#i'm not confident in my editing here but i have been looking at this for like two hours lol#sorry if there are errors#they will magically appear to me as soon as i hit 'post' i'm sure#shivunin scrivening
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sneaking in a bit late for DADWC this week, but happy friday!! how about ❝ i’m right here. i’m always here right in front of you but you never see me! ❞?
Thank you for this @dadrunkwriting prompt! It felt like a zevistair night tonight.
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Alistair watches Zevran slipping out of the circle of light around the fire. Like the capable assassin he is, nobody notices it. Nobody but him, and only because he is watching him as often as he can. He glances back at their strange group around the fire. Leliana laughs at something Tabris says, Sten cleans the new hatchet he picked off from someone and Morrigan — Morrigan watches him. It startles him, feeling trapped in her gaze.
Of course, the Witch knows how he feels.
She looks over her shoulder, into the darkness where Zevran disappeared, and then back at him. He holds her gaze until his cheeks burn and her expression turns bored. Alistair stands up to escape her and maybe find Zevran. He blinks, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. A few steps away, Zevran's hair shines bright in the moonlight. It's obvious that he wants to be found, he wouldn't be so easy to see otherwise.
Alistair closes the distance and sits down next to Zevran, watching him. He looks different tonight. Alistair realizes with a start that what he has seen of Zevran so far has been nothing but a mask, a projection he put on for the world. Here, next to him, is the real Zevran. His eyes are wet and he looks exhausted.
"That man we met today," Alistair says, not sure how to finish the question and leaving it hanging.
"Taliesen." Zevran's voice is very quiet. "He was... a friend. Taliesen and Rinna and me, we were a team. We were... friends."
"Lovers?" Alistair blurts out, immediately trying to swallow his tongue, but it's too late.
A smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes spreads on Zevran's face. "Yes, we loved each other."
When the silence stretches longer, Alistair asks, "What happened?"
"I killed her." Zevran's hands clench in his lap. "Taliesen told me that she betrayed us and I believed him. Very stupid of me."
"Why would that be stupid?"
"Crows don't have friends, they don't trust." Zevran's head whips around and he looks at Alistair. "A Crow doesn't love."
"That's nugshit." Alistair crosses his arms and stares back at Zevran. "You deserve love, just like anybody else." His heart beats up in his throat, so loud that Zevran can probably hear it, but he holds Zevran's gaze.
Something softens in his expression. "You really think so, my dear warden? That someone could love me? That I could love someone and it wouldn't end with blood on my hands?"
"Yes." Alistair scrapes all his braveness together and grabs Zevran's hand, probably harder than necessary. "I mean, it doesn't have to be me, even though I’m right here. I’m always here right in front of you, but you never see me. But even if it's Tabris, or Morrigan, or Sten, or someone we haven't met yet, you deserve —"
Soft lips press against his. Zevran brushes his palm against Alistair's cheek and kisses him. It's soft and warm and Alistair just melts. When Zevran lets go of his lips, Alistair nearly topples over, only Zevran's hand on his shoulder holds him upright.
"My dear, my Alistair," Zevran says with a soft voice. "I see you. I very much see you."
"Really? Because I watch you a lot, so much that Morrigan needles me for it and you never..." It dawns on him that Zevran is probably well trained in the art of watching someone inconspicuously, unlike him. "I'm not good at this."
Zevran's thumb strokes over the skin under Alistair's eye, as if he sees an invisible tear there. "Shh. No more of this. You are good and I see you, mio caro. I just didn't dare to dream... that I could touch someone like you..."
Alistair leans into Zevran's hand on his cheek. "Well, you're already touching me, so you can't chicken out now."
Laughing, Zevran pulls himself closer to Alistair, straddling his lap. "I will not, my dear. I will not."
#zevistair#dragon age#Zevran x Alistair#Zevran#Alistair Theirin#dadrunkwriting#dragon age fanfiction#my writing#zevistair fic
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I really like that it's hard to revive Laudna, that it's not as easy peasy as some people on reddit said it would be-- saying it would be cheap if they resurrect Laudna. Let her die and let Marisha get a new character (as if other campaigns haven't utilized raise dead before).
I am also fascinated at how he's using the old characters in campaign 1 as NPCs and also, showing while the group now has access to Vox Machina, there was no way VM was going to fight their battles for them.
Keyleth, as she outlined, has many, many, many things on her plate. Percy will not leave Whitestone for anything less than a full-scale apocalypse, or if one of his kids is in trouble. Same as Vex, but a little less so since she has responsibilities in the Taldorei council.
Pike seems to just have settled as a baker.
It's also fascinating to have a group, early in their campaign, meeting Vox Machina, who have now become legendary. I love to see how in the Bell's Hells eyes, these people are mythic and the feats they're able to do are worthy of lore. ("We're basically gods!"). But also, there's a limit to what they can do, specifically Keyleth who has so many fires to tend to.
I also appreciate how Percy is approaching this and it's understandable why he would. It's in character for him but also he's not so hard as not to allow it to happen. He knows Pike and Vex enough.
I do wonder about how formal Percy and Keyleth are with each other, from what I understand it they're very close to each other. But Percy is a very formal person and probably a lot more formal.
Pike! Still awesome and wonderful and then Vex is willing to do anything to help Bell's Hells because of guilt that's been gnawing at her for decades.
Taliesen's Ashton willingly calling out Percy was an amazing thing to watch.
Imogen called Vex beautiful because she looked like Laudna (also, LOL, Laura Bailey).
But, man, do I love that resurrecting Laudna is not an easy thing some people suggested it to be. This is a quest that will forever change Bell's Hells.
I love the commitment of everyone involved and I am so excited for Marisha to play Laudna in this new phase of her life.
(Because she will return, or so help me, I will fly out and personally throw those dices in permanent jail if they don't roll to bring Laudna back!).
But I also love how this is so much proof of how much Bell's Hells love Laudna that they're willing to go to these lengths to bring her back home with them. I hope we get to see something like this play out:
Laudna, alone in her cell, curled up in the dark and the cell of her metaphorical jail opens in comes a light, and then she looks up to see her friends, who have traveled so far looking at her, smiling. Imogen walks up to Laudna tears in her eyes, sinks down to Laudna, and holds out her hand to touch her arm.
"We're here Laudna, we're here to take you back home with us."
(Edited to add: and the scene where they learn that FCG has a soul, it's so beautiful! I need this series to be animated!)
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ZevWarden Week Day 4: Alternate Universe
In which Zevran knew the warden when they were children, they're separated and one becomes a crow the other grows up in the circle and well. you know the rest ;)
It was a rare moment of quiet in Antiva City. Sunrise would be upon him soon, but Zevran kept a leisurely pace as he scaled the stone wall that surrounded the mansion of the merchant prince. He dropped to the ground on the other side, the lush gardens still as beautiful as they were all those years ago. But now was not the time for sentiment.
It was nothing to enter the mansion itself. He could have walked through the doors if he truly wanted, he had no doubt of it. But this was between him and the prince, and it was high time the prince saw what Zevran had become.
Climbing the balcony of the second floor was easy. Stepping into the bedroom it led to… Zevran stood in the middle of the room and had to breathe. How many days had he spent in this room, learning how to read and write? Pretending to be a prince, a king, a knight in shining armor. The bed was empty of its owner, the covers still pink and covered in stupid ruffles and bows. He’d hated that damn bed the first time he saw it, but he’d never slept better than when he’d slept there.
Zevran reigned in his emotions. Emotions had led him to where he was now, and he had a score to settle before it came to an end.
The prince was easy to find. Zevran had spent many hours in that wing of the mansion, learning about numbers and hiding from the lady of the house.. He found the bedroom locked, not a surprise. He knew the prince and his wife were more strangers than anything else. He picked the lock and quietly entered, locking the door behind him.
He pulled out his dagger and stalked over to where the prince slept.
Benicio Surana had barely aged. Ten years and all the man had to show for it was a stripe of silver against the black of his hair. Zevran felt something tighten in his chest but he ignored it, bringing the blade to the man’s neck. He opened his eyes, looking at Zevran in confusion. But then, instead of panic, instead of fear- Benicio looked relieved.
“Zevran,” he said slowly, and Zevran only pressed the blade harder into his neck. “Is that you, mi hjio?”
Zevran couldn’t believe the man dared to reach up and pull his mask away. Couldn’t believe he would smile while the blade had pierced enough to bleed.
“Where is she?” Zevran asked. That was all that mattered, not this man remembering him and smiling like he cared.
Benicio dared to put a hand around Zevran’s wrist. He did not try to push him away or force the blade closer. If he did not wish to die, what was he after?
“Tell me!” Zevran demanded.
“Kinloch Hold. In Ferelden.”
“Why? Why the fuck did you take her away!” Even after all these years, Zevran could hear the princesa screaming, begging him to save her. To find her.
“I did not,” Benicio began but Zevran grabbed hold of his collar and brought the blade too close to his eyes. Silvery grey. Just like hers. Zevran had taken a man’s eyes with less, but the man showed no fear, only sadness.
Zevran knew her magic was a secret, she had told him of the horrors she’d heard of the circles, of becoming Tranquil if she did something wrong. He and Taliesen had sworn to take her secret to the grave so that they could be together forever. And the night the three had tried to run away, her mother had arrived at their meeting place with guards, forcing Leliel out of Zevran’s arms. They’d been beaten and sent back to the brothel and not three days later, were sold to the Crows. He never knew how they’d been found, only the three of them knew where to meet-
“What did Taliesen tell you?”
“Not me, hijo. Taliesen did not want to run away, not when her mother had promised him gold if he’d tell her all he knew.”
Zevran felt his eyes sting.
“When I learned of what my wife had done, I tried to buy your freedom. But the House of Arainai refused, her mother paid them far too much to have them take you. She made sure Leliel was sent far from here so if you survived the Crows, you would never find her.”
Zevran felt his grip on the blade waiver, his blood was roaring in his ears. All this time… Zevran laughed. It was cold and hollow.
“And you’ve just left her there? You’re a merchant prince! You have all this wealth and what have you done with it?“
“If I were to take her, she’d be labeled an apostate and she’d be hunted for the rest of her life. The other princes would use this against me, against her. But you, Zevran, you are a Crow now. And the only person I can trust to get her back.”
******
It had taken all of his will to leave the tower, to not attack the templars solely for being there. He would not have the mages harmed for his actions. Part of him regretted not going after Taliesen before leaving Antiva. Someone needed to pay- he stopped himself from that train of thought. Instead, there in the outskirts of Lake Calenhad, with the tower no longer visible on the horizon, Zevran let himself cry.
Rinna was gone and now… ten years he’d waited to find her only to learn that Leliel was gone, too. She’d helped a blood mage escape and had been exiled and sent to her death. He’d almost killed the templars discussing it, refusing it to be true. But there were documents, signed by the First Enchanter and Knight Commander. Documents he could barely read without his vision being blurred by tears. He took them anyway.
He couldn’t contain the tears, the aching in his chest and the knowledge that what he loved most was gone. That his best friend had betrayed him, that her mother had done this to Leliel, that her father was a coward and that he himself had come too late. Fuck the Crows, fuck Taliesen and the godforsaken Chantry for branding his princess a monster and trapping her in a tower.
He cried even as the rains began again, the storm drowning out his every curse to the Maker and Andraste. If death would not come to him, he’d find it himself, one way or another.
*********
Zevran took the first job offered to him in Ferelden. It meant traveling to Denerim, meeting a ghastly man who wanted a king’s bastard son and the warden who traveled with him dead. If there were others, he was to kill them too. Tracking them down was so easy, as though they were asking to be assassinated. Maybe they were seeking an out like he was. Or maybe they were that inexperienced that they left a trail of good deeds from wherever they went.
It was no matter.
He had them lured into his trap, and once he found the king’s son- Alistair- he knew one of the others in his group was the warden. He talked his shit to rile them up, to get them to attack. If he was going to die, he would meet Rinna and Leliel and tell them of the great battle that felled him. He put his all into the fight, focusing on Alistair while the other poor assassins were left to deal with the rest.
Just when Zevran had the perfect opening, Alistair looked away, uncaring for his own safety and shouted, “Leliel! Look out!”
Zevran turned his back on Alistair, seeing a woman set fire to the assassin that had run up behind her before swinging her sword and killing both men in one blow. Where had she come from? Zevran heard himself breathe in sharply, felt the arrow pierce his shoulder. Another to the leg. He staggered forward, hardly noticing Alistair getting out of the way. Zevran didn’t move- couldn’t move- as she ran towards him, her sword glimmering in the sunlight.
Zevran’s eyes welled with tears as he truly looked at her face- he knew it was her, no matter how many years had passed. Her eyes were still that striking silver, her hair still so long and wild about her. She was beautiful and to his delight- he was finally taller than her. He breathed out a laugh. What a blessing, he thought, to die at her hand.
Leliel was alive. He smiled and closed his eyes, welcoming his end.
But nothing happened.
He heard a shout, heard the sound of boots skidding to a halt. A sword falling to the ground. He heard the sharp intake of breath before small, shaking hands came to touch his face.
“Zevran?”
Her voice was… it was more beautiful than anything his mind could have conjured over the years. He opened his eyes, finding Leliel in tears.
“Princesa,” he managed to say. “I finally found you.”
She gasped, throwing her arms around him. Even in that, she had not changed, but Zevran was in no shape to hold them up. He groaned when they fell, but decided dying with her in his arms was even better.
“You came for me,” she cried, and began to weep. He wrapped his good arm around her and smiled.
“Of course, I did… I am sorry I took so long.”
She pulled herself up and seemed to remember what had led them to this point.
“Wynne, we need to get the arrows out and heal him,” she began. An older woman came to their side as Leliel asked someone named Leliana to go after any remaining assassins.
“What is happening?” Alistair asked incredulously. “I’m not sure you noticed, but he was trying to kill us.”
“Only because he didn’t know it was me,” she answered cheerfully, tracing over his tattoos. She knew what they meant, and still the joy in her expression did not fade. “This is Zevran, my best friend. He’s an Antivan Crow and if he’s willing, he’ll be joining us.”
She looked at Zevran, brushing his hair from his face and smiling. He remembered when she had introduced him to her father, just as happily as she had now.
“To be at your side, princesa, I would storm the Black City itself.”
Alistair made a sound of disgust, but Zevran didn’t care.
He meant every word.
#zevwarden week 2022#zevran arainai#cw suicidal thoughts#angst but it ends well#i promise lol#zevran x leliel#but it's like platonic af#zevran x f!warden#zevran x surana#leliel surana#alternate universe#fanfic#cw death mention
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zevwarden week - day 4
Fandom: Dragon Age: Origins
Title: ZevWarden Week, Day 4 - AU
Pairing: Zevran x male!Warden; Zevran Arainai x Salem Surana
Word Count: 2,996
There are always moments when life doesn’t go as planned. Zevran knows this well, after living in the inner city for so long. He knows how it works, gets the momentary nature of good things and the ever-pervasive threat of just one wrong thing sending everything into a spiral.
Falling through the earth on a doorstep where he was supposed to be delivering drugs was certainly not a turn he would’ve ever expected, though.
TW: mention of death via OD
_______________
It was common knowledge to most people Zevran knew back in his neighborhood - downtown Antiva City, Nevada - that he, Rinna and Taliesen were always up to some sort of trouble or another. Watched too many bad films, played too many violent video games, were too lazy to work, whatever the baby boomers liked to say.
It came as a surprise to no one when they left. Moved up town, found a pitiful little apartment for rent. All of them had managed to land a... decently comfortable job, making questionable delivery runs for questionable people, which paid enough to actually afford that rent and food.
They’d started with local deliveries, being just a couple of college greenhorns who had no idea what they were doing. Few resources, fewer friends, and one bike to share between the three of them.
Probably not the wisest start, Zevran would admit now. But it had been fun, nonetheless. And money was money.
Their progress from there was slow - no leaps and bounds, but steady improvement. Rinna made contacts. Taliesen found the best routes between drop points. Zevran got very good at haggling. They were a far cry from well-oiled machine, but they worked well together. They even managed to get their hands on a beater, so they could deliver further. Their supervisors were impressed, and things were looking up.
At least, until it became clear Rinna was palming goods for herself.
Before the higher-ups could even decide what to do about her, Zevran found her dead-eyed on the couch, staring at the ceiling, empty needle on the coffee table.
Making deliveries after that made Zevran’s stomach churn. But without a third person splitting rent, and their suppliers dubious that Rinna had been working alone and thus holding her debt to he and Taliesen after her funeral, they needed the money.
Which is how they ended up driving out to the middle of the desert together at the a**crack of dusk, stash in the trunk and GPS open to some mobile home out in the sticks.
Sunk in the passenger seat, Zevran’s gaze darted from the darkening landscape and rough back road outside to the glow of the phone in his hand. “I swear, Taliesen, if your ‘navigator’s nose’ has gotten us lost again--”
“We’re not lost, calm down,” Taliesen replied, though his white-knuckled grip on the wheel betrayed his confidence. Perhaps, however, that was due to the potholes and not whatever awaited them ahead. “I know where we are.”
“Perfect. Where might that be?”
“Almost there.”
Zevran snorted, rolling his eyes. “Ah, yes. Just like we were ten minutes ago.”
“So I underestimated the distance and we’ll be a little late. The old f**ker’s getting his stuff and he should be grateful for that.”
“If we get murdered out here, I’m finding you in the afterlife and kicking your a**.”
“Scared of an old man, Arainai?” Taliesen snickered.
To which Zevran faked a loud laugh. “There are scarier things in the middle of nowhere than old men, but even they can be plenty dangerous if they’re high and waving a shotgun. I’d rather die in a more significant manner, so maybe you should have the honor of going first tonight.”
“Ha! Scarier, like ghosts?”
“Like windy goats.”
“Windy what??”
“I’m actually smart enough not to say its real name. I don’t much like the idea of getting its attention.”
Clicking his tongue, Taliesen shook his head, even as he leaned forward, something through the windshield attracting his attention and causing him to slow the car. “Snowflake...”
“It’s called a sense of self-preservation.”
“Here we are,” Taliesen said. The car rolled to a halt, just off to the side of the narrow road, which at this point, was just the implication of two tire tracks disappearing into darkened underbrush ahead.
Off to their left, at the edge of a pitiful little circular driveway, was what looked like an old trailer home that had sat there for who knew how long. In the high-beams, what looked like it was once yellow siding had nearly flaked bare, leaving grey exposed wood beneath. The two little windows they could see on this side were dark. A sad excuse for a porch led up to the door on the side, crooked and sagging, like it could collapse at any moment.
Around the house, there was no excuse for a yard of any kind aside from a lopsided shed peeking out of the back. It was like the desert started and ended right at the house’s rickety foundation, like aside from its presence, this area was and always had been simply open wilderness.
“I hate it already,” Taliesen shuddered. With a flick of his wrist, he shut off the car, leaving the lights on. “All right. Let’s do this.”
They took a moment to gather their things - Taliesen grabbed the pistol from the glove compartment and tucked it into his waistband, clearly unsettled now, while Zevran reached over and plucked the empty duffle from the back for the exchange. They stepped out, into the brush, and Taliesen met him on his side of the car.
“Look at the size of this place,” Zev glanced around. “Open. No cover in sight. You should have demanded to meet somewhere less remote, like a uh... an abandoned gas station. You know, someplace we’re less likely to be kidnapped.”
“Oh, don’t start,” Taliesen groaned. “This is more secure, and that’s because it’s remote. Now you go knock, I’ll get the trunk.”
Zevran didn’t bother hiding the smirk that stretched his lips. “Oh? Are we scared now, Taliesen?”
“Shut up and move!” Taliesen made like he was about to actually kick Zevran in the behind, which made the latter scurry away, snickering to himself as he did.
“You take very little to spook, my friend! It is the highlight of our trips.”
With that, Zevran sauntered up the drive, aiming for the side door. He had hoped that as he grew closer, he might be able to see a light on inside, an indication that someone was indeed waiting for them. He wasn’t sure which was worse - the idea that someone was, or the idea that someone wasn’t. Both were bad, for entirely different reasons.
The windows were dark, even when he stood right beside the house.
Still, he figured he might as well try the door. He made his way up the lopsided steps, careful as he felt them bow beneath each step, felt the entire structure of the porch groan.
“Do not drop me, I am fragile,” he told the stairs, before stepping off in front of the door at last.
“Hellooo~! Anybody home? I hope we are not intruding.” They certainly shouldn’t be; this person was supposed to be expecting them. He listens to the wind in response, the sounds of Taliesen moving about back by the car. “Pizza delivery! We’re here with your order.”
Not a sound, not a stir. Hell, there weren’t even crickets singing in the dark. The property was eerily quiet.
“Taliesen,” Zev called across the drive. “I don’t think anyone’s home.”
“Go in!” was the immediate answer. “Something might’ve happened. We need this check, Zevran, you and I both know that.”
Zevran sighed. “...All right, all right, I’ll-”
There was a loud cracking sound. The floor dropped out from under him. In a desperate move to brace himself, his hand flew to the railing, but that crumbled under his weight as the entire porch dislodged from the building and collapsed, taking him with it. On instinct, he raised his arms, as if to catch himself on ground he could see incoming, but his hands met nothing. He fell through.
Blurred colors surrounded him, his stomach leapt to his throat. He felt like he was falling, thousands of feet, and yet, he could hear nothing. Not a sound. No wind in his ears, not even his own breathing. Or screaming - he definitely screamed.
Just as suddenly, he impacted floor, felt it jar his bones. His ears rung. His eyes slipped shut.
_______________
Despite incredibly heavy eyelids, Zevran slowly managed to get them open. He blinked, half his vision engulfed by a grey carpeted floor, and his phone a few feet ahead. He jumped, lifted his face from the floor, pushed his body up so he could look around.
He was met by nothing but a series of sickly yellow walls. No windows. No doors. Just walls. And hideous fluorescent lights in the ceiling, buzzing a subtle ambience that was the only thing to break the silence.
“What...?” The word felt wrong when it came out, unnatural in the stillness. Like he was disturbing something. He was immediately struck with the feeling that something had begun to watch him and with jumpy reflex, he glanced over his shoulder.
Just another wall. No sign of that door, or the porch, or the driveway or Taliesen.
Where was he?
He scrambled for his phone, thoughts immediately going to the idea of calling somebody, calling Taliesen, telling him he was trapped. When he picked up the phone, it was asleep. With a swipe and quick print recognition, he had it open. Plenty of battery... but no signal.
“Oookay...” he sighed out, raising his gaze to his surroundings again. The space was so very... empty. Stiflingly so. He felt alien just standing there. There were no other signs that this place was even meant to be inhabited, much less was. Walking a few steps from his current place, enough to see around the first of the yellow corners in sight, yielded much of the same.
Empty yellow rooms. Interconnected with equally empty yellow hallways.
What had happened? He remembered where he’d been, why he’d been there. He remembered the porch collapsing. Had he hit his head? Was he dreaming, unconscious on the ground, or in a hospital somewhere?
“Hello? Is anyone here?”
He had to laugh at his own question. Here? Where even was ‘here’? If someone was ‘here’, would he want to know?
Something told him the answer was no.
He wasn’t sure how long he wandered. Minutes. Hours. He meandered through the strange space, searching for something, anything. A sign. A change. Around each corner, he rounded hoping to find that door. Or a door, just a regular door would have been fine. But continually, there was just more and more of the same - nothing.
At one point, for reasons just beyond him - perhaps to feel less alone - he took out his phone and turned on the camera, just to record his surroundings. He wasn’t entirely sure this was a real place, but if it was, he’d be d**ned if he didn’t get evidence of it.
Turning another corner, Zevran almost stumbled over something, and a curse flew from his lips. Staggering to right himself, almost faceplanting, he froze himself in place - somehow, even the frenetic movement had felt too loud. His heartbeat was already pounding in his chest, and he took a deep breath to still it. He looked down.
Just behind him, he found what he’d tripped on - a backpack. Rugged, dusty, moldy, and a little tattered, like perhaps some small animals from who knew where had tried to dig into it with no luck, but it was undeniably a backpack. And a fairly modern design, too. Someone had been here not too long ago.
“Well, that’s not ominous at all,” he breathed, swiveling his head back and forth on instinct, as if he might catch sight of what remains of the unfortunate soul.
At that moment, he swore he glimpsed something from the corner of his eye. A shape, a shadow. Somebody. All the hair on his body stood on end, since the figure seemed to disappear when he turned toward it, but it was a chance. A chance he wasn’t alone. Which was better than the alternative.
So he stepped toward it, calling out, “Hey! I see you!” Each step, however, his trepidation increased. He wasn’t even sure why; there was no clear sign of danger. But his body hated the fact that he was moving toward that corner where the shadow had been. His heart beat louder, his breath faster, and everything in him screamed to turn around. But he didn’t.
It was almost disappointing when he turned the corner to find just another hallway. Empty. No person in sight.
Almost. Because it was also terrifying.
He’d seen someone, he knew he had. So where had they gone?
The hallway he found himself looked just like the rest, except one end went on ahead into more yellow rooms, more hallways, and the other... vanished into pitch blackness. The lights must have gone out that way. He couldn’t see more than five feet into it.
“I know I saw you,” he spoke into the silence, taking a moment to catch his breath and try to get his heart to slow down. “Somebody’s here. I’m not seeing things. I would know.”
A clear bluff. But that shadow didn’t have to know that.
His answer was a moan that made shivers wrack his spine. Without thought, his feet moved, away from the sound, nearly tripping over laces in his haste. Away from the blackness he stumbled, toward the corner, as in his peripheral, he glimpsed what looked like unnaturally long, thin black limbs, coiling fingers, reaching into the light.
Hell no was he sticking around to find out what it was.
Around the corner he went and, when faced with an impossibly long stretch of hallway with no corners, he bolted into a sprint.
“This cannot be happening,” he muttered to himself under his harried breath, eyes darting for the nearest sign of another turn. He was far too vulnerable on this open stretch. “Hell no, this sort of thing is not real, not supposed to be, what the hell is this?? I’m dreaming. That’s it, that’s all, just a dream!”
He could hear it. The something. Steps behind him, shuffling, scraping. Heavy breathing, little moans, like a person, pitched down and slowed. It made his stomach do flips, and he ran faster, unable to keep himself from mumbling ‘no, no, no!’ as he went.
At long last, he came to a corner and, without pause, rounded it at high speed.
A hand caught his arm.
His scream was only cut short due to his body being shoved against the wall and that same hand flying up to cover his mouth. Zevran found his gaze locked with a pair of silver-grey eyes. Tired eyes, but young. Perhaps his age.
He stared up at a pale but handsome face that he perhaps could have appreciated more if his heart wasn’t trying to vacate his chest.
A tapered finger from a second hand raised to press against chapped pursed lips in a silent shushing motion, to which Zevran nodded. This guy looked human, and that was good enough for him. Even if he was dressed like a scene kid from the early 2000s.
Without another word, the guy grabbed Zevran by the hand and took off at a jog - a startlingly soundless jog. Each step was careful, like he’d learned how to run without making noise. Zevran wasn’t so skilled. He definitely made noise, and certainly not enough to block out the sounds of pursuit from back behind the last turn.
But the man led with purpose, intent. Like he knew where they were going. With each determined corner, Zev felt more and more relief. He wasn’t alone. And he’d found someone who, at least presumably, had some idea as to what was going on.
When they rounded a final turn and came upon a broad wall with a doorway in it, his heart leapt. An elevator. Odd, sure, but it was something, and a something that this stranger seemed to be leading them straight toward.
Without a word, the guy hauled Zev inside, smashed a four-digit code into a small pad on the wall, and then stepped in after him. It was a small elevator, just barely enough room for the two of them, and lacking a detail that immediately had Zevran’s hair raising again.
No buttons. No indication of floors whatsoever. Not a one. It was just a small, blank little space.
The doors shut, making no sound, not like real elevators whose doors chafed and rattled. When they had closed, though, Zevran felt his guard relax. Just a little.
“I think I might just owe you my life,” he managed to breathe, leaning back against the elevator wall. “What was that? What is this??”
In response, the man said “Wretch,” and held out a slender, pasty hand. “Salem.”
“Sorry?”
“That was a wretch. I’m Salem.”
“Oh.” Eyebrows raising, Zev shrugged and shook the proffered hand. It was softer to touch than he expected. “Uh, Zevran. Zev.”
To that, the man called Salem let his mouth twist in something between a morbid smile and a wicked smirk and oh, that was a nice look. Maybe it was just the near-death experience. Maybe it was the adrenaline of the whole experience. Or maybe Zev was already incredibly lonely after being in this place what felt like ages.
But dang, this man was pretty.
“Well, Zev,” Salem said with that rueful grin, “good to meet you. Welcome to the Backrooms.”
#zevwarden#zevwarden week 2022#zevran arainai#zevran x m!warden#zevran x surana#salem surana#zevran x salem#alternate universe#dragon age#dao#dragon age origins#backrooms#i struggled with this one honestly#don't know why this prompt was so hard to do#not my favorite so far but here it is anyway#guess i just had spoopy brain this morning#my writing
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i have been having lots of feelings lately
spanish version because.... well. Because Antiva.
#zevran#zevran aranai#dragon age#dragon age comic#or something#my art#paparaxote#rinnala#rinna#he lied#he actually cared#the man holding her back is taliesen#DA#dragon age origins#my stuff#ailisart
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Stay
~~~One~~~
It is in his best interest to win her favor. The Warden is not a fickle woman, so far as Zevran is aware. Neither is he an imbicile. And only an imbecile would content themselves with the protection of something so brittle as another's mercy.
Charm and flattery will not be enough. She has not despised his attentions, much as she tries to hide her flustered stammering and the lovely bloom of color at her cheeks behind a scowl. But she has also proven herself a modest sort, and temptation will not be enough for her to welcome him into her bed. He must find another way to make himself of worth, lest she turn her blade back to his throat to grant him the end he once courted.
An opportunity comes soon enough, dressed in darkness and the scent of cheap liquor. He does not know what has shaken her so thoroughly, and truth be told he does not feel compelled to care. But the night is young, the fire is warm, and the giving of his company while sleep remains unconquered is no great sacrifice to make. He beckons her to his side with the promise of as much or as little shared between them as she wishes.
Please, he offers her.
Stay.
~~~Two~~~
The Deep Roads were meant to be his end. Had Revka not proven herself in desperate need of sense, he has no doubt they would have swallowed him whole.
She coughs and sputters from her slab of broken stone. A small, battered thing cast down among the debris of the bridge they had stood on mere moments before. He damns her as he drops to her side, and again when fingers he cannot keep from trembling fall against the arrows buried in her body. Fool, he calls her with no care for the venom it carries. Because it is the truth.
It had been his footing which faltered, his life which clung to the crumbling masonry as the darkspawn bore down upon them. The choice had been so simple. What was one wretched, ruined life to the furthering of their goal, to the promise of her own survival?
Everything, she murmurs through bloodstained teeth, and it isn’t fear or anger which sees the air turned to knives in his lungs. There is no time to dwell on it now. His hands are already troublingly slick and warm as her eyes begin to flutter, the grip she keeps at his arm steady, but not strong. Words pour from his mouth as he throws himself to work, an accidental litany laid bare at her feet as he cuts away the ruined leather.
Please, he urges her.
Stay.
~~~Three~~~
His world has narrowed to this moment, existence outside of their bed of moss forgotten to heady satisfaction. For one blessed moment there is no Blight, nor demons or blackened hearts to carry on bowed shoulders. Here there is only the minute; sweat on cooling skin, the kiss of Revka’s breath at the hollow of his throat, the weight of her body against his chest. He drinks it all down with shameless greed, made a man doomed to a thirst too exquisite to ever see sated.
It will destroy him, in time. There are no gentle endings for heroes, and fewer still for the likes of such vile creatures as him. They have already tempted fate’s grace, the knotted scars beneath his palms a testament to what could - what should - have been. Soon enough this will end by her will or another’s, and he will watch as another piece of himself is carved away. Lost to the Void and leaving him with only ashen memories. Yet he knows he will not regret what he has paid.
The sublime was never meant for permanence, and Revka is no exception. He will content himself with what he is given, and offer nothing less than the gratitude she and the Maker are due for the privilege. Because to squander these moments and their fleeting divinity would be a crime even he could not bring himself to see through.
So when she finally stirs to speak of obligation, he feels no guilt in how tight his grip turns about her waist. Their work is done here, the Bracillian at peace, and their companions no worse for their absence. She sighs as he traces a thumb over reddened lips, yielding to his kiss as he speaks.
Please, he whispers to her.
Stay.
~~~Four~~~
He will never wash this blood from his hands.
Taliesen is dead. His partner, his friend, his lover, his past. Dead, along with the last shattered piece of the man he once knew himself to be. And he feels nothing. No regret. No guilt. Nothing, save the numb, aching certainty that he has done what was needed.
He does not know how long they have sat here on this bed, or where, precisely, Revka has taken him. Away, which is all that is of consequence. Hidden someplace far from leering eyes, that does not reek of death and wicked trechery. That alone is a kindness more than he deserves.
She has not moved from his side, the weight and warmth of her presence, of her fingers woven between his staving off the worst of the ice building in his chest. Ever his silent, watchful Warden - his light within the shadows, his harbor in the storm. Without her here he knows he would fall, and this time there would be no return from that looming, frigid darkness.
Please, he begs her as salt and loss tear at his throat.
Stay.
~~~Five~~~
He cannot lie to himself any longer. Can no longer pretend every moment spent in the comfort of her company does not come with the pain of an end he does not yet see. And that is the trouble of it, isn’t it? The thought that each night spent beside her, every kiss or glancing touch might very well be their last. He has tried - sweet Andraste, he has tried - to keep his hold of these pleasures slacked. Reminded himself countless nights of the unspoken promises he made to her, to himself, to the Maker, to take only what was given freely and dare not dream of something more.
But his heart has never been a loyal beast, its refusal to cease its beating all those months ago born of the same stubbornness which rails against him now. It makes traitors of his hands. Turns them to talons and sinks them deeper into the want of her with every effort made to draw himself away.
He does not wish to fight this any longer. What he feels… there are no words for what he feels. Not yet, when there is still so much of himself he had thought long dead struggling to take back its breath. So he does not offer them.
The earring gleams within his outstretched palm, flickered candlelight glinting against gold to match the unsteady beating of the heart which drove him here. He gives both to Revka freely, and knows no matter her answer they will always belong to her. As they already do.
Please, he asks her in silence, once more left bare to her mercy.
Stay.
~~~Six~~~
The golden ring at Revka’s ear sparks with the light of a hundred fires as she turns back to him across the battlement. Around them the world is ending, filled with the stench of blood and taint and smoke. The Archdemon shrieks in its agony and rage, felled but no less deadly as it snaps a wicked maw and flails claw and tail and body against the poor souls within its reach.
In an instant he has forgotten their talk of miracles. What spell cast by mortal hands - no matter their talent, no matter their conviction - could hold against the sheer brutality of such corruption? He reaches out to her unthinking, as though his will alone would close the distance in time, the same heart he has only just given turned to a stone fist within his chest. And she smiles. A brittle, sorrowful thing broken under the weight of what has been left to the whims of the Maker and his fates. Her lips tremble, mouth stumbling over words he never thought to see spoken, and the same stone heart crashes against his ribs.
I love you.
And she is gone. A blur of Warden silver and blue, the flash of brilliant steel. He cannot move, cannot tear his eyes from what will surely be the end he has feared for so long. The Archdemon rears its monstrous head, hate and death burning in black eyes as she throws herself between the world and an unending Void.
Please.
Her blades strike true, the monster screaming as a brilliant beam of light swallows the both of them whole.
Please.
He is on his knees, thrown back by the force of the light or the fear burning through every inch of his flesh, scalding his soul.
Please, he prays as he drowns in the agonizing unknown, as he crawls toward the faint shape of her form upon the stone.
Stay.
#dragon age#dragon age origins#dragon age: origins#zevran arainai#zevwarden#revka tabris#zevka#your fire burns in my veins#dragon age fanfiction#lilou writes#soooo this was supposed to be a 'short drabble thing'#lol
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I've been looking for a Zevran NSFW alphabet headcanon, but have yet to find one. Could you be persuaded? Thanks :)
i can try! hoogolly ))
A-Z nsfw headcanon for Zevran some of it is sexual, and some of it is just dark themes. TW: for abuse, sexual content yadda yadda. Expect rated X and R stuff. there’s TW for a bit of everything in here.
(PS. I know you probably wanted smut but I’m on the letter T now as i write this bit, it just got dark for like 90% of the alphabet... o_o;;)
A is for Ass. Zevran loves to be one, knows he has a good one, and is fond of sinking into them.
B is for Busted. Like that time Isabella's abusive husband walked in on them mid coitus and he had to run naked across the rooftops of Antiva to avoid being shot.
C is for Coy, like the time he played the Coy little house slave afraid of the Duke's attentions. The kill had been easy.
D is for Degradation. The first time he'd found The Bone Pit there had been a man tied in pony gear with a woman riding around the bar on his back. Isabella had been playing cards with a bet of four horseshoes, a lantern, and a small pouch of gunpowder. It was his introduction to BDSM, and also to Isabella.
E is for E. Like when he wakes in the night, stiff as he remembers the strap on Isabella had given Rinalla, and how she's used it to drive him mad. She had Picked him up, pitched him to the bed and pounced on him with delighted glee, teasing until his back arched off the blankets and he begged Rinna for more with copper hands tangled into dark wavy hair.
F is for Fingers. Zevran has a love for hands and thinks fingers are some of the most artistic parts of a persons body. Little scars, freckles, where the callouses are. All a little hidden story in the palm of one’s hands.
G is for G spot. He bet his favorite cat as a gift for Rinnala that he could find hers on their first night together. She accepted thinking he'd never find it and he found it when he grazed his teeth just behind her ear. She was pissed until he kissed her cheek during the afterglow and gave her the cat anyway.
H is for Hard Times. Like the time Taliesen had come home drunk and smashed a chair over his back while he had been sleeping in a fit, and then punched him clear out of bed before he could recover. Zevran fled to the brothel and traded sex with the owner for a bed to sleep in for a few nights. He didn't come home until Rinalla had returned from her contract in Rialto three days later.
I is for Insecurity. He slept with a blade under his pillow after that.
J is for Justice as he sank the blade into Taliesen's kidney with the Warden fighting at his side. Both for Rinnala and himself.
K is for Kink. His favorite pleasure is smells. Not body odors, but things like Antivan Leather, frankensence, sandalwood, lilac, food. Things that smell nice are a favored foreplay. And rope.
L is for Loss. He learned at eight years old as he cried quietly over a pair of embroidered gloves, that it's possible to grieve for something you've never had.
M is for Murder. He's used to the death, and has been for a long time. It’s part of the job as an assassin. But Rinnala's is the one that haunts him to the grave even after Taliesen is long dead. It’s not until he meets Rinalla in old age and the end of life that he can hold her and beg forgiveness, which she gives freely.
N is for Neck. Zevran can count on his hands the amount of times someone has given special attention to his neck and shoulders and it works him up almost every time.
O is for Orgasm. The first time Zevran had one he thought he’d broken something in his body.
P is for Paolo and Prostate. The First time Zevran had heard about it he’d been skeptical that it could possibly make sex feel good due to the odd location. Then along came a Tall elven dancer with dark skin and hair and green eyes at a festival named Paolo. Who had not only Dragged Zevran from the bar to dance, but had charmed him right into the bedroom. Paolo had been so respectful of Zevran’s nerves the whole night through that he’s the only consistent hook up Partner Zevran’s ever had throughout the years. The two became rather close friends and it was only many years later after returning to Antiva that he found out Paolo was the 1st Talon of House Valisti. Once Paolo found out Zevran was the Black Shadow, Paolo actually abdicated leadership to join Zevran in House Arainai and helps Zevran overthrow the other Crow Families.
Q is for Quirk. Taliesen insists on keeping cocks on during sex. He never bothered to ask why.
R is for Requirement. The day the Crows had told him he was REQUIRED to do the Seduction training he’d ditched and run for the hills to find the Dalish. He wasn’t ready for sex at the time. When the Dalish told him he was Required to be castrated to be accepted, he ran back to accept the lesser of two evils.
S is for Sin, a cup that Zevran readily partakes from. All the same, he keeps a worn wood rosary and asks in a quiet hearted voice to Andraste to forgiven him. The path he walks may not be chosen by him, but the sins are.
T is for Tender. Zevran remembers Paolo’s lips caressing the flesh between his shoulders as Paolo slipped in thick and far warmer than Zevran expected. He remembers being nervous, and Warm arms encompassing him from behind and a quiet whisper asking if he wanted to stop. Zevran had told him keep going and spent the night feeling treasured. Even when he was gasping and tangled in the sheets, only the barest hint of teeth ever grazed his neck and brought him that wonderful release of pressure. He couldn’t help but smile. No one was ‘careful’ with a killer. But Paolo was. The kisses under his eyes and to his fingertips in the afterglow melt his heart into staying all night, and he tucks his head beneath Paolo’s chin and falls asleep with broad fingers petting the fine hairs at the back of his neck.
U is for Underdog. Zevran learned quick that to be an underdog among the Crows was to be dead. To be an underdog, and to not steal enough to eat, and grow too slow, was to be dragged to a back room and assaulted. To be the underdog was to be the perfect bait to lure them to his poisoned daggers when he’s had enough of their shit and leave the room with a cracked rib and a black eye, and three corpses left behind. To be the underdog, you must have the fastest bite, and instead be a Jackal.
V is for Vivid. When he remembers Rinnala’s laughter and smile it is vivid. However the longer he goes without hearing her, he slowly starts to question if he remembers what she actually sounds like.
W is for WANTED. Zevran isn’t sure what’s better, to be wanted or to be needed. He’s also not sure which one he needs more, and which one he actually wants.
X is for Xenophobic. He recalls slapping Talisen in the mouth once for being an ass, and sharply reminding him he’s not even Antivan, so he has no room to bark at the Orlesians.
Y is for Yelling. Which Zevran...usually doesn’t do. He’ll moan and gasp and sigh, or even be entirely silent. But he’s never been one to shout even at the height of pleasure.
Z is naturally, for Zevran.~
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AO3 | Timeline: Denerim, before the Landsmeet and events with Taliesen; something keeps changing in Zevran and Vergil's arrangement and it shifts again after they meet Isabela at the Pearl.
An odd mix of relief, disappointment and annoyance stirs in his thoughts as he's watching Vergil walking away, seeking out the brothel's proprietor.
A curious part of him wished for Vergil to agree to the little excursion to Isabela's ship. The refusal was polite but firm, making it clear that his preference of bed partners isn't something that changes. At Isabela's suggestive question about “Borrowing Zevran for a friendly chat”, Vergil answered with curt “I think you should ask him what he wishes to do with his free time,” merely glancing at him, as he made his excuses to leave the conversation.
Any other time, he'd jump in for the occasion of chatting with Isabela. Now, Zevran finds himself stalling. They stay for a drink and a quick game of cards with the rest of the party, before they decide what to do later. After all, he's free to do whatever he wants. Isabela cheats her way through the game, letting Alistair win few times before she strikes, an easy smile and innocent delight upon victory. Leliana seems to catch up on the hoax, but keeps her thoughts to herself, hiding and amused smile and drinking ale, accompanied by Alistair's disgruntled groans.
From time to time Zevran glances around the room, taking in the patrons and workers milling about. There's a weird taste in his mouth, as he keeps looking at Vergil casually sitting at the bar, one he tries to wash out with his drink.
As feeling his eyes on him, Vergil tilts head slightly, holding his gaze over the shoulder of person he's talking with, then the man shifts and Vergil's attention's on him. Zevran's gaze is unwavering, observing the skill as the man leans into Vergil's personal space with a tempting sway of his slim body. He narrows his eyes judging the man's seducing game, one that begs to some improvement. He'd seen people in Antiva who'd take less time and be much more subtle. He watches as Vergil allows the touch to his upper arm, lips curling in light smirk, leaning in to whisper something to the pointed ear. Something that's apparently unusual, as the man looks up at Vergil, his question answered with a nod. He shrughs and leads Vergil through the curtained doorframe, but not before Vergil leaves some coins at the bar. No doubt paying for the service.
He is pretty, Zevran thinks. Vergil choose the prettiest one out of there. Soft looking light brown curls, fair skin and eyes.
He keeps staring at the heavy brocade curtains for a moment longer.
“Second thoughts?” Isabela drawls next to him and he startles a bit, “I think this kind of threesome would be more of taste of your companion.”
Zevran looks at her and, yes, there's the little knowing mischievous glint in her dark eyes, but she won't prod. She'll tease, but won't ask directly. He isn't sure he'd know the answer himself.
“I'd like to catch up,” she purrs, “but if you have other business, I won't stop you.” He mulls it for a moment, pushing away the weird urge to follow Vergil to the hall. “No,” he clears his throat, “I'd like to catch up as well. Although, do we really need to go to the docks?” Zevran aims for a saucy grin, straining with keeping it that way. If Isabela notices his struggles, she ignores them, laughing heartily. “I can stay here a little longer, if you'll pay.” Ah, there's the catch, Zevran thinks, but his smile's more genuine now. “I think they'll let us use the room with extra purchase? Choose whoever and they could feed us grapes?”
“Are they still unaware of the potential of renting rooms for hours?”
“Sadly.”
“Then let us see, if it can be changed.”
/////
“You really don't want to do anything?” he sounds disbelieving, sitting on a bed with both hands in his lap.
Vergil's standing near the door, looking around the cramped space. It looks clean enough for a place like this. When he doesn't answer, the man shrugs, “As long as you're paying.”
Vergil hums. “So, what do you want to do?” the man, Florian, asks, grey eyes appraising. He briefly wonders if the name's a fake one, and it brings a faint smirk to his lips, thinking about another Florian. He's sure Finn would be outraged at his name being tarnished, both hating and clinging to it.
One of his bizzare quirks.
“As I said before,” he locks his eyes with Florian, “Information.” The low table catches his attention, a bottle of something dark and few empty mugs on it.
“Are there people renting space? Or were.”
Florian looks at him for a moment, seeming taken aback by the question and brings one hand up to his face, catching a strand of hair. “Well...” he starts slowly, twirling a lock, “I don't think so? All rooms are occupied regularly, day or night.”
Vergil shifts his stance, now idly examinig the contents of various small vials on the bedstand. “Nothing out of ordinary, then?” he asks, gazing at the man again, seemingly relaxed. “No one asking to send any people back, any, who are after the 'supporters' or somehing like that?” Vergil looks closely at Florian's face as he asks, and there it is, the not so subtle sign of recognition. He doesn't even try to mask it.
“Ah. I didn't think it's about them.” Vergil gestures a 'go on', when there's a pause and the man visibly squirms. “Look, I don't want any trouble, okay?” Vergil doesn't say anything, but sighs softly, reaching for more coins from the pouch. Florian's eyes glint, when he sees the coins held loosely between Vergil's fingers, though he looks at him warily.
“Are they armed?”
Florian's biting his lip, motioning for Vergil to come closer. “There's rumor,” he starts as Vergil's close enough to be able to hear the whispered words, “That they're arl's men.” Florian nervously glances at the door, “Last room on left, end of hall,” he says, straightening the thin bedding. “Come and go, as they please, but there's always someone at the room. Sometimes they order someone, but that's all I know.” Florian's face lightens with a smile. “Never asked for me.”
Vergil looks down at the sitting man, and nods when it becomes clear there's no more information. “I see,” he mutters and reaches out his hand with coins. Florian's quick to react, the tips of Vergil's fingers brushing his palm, when he lets them fall into the freckly dotted hand. After a brief calculating look at the coins, “Are you sure you don't want anything more?” he asks in low voice, looking at Vergil through half lidded eyes. “It's not often I have a client like you.”
“Clean one?” Florian barks a laugh at Vergil's nonchalant question. It's a nice laugh, he thinks, though it lacks something. Florian's smiling playfully, “Clean, handsome and elven.”
“Is that so,” Vergil purrs, but doesn't step closer, slowly taking in the details of the cute face, dimples appearing when Florian's grin stretches. “Yes,” Vergil pauses and Florians perks a bit, “I'm sure. Still, I'm flattered.”
“By whore's words?” Florian acts coyly, masking the disappointment.
“By words of a man who works hard.”
Vergil reaches for the wine bottle, along with two cups. “You know you'll have to pay for this too?” Florian asks as Vergil hands him the mug. “I'm aware.” Vergil sits on the chair by the bed, uncorking the dusty bottle. “Now, share some more of the gossips? Do you have clients from the palace often?”
Florian's grin's impish as he takes a sip of the wine, “You have no idea.”
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Title: Belief
Pairings: Zevran/Taliesen, Zevran/Aedan Cousland
Genre: Angst with a softer ending
Warnings: Blood, Injury, Death
Words: 1778
> Read on AO3 <</b>
————–
There’s a hand in the small of Zevran’s back and parted lips on his, warm and rough. A tongue, experienced. Sweet. Honeyed both in touch as well as in flavour: Taliesen’s mouth always tasted like the candied orange peels he so liked to chew.
“Zev…”
It’s a hiss, more than a call. A rattle, the deadly kind. Zevran is not certain Aedan meant to speak the shortened version of his name – the sweet moniker he had elected for him, like a gift, chosen – or if he just hadn’t managed sound through the full of it. No telling, really, in his condition.
There’s blood gathering at the corners of his mouth and his breathing makes noises it really ought not to.
“Look at him crawl,” Taliesen sneers.
He leans away, but his hand doesn’t leave Zevran’s body, as if unwilling to break off his touch on it after being kept apart for so long. He tilts his head, gazing intently at the man on the ground. Taliesen often looks at things as such, Zevran remembers, pain and tears of others chief among those: clinically, almost. With the curiosity of an outsider fascinated to learn more of some strange local custom, yet unable to partake. With the tip of his boot, the Crow nudges at the edge of the pool that is reaching them from the many gaping slits in Aedan’s chest and back.
“A man of such high birth,” he murmurs, head still craned sideways, “Of such old blood.”
The puddle licks his sole, and he drags it back, painting a darker streak on the dry dirt of the Denerim back alley. Tainted blood. Corrupted. He probably thinks he ought to be careful with it, not knowing that a simple touch is not enough to spread the sickness. His eyes turn back to Zevran.
“Has he crawled for you before, my love?” Taliesen asks, and sounds concerned, as he does. Considerate.
Zevran smiles, then laughs.
“He has,” he admits.
The dagger in his hand drips red on the ground, wet and shiny like a tongue. Zevran takes a few steps towards the Warden, heels silently sinking into blood-soaked dirt. He knows better than to fear the Taint like this: he has learned its ways by now.
“He was eager for it, too,” he keeps saying, looking down, “Lack of habit, perhaps. You know well-born men as such: unusual things feel alluring to them.”
Taliesen snorts.
“How they do,” he says.
He grabs Zevran waist again, pulls him away from the dying man and closer to him. His hand frames his face, thumb dragging slow and steady on his lower lip.
“I for one would much rather have another taste of the familiar,” he murmurs, and his mouth is sweeter still than it felt before.
Zevran gives in fully to it. When he closes his eyes, it’s as if he can feel it all through the kiss: sun-warmed ocre walls, the bluest of seas, the faint smell of fish, figs, and orange blossoms. Can a place mean a person and a person, a place? Perhaps yes, because Zevran is suddenly reminded again to the wet stench of Denerim by a low groan, and the the sound of a leg skidding under a body.
Taliesen blows a short, exasperated sigh.
“Really?” he gripes, “Still?”
Barely leaning back, he addresses Aedan over Zevran’s shoulder, in Common, this time.
“Just lay down,” he admonishes, “Let it happen. It will be easier that way.”
“Zev…” Aedan rasps again, as if he hadn’t heard him.
Numerous stabs have not been enough to break his will to fight, it seems. Not that Zevran expected any less from him, but this is taking even longer than he thought it would. The wound on Aedan’s right side is the one inexorably killing him, though: Zevran has slipped his blade in between the Warden’s ribs there, to be sure to reach somewhere fatal, and judging by how steadily blood streams out of the gash, he has not missed.
Still, being Aedan, Aedan fights.
“Don’t do this,” he mutters, a pitiful sound, as he somehow wills himself to lift on his elbows and start dragging himself Zevran’s way again.
His skin is greying fast and covered in a slick sheen of sweat. Zevran can hear the wet gurgle his chest makes every time he miraculously manages to inhale. The dagger drips.
Why won’t he let go? Taliesen rolls his eyes.
“It’s already done, dog-lord,” he sighs, “You are only making this harder on yourself.”
Aedan ignores him again. It’s as if Taliesen has never been there to him, this whole time. His face lifts and Zevran feels odd, all of the sudden. Aedan’s eyes have trouble staying open, but he’s still looking for his gaze. He’s probably as good as blind, by then, yet still he searches.
“I believed,” he slurs, blood dripping down his chin and into the ground under him, “In us.”
“Then you are a fool,” Zevran hears a voice answer, before realizing it’s his own.
He walks to Aedan, although he doesn’t remember deciding to. Taliesen does the same, then kneels at the man’s side. His knees sink into blood, uncaring, this time. He has that look on him again.
“To live in such a world and still keep yourself so heedless…” he murmurs, head tilted like a scavenger bird, and eyes just as blank and beady.
He grabs Aedan’s hair, hard – his oh-so-soft curls, no, don’t touch them – and yanks his head backwards.
“That’s just asking to get yourself buggered,” Taliesen finishes with a chuckle.
Zevran hears himself through a puppet’s ears as he laughs along, watches himself through a puppet’s eyes as he spits on Aedan’s face.
He doesn’t seem to even feel it. His eyes are still looking for his, although it’s clear that at this point they can see nothing at all.
Why won’t he let go?
The dagger shines in Taliesen’s hand.
Rinna writhes. She’s strong, stronger than most people, but Taliesen is stronger and holds her in place. The blade looks like a silver necklace as it wraps around her throat.
“Zevran, please!” she sobs, “Believe me!”
She screams, but Aedan doesn’t.
“You have to believe me!”
She fights back, but Aedan is limp, now. Taliesen’s blade draws an elegant, red curve under his chin. Blood foams scarlet in his mouth just like it did in Rinna’s.
“Believe me.”
Usually, Zevran wakes up in silence, but that night, he gasps.
He extends this arm to the side, reflexively – crazy how fast habits can build even in such a short amount of time – and the pang of panic he feels in finding the space beside him empty is sharp enough to surprise even him.
“Zev’?”
Relief is just one among many emotions Zevran feels flooding him as he watches Aedan’s face, bathed in flickering firelight, turned up to him in concern from the ground he’s sitting on. He’s bundled up with his dog in front of the fireplace, beside the bed, curls wild and sleep-shirt hanging loosely off one of his round shoulders, a few scrolls of parchment laid out on the rug in front of him. Zevran smiles, as he pushes himself up against the bed-frame. A small chuckle raises to his lips, meant at himself, at this most uncharacteristic fretting of his. Waking up alone should be no cause for alarm, at this point: it’s no news the Taint gives Aedan restless sleep, and that he often prefers to wander about rather than to lie down keeping Zevran awake with his trashing. Perhaps a barrier as well, that laugh, a shield to keep at bay the still-clear images of his dream? He usually needs nothing of the sort, but tonight…
Zevran pushes a strand of hair off his face, feeling raw, and aware he looks it. Tonight, somehow, things are different.
Aedan raises to make his way to him. He has to disentangle his legs from the dog’s own limbs to do so, and the big hound rolls over with just one, miffed huff. Spoiled beast, but he deserves it, doesn’t he? After all the hardships of life on the road, Zevran can’t blame the poor thing from clutching to comfort whenever it’s in his grasp. Coming from him, that would be pretty rich, actually.
“Love?”
Aedan kneels by the bedside, leaning over Zevran as one would over a sick child. Zevran is neither one of those things, and to be honest, wouldn’t have known the feeling when he was, either. But Aedan’s cheek is as warm as always in the palm of his hand as he cups it, and his fingers strong and rough to the touch when he entangles them in his, and as feelings go, this one is really not that bad.
“Are you alright?” Aedan asks, and Zevran can just chuckle again.
Usually, this scene plays the other way around, with Aedan gasping awake in an icy sweat, muttering of blood, dragons and black blades, and Zevran pressing himself to him, finding his gaze and holding it there as his Warden fights his way back to him. Tonight, though, even if Zevran’s breath needs no steadying, it seems that there might be other parts of him that do. With the flat of his hand, he drags a long caress right across Aedan’s throat, slow and deliberate, from one side to the other. His skin is rough with stubble there, and under it, blood flows in healthy, steady pumps. Zevran counts a few of them, just for the bliss of it, before letting his fingers continue their way to the other side of that warm expanse. Once he reaches the end of his journey, Zevran gently toys with the earring Aedan has taken to wearing at all times, even at night. Thumbing the smooth curve of it, Zevran thinks it has never looked prettier than it does now, gleaming low and warm in the firelight against the copper of Aedan’s skin.
“I am now,” Zevran answers, almost honest.
Humming softly, Aedan dips his eyes and kisses the inside of his palm.
“Good,” he whispers.
That one kiss turns to a dozen, a dozen to a hundred, and after that hundred Zevran has lost count. He’s wrapped up in Aedan’s arms by the time they’re done, face nudged against his shoulder, hands buried in his hair. The silver amulet is pressed against his lips, metal warmed by the heat of his Warden as if it itself were a living thing. He can almost believe both of them are safe, like that. That the worst is behind, just like Taliesen is.
He can believe a lot of things.
#dragon age#da:o#zevran arainai#Zevran/m!Warden#male cousland#warden cousland#zevraedan#aedan cousland#my oc#salt's writing#dragon age: origins#base timeline#angst#soft#zevwarden
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—Coat—
Pairing: Zevran x Male Mage
Pairing Type: M/M
Words: 392
Warnings: AGB's Ink 2019, Soft Angst, References to Rinna and Taliesen, Attempted Suicide Reference, Lots of Blood, Glossed-Over Violence, Some Good Fluff
Zevran didn't like to think that he was an insecure man.
He wasn't in most aspects, really. He knew he was pretty, that he was charismatic, and that he was a very, very good assassin—despite the fact that his failed suicide attempt gave the Wardens a different impression.
He just hated the fact that his hands were so covered in blood.
Not currently, no, but... metaphorically.
His life had been a blood bath not of his own making. His own desires were disregarded to keep him alive, no matter what he tried to tell his new companions. Taliesen and Rinna were the only people that ever brought anything lovely to his life without the threat of death, and one of them had her throat slit and the other was somewhere far away in Antiva.
But... the Mage-Warden seemed to understand. He had been standoffish and bitter when Zevran had first met him, but as they got closer, it was obvious that the prickly personality was just his way of deflecting attention away from his flaws. Zevran hated to admit he was in so deep, and had caught feelings that consumed him like a plague that made him feel warm and fuzzy inside.
"Zev?" The Mage-Warden—Redren, he had insisted Zevran call him—leaned down a little to get on eye level. The mage was quite a bit taller than Zevran, but neither of them were complaining. His face lit up considerably when Zevran looked at him. "Hey."
Zevran laughed a little at his almost juvenile sweetness. He looked down a little to notice Redren's delicate hands, and saw that they were covered in a coat of dark red blood. He looked back up into his Mage-Warden's eyes, raising a brow.
The mage blushed a little. "I'll wash them off before I hold your hand," he said, shy.
Zevran reached out and grasped the bloody hands in his own. Usually, only flecks of dried blood got under his nails after an altercation, as he was a professional, after all. Redren was more enthusiastic than careful. "I don't really mind," he said, smiling softly.
Redren's pink-dusted cheeks darkened slightly as his smiled grew more genuine.
The rose-tinted glasses Zevran found himself wearing made coats of blood akin to wine, and he found himself quite happy with the result.
#agbink2019#dragon age#dragon age origins#fanfiction#original content#da warden#zevran arainai#zevran x warden#redren#red is a good partner for an assassin because all their past violence doesn't look so bad in comparison#hhhhhh short fic ONCE AGAIN i am so mad i fell behind >:(
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a shipwreck off llomerryn
He becomes aware of his presence the same way one might notice a change in temperature, or the first drop of a rainstorm. There, in the corner of his eye, in the backdrop.
Denerim is a large city, but Zevran is certain Taliesen has not been trailing them for long. He is also certain that Taliesen is not foolish enough to force a public confrontation. Still, he cannot linger by the market stalls, avoiding him forever, and as he tries to act natural around the others, Zevran feels a growing apprehension.
This is something he has to deal with alone. So, with a hastily made up excuse, he steps away from the group and lets his feet guide him at a harried pace, half-thinking, looking for somewhere secluded.
He finds a little alley, lined in dirt, the sort that is never quite in full sunlight, with shuttered doors and empty windows, and it is here that Taliesen finally approaches him.
Zevran tried to prepare himself for this, but he still finds himself shaken at the sight of him.
Taliesen has changed little since he last saw him; he is still scruffy, tall, dark haired. Perhaps the bags under his eyes are new, but he still has the same smile, lopsided, lifting the corners of his mouth, as if he is happy to see him. As if he missed him.
“Can it be? Is that him? It is! The great Zevran Arainai, in the flesh,” Taliesen jokes, and that is the same, too.
“Taliesen,” Zevran says. “Tell me, were you sent after me? Or did you volunteer?”
“So quick to the chase! Is this how you greet an old friend?”
“Nothing friendly is going to happen today, I assure you.”
Hearing that, Taliesen’s smile falters, and for a moment he looks almost confused. “Well,” he says finally. “I suppose I cannot blame you for being upset. To answer your question: I volunteered. I came all the way here to this backwater country, for you, darling.”
“Do not call me that.”
Taliesen looks away, laughing softly, a sound that quickly tapers into silence.
“We all thought you were dead, Zevran. Imagine my surprise when I heard that you were very much alive. That you’d gone rogue. You abandoned us-”
“If that is what you are here for, I will stop you there. I am not coming back.”
“Zevran,” Taliesen looks at him imploringly. “I understand why you did this. I know how you feel, and I do not blame you.” He steps closer, holding his arms out, trying again to smile. “Come back with me. We’ll make up a story. I’ll cover for you. What do you say?”
Zevran remains stock still. He does not move away, but simply stands there, glaring.
“Anyone can make a mistake,” Taliesen says.
“I made the greatest mistake of my life already. I will not repeat it,” Zevran assures him.
“Ah… you mean, trusting me?”
He at least has the decency to look upset. Taliesen sighs and slumps against the wall behind him, looking at the ground. An uneasy silence falls around them. He looks so lost. Zevran is not buying the act.
When he speaks again, he sounds uncharacteristically meek.
“You know, I've been alone,” Taliesen says slowly. “For the first time since the wreck... I've been alone.”
Zevran can barely look at him.
His mind flashes back to the terrified young boy Taliesen once was, freshly plucked off the coast of Llomerryn after his family perished in a shipwreck. How a young Zevran and a young Taliesen had banded together, and pulled through the trials—call it what it is: torture—of becoming a Crow.
His mind is at odds with the hateful tenderness that rises up in him, and the grief and anger and hurt of all that has happened. The strength of the feeling shocks him, and he has to restrain himself from his urge to sock Taliesen in the face, hard enough to break something.
Zevran takes a deep breath, but he still cannot look at him as he grits out, “You should have thought of that before you slit her throat.”
“You were as much a part of it as I was,” Taliesen shoots back. “You were complicit. You watched me do it. You spat on her as she bled out on the mattress.” Then Taliesen's voice softens, and he is back to the gentle and cajoling man who once could convince him of anything. “Zevran, por favor. Let us not fight. I only want to talk, yes?”
If there is a Hell, they are both going there, Zevran thinks.
Suddenly, Leliana comes up behind him, jovial and laughing, breaking the spell.
“Oh, there you are! We were looking for you.”
Both Zevran and Taliesen look to her as she joins Zevran at his side. Hamal is with her, smiling easily. Zevran closes his eyes, willing this not to happen, even as it unfolds.
“… Who is your friend?” Leliana asks.
The dynamic has shifted instantly. Taliesen slips out of the informal mask he'd approached Zevran with. No longer familiar and intimate, he steps back, smiling. His posture is alert, his eyes, dashing back and forth between Hamal and Leliana.
“The Maker must have guided me today,” Taliesen says. “The Grey Warden himself, here, at long last!”
Hamal raises an eyebrow, looking Taliesen up and down. “You’ve heard of me,” he notes. “But that’s hardly anything special. Who are you, exactly?”
“Oh, I’m nobody!” Taliesen laughs, looking at Zevran. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised to find you keep such company, Zev. You do know you don’t have to sleep with all your marks, right?”
His anger flares up against his better judgment, words coming out in a rush. “Maldito desgraciado-”
He hates that Taliesen can still get to him like this. It is better not to react at all to his taunts, but to be frank, the fact that he has not attacked him already shows remarkable restraint.
Meanwhile, if the Warden is surprised or offended, he is not showing it. In fact, for a long moment, he is uncharacteristically quiet. He moves forward, looking directly at Taliesen.
“I don’t give a shit who you are, actually. I’ll enlighten you, shem,” he states evenly. “You will turn around, and you will leave. We will not see you again, or hear from you. A very generous offer, considering the disrespect you’ve shown my friend.”
“You should know that Antivan Crows are hard to intimidate,” Taliesen chuckles.
“Is it intimidation, or is it sense? I know who you are. It does not change a thing.”
“Oh I can see why you like him,” Talieisin says to Zevran, smiling. “He’s plucky. Not for long, though.”
The threat is enough to kick Zevran into motion, as his priorities shift from restraining his anger, to protecting the Warden. “You are mistaken, Taliesen. I am not going with you, and I am not letting you do a damn thing to him.”
“Sooo dramatic!” Taliesen laughs, incredulous. “You’ve really gone soft.”
But that is where he is wrong. Zevran feels, again, that urge to break Taliesen’s face using only his hands, to silence that laughter with just his fists. He was soft when he let Taliesen kill Rinna, someone he cared about. He was soft when he let himself be manipulated and molded to the whims of the Crows, a group that never had his or Rinna’s or even Taliesen’s best interests in mind.
He was soft when he loved them, both of them, in their own way. Stunted, like a bird with clipped wings, but caring enough to believe that somehow, they would stay together through anything.
Soft, naïve, stupid Zevran.
He is not soft now.
“You should have stayed in Antiva,” he says, dead serious, cold, like steel.
They act in concert. Taliesen signals for the others of his group to leap in—of course he wasn’t alone, Crows travel in flocks—and Hamal already has his bow in hand, felling two of their number before the fight starts proper. Leliana does not hold back in her advance, appearing beside Taliesen swift as a shadow, striking—but he is just as fast, dodges, reels back, shifts his momentum and launches at her.
Zevran intervenes, his blades countering each blow aimed at Leliana and Hamal. He will not allow his friends to come to harm because of what he has done.
But they are dreadfully outnumbered as well.
“Take out the archer!” One of Taliesen’s men shouts, and it is almost laughably familiar. It is exactly what Zevran had said, when he’d first set eyes on Hamal Mahariel, watching him fire arrows with almost supernatural speed.
There is no time to have an emotional response to this. Zevran flings a dagger in the direction of that voice, hears a responding grunt of pain, and moves on to the next target.
Hampered by the close quarters in the alley, the Warden struggles to dodge an onslaught of attacks. Someone launches a volley of arrows at him. Hamal catches one and fires it back, but another buries itself in his left shoulder. He wrenches it out, furious, draws and aims it at Taliesen with a muffled Dalish curse.
It finds its target with a thump, but Taliesen barely winces. He is far too focused on bringing Zevran down, and the fight winds on around them, the Crows’ numbers dwindling.
Surely Taliesen can see the numbers turning against him. The Grey Wardens are not regarded as fearsome for nothing, and Leliana is a great benefit to them, fighting like a woman possessed.
Unexpectedly, Taliesen ducks and sweeps a leg under Zevran, attempting to knock him down. It does not work, but it gives Taliesen the fraction of a second he needed to turn and take on the Warden.
Hamal readies an arrow just as Taliesen plunges his short sword, and both weapons find their targets. Swords are much larger than arrows, though.
The Warden reels back, bloodied. Leliana is at his side instantly, but the battle ends as abruptly as it began. Zevran knocks Taliesen back, finally throwing that punch he has been waiting for, his knuckles connecting squarely under his jawbone.
He collapses, stunned, and Zevran pins him down, straddling him, his hands a vice around his neck.
“Zevran,” Taliesen chokes out. He tries to draw air, but is unable to, his head already swimming. “Por favor... Zevran.”
“No,” Zevran says through gritted teeth. “Vete al puto infierno. Ve, y suplicale a Rinna cuando llegues.”
Young, seafaring Taliesen dies in a filthy alley in Denerim, staring into a pair of hateful eyes. Zevran crushes his windpipe and watches the light leave him.
Dimly, he is aware of someone talking to him. When the sound finally breaks through whatever barrier exists between him and the rest of the world, he looks up and sees Leliana, bleeding from a cut above her eye, shouting.
“Zevran. Zevran!”
Zevran looks at her, and releases his grip on Taliesen’s throat. Bodies slump lifelessly in the streets, and there’s blood on the ground around them: hers, Hamal’s, Taliesen’s, but Zevran himself has sustained barely a scratch, and it’s not fair.
“Zevran!” Leliana tries again. “Go get Wynne!”
A breath rakes through Zevran’s body, suddenly jolting him fully back. He stumbles to his feet, looks at the unconscious Warden. Leliana is holding pressure onto his largest wound. Most of the blood seems to be his. Leliana looks desperate.
“Hurry!”
Zevran turns and runs.
If there is a Hell, he is in it. He is burning, as he goes.
#rinnywrites#dragon age#zevran arainai#taliesen#mahariel#welp here is that angst i was talking about#these crows are ruining me emotionally#u know it's gotten dramatic when there's italics *and* bolded text
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❛ AND EVERY DAY IT STARTS AGAIN. ❜
A ZEVRAN ARAINAI PLAYLIST. ( spotify link ) ( youtube link ) -- analysis incl.
cw: suicide , abuse , torture , murder.
–
GRACE KELLY - MIKA
i could be brown / i could be blue / i could be violet sky / i could be hurtful / i could be purple / i could be everything you like / gotta be green / gotta be mean / gotta be everything more
--- zevran can be anyone you need; he’s trained to be the best of the best, the honey pot, the lover, the poison. he has to be useful or be extinguished. what do you want, baby? he can make that happen. adapt or die.
BEFORE I EVER MET YOU - BANKS
before i ever met you / i never knew that my heart could love so hard / before i ever met you / i never knew i could be enemies with disregard / before i ever met you / i never knew i liked to be kissed for days / before i ever met you / i never knew i could be broken in so many ways
--- zevran’s vulnerable for two people: it’s a test, it always is, and he’s willing to fail for rinna and taliesen. before them, he was strong, and after them, well. he’s weak, heart fragile and so full of love he doesn’t know what to do with. before he met them, he never knew.
BELIEVER - IMAGINE DRAGONS
singing from heartache from the pain / taking my message from the veins / speaking my lesson from the brain / seeing the beauty through the / pain / you made me a believer / pain / you break me down and build me up / believer
--- the crows are efficient. heartless, ruthless. there’s beauty in it: in the blood and suffering, twisted bones. zevran believes. he has to, or he’ll break. he believes in the pain, the message. he revels in it.
I FOUND - AMBER RUN
and i’ve moved further than i thought i could / but i miss you more than i thought i would / oh i’ll use you as a warning sign / that if you talk enough sense, then you’ll lose your mind / and i found love where it wasn’t supposed to be / right in front of me
--- a relationship song: he wasn’t meant to love. he wasn’t built for it. it was trained, beaten, broken out of him. yet here he is, falling faster than he thought possible, opening himself up more than he was ever allowed.
AFTERDARK - BLAQK AUDIO
you know we have nothing by silence of day / i couldn’t speak to you / i have nothing to say to you / well the words aren’t coming / no the words aren’t coming / by day they are far too stark / well the words mean nothing ‘til they’re turned to fire / by who we become after dark
--- after the death of taliesen, a door of zevran’s past finally closed, and he is free. he doesn’t know how to voice how grateful he is. they have nothing to say, really. it’s also applicable after rinna dies; he and taliesen... their scars never really heal.
FLAWS - BASTILLE
all of your flaws and all of my flaws are laid out one by one / a wonderful part of the mess that we made / we pick ourselves undone / there’s a hole in my soul / i can’t fill it, i can’t fill it / there’s a hole in my soul / can you fill it? can you fill it?
--- zevran is... not broken, really, but twisted, warped. he’s trying so hard to be what he thinks someone wants: a whole man, without demons lurking in his shadows. he picks himself undone. there’s a hole, and he latches onto whatever makes him feel complete.
BELIEVE - THE BRAVERY
something’s always coming you can hear it in the ground / it swells into the air / with the rising, rising sound / and never comes but shakes the boards and rattles all the doors / what are we waiting for? what are we waiting for? / so give me something to believe / cause i am living just to breathe / and need something more / to keep on breathing for
--- zevran wants to die. it’s cowardly, and he hates it, hates himself, but he does. once taliesen’s dead -- once he’s free -- he doesn’t know what to do. the warden let’s him stay, encourages him to choose, and he just -- he wants something to believe. something to breathe for. fight for.
NOT YOUR YEAR - THE WEEPIES
scattered shadows on a wall, you watch the long light fall / some impressions stay and some ill fade / tattered shoes outside your door, clothes all on the floor / your life feels like the morning after all year long / and evey day it starts again / you cannot say if you’re happy / you keep trying to be / try harder, maybe, maybe
--- after the blight, there’s a new fire burning within him, and it’s so very welcome. it’s hard, and zevran isn’t what you would call “happy” but he’s making an effort. it’s like he’s finally woken up. who is he? he’s going to find out, and it’s going to be -- something.
WHATEVER IT TAKES - IMAGINE DRAGONS
whip, whip / run me like a race horse / pull me like a ripcord / break me down and build me up / i wanna be the slip, slip / word upon your lip, lip / letter that you rip, rip / break me down and build me up / whatever it takes / ‘cause i love the adrenaline in my veins
--- push zevran hard. he’s into it. he’s into the adrenaline, the fight, the muted laugh. he approaches life, sex, love, like a challenge to be won.
PUTTING THE DOG TO SLEEP - THE ANTLERS
put your trust in me / i’m not gonna die alone / put your trust in me / i’m not gonna die alone... i don’t think so...
--- he’s desperate, bones heavy with mistrust and years of abuse. everything he’s ever cared for betrayed him or left him or was taken from him; promise him, trust him, love him.
THE ONLY EXCEPTION - PARAMORE
maybe i know, somewhere / deep in my soul, that love never lasts / and we’ve got to find other ways ... and i’ve always lived like this / keeping a comfortable distance / and up until now, i had sworn to myself / that i’m content with loneliness / because none of it was ever worth the risk / well, you are the only exception
--- zevran loves easily, and he shouldn’t, but he does, and it isn’t worth the risk to lose everything he’s ever had for a feeling that he’s never been allowed to have... until he is loved in return, for everything he is, and he realizes just how much he wants it.
WORK SONG - HOZIER
i was burnin’ up a fever / i didn’t much care how long i lived / but i swear i thought i dreamed her / she never once asked me about the wrong i did / when my time comes around / lay me gently in the cold dark earth / no grave can hold my body down / i’ll crawl home to her
--- this is about rinna, about the warden, about any love zevran had that saw him for who he was and held him through the night terrors anyway.
bonus zev appropriate songs that aren’t on the playlist officially but will probably be tacked onto the end because i just don’t know when to stop:
the kids from yesterday -- my chemical romance ( and you only live forever in the lights you make / when we were young, we used to say / that you only hear the music when your heart begins to break )
just my soul responding -- amber run ( but everyday i found new ways to hurt you / and everyday we took our side / and it’s just my soul responding / to the heavy heart i’m holding )
things we lost in the fire -- bastille ( these are the things / these are the things we lost in the fire, fire, fire / flames, they licked the walls / tenderly, they turned to dust all that i adored )
mother & father -- broods ( i remember the time when a kiss on the hand was enough / cause we knew we were free / and we knew what it meant to be loved )
angel with a shotgun -- the cab ( i’m an angel with a shotgun / fight until the war’s won / i don’t care if heaven won’t take me back / i’ll throw away my faith, babe / just to keep you safe )
hollow -- cloudeater ( i won’t sink, i won’t wallow / in this dream that i have borrowed / so don’t lead, i won’t follow / there’s no sense in waiting for tomorrow / ‘cause i’m hollow, hollow, hollow, hollow )
jet pack blues -- fall out boy ( and i’m trying to find my peace of mind / behind these two white highway lines / when the city goes silent / the ringing in my ears gets violent )
kill of the night -- gin wigmore ( the danger is i’m dangerous / and i might just tear you apart )
demons -- imagine dragons ( when you feel my heat, look into my eyes / it’s where my demons hide, it’s where my demons hide / don’t get too close, it’s dark inside )
flesh and bone -- the killers ( flesh and bone / am i running out of time? / flesh and bone / somewhere outside that finish line )
#( music. )#( playlist. )#long post //#i'm so sorry lmfao#this has been consuming me#( aesthetics. )
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Loyalty
More Zev fics coming your way. Sorry, I put this and another fic on AO3 but kinda forgot I had to post it here too. ^^’
Venna was traveling with Zevran through a back alley in Denerim. She was taking a back way to the Alienage after hearing about the issues that had befallen them. Zevran was her sole companion, Venna wanting to keep this visit private, but trusting him to come along. Plus, she thought it might be good for him to see where she had come from. What they had found in the alley, however, was not expected.
“Well, well,” Venna paused in place as a deep voice was heard from the stairway above. “The mighty Grey Warden herself, at long last.” Venna looked up to see a dark haired human man, armor adorning his body and dual daggers upon his back. She felt confused until he spoke again, then, she was terrified. “The Crows send their greetings once again.”
Venna was frozen where she stood, not knowing how to react or what to do. Thankfully, Zevran spoke first. The name he said did not ease her worries, however. She knew the stories of his past, and the name was a familiar one.
“So they sent you, Taliesen? Or did you volunteer for the job?” Zevran asked looking up at the man solemnly.
“I volunteered of course! When I hear that you, the great Zevan of house Arainai, had gone rogue, I had to see it for myself.” He said nonchalantly. “And here you are, traveling with the Grey Warden as expected. Though I must say, I thought your little party would be bigger.”
Venna scowled at the man, getting a very bad vibe from him. “We are more than enough to handle the likes of you.” She sneered.
“Huh, quite a mouth on that, eh?” Taliesen chuckled.
“I’m here now Taliesen, so what is it that you are here for? To kill me I suppose.” Zevran’s voice was both cautious and warning as he spoke.
“That is what I am meant to do here, but there is another way. You can return with me, Zevran. I know why you did this and I don’t blame you.” Taliesen offered. Venna felt her heart sink. She trusted Zevran, she truly did, but if anyone could win his loyalty from of her, it was the man in front of them. “It’s not too late. Come back and we’ll make up a story. Anyone can make a mistake.”
Venna grit her teeth. “Zevran doesn’t need the Crows anymore!” She snapped out.
Taliesen glared at her. “Oh? Does Zevran need to live?”
Venna felt her face heat up as she clenched her fists, but then she looked at Zevran’s contemplative face and relaxed into a nervous position. “Zev?” She spoke softly. “Zev, don’t do this, please.” Venna looked at her companion, her friend, her lover and held her breath.
Zevran looked up at Taliesen. “I suspect I will manage just fine, Taliesen.” He said and Venna felt the biggest wave of relief she had ever experienced. “I’m sorry, my old friend. But the answer is no. You were a great companion, and more, but I cannot return with you. You should have stayed in Antiva.”
Taliesen looked taken aback. “What? You’ve gone soft! Very well, you’ll regret this Zevran.”
The two suddenly found themselves surrounded by a large multitude of assassins. Venna quickly drew her daggers and Zevran followed suit with his own dagger and sword. “I’m sorry it came to this.” Venna said as she pressed her back to Zevran’s.
“Do not speak as though we will die here, amor. You have much left to live for.” Was Zevran’s reply.
So do you. Venna thought but before she could speak it the assassins were upon them. Their movements were swift but Venna and Zevran were faster. As they fought the two were separated in battle. Venna looked over at Zevran, not noticing the assassin making his way toward her. Taliesen slammed his daggers into her, knocking her back and returning her attention to the battle at hand. “You did this to him. Turned him soft against the only life he’d ever known.”
Venna pushed back. “You made your choice and Zevran made his. I didn’t force him to do anything.” Venna forced him back and struck out but he easily blocked her blow. They clashed against one another, Venna struggling to keep up. Eventually, she slipped up and he slashed open her thigh, causing her to lose her balance and fall back.
Taliesen was upon her, raising his dagger for the final blow. She turned her head away, bracing herself for the end when the assassin was suddenly pulled off of her. Zevran forced his way into Taliesen’s defenses, pushing his dagger into his chest. Taliesen stared wide-eyed before falling to the ground, dead. “I’m sorry, my friend.” Zevran said quietly, looking at his body.
He came back to Venna, helping her to her feet. “Are you alright?” He asked looking at her leg.
“I should be asking you that.” Was her response. “I have seen far worse than a wound like this. I will be fine, assuming he did not poison me as you once did. “
“If he did we shall know the effects soon enough.” Zevran replied. He glanced at Taliesen once more. “So that is it, Taliesen is dead, and I am free of the Crows. They will likely assume I am dead along with Taliesen. If I do not make my presence know, they will not seek me out.” He sighed.
“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” Venna asked him.
“A very good thing. It is what I have hoped for ever since you decided not to kill me.” He paused in thought. “I suppose it would be possible for me to leave now if I wished. Go somewhere far away where the Crows will never find me.” Venna felt her stomach twist at the thought of him leaving, but let him continue. “I think, however, that I could also stay here. I made an oath to help you after all, and saving the world seems a worthy task to see to the end, no?” He said with a small smirk. Venna found her lips curving up slightly as well.
“It is your choice to stay or leave Zev. If you want to leave, you should go. I won’t hold you back.” Venna told him despite how much it hurt her too. She wouldn’t take his freedom from him, she knew the feeling of oppression far too well.
“That is what I am asking. Do you wish me to go? Do you need me to stay here? What is it you wish Venna?”
Venna looked at him with a sad smile. “What I want, Zev, is for you to do what is best for you. Make your own choice. If you wish to leave go, if you want to stay, I will gladly keep you.”
“I...am unsure of how to respond to that. I am used to others making these decisions for me. Then I suppose I shall…stay? Is that good?” He responded rather confused.
Venna let out a quiet laugh. “Yes, Zev. That’s very good.” She said smiling. “Besides,” She said moving closer to him. “It would be hard to kiss you if you were so far away.”
Zevran chuckled. “You know, that is so very true.” He said softly before leaning in to kiss her.
Venna pulled him close, relishing in the feel of him and the knowledge that he wasn’t leaving anytime soon. When they pulled apart Venna spoke. “I am glad you’re staying.”
“Then stay I shall. I am with you until the end, provided you do not tire of me first. Or I die. Or you die. But there you go.” He said humorously.
Venna laughed again, fully this time. “Come on, let’s continue to the alienage. They should have something for my wound there.” She said starting to walk again. Zevran followed close behind her.
#zevran arainai/tabris#zevran arainai#zevran arainai/warden#zevran/tabris#zevran/warden#tabris#dragon age#dragon age origins#taliesen#fanfiction#theassassinlover
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Earring
Zevran/Kahlia Mahariel
Taliesen is dead and the word “love” goes unspoken. But it is there.
Read on AO3!
Blood rushed in Kahlia’s ears as she snarled at the Crow in her face. The woman fell quickly, blood spurting from her neck. Kahlia turned but there was only one enemy left in the alley. Taliesen faced off with Zevran and their blades were locked, neither of them able to break away or gain the advantage against the other. It had been only the two of them, traveling to the alienage to check on the elves who lived there. The Landsmeet was soon, but not yet, and Kahlia had wanted to see if she could help the elves in any way. Instead they’d been ambushed by Taliesen and a group of Crows.
“Zevran, you don’t have to go back,” Kahlia had told him as he looked at Taliesen with sad eyes.
“Of course he does!” Taliesen had shouted at her. “It’s that or die! Be reasonable, Zevran.”
“You have choices now,” Kahlia had insisted. He’d chosen to fight with her instead of slitting her throat and returning to the Crows. He could have killed her. She wouldn’t have fought him if he had. She was outnumbered and she never could have won on her own so she would have let him kill her and even forgiven him as her body grew cold.
But he’d fought, instead. He’d chosen her and freedom instead. Kahlia leapt onto Taliesen’s back and struggled to plunge her dagger home as he fought her. She heard the meaty thunk of a blade in flesh and Taliesen fell, pinning her beneath him. She struggled out from under him but he was moved for her. She looked down at him, Zevran’s dagger lodged in his heart.
“Kahlia, are you alright?” Zevran asked her somewhat frantically as he dragged her to her feet and held her steady. She looked up at him, both of them covered in blood and neither unscathed, but both would be fine.
“I… I’m alright,” she told him. She looked down at Taliesen again. “What now?”
Zevran followed her gaze and released his hold on her arms. “I’m not sure. I suppose I have options now, where before I had none.” He was quiet for a moment as they both simply looked at the dead man. Then Zevran retrieved his dagger and began wiping it off. “I suppose it would be possible now for me to leave,” he said softly. Kahlia closed her eyes so he wouldn’t see them and the despair she knew they would reflect. She’d known there was every possibility he would leave at the first sign of safety outside her group of friends and fighters. “I could go somewhere far away, somewhere where the Crows would never find me.”
“You could,” she told him quietly. For a moment he was silent.
“I think, however, that I could also stay here,” he continued. “I made an oath to help you, after all. And saving the world seems a worthy task to see through to the end, yes?”
Kahlia opened her eyes and forced herself not to show what she was feeling, how much it hurt her to think of him leaving. This was important, so very important, perhaps his first ever free choice. She didn’t want to influence him with her own feelings. She wanted him to make the choice for himself.
“If you want to go, you should go,” she told him, hiding the way the words tore at her heart. She’d known that she loved him for some time, long enough that this was so hard for her. But what she wanted wasn’t important in this moment.
“But that is what I’m asking you,” Zevran said, confusion on his face. “Do you want me to go? Do you need me here?”
“I want you to do what’s best for you, Zevran,” she told him earnestly. He frowned and looked so very young in that moment, so unsure, unlike his usual suave self.
“I… am not sure how to respond to that,” he finally said haltingly, looking everywhere except at her. “No one has ever… I mean, normally these things are decided by others.”
“That’s why I want you to choose,” she told him softly, gently. Finally, his eyes met hers. “No tests, no tricks, no games,” she vowed. “If you want to leave, you are free to go. If you want to stay, then stay. This choice is yours.”
“I… Err… I suppose…” he stammered, the first time she had heard him sound so unsure. She smiled a little. It was sort of cute. “Then I suppose I shall… stay? Is that… good?”
She looked away and tried to hide her reaction, visceral as it was. Her heart soared and she wanted to leap into his arms. His first real choice and he chose her. “If that’s what you want,” she whispered, still trying to stay neutral. But warm fingers touched her chin and tilted her face up to his. Her eyes were burning and she knew they gleamed with tears and she clenched her hands into fists so she didn’t grab him.
“You really would have let me walk away,” he murmured, examining her face.
“Of course,” she told him softly. “Your life is your choice. I am Dalish and my people revere freedom as though it were a god. How could I take yours away from you?”
He didn’t answer. He pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her, and kissed her. She cried out when his warm lips met hers and he took advantage to slip his tongue between her lips and into her mouth. She melted in his arms, despite the blood and gore and the stench of death and refuse in the alley, and she kissed him back, clutching at his shoulders. She tasted blood that belonged to neither of them, but it didn’t matter because he was there, right there, arms around her and tongue in her mouth and he was going to stay.
That night, after they’d returned to Arl Eamon’s mansion in the Market District and gotten cleaned up, their wounds bandaged, he sought her out. It was after dinner, when most of the estate had gone to bed, but she was in the library, hiding amongst the books and thinking about the battles to come.
“There you are.” A soft-voiced purr had her turning with a smile to face Zevran. She reached for him, but he remained where he was, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, hands clenched in front of him.
“Are you alright?” she asked him. Like flipping a switch, he smiled, all heat and confidence again, but it was brittle.
“It seems an appropriate moment to give you this,” he told her, reaching out a hand. She extended her palm to receive whatever it was and he dropped an earring into her hand. She tilted it to the light to examine it. It was lovely, a gold hoop with amber chips on it. “I acquired it on my very first mission for the Crows,” he told her while she admired it. “A Rivaini merchant prince, and he was wearing a single jeweled earring when I killed him. In fact, that was about all he was wearing.” Kahlia chuckled, looking up at him and the awkward way he stood before her. “I thought it was beautiful and took it to mark the occasion. I’ve kept it since… and I’d like you to have it now.”
Kahlia smiled at him. “Thank you, Zevran. It’s beautiful.”
“Don’t get the wrong idea about it,” he admonished, but he fidgeted nervously. “You helped kill Taliesen. As far as the Crows will be concerned, I died with him. That means I’m free, at least for now. Feel free to sell it, or wear it… or whatever you’d like. It’s really the least I could give you in return.”
He was trying so hard to make it seem like it was not a token of affection that she saw right through him. When she smiled, she could tell that he knew. He smiled in return, admitting it without words. She closed her fingers around the little earring and pressed it over her heart.
“Thank you, Zevran. I’ll treasure it,” she promised it. He fidgeted more, though he was clearly pleased.
“It’s meant a lot to me but so have… so has what you’ve done for me,” he told her. But she caught the slip and she knew what he meant. Her love was returned, though neither of them would say it. Not yet.
She stepped up to him and put her arms around his shoulders, still clutching the earring tightly. His hands settled on her waist as he looked down at her. “Would you care to come to my room? The walls are very thick, I assure you.”
He jerked as though she’d struck him and stepped back out of her embrace. She blinked at him, confused and a little hurt. They’d had sex in the stables and once in a closet before nearly getting caught by a maid and she hadn’t expected him to back away.
“No,” he said quickly. “I… No. I mean no offense, I simply… No.”
“Is something wrong?” she asked, wide-eyed.
“I do not wish to talk about it,” he told her, looking away.
“Are you sure? I could-“
“Enough!” he snapped, and it was her turn to jerk away. “I said I am not interested, can you not understand that? There are other things for you to focus on besides me, I am certain.”
“I… I’m sorry, Zevran,” she told him, trying to mask her hurt. “I’ll just…” She tried to move past him, intent on fleeing the library, but he stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm.
“No, I… I am sorry,” he told her much more softly. He took a deep breath and suddenly the tension in the air between them dropped significantly. “I am acting like a child. I apologize. It is… difficult to explain.” She looked at him again and saw that uncertain light in his eyes. He was still finding his feet after killing Taliesen and she had to give him some slack.”
“I’m willing to listen,” she told him, turning to face him again and leaning against a book shelf. He was silent for a moment.
“An assassin… must learn to forget about sentiment,” he began softly, carefully keeping his eyes on her face. “It is dangerous. You take your pleasures where you can when life is good. To expect anything more would be reckless. I thought for a long time that it was the same between us. Something to enjoy, a pleasant diversion and little more. And yet…” He fell silent and she watched his face, the uncertainty there.
“Are you saying you’re in love me?” she asked him, so quietly she barely breathed the words. They’d been forbidden for so long, those words. She wasn’t sure she could say them yet.
He was watching her just as carefully. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “How would you know such a thing? I grew up amongst those who sold the illusion of love. And then I was trained to make my heart cold in favor of the kill. Everything I have been taught says that what I feel is wrong.” What I feel… Kahlia’s mind latched on to those words. He knew, but he could no more say it than she could.
“I’m no wiser than you in these matters,” she admitted softly. His lips twitched.
“I suppose not,” he said softly. “All I need to know is if there might be some future for us, some possibility of… I do not know what. Something.”
She looked up into his eyes and saw her own feelings reflected there. “I want that,” she whispered. “I want a future. Something…” He smiled, relieved, and pulled her into his arms.
“Then that is all I need to know,” he breathed into her hair. With gentle fingers, he removed the tie that kept it contained and allowed it to bounce in wild red curls around her face and shoulders. He ran gentle fingers through it and she sighed in contentment. He could almost convince her to love her untamable hair. Almost.
“Will you come to my bed?” she asked him. “Nothing needs to happen there, I just… I want to be with you. To hold you. To fall asleep in your arms. I always sleep better when you hold me.”
His arms tightened around her and his lips pressed against her cheek. “Yes,” he murmured. “I would like that.”
They couldn’t say the words yet, but they didn’t need to. Love was shared between them and they both knew it. The words weren’t necessary to know what they had.
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ZevWarden Week 2017
Lythial Mahariel x Zevran Arainai
Rating M (Cuz it’s Zev)
For ZevWarden week
Enjoy!
Lythial Mahariel and Zevran Arainai had a start in this world, more alike than any, even each other, would realize. Both of their father’s died before they were born, leaving their heartbroken mothers to carry them alone. Lythial’s mother bore her into the world but left her, the pain of the heart over the love of a mother. Zevran’s died moments after his birth, not strong enough to hold onto life. Both small, cold, and alone. Fragile lives, thrown into fate.
Lythial found a parent’s love in Ashalle, a family in her clan, but ever still grew the hole of wanting to know where she came from. A blade was slipped into her hand when she reached the tender age of 6, like all children. She was to be trained, to be warrior or hunter was a journey she’d have to make on her own. The metal was cool in her hand, the blade shined in the sun, and something about it called to her. She took to it well, and was earning her Vallaslin at just 16 winters.
Zevran had no parent, nor anyone he’d consider family. Just a group of other boys just like him who he became close to for only survival. At 7 he was bought, like nothing more than chattel, for the Crows. There he was taught that he would either, fight and grow strong to live, or fail and die. Such things were pounded into him and he became good at what he did. First as necessity, and later because he had grown a taste for it. And in return he found something he never thought he would.
For all of Lythial’s skill in combat for both fighting, and for hunting, she’s nearly matched every step of the way by another boy her age. Tamlen is active and outgoing on the sparring fields. Always toe-to-toe with her, especially when dueling each other. Yet she noted that he was more reserved with others, preferring to wander the forest than spend time in camp. They were drawn together and a friendship was formed. And over time, even more.
Taliesen had formed a stronger and closer bond with Zevran than anyone before had. And when Rinna had been added to their group he was sure he’d found all he needed in the world. They melded seamlessly, easily playing off each other’s strengths and weaknesses, and became the best at what they did. And in time the three became romantically entangled.
It’s horrifying how a normal day can turn from a simple scouting mission, to your entire world crashing down. One minute you’re standing beside the man you love, and the next minute you’re waking up in a world where he’s gone. And darker still, you find you’re dying too. And in that moment, a choice must be made. Fight forever for a cause you do not care for, for people who would rather you dead, or waste away slowly. The choice wasn’t a choice, so with a heavy heart she departed her clan.
He loved Rinna, Maker he did, and he loved Taliesen as well. The mere thought of a betrayal burned in his chest like a hot coal. Painful, and deadly. But Taliesen insisted she’d betrayed them, what else was he supposed to do. He looked her in the eyes, claimed not to love her, and let Taliesen kill her. But nothing stopped the ache, even as they returned home. He wallowed in his regret, he should never have decided so fast, he should have listened. He ignored Taliesen’s attempts to draw him out of his sorrow. One that drove him deeper when he found it had been a set up. A simple way to get rid of Rinna for power, and to remind Zevran that they didn’t care for him, that he was simply a tool at their disposal. He broke. A mission came about, 2 Grey Wardens. He wouldn’t survive, there was no way. He made his bid, took the mission, and sailed to his death.
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Lythial saw the trap long before it could be sprung. It was rather sloppy work that made her more curious than cautious, and made it twice as easy to take down the attackers thrown at her. She, Alistair, Morrigan and Leliana had the fight over in a few short minutes. However she was surprised when the man who started the attack rolled over, groaning in the dirt. He was an assassin, utterly charming and honest. Despite his attempt at murder, she couldn’t find it in her to fault him. It was a job he’d been forced into. He fought or he died. Now he was offering to help her in return for his life. Alistair advised against it but in the end she couldn’t turn the man away. Thus she’d found another companion, one not too hard on the eyes if she’d admit it.
Zevran had expected to die. It was why he’d taken the job, why he’d made the trap so obvious. Logic dictated that if you attack and intend to murder two Grey Wardens, you die, it was simple really. So when he regained consciousness and found himself staring up into the face of one of the most beautiful women he’d had the pleasure of seeing, he wasn’t quite sure how to take it. But something in him told him this was a second chance, the ability for a second life. To do with what he wasn’t sure yet, but deep down he really wanted to live, so he made a deal, and the woman agreed.
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You could ask both Zevran and Lythial what exactly drew them together and neither could claim one specific event in general that lead them to sleep together the first time, or the many times after. They simply saw something desirable in each other. It grew more noticeable, until neither could ignore it anymore. Both reacted differently. While aware that they meant something to each other, neither knew how to completely handle it. Lythial was still torn open from the loss of Tamlen, and Zevran struggled to come to terms with what it all meant.
Lythial found both pain and closure one night. It was late and she burst awake after a vivid dream of the Archdemon. Moments later Darkspawn set upon the camp. The horde fended off easily by her Companions, but one had held back, and as Lythial approached it, her blood became ice in her veins. This was no ordinary Darkspawn; it was Tamlen, her Tamlen, now corrupted by the taint inside him, far too gone to save. He begged her to kill him, told her he didn’t want to hurt her. His final words were of love, before she plunged her dagger into his chest. The grief tore through her and she fled to her tent. She didn’t sleep that night, but she found closure. Tamlen was gone, he was not coming back. She had to move on to where she had been lead to move on to. And when she stepped out to see Zevran sitting by the campfire, looking at her tent nervously, she knew there was a reason things had played out the way they had when she met the assassin.
Zevran had struggled the entire time, between life and death. Rinna’s face staring at him in the campfire’s flames, the only time guilt had ever stuck with him. Thoughts of Taliesen were no better. He’d left him without a word. Which was why, when they ran into him and a few lower end members in an alley, and he offered to take him back, both to the Crows and more, Zevran was shook for a moment. He considered the offer for a moment. But then he looked at Lythial, a woman he’d sworn to follow, and had developed feelings far beyond simple loyalty, he knew he couldn’t kill her. The mere thought made him ill. He’d fallen, fallen hard for his Warden, and not the entire of the Antivan Crows could tear her away from him. So he helped strike Taliesen down to defend her, and mourned the man’s death.
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Acceptances of love came and were exchanged. The two did not trade proper vows before the Maker, or before the Elven Gods, but between themselves in the privacy of their own quarters the night before the world could end. There were the usual admittances, vows of eternal love and loyalty, to honor and respect and never abandon each other until death. But there were others exchanged as well. When Zevran took her hand in his, his calloused hands gentle but firm as he held her own scarred ones, telling her that he’d follow her to the Black City if that’s what was needed to stay by her side. Or when Lythial stared him straight in the eyes and swore to every divine being there was that he was the most important thing in her life and she would always put him first in any situation that was needed. For he meant far more to her than Warden vows ever could. And that night they lay together, curled up close to each other, desperate to not think of what the next day would bring for them.
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The Tale of the Hero of Fereldan would be told for Ages to come. The story about how a Dalish elf would rise to rebuild the Warden order of Fereldan after they were tragically slaughtered at Ostagar and make them powerful enough to fight back the horde of Darkspawn and how she would slay the Archdemon, ending the 5th Blight. But little could be told of what happened after. Of how she took the troops she’d acquired and returned to Vigil's Keep, their new base of operations. How she was promoted to Commander of the Grey and given the rank Warden-Commander. How she saw what friends she could off with a heavy heart. Of the crushing loneliness being there put her through. Alistair was on the throne at Anora’s side, where she hoped the two of them would work well in guiding Fereldan together.
Zevran stayed the longest, not wanting to leave his Warden, but they both knew it could not last. He had business in Antiva, the revenge business to be precise, and she supported what he felt he should do. She only wished she could go with him. But he knew she was needed there. The structure of the Wardens was too strenuous without her there. So early one cold morning she gave him a long good-bye at the gates, and watched as he rode away with a heavy heart. The two exchanged letters as often as they both could spare. Of course many were private letters, meant for bedchambers late at night, others were romantic letters where the words on the page were spilled directly from the heart, and some even were simple boring letters detailing the basic comings and goings of their everyday. Despite how naughty or mundane each letter was, they both cherished every scrap of parchment. And it made the distance a little easier to bare.
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Lythial was a Dalish Elf; that had not changed in the time spent away from her clan. She would always long for freedom and adventure. The exact opposite that the stone walls the Keep gave her. Even the missions she occasionally lead were barely enough for her to stretch her legs. But she bore with it, for the sake of understanding that the Wardens needed a strong structure again. 2 years of backbreaking hard work finally paid off as well. There was enough. Enough manpower, enough people with power, plenty of people who knew what they were doing. She penned her final orders after retiring early one evening and snuck out in the dead of night, disappearing without a trace. This caused a panic throughout most of Fereldan, and she had to chop her hair fairly short and fluffed it out around her ears to escape most notice until she could find a ship to take her to Antiva. She found she hated sailing, but she never felt giddier than knowing she was on her way back to Zevran.
Of course the problem with not telling your assassin lover that you were coming to them meant you had to search for him yourself. This was a chore until you happened past a section of road with the unmistakable small of leather being made and handled. The memory of him speaking about the leather makers and the smell that surrounded him as a boy struck her. Zev wasn’t necessarily a sentimental man, at least he wouldn’t admit it, but she’d seen plenty of times where that came out in him. So she narrowed her search to anywhere the smell of leather could be found, and after nearly a day of searching the area, and far too many greased palms, she was pointed to a small hut just within the search range.
Never one for a standard entrance, she opted to pick the lock instead of just knocking. The hut truly was small, an old bed in the corner, a medium table took up a good corner of the room and papers were strewn across it. A small cooking area with a dingy cauldron over it was the only other thing of not in the room. Not much, but she knew Zev had been with far less. The sudden body behind her and the knife gracefully pressed to her throat made her joltingly remember that her lover was indeed an assassin, an assassin who was being hunted, and a random cloaked figure entering his home was not a good thing.
Zevran had been interrupted by many different things in his life, and dealt with many strange and dangerous intruders. But a simple cloaked figure picking its way into his home and just taking in the scenery had him startled. Usually other assassins got straight to the killing, which he preferred. The only thing he could think about this person was perhaps that they were a thief, just happening upon his home, instead of an assassin. They did not seem to be aware of his presence in the very least. So he did the most sensible thing, he drew one of his knives and grabbed the figure, pressing the blade to their throat.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded of the figure, his voice deep and dark, intimidation leeched into every word. The figure shivered slightly under his touch, but he could not fault them for that, his voice was incredibly sexy.
Just hearing Zev’s voice after so long was having an effect on her. Lythial considered for a moment if that was sad or just a side-effect of love, but the blade being pushed slightly more against her throat broke her line of thought. She leaned her body back against his and cocked her head, letting her hair fall back slightly to reveal part of her face. “Well I was here to meet a lover of mine, but I can’t seem to find him,” she teased.
Zevran recognized the body against his nearly instantly. He’d made sure long before he’d departed her to commit it to memory. And when her head moved to reveal part of her face he quickly dropped the knife and stepped back, barely daring to believe what he was seeing. Even as she turned to face him, pushing her hair from her face and letting her cloak drop. All he could do was stare unbelievingly. Certainly he had fallen asleep and was merely dreaming of his love. It had happened so often. She stepped forward though, and pressed her hand to his cheek. A calloused and scarred hand, yet so small, and so warm, and he jolted. She was real and solid and there, right there before him. He caught her arm and pulled her to him, wrapping his arm around her so tight he wasn’t sure he’d ever let go.
Lythial was slightly startled when he’d pulled her against him, but the moment she felt his arms around her she melted against him, wrapping her own arms around him just as tightly. “Oh ma’vhenan, ma’arlath, I have missed you so,” she told him, her voice a shaky whisper. She was afraid he didn’t hear her, but he tipped her head up to look at him and she knew he did.
“And I have missed you my love, more and more every day since we have departed from each other.” His voice couldn’t arise from a whisper either, as if they were both afraid any noise too loud would shatter the moment and they’d be countries apart again. The mere thought made Zevran hold her tighter. But she simply smiled lightly and leaned forward, kissing him sweetly. The hand holding her chin curled around to cradle her cheek as he deepened the kiss. She dropped her pack off her back and threw an arm around his neck, tangling her hand in his hair. He stepped back, unbalancing them, and sending them falling onto the bed.
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“It is still hard to believe you are here. How did you get away from your duties?” he finally asked her later, after their heated reunion and the making of a small meal. She shifted slightly and took a long bite of her food before answering, making him raise an eyebrow in confusion. She sighed and looked at him finally.
“I didn’t necessarily just get away from my duties. More like I abandoned my duties.” Both eyebrows shot up at her admittance and he looked at her in surprise for a silent moment before the hut erupted into laughter. Lythial now raised an eyebrow in confusion at Zevran.
“It seems we are quite a pair my love. I leave the Crows, notorious for no one leaving them alive. And you leave the Wardens; a group said that no one can truly leave. It seems we were meant to defy odds,” he explains to her once he had stopped laughing, and she starts to laugh at his explanation.
“I do suppose you are right. I would say that makes us a destined pair,” she agreed.
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For the next 2 and a half years Lythial helped Zevran take down the Crows. And if Zev was unstoppable in taking them out before, his new partner made him invincible. They were a duo feared by the Crows, no matter who was sent for them, they were always found dead. And Lythial was content for a time.
A nightmare was what shattered her fragile peace. One of her, so young but stricken mad by the voice that came for every Warden. The thought of her pain at having to leave Zevran so she could die. The thought of the pain he’d feel at the loss of her. A life she wanted to live so much, torn away and wasted. She bolted out of bed and Zevran nearly fell out after her, startled and alert. But when he saw her across the room holding her head he frowned in concern and went to her. After gentle prying she finally opened up to him about the nightmare, about what would happen to her no matter what she did. He didn’t know what to say, or do, so he pulled her close instead, knowing no other way to comfort her.
A few days later she came to him with a proposal. She was going to find a cure for the Calling. It had happened before; a Warden named Fiona had suddenly been cured, though no one understood how. There were not a lot of leads to follow, but there were some, and she was determined to follow them. She explained how she would go West, investigating The Free Marches, which was full of varied lore and mystery. Through Nevarra, where all forms of different magic and mystery were held. And finally to The Anderfels, where the Wardens were started. Wardens kept so many secrets she wouldn’t be surprised if there was something hidden away there. If she couldn’t find anything that way, she would find a way to find more. She’d pick Orlais clean, command her way through Tevinter. She would find a way.
“The only thing is… this is a long journey Zev. I don’t know… I don’t know when I’d be back,” she admitted reluctantly, her voice sad, she couldn’t meet his eyes. He smiled lightly and tilted her head just enough to look in his eyes.
“My love, the night before we fought the Archdemon, what did I tell you?” he asked her, his voice gentle. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion before suddenly shooting up, her eyes widening. “I told you I would follow you into the Black City itself if I had to, to stay with you. And I meant it.”
“But the Crows-?”
“The Crows will be here when we return. You are far more important than the Crows,” he scoffed, a teasing smirk on his face. She beamed and threw her arms around him. “I know, I know, I am the best.”
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They were followed to the Free Marches by a group of pursuing Crows. Stubborn asses for sure. Lythial sent word to her Clan, who had travelled to Kirkwall, to ask to help Zevran. He promised to distract and hold them there until she could get the research she needed to do in Starkhaven done. This stop ended up with him running into none other than the Champion of Kirkwall herself, along with Isabela. He stuck around long enough to help with the mounting situation in the city, before hurrying to meet Lythial in Tantervale.
They both shared excited stories about their adventures while apart. Lythial had found a few scattered notes that she thought could help, buried in old Chantry archives. Zevran told her of the Champion, the violent explosion of the chantry there, and the mad Knight-Commander who turned into an odd form of Lyrium. Both agreed that things had become far too crazy and quickly escaped to Nevarra to avoid notice.
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They had stopped in a small town near the center of the country for a few days. Rented a small hut to stay in so they could use it as a base of operations. Lythial had decided to trek to the next town over for supplies and information while Zevran had stayed behind to plot out their next course. No one in the town had bothered them, so when there was a knock at the door, he was set on edge. He quickly stashed their papers and hid the satchel away under a loose floorboard before opening the door. Finding Leliana on the other side was certainly the last thing he’d expected.
“Ah Zevran, I’m happy my reports were correct about where to find you,” she nodded as she stepped in without an invitation. He was put on edge instantly. This… was a different Leliana, not as much as he felt she could be, but she was. He was very glad Lythial had taken all her things that morning, and more so that it would be late before she returned.
“It is nice to see you as well Leliana, though a surprise. What are you doing here?”
She turned to face him and examining him with a scrutinizing look. He gave her a moment to get whatever she was doing out of her system, before speaking up.
“I do not deny that I am handsome Leliana, but if I remember correctly you do not wish to have anything to do with me. So, why are you staring at me? Change your mind?”
She dropped her gaze then and sat in one of the chairs in the room, sighing deeply. “I will cut straight to the point. I know you know what happened to Kirkwall. A few eyewitnesses say you were there,” she started, looking at him again, this time without the look. He frowned but sat across from her.
“Yes, I ran into the Champion there while dealing with a pack of Crows. I stayed because she seemed a good woman and needed all the help she could get. Why? Upset I fought on behalf of the Mages?” he replied easily, if not confused.
She gave him a look. “That is not it. I’m sure you heard that after everything happened, the Mages voted to dissolve the Circles, and they and the Templars are at War.”
“Yes I have heard things about that, quite bold of the Mages to be honest,” Zevran nodded. Morrigan would be pleased, he knew that much, and Lythial had seemed quite happy about it as well.
“Yes well, the fighting is already so violent. People have been hurt, lives disrupted and ruined. Fereldan’s still reeling from the Blight not even a decade past and now this has happened,” Leliana said with a worried frown tugging at her lips. Despite how cold she seemed when she arrived, there was a touch of the old Leliana in her words now.
“Yes, that is unfortunate. But I do not see exactly what that has to do with me?” Zevran asked, finally getting to the point. This was already putting him on edge and while he believed Lythial would take her time, he could not be certain.
She leveled him with that look again and asked in a straight tone, “Lythial has been missing from the Wardens ranks the past 5 years. We, as in her companions, have helped keep her so while she was on the run. I misplaced a set of information here; Alistair missed a word when reporting there. We actually lost her after she entered Antiva, but we both know she was heading for you.”
“A few questions, why would you help her run, and what exactly are you here for?” he cut in, his voice dropping suspiciously. There was silence between them for a moment.
“We both know why we helped Zevran. We traveled with her too. We knew how much she didn’t want to be there. She became a Warden out of necessity, of survival, but she never wanted what was thrusted upon her. So when she ran, we felt the only thing we could do in return for what she’d done for us, was help.” The look on her face was solemn, but genuine.
Zevran could, however, sense some guilt in her tone. “But?”
“But we need her help. Everyone respects her; everyone will listen to her, or at least hear her out. The Mage-Templar war must end Zevran. Divine Justinia is working on a way to help fix things, or at least start to make them better. But we need someone at the front who the people trust and will give a chance. She is the best person for it,” Leliana sounded like she believed in this, like she truly thought it would work. But Zevran narrowed his eyes.
“You want to drag her back in there, to deal with everyone else’s mess again. Straight into the thick of it. Only this time she has even less of a reason to care for the problem. She nearly died after the Archdemon!” His yells had to have echoed out of the cabin, but Zevran couldn’t care at that moment. Leliana’s face was set in a scowl and she seemed to be refusing to look at him now.
“Look, I just want to know if you have seen her. I have lost track of her and you are the best person to ask!” she snapped at him finally. They shared glares for a long moment before Zevran sighed and leaned back.
“I have not seen my love for several months now. We were travelling together but she split off from me, following a lead for the cure for the Calling. I believe she was heading for Orlais if you would like to find her there,” he informed her finally.
She frowned but nodded finally. “I suspected as much, still I had hope. Thank you anyway Zevran, despite the circumstances it was… nice to see you again,” she told him as she slowly stood from her seat and started for the door.
“Leaving already?” he asked, turning to face her. She turned back to him, face already set in a neutral stance once more.
“I cannot lose a moment of time to find her. Every moment I waste is another moment she gets farther, and another innocent caught in this madness. I wish you well Zevran,” she replied before hurrying from the hut.
Zevran narrowed his eyes at her retreating back and slowly rose from his seat to close the door. Leliana was no fool. It was not in her nature to believe things so readily. He was a talented liar to be sure, but she was one to see through facades. The answer came to him immediately. She would track him. It was an obvious move in times like these. You tail your informant to make sure they are being truthful. He had to move fast if he was going to keep Lythial from Leliana’s clutches. He retrieved his satchel and took a clean sheet of parchment from it. He jotted down a note in code for her, disguised as a note to the owner of the hut and then quickly slipped out of the hut, making sure to extinguish all the lights inside. Then he took off for their next meeting place.
Lythial returned to the hut late in the evening, night almost upon her. Her feet were sore and her back aching, but she was satisfied from what she’d gathered. A few scraps of promising information and a sack full of provisions. But her heart fell as she caught sight of the hut in the distance. Despite the dark there was no spark of light from anywhere in it. So much for a nice night. She stowed the food and pulled her cloak around her like a burglar’s cowl, slinking along in the shadows before coming to the door. She picked the lock and moved inside, making sure to give the place a good upset, upheaving the bed, and clattering the few furnishings around as she checked over Zev’s note. With a destination set she slipped back out and headed away as fast as she could.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was almost a 2 week trek north to a small town that fell just before the border with the Tevinter imperium. They’d chosen the spot out of sheer strategic position. No one after them would dare push into Tevinter territory, or even near it, without careful consideration. The town itself was little more than a tavern inn, which was all the better. Lythial slipped in and took a seat at the far end of the bar, cloaked in shadow. After attending to his preferred patrons the bartender finally made his way to her.
“What’ll you have sweetheart?” he asked, his tone gruff and full of distaste.
She looked up at him with a glare and replied in an icy tone. “Give me an ale. And if you refer to me as sweetheart again it’ll be the last drink you serve.”
He didn’t look quite sure if he believed her but he made his way away quite quickly, returning quick enough with the drink and not staying for another chat.
She sipped the foul drink slow enough. She’d tasted Conscription concoctions less foul than this, but a drink was a drink. Suddenly another glass was slid down to her, she caught it with reflexes honed from years of work without a thought and looked up at the bartender in confusion.
“Fella ordered it for you, said you looked like a woman with better tastes and said to tell you that if you wanted something even better to join him in room 3,” the man responded without even looking up.
She sniffed the drink and the scent was far better than the piss ale. It was a wine, definitely Tevinter in origin, as decent a year as one was to get out here she’d imagine. She held back a chuckle imagining how much was spent on it. She settled in and sipped it appreciatively, savoring it as it should be. Once it was gone, and how sad a moment it was, she left the payment for the ale on the counter and headed up to the room, a dagger drawn in her sleeve. She tried the door handle and it was open. With a breath she stepped in.
Only to let it fly out immediately and the knife fall to the ground. A great many things she expected to see when she opened the door, but that wasn’t it. Zev was as naked as she expected him to be for sure. But instead of laid out in some sexy pose waiting for her, he was sprawled across the bed completely asleep. She barely contained the laugh that wanted to escape her and instead quickly hurried into the room and shut the door, locking it. She hadn’t thought she’d taken that long, but considering how tired she felt, she should have known better. She supposed the happy reunion would have to wait and she set down her pack beside his. She stripped down to her underclothes and grabbed the tossed aside blanket. She wormed her way in to a comfortable position beside him and covered them with the blanket.
“Goodnight love,” she whispered to him before kissing his cheek and blowing out the candle.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sunlight escaping through a hole found in the moth-eaten curtains found its way straight into Zevran’s eyes and he peeked one open to glare distastefully at it. Was a comfortable single night’s sleep too much to ask he wondered to himself before turning over to escape it. Only to find himself running into another body. He nearly jumped out of his skin before registering just who it was beside him.
Lythial was curled up like a cat at his side, still deep in sleep and undisturbed by his movements. A small smile turned up the edges of her mouth. She looked completely at ease at his side as well. Admittedly he appreciated mornings he woke before her. When she slept she was the most at ease. Though as of late with him was a close second. He pulled up the blanket and tucked it back around her. He was rather disappointed at himself though. Not only had he fell asleep waiting to surprise her, she’d waltzed in and crawled in bed with him. As a hunted man it was nearly inexcusable, but as the man of her heart, it was the highest honor. He knew her presence so well; he could sleep well knowing it was her.
“What are you thinking about?” her voice, thick and hushed from sleep, inquired, breaking the silence of the morning. He looked down at her and smiled lightly, running a hand over her knotted hair to try and tame it down some.
“Nothing of great import my love. Just about how beautiful you are.”
She let out an ugly scoff and arched an eyebrow. “You’re a good liar vhenan, but even a good lie has to make sense in the situation.”
“Mi amor, I speak with complete honesty. You are always beautiful to me,” he insisted, covering his heart with his hand. She simply chuckled lightly in disbelief and wrapped her arms around him to cuddle closer.
“You fell asleep on me last night,” she said, changing the subject to the previous night’s transgressions. He wrapped an arm around her and looked at her in distress.
“I know, and it was very shameful of me! I had intended to treat you to a night of pleasures to make up for the many we missed while apart.”
She chuckled and looked up at him with half-lidded eyes. “I’m sure we can remedy that. And then you can tell me about what kept us separated over breakfast.”
“That sounds like a very good idea.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Zevran finished stacking the last few crates in that days order and wiped the sweat from his brow. He stepped back and recounted them before nodding. Everything was ready for the next day’s shipments. He turned and headed back to the shed to put his things away.
“Messere Sabrae, we’ve finished loading the last of the goods onto the carts and the numbers have all been counted,” Cyrhel reported from behind him. He set the tools down on the shelf and turned to him.
“And the animals returned to their pens for the night?”
“Athel just returned with them and Taren readied the pens for them for the night,” he reported with a nod. Zevran smiled and nodded at the young man.
“Make sure Sorvin finished his tasks and then you can all head home. And remind everyone that I will need them before dawn tomorrow if we are to get all this to the Market on time.”
“If we live near Hasmal, why are we travelling all the way to Starkhaven when Tantervale is closer?” Cyrhel asked with confusion. Zevran noted that the boy seemed to be forcing the memory of the map in his head.
“Because Tantervale is a stricter city and has little love for elves. They would try to have arrested for something and none of us can afford that. So we make a little extra effort to make it to a fairer city,” he explained patiently as he lead them from the shed and locked it up securely.
“I had hoped once we made it from Tevinter we would be treated batter,” the boy said disheartened. Zevran frowned and patted the boy on the shoulder.
“We are not as well treated as we should be. But slowly we are making our mark upon the world. Look at the Hero of Fereldan and the Inquisitor. Both are elves who started at the bottom and are now known as some of the most well-known and influential Elves of the Age,” he urged him, fighting a small smile.
“But the Hero of Fereldan went missing. And there are a lot of arguments around the inquisitor,” Cyrhel argued back.
“The Hero of Fereldan went off to find a cure for the Blight they say. And there will always be arguments about those in power. But that is for the politicians to worry about. Here we work and labor together and as long as we know friend and foe we are safe enough,” he assured him as they reached the barn where the other boys were waiting.
“Alright lads get going before your families come to call with worry. You have dinners to eat and beds to get to early. It will be a long day for all of us in the morning,” Zevran instructed him as he waved them all out.
“Will Messere Lythial be joining us tomorrow?” Sorvin asked with a horribly hidden smirk. Zevran narrowed his eyes at the young man, but it was Athel who spoke up first.
“That’s none of your business. And you shouldn’t refer to her by her name. The proper way is last names,” he huffed. Sorvin scowled but looked away.
“Lythial is still supposed to stay home for a few more weeks until she’s recovered from birth. Now get going, and watch out for each other on the way home,” Zevran ordered them in a final authority tone and they all hurried off towards their own homes. He nodded in satisfaction and went to wash up before finally heading inside his home.
“Papa!” was what greeted him straight away and a small body was flung into his legs. He looked down with an amused smile as she ginned up at him, her arms wrapped securely around his leg.
“Now Rinna, I know that smile well enough. What did you do today?” he asked as he leaned down and scooped her up in his arms, suppressing a laugh of his own at her guilty giggles.
“Nothin Papa,” she insisted in a tone that would have convinced him had he not known her.
“Your daughter swiped half a pan of cookies this afternoon and ate them before I could catch her. She’s in a heap of trouble for it and she’s plenty well aware!” Lythial called from the kitchen and he looked down at his daughter with a sterner look. She returned it with enlarged eyes and her bottom lip puffed out just enough to be cute. She was indeed his, no doubt about that. He sighed and set her down.
“Don’t do it again. If you eat all the cookies, there’ll be none for Papa,” he chided her lightly. Her eyes widened in actual surprise and she looked up at him guiltily.
“I hadn’t thought of that! I’ll help Mama cook more tomorrow. Lots so you can have them when you come home,” she assured him.
“That’s a good girl, now go off and play until dinner,” he smiled and ruffled her hair. She grinned and bolted out of the door behind him. He shook his head and stood, heading into the kitchen.
Lythial stood before the fireplace, testing a chunk of roasting meat before moving over to check the bread oven, completely thrown into what she was doing. Which was his luck, he thought, as he crept towards her. He nearly had his arms around her-
“Vhenan it may have been many years since I have fought in a battle or hunted deep in a forest, but your daughter keeps me on my toes far more than those ever could. So if you believe you can sneak up on me so easily, perhaps we should spar again soon to remind you of what I can do.”
Zevran pouted a moment before leaning against the counter instead. “She is your daughter as well, at least the last I checked. I believe that was the agreement when we decided to take her in” he countered with a smirk.
“Any day she runs me as ragged as she did today, she is your daughter. She clearly gets it from you,” Lythial shot back with a smirk of her own. He pressed a hand to his chest as if insulted.
“I have always been a picture of calm and easy to handle,” he insisted. She scoffed loudly at that.
“You remember how we met right?”
“What a lovely day. The sky was clear, the air was crisp, and corpses lay all about us. You had quite an interestingly made knife pressed to my throat. But all I could pay attention to was your beauty,” he smiled fondly.
She opened her mouth to retort when a cry erupted from the basinet by the table. Zevran moved to it without a word and tenderly scooped up the little bundle that lay inside.
“Now there Tamlen, it is alright, there is nothing for you to cry about. Your Papa is here is he not,” he cooed at his son. This did not seem to reassure the babe as he continued to wail. Zevran frowned slightly and began to rock him gently.
“He’s hungry but I’ve been busy. Rinna’s cookie theft set my baking behind today. I wanted to send some with you and the boys for the trip tomorrow. It isn’t a pleasant journey,” Lythial explained as she pulled the first of the bread loaves from the fire.
“I’m sure they’ll appreciate it,” Zevran nodded as they traded spots. He passed Tamlen to her and stood by the fire to watch the bread, “Especially Sorvin,” he added.
Lythial laughed as she began to feed Tamlen. “He still has that crush I see. It is rather adorable.”
“You’ve seemed to make an impression on all my farm hands. Every day that you seem occupied that always ask about you. ‘Is Messere Lythial well?’ ‘Will Messere Lythial be joining us?’ It gets rather grating when they should be working.”
“Why Zev, are you jealous?” she teased.
“Of course not. They are mere boys. Still it is… frustrating.”
She stood and walked over to him, kissing his cheek. “Well do not worry; you are the only man I shall need.”
He smiled at her as she headed out of the kitchen. “I am going to get Rinna. Make sure the bread doesn’t burn or that’s your share,” she told him and he quickly turned to look at the bread, cursing as he realized it was overdone.
She loved to do that on purpose, he just knew it.
~~~~~
Late that night as their house settled around them Lythial looked up at Zevran from where she was settled on his chest. He was long past asleep, drifting off not long after they’d settled in, needing all he could for the long day tomorrow. His golden hair lay splayed out on the pillow under him and his mouth was open, soft snores escaping him. She nearly giggled at the sight, no matter how familiar. All she could remember is all the days past, and even now, where he insisted he was always handsome and charming. She wondered how he’d ever react if she really told him what he looked like while he slept.
She snuggled more into him and pressed a light kiss to the corner of his lips before lying back down. She supposed she’d spare him a bit longer. Besides, it was nice being the only one who knew this side of him.
Secretly she wondered how they’d really gotten here. Living on a decent farm in a comfortable part of the Free Marches. Away from those who pursued them and practically unknown to those around them. They were simply Lythial and Zevran Sabrae, the nice farming family who was always looking to employ anyone from a refugee family who needed work. They were like any other elven couple just trying to make a living for themselves and their children.
And children. Something she’d barely allowed herself to think of since the moment Duncan stepped into her life. They’d found Rinna, a wee babe abandoned on the border of The Anderfels and Tevinter. It was hardly a question of taking her with them. And Tamlen, carried and birthed herself. She’d never imagined such an ordeal, even growing up in her clan. And she was fairly certain and more of their children would come from any one of the Alienage’s orphan homes in the Free Marches.
Sometimes she wondered what her previous companions thought about her. She’d even considered contacting them, but it seemed too precarious. Alistair was a King now, and dealing with everything that happened, and was still happening with the Inquisition, despite the fact that she supported its continuation. Leliana was the Divine now, and beyond that she could probably track them too easy, even from a simple letter. She had no idea where Morrigan was, or Sten, or Ohgren really. Part of her hoped that they would be happy for her, glad that she found the peaceful life she wished for. But she knew, deep down, that it wouldn’t be that easy for Alistair or Leliana.
Despite it all she could not find regret in any of her actions. Everyone had to take the horns of fate and guide them to where they truly wanted to be. And right here, curled up to the man she loves, her children sleeping soundly, in their little cabin, was where she truly wanted to be.
I can’t do all the prompts for ZevWarden week like I wanted to, but I’ve had Lythial and Zev’s story sitting on my Computer for literal ages and it fits prompts 2,5,6, and 7 so I feel pretty good about it. It’s really rough and there’s probably some mistakes in there too. I’ll get it polished when I get back from my uncles funeral. I hope you all like it anyhow! :)
#ZevWarden Week#ZevWarden Week 2017#Lythial Mahariel#zevran arainai#I love these two I really really do omg
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