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Bit of Dragon Age fic, cross-posted from DA. Still working up the courage to post this in a community. Hasn't happened yet.
Title: Not in Love
Fandom: Dragon Age Origins
Characters: Zevran, male!City Elf
Summary: Darrian Tabris is not in love with Zevran, so he likes to tell himself. His actions however, say otherwise.
It's a bit of fun, a stress reliever after a long day of battling darkspawn, so you tell yourself. You have certainly not fallen for him.
You do not seek him out when the group stops to set up camp simply because you enjoy his company, because you can sit with him, neither saying a word and still feel entirely comfortable and content. You seek him out because it is nice to be around another elf, your own kind rather than a group of shem. Humans, you correct yourself, they are nothing like the shem you have known in your life, though the point remains about just why you seek out Zevran.
You do not feel a smile tug at your lips when you catch Zevran watching you, especially not that smile that only Zevran seems to receive from you. You are meant to be the leader of this little band and you are not meant to be wandering around, grinning like a fool, no matter what Morrigan claims. You seek him out at night because you are cold, and so you go to his tent, blanket and all, because he is warm and he will surely find some way of warming you up. You do not go to him because you wonder if he's feeling the cold as much as you are, camping on the road to Haven, and are concerned over this fact, oh no. It is purely practical reasons why you go to him.
You do not feel glad when you find him still there in the morning, already awake, yet having stayed in the tent anyway. You tell yourself that you simply make it impossible for him to leave, because, like a child, you cling to him. His leaving would surely wake you and put you in a foul mood at being woken, nothing anyone would want to risk.
You tell yourself you are unaware of doing it, and if you are aware of it, it is because the morning is cold, and you do not want to lose your source of heat after finally warming yourself up somewhat. You do not spend a few hours talking, the two of you, before the others awaken, and you do not feel like you want to tell him more of your life, hear more about his despite some of the horror stories he hints at behind the jokes. You are simply discussing strategies, plans for the day and receiving a second opinion on that which you are not sure about. You do not value his opinion quite as much as the others make out you do and you do not consider reevaluating a day's progression because of a suggestion he makes.
You really don't appreciate his effort at trying to cheer you up as much as you think you do. You tell yourself it is Zevran being himself when he tells you a ridiculous sex poem recited to him by his target. You ask playfully if he intends to seduce you with the poem and are pleasantly surprised when he says that was not the intention. He tells you instead that you look grim, and you know you do. The point of your serious nature is reinforced when you notice the stares you receive when you actually laugh at the poem, a genuine laugh and not just a snort of amusement which everyone else receives. You realize it is the first time your companions have heard you do so. Alistair asks you later just what was so funny, and pouts that you never laugh like that at his jokes. You half-heartedly try to make a joke of this, and you quickly tell Alistair there is nothing going on when a, what you can only describe as a 'knowing' look appears on his face, as if he has just been let into some great secret.
You do not have to suppress a grin when you find a pair of leather boots that seem to be particularly fragrant. You do not immediately remember something Zevran told you about Antivan leather and resolve to give them to him later. When you do give them to the elf, it is another practical matter, the boots are in good condition, better quality and in terms of armour, would provide more protection. It is not because it is a little piece of home for Zevran, and you do not feel happy when you see how cheered he is by the gift. No, not a gift, simply a trading of equipment.
Later, as you are traveling through the freezing mountain, you do not feel safe, or as 'safe' as you can while doing battle, knowing that Zevran is there. You do not manage to find your way over to him in the skirmish between the Reavers and your party. You do not guard his back and feel entirely confidant that he has yours. You tell yourself you feel like that with any one of your companions, that you trust them all equally to guard you as they trust you.
In the Gauntlet, as the Guardian questions your group, you do not find yourself dreading what will be asked of Zevran, though you can hazard a guess. You do not step closer to him, ready to offer comfort if he will accept it. The Guardian asks of his regrets, of one woman in particular, if he regrets her death. You know immediately who the Guardian speaks of, having dragged the whole sorry tale from Zevran one night in your tent. Zevran cuts the Guardian off, snaps at it, and you do not immediately feel concern. And that is most certainly not jealousy you feel for a second, you so pointedly tell yourself, and you scold yourself for even thinking like that at all. You are a fool to do so.
The way is opened, the mood that much more somber, subdued than what it had been. You sigh, wondering just what will be thrown at you next. You do not glance back to Zevran, worried, silently asking if he's all right. Zevran nods. You do not remind yourself to speak to him later, just to make sure, since he does not wish to talk now and you can respect that.
The spectre of Shianni takes you even more off-guard. You choke out the words, that you remember the Alienage, remember her, Soris, your father all the time. That despite the respect you have earned she points out, you have had to work that much harder to earn it simply because you are an elf. You are not glad of Zevran's presence, despite his silence. However, it is Alistair who urges you onward, as you stand there frozen, staring at where Shianni had been.
It is later, on the way back down after finding the Ashes that Zevran approaches, and simply sits with you. The same way you have not done at camp, that amiable silence falling as it so often does not do. Your hand does not fall on his shoulder, while his head does not rest against your knee.
"I'm sorry," you do not say, still not worried for him. You are worried for all of your party.
Zevran lifts his head and looks up at you, amused and curious. "For what?" he asks.
"For...this. If I'd known the Guardian would ask some...difficult questions, I would've..." You stop and frown slightly when Zevran laughs quietly. "What? What's so funny?"
You do not see that tenderness that Wynne has pointed out, the one that she claims he allows only you to see. The one you tell Wynne that you have always seen. He smiles. "You would what? Fight your way here alone, simply to spare us from some bad memories?"
"I suppose looking at it like that...It does sound a bit silly, doesn't it."
Zevran stands up. "I take your meaning however, and it is appreciated." He looks you over, studying you for a moment. "And what of you, my friend? It mentioned your Shianni, yes?"
You nod once. "We'll...talk later," you say and try to ignore that look he gives you.
You both know "later" will never come. He has asked you before of your cousin, how you joined the Wardens and received vague answers that danced around the subject. You do not see the slight disappointment as Zevran leaves you and you do not feel guilt. You do not feel the urge to tell him everything, what happened on your wedding, of what happened to Shianni, though given what the Guardian said you have no doubts he can draw his own conclusions. You seem determined that you will take this story, your failure, to your grave, despite whatever urges you do not have.
You leave that mountain, make your way back to where the rest of the group is camped. It is Morrigan who is cooking, thank the Maker, you're not sure if you could stand more of Alistair's lamb and pea stew. Granted, your own cooking is nothing to be boasted about, your meals make Shianni's rat...thing look appetizing. You help out with dinner all the same, simply out of habit, and Morrigan says nothing of it. You remain quiet, despite Leliana's constant questioning about Andraste's Ashes and you are withdrawn somewhat, the day's events still playing in your mind. As the night drags on, your little group drift away to their own corners of the camp site and when it comes time, you take up the first watch, once more out of habit.
It is you and the dog standing guard. The night is quiet, the dog, Mutt you so creatively named him, sits by your side, alert. You reach down and scratch his ears, as Mutt looks up at you, his head tilted to the side. You didn't want a dog, you only helped out the kennel master at Ostagar because Daveth said there was a reward going when you came across that flower in the Wilds. It surprised you to no end when the dog found you after the battle. You remember you had every intention of leaving it behind, despite Alistair's claims it had imprinted on you. You stalked away, grudgingly agreeing that it could travel with the three of you and that Alistair would feed it. Imprinted or not, if he thought so highly of the beast he could look after it. Thinking back to it, you really weren't very pleasant to deal with. You were angry at the world and felt entirely justified in it.
Mutt still stares at you and you give him another pet before you leave to patrol the camp. Your gaze drifts towards Zevran's tent and you do not consider approaching it when your watch shift is done, to see if he's all right since you are still not worried for him. You let him be earlier, you know if he wishes to talk then he will, you will not force it from him. You return to your original post, Mutt waiting patiently, and you stand with the Mabari once more.
Your watch shift ends and you retreat to your tent. Zevran is already there, despite having pitched a seperate tent for himself, over the past months your tent has become his and vice versa. He says little, spending a few hours in the tent and as you are falling asleep, he gathers his clothes then leaves the tent. You awaken, alone, and do not feel slightly hurt that he is gone. You do not immediately think you have done something, said something and he is upset with you. There are a hundred reasons he could've left, none of which include something you've done. You are assuming the worst, being entirely irrational, not mention arrogant in assuming that it is because of you that Zevran left. You decide to say nothing of it.
In the time it takes to travel from outside of Haven to Redcliffe and the time you spend there, Zevran begins to distance himself from you. No longer does he stay the night with you, he leaves as you are dozing or have fallen asleep entirely. You do not think the worst once again, that you have indeed done something, though Maker knows what. You lie awake, deciding not to get up just yet and gather your thoughts, since you finally have a moment to do so.
What a fool you are. So much for not wishing to get in too deep, so much for telling Wynne 'it's a bit of fun'. It is far more than that, not simply a stress-reliever as you like to tell yourself. Despite all that you 'don't' do in camp, on the road, in battle, you know you 'do not' do them because you are in love with him.
Constructive criticism appreciated as always.
Real journal entry might come soon, possibly. Or more writing if I ever get round to that Tabris/Alistair buddyfic I've had the idea rattling about for.
Title: Not in Love
Fandom: Dragon Age Origins
Characters: Zevran, male!City Elf
Summary: Darrian Tabris is not in love with Zevran, so he likes to tell himself. His actions however, say otherwise.
It's a bit of fun, a stress reliever after a long day of battling darkspawn, so you tell yourself. You have certainly not fallen for him.
You do not seek him out when the group stops to set up camp simply because you enjoy his company, because you can sit with him, neither saying a word and still feel entirely comfortable and content. You seek him out because it is nice to be around another elf, your own kind rather than a group of shem. Humans, you correct yourself, they are nothing like the shem you have known in your life, though the point remains about just why you seek out Zevran.
You do not feel a smile tug at your lips when you catch Zevran watching you, especially not that smile that only Zevran seems to receive from you. You are meant to be the leader of this little band and you are not meant to be wandering around, grinning like a fool, no matter what Morrigan claims. You seek him out at night because you are cold, and so you go to his tent, blanket and all, because he is warm and he will surely find some way of warming you up. You do not go to him because you wonder if he's feeling the cold as much as you are, camping on the road to Haven, and are concerned over this fact, oh no. It is purely practical reasons why you go to him.
You do not feel glad when you find him still there in the morning, already awake, yet having stayed in the tent anyway. You tell yourself that you simply make it impossible for him to leave, because, like a child, you cling to him. His leaving would surely wake you and put you in a foul mood at being woken, nothing anyone would want to risk.
You tell yourself you are unaware of doing it, and if you are aware of it, it is because the morning is cold, and you do not want to lose your source of heat after finally warming yourself up somewhat. You do not spend a few hours talking, the two of you, before the others awaken, and you do not feel like you want to tell him more of your life, hear more about his despite some of the horror stories he hints at behind the jokes. You are simply discussing strategies, plans for the day and receiving a second opinion on that which you are not sure about. You do not value his opinion quite as much as the others make out you do and you do not consider reevaluating a day's progression because of a suggestion he makes.
You really don't appreciate his effort at trying to cheer you up as much as you think you do. You tell yourself it is Zevran being himself when he tells you a ridiculous sex poem recited to him by his target. You ask playfully if he intends to seduce you with the poem and are pleasantly surprised when he says that was not the intention. He tells you instead that you look grim, and you know you do. The point of your serious nature is reinforced when you notice the stares you receive when you actually laugh at the poem, a genuine laugh and not just a snort of amusement which everyone else receives. You realize it is the first time your companions have heard you do so. Alistair asks you later just what was so funny, and pouts that you never laugh like that at his jokes. You half-heartedly try to make a joke of this, and you quickly tell Alistair there is nothing going on when a, what you can only describe as a 'knowing' look appears on his face, as if he has just been let into some great secret.
You do not have to suppress a grin when you find a pair of leather boots that seem to be particularly fragrant. You do not immediately remember something Zevran told you about Antivan leather and resolve to give them to him later. When you do give them to the elf, it is another practical matter, the boots are in good condition, better quality and in terms of armour, would provide more protection. It is not because it is a little piece of home for Zevran, and you do not feel happy when you see how cheered he is by the gift. No, not a gift, simply a trading of equipment.
Later, as you are traveling through the freezing mountain, you do not feel safe, or as 'safe' as you can while doing battle, knowing that Zevran is there. You do not manage to find your way over to him in the skirmish between the Reavers and your party. You do not guard his back and feel entirely confidant that he has yours. You tell yourself you feel like that with any one of your companions, that you trust them all equally to guard you as they trust you.
In the Gauntlet, as the Guardian questions your group, you do not find yourself dreading what will be asked of Zevran, though you can hazard a guess. You do not step closer to him, ready to offer comfort if he will accept it. The Guardian asks of his regrets, of one woman in particular, if he regrets her death. You know immediately who the Guardian speaks of, having dragged the whole sorry tale from Zevran one night in your tent. Zevran cuts the Guardian off, snaps at it, and you do not immediately feel concern. And that is most certainly not jealousy you feel for a second, you so pointedly tell yourself, and you scold yourself for even thinking like that at all. You are a fool to do so.
The way is opened, the mood that much more somber, subdued than what it had been. You sigh, wondering just what will be thrown at you next. You do not glance back to Zevran, worried, silently asking if he's all right. Zevran nods. You do not remind yourself to speak to him later, just to make sure, since he does not wish to talk now and you can respect that.
The spectre of Shianni takes you even more off-guard. You choke out the words, that you remember the Alienage, remember her, Soris, your father all the time. That despite the respect you have earned she points out, you have had to work that much harder to earn it simply because you are an elf. You are not glad of Zevran's presence, despite his silence. However, it is Alistair who urges you onward, as you stand there frozen, staring at where Shianni had been.
It is later, on the way back down after finding the Ashes that Zevran approaches, and simply sits with you. The same way you have not done at camp, that amiable silence falling as it so often does not do. Your hand does not fall on his shoulder, while his head does not rest against your knee.
"I'm sorry," you do not say, still not worried for him. You are worried for all of your party.
Zevran lifts his head and looks up at you, amused and curious. "For what?" he asks.
"For...this. If I'd known the Guardian would ask some...difficult questions, I would've..." You stop and frown slightly when Zevran laughs quietly. "What? What's so funny?"
You do not see that tenderness that Wynne has pointed out, the one that she claims he allows only you to see. The one you tell Wynne that you have always seen. He smiles. "You would what? Fight your way here alone, simply to spare us from some bad memories?"
"I suppose looking at it like that...It does sound a bit silly, doesn't it."
Zevran stands up. "I take your meaning however, and it is appreciated." He looks you over, studying you for a moment. "And what of you, my friend? It mentioned your Shianni, yes?"
You nod once. "We'll...talk later," you say and try to ignore that look he gives you.
You both know "later" will never come. He has asked you before of your cousin, how you joined the Wardens and received vague answers that danced around the subject. You do not see the slight disappointment as Zevran leaves you and you do not feel guilt. You do not feel the urge to tell him everything, what happened on your wedding, of what happened to Shianni, though given what the Guardian said you have no doubts he can draw his own conclusions. You seem determined that you will take this story, your failure, to your grave, despite whatever urges you do not have.
You leave that mountain, make your way back to where the rest of the group is camped. It is Morrigan who is cooking, thank the Maker, you're not sure if you could stand more of Alistair's lamb and pea stew. Granted, your own cooking is nothing to be boasted about, your meals make Shianni's rat...thing look appetizing. You help out with dinner all the same, simply out of habit, and Morrigan says nothing of it. You remain quiet, despite Leliana's constant questioning about Andraste's Ashes and you are withdrawn somewhat, the day's events still playing in your mind. As the night drags on, your little group drift away to their own corners of the camp site and when it comes time, you take up the first watch, once more out of habit.
It is you and the dog standing guard. The night is quiet, the dog, Mutt you so creatively named him, sits by your side, alert. You reach down and scratch his ears, as Mutt looks up at you, his head tilted to the side. You didn't want a dog, you only helped out the kennel master at Ostagar because Daveth said there was a reward going when you came across that flower in the Wilds. It surprised you to no end when the dog found you after the battle. You remember you had every intention of leaving it behind, despite Alistair's claims it had imprinted on you. You stalked away, grudgingly agreeing that it could travel with the three of you and that Alistair would feed it. Imprinted or not, if he thought so highly of the beast he could look after it. Thinking back to it, you really weren't very pleasant to deal with. You were angry at the world and felt entirely justified in it.
Mutt still stares at you and you give him another pet before you leave to patrol the camp. Your gaze drifts towards Zevran's tent and you do not consider approaching it when your watch shift is done, to see if he's all right since you are still not worried for him. You let him be earlier, you know if he wishes to talk then he will, you will not force it from him. You return to your original post, Mutt waiting patiently, and you stand with the Mabari once more.
Your watch shift ends and you retreat to your tent. Zevran is already there, despite having pitched a seperate tent for himself, over the past months your tent has become his and vice versa. He says little, spending a few hours in the tent and as you are falling asleep, he gathers his clothes then leaves the tent. You awaken, alone, and do not feel slightly hurt that he is gone. You do not immediately think you have done something, said something and he is upset with you. There are a hundred reasons he could've left, none of which include something you've done. You are assuming the worst, being entirely irrational, not mention arrogant in assuming that it is because of you that Zevran left. You decide to say nothing of it.
In the time it takes to travel from outside of Haven to Redcliffe and the time you spend there, Zevran begins to distance himself from you. No longer does he stay the night with you, he leaves as you are dozing or have fallen asleep entirely. You do not think the worst once again, that you have indeed done something, though Maker knows what. You lie awake, deciding not to get up just yet and gather your thoughts, since you finally have a moment to do so.
What a fool you are. So much for not wishing to get in too deep, so much for telling Wynne 'it's a bit of fun'. It is far more than that, not simply a stress-reliever as you like to tell yourself. Despite all that you 'don't' do in camp, on the road, in battle, you know you 'do not' do them because you are in love with him.
Constructive criticism appreciated as always.
Real journal entry might come soon, possibly. Or more writing if I ever get round to that Tabris/Alistair buddyfic I've had the idea rattling about for.