Dragon Age: Origins/Awakening, Part 4: Permanently Frozen
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"For you, my friend," he said, scooping up the sword and handing it to Alistair.
"Whittle them out some more, or go straight through?" Alistair asked.
"While I am always an appreciative guest, I think that perhaps it is time we depart this lovely establishment," said Zevran. "Do you not agree?"
Alistair's eyes flicked past Zevran to the bed, to the broken glass and oil, the bedsheets trailing on the ground. His eyes darkened. "Right," he said. "Let's just get out of here."
He sprang away from the door with his usual deceptive speed. Such a large man and yet so light on his feet. Control and discipline. Zevran wanted in that moment, wanted more than anything to take Alistair to bed again, to see what he was like without an aphrodisiac driving him.
There were, unfortunately, several large armed men pouring into the room, and perhaps now was not the best time for indulging in erotic fantasy. Zevran slid under a sword blow and put his other skill set to use.
They slaughtered their way into the hall and down the stairs, harvesting armor and potions and gear from their fallen foes, until they found the secret door in the kitchen. A passage through the cellars brought them up into the streets by the Alienage, and fifteen minute's walk got them to the Arl of Redcliff's front gate.
"Well," said Zevran. "At least we stink of sweat and blood now, instead of sweat and ... other things."
Alistair nodded.
"We were poisoned," said Zevran. "And lay insensible until we awoke this morning, yes?"
Alistair nodded again and looked away. There was a lovebite just where his shoulder met his neck and Zevran reached out without thinking and turned his collar up. Alistair flinched away like a startled horse and Zevran took his hand back, cursing himself silently. "You, ah, I left a mark just there," said Zevran. Stuttering? Gods above, I have lost every ounce of self control. "Rub a bit of elfroot on it, it will fade in no time." He offered an encouraging smile. "Shall we go in and set our doubtless frantic companions' minds at ease?"
Alistair drew in a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and marched in through the gate.
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"Great," groaned Alistair. "This is what comes of people wanting you to be king. Knocked unconscious, locked in a musty old manor, doped with ..."
Zevran trode heavily on his foot beneath the table and Alistair snapped his mouth shut. Duran narrowed his eyes.
"Well, let me just run a quick check, to see that you came through unhurt," said Wynne.
"We are fine," said Zevran smoothly. "In need of a bath and some time to rest, however."
"Uh, yes," said Alistair. "Bath. And rest. Good idea."
"The situation in the Alienage ..." said Eamon.
"Can be dealt with by the rest of us," said Duran. "Now that we know they are safe, I can turn my attention to other things. Morrigan, Shale, you're with me. Leliana, will you get our gear together?"
"Of course, dear," said Leliana, dropping a kiss on his head as she rose.
"Very well," said Wynne. "But you are to come to me if you have any lingering effects, is that clear?"
"I shall hasten to your side if I experience the slightest twinge," said Zevran, capturing her hand for a kiss and letting Alistair slip out as everyone dispersed.
"Kindly refrain from dampening my hand," said Wynne in exasperation.
He let her go with a sly smile, turned, and found Duran standing directly behind him, those dark eyes like two dwarven-crafted augers.
"What happened to Alistair?" he asked.
"My dear Warden..." began Zevran.
"Don't spin me any of your fancy Crow nugshit, either," said Duran with his usual tact. "Something happened. Something that makes him avoid anyone's gaze and stare at the floor and run away from a table full of cheese. Cheese, Zevran! So start talking. What happened to my Brother?"
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Is that ... is that plot in my PWP fill? Filthy, insidious plot! It just gets everywhere, and I can't wash it out no matter what I do.
This ... this might get long, guys. Strap in.
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*fistpumps* Yes!!!!
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Yes! long! plot!!!! wow!
...sorry :) but I'm too happy :)
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On a more serious note, I posted above that I don't even normally read fiction with Alistair, since (and it's rather silly, I know) he belongs to my Warden, you know? But I clicked on this out of curiosity and am so glad I did. You really won me over. Thank you.
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Hooray! :D
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i...totally feel like a sperm doner.
uh. the sperm doner who just found out the baby that sperm made is Einstein, because the mom? is totally a genius.
*does lucky sperm doner dance*
YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY
please please, tell me *who you areeee* so i could (stalk the hell out of you) pay proper homage to the rest of your undoubtedly brilliant fics.
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Stalking this like nobody's business.
MMMmmm.
<3
/strapped in and thrilled :D
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Duran sucked his teeth for a moment. "Alright," he said. "Go take a bath, you stink. But Zevran ..."
Zevran turned, one foot already on the stair.
"I'll find out," said Duran. "One way or another, you know I will. So if there's anything you want to say, right now, better say it."
Zevran sighed. "I did my best," he said. "Whether it was good enough, that I do not know."
"Huhn," said Duran and waved him away.
A hot bath with soap and scented oils went a long way toward dispersing Zevran's lingering pangs of - what, exactly? Lust? Regret? Guilt? Surely not. If anything, he should be relieved that Alistair hadn't throttled him upon waking.
I want you to use my name.
"Brasca!" he snapped into the empty room, dunked his head, and began vigorously soaping his hair.
He spent the evening rummaging through Duran's motley collection of gear to re-equip himself with something more fitting than the rusted, ill balanced shanks he'd taken from their captors and then whetting the edges til they split his skin with the slightest touch. Armor was all well and good, a bit of protection and the occasional enchanted aid to movement or speed, but weapons were important.
Duran and the others did not return that night, and the gathering around the dinner table was quiet. Alistair did not attend.
"Are you sure you are quite well?" asked Wynne.
"Of course, my dear Wynne," said Zevran. "Why do you ask?"
"Because you haven't said a single word about my bosom in two hours," said Wynne. "Not that I am complaining, but it seems out of character."
"Alas for your bosom!" declared Zevran. "Deprived of its rightful worship. Will you allow me to make amends?"
"I will allow you to tell me if you need healing," said Wynne. "Your behavior and that of Alistair tells me that something beyond simple imprisonment occurred to the two of you."
"Do not fret. I am a Crow," said Zevran. "What could some Fereldan do that I could not endure?"
"But Alistair is not a Crow," said Wynne.
"Is he not? How reassuring. I do like to be unique."
"Stop dodging the subject."
"I can only tell you what I told our esteemed leader," said Zevran. "If you wish to know how Alistair is faring, ask Alistair."
"I did," said Wynne. "He told me that he was fine and that he did not want supper."
Well. A Warden off his food was worrying. Still, it was none of his concern. Let Duran talk to him, or Leliana. Surely Zevran was the last person that should intrude.
"I will knock on his door," said Zevran. What am I doing? "With a plate. Will that serve?"
"Thank you, Zevran," said Wynne. "I may revise my opinion of you yet."
I need to leave, he thought as he climbed the stairs, laden dinner plate in hand. I am growing as soft as Orlesian cheese.
He rapped lightly on the door of Alistair's rooms. A full suite, close to Eamon's own. The Arl certainly did not have a light hand when it came to pursuing his aims.
"Go away," said Alistair from within.
"May I enter?" Zevran asked.
There was a pause, and then Alistair's voice came again, closer to. "Go away."
"I come bearing food, my friend," said Zevran.
Silence.
"I have, let us see, beef and potatoes and an apple and yes, I believe this is a sharp Fereldan cheddar." He sniffed operatically. "Ah, the scent alone is stirring."
The door opened, revealing Alistair, hair wet, wrapped in a damp robe. A trail of water led through the sitting room back into the inner chamber. He held out a hand. "Give it to me."
"Ah, ah," said Zevran, leaning away. "I am to make sure that you eat."
Alistair glared at him. A drop of water fell from the damp spikes of hair above his brow and landed on his nose. The robe was ... clinging. Here and there.
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This was great when it was pure porn and now it is fabulous. Yet another passing!anon at your mercy!
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"So," said Zevran, entering the room and setting the plate on a nearby table. "This is a long bath you have been taking."
"I just got in," said Alistair. He sat at the table and tucked in. Cheese first, of course.
"Truly?" Zevran was nonplussed. He'd imagined Alistair up here, scrubbing as if soap could save his soul. Instead he'd - what, sat about with the the remnants of last night's pleasures still clinging to his skin? Zevran bit the inside of his cheek.
"I fell alseep," said Alistair. For some reason that made him flush slightly.
"You are well then?"
Alistair's jaw tightened. "How long do the, um, aftereffects last?" he asked.
"Aftereffects?" Zevran's brow creased.
"Of that drug. The - the Kiss."
"Ah. There are none," Zevran assured him. "The drug was cycled out of our systems when we awoke. It is not harmful, except in the excesses to which it drives its victims."
Alistair was staring at him now, a hunk of cheese forgotten in his hand. "But ..." he said, almost whispered.
"Are you feeling unwell? Shall I call Wynne?"
"No," said Alistair. "No, I just ... no." He looked at the cheese and then set it back down.
Zevran sighed. "You should talk to someone, my friend. It does not have to be me," he said, holding up a hand against Alistair's slightly panicked look. "Clearly you are troubled by what occurred between us. I am not such a hedonist that I cannot see that others do not share my views on sexual matters. Speak with your fellow Warden, or to Leliana. And if I can assist you, I will."
Alistair stared at the wall for moment. "You're being so ...nice," he said. "It's confusing."
"I could leer and make cheap innuendo if you would prefer," said Zevran, raising one eyebrow.
"What was all that stuff you said last night?" Alistair asked abruptly.
"Your pardon?" asked Zevran.
"All the Antivan. After a while it was like you forgot how to speak Ferelden."
"I, ah ..." Mi tesoro. Caro mio. "I do not remember," Zevran lied smoothly. "Much of it is a blur." Alistair's fingers in the dark, tracing his cheekbones ...
"Right," said Alistair. "Yeah, I don't remember much either." He shifted in his seat and his robe fell away from his shoulder. The lovebite was still there, lurid and red against Alistair's pale skin.
"Eat your dinner," said Zevran, standing hastily. "Or there will be scoldings, I was given to understand."
"Can't have that," said Alistair. "Scoldings are bad." He smiled, a ghost of his usual cheerful grin.
"Goodnight, my friend," said Zevran.
He claimed a bottle of brandy from Eamon's considerable liquor pantry and set to drinking until he stopped seeing Alistair's sad brown eyes or until he passed out, whichever came first.
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