Well-Woven Net, Stray Strand: Traps of Our Own Devising
Well, I was attempting to write to last week's Zevthread "loyalty" prompt...
Sigh, this got all SERIOUS, more than I intended. As it is, I feel a little shaky about addressing some of the Heavy Stuff here in what was supposed to be a timed response, and I hope that I'm not going to feel the need to retcon it at a later point. Unlike most of what I've been writing lately, this is actually relevant to the (post) WWN plot, and I may hit up some poor, unsuspecting soul for a beta later.
If it's not obvious (to those familiar with the storyline, anyway), this is the morning after Satinalia.
Traps of Our Own Devising
Author: jenovan
Word Count: 2264
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
It took Alessar a groggy moment to realize that the sound that had awakened him was a quiet knocking at the door of their inn room. By the time he'd sat up in belated alarm, Zevran had already slid out of the featherbed and into his leathers, and was on his way to the door. Hurriedly, Alessar followed suit, pulling on the soft gray velvet trousers from his costume while Zevran returned the rapping at the door with several knocks of his own.
A code, the dark-haired elf reasoned, the idea reaffirmed when another pattern of knocks sounded in reply. Zevran's caution didn't surprise him, but it did worry him. The other man had seemed relatively unconcerned about their safety last night, but he had been unwilling to discuss his current state of affairs, and Alessar had been all too easily distracted from such serious concerns amidst the madness of the first night of Satinalia. Now, though, with the early morning light peeking through the tightly-drawn curtains and a stranger at the door, all of the troubling scenarios the Warden had imagined in Zevran's absence came rushing back.
He was still alive and healthy - that had alleviated the worst and most immediate of Alessar's concerns. After that, though, his fears were more nebulous and seemed to shift from moment to moment, depending on what was currently at hand. Would Zevran no longer care for him at all? That had been refuted by the Antivan elf's enthusiastic greeting the night before, and by Zevran's demonstration that he still remembered precisely how and where to touch him for maximum effect. Was the former Crow safe here, in this city? Aside from being masked, he had seemed to take few precautions against being found - rather the opposite at some points, Alessar thought, his ears growing hot in a slight flush as he recalled how they'd made use of the room's balcony.
But perhaps all of that could be attributed to the fever of the festival. Would things change in the stark light of day...?
He'd barely finished with the laces of his trousers before Zevran flashed him a look of warning, his expression melting into an appreciative grin for just a moment before he opened the door. Alessar didn't have any concrete expectations about what sort of person had come to call, but the dark-haired elven woman who waited outside didn't seem to fit any of them. Her dress was unremarkable, her features pretty but not exceptional, but there was a challenge in her gaze and her bearing that immediately marked her as more than just another elven servant. A Crow, perhaps, or an agent of theirs?
There was a murmuring exchange of words in Antivan, and then at a gesture from Zevran, the woman stepped into the room, her hand brushing along the other elf's bare arm in a very familiar way as she passed him. Her coquettish smile to Zevran turned into something more predatory as her gaze landed on Alessar.
"Ah! So you are the legendary Grey Warden?" she asked, her Fereldan falling into the singsong cadences of a rich Antivan accent. "The man who clipped the wings of infamous Zevran Arainai?" She smirked and glanced sidelong at the other elf, who looked ever so slightly annoyed.
"I've done no such thing," Alessar replied, struggling to keep his tone nonchalant. "He's free to fly wherever he desires."
A joke, and not a funny one. As if he'd ever had a hold on Zevran, even in Ferelden. He had an earring, and some words; neither of those were necessarily binding, especially across a few thousand miles...
From his own tales, Zevran had had many lovers in his time as a Crow. Once in his old haunts, had he fallen into old patterns again? ...And if he had, what right did Alessar have to be upset? Perhaps there was a reason Zevran had always refused to say certain words, after all.
The woman laughed at his answer, mockery in her light brown eyes. "And fly he did, no? All the way back to Antiva!" She smiled sweetly then, and Alessar mentally braced himself for a verbal blow. "Still, It seems that he found you quite hard to forget, even with all of the excitement our lovely city has to offer..."
It was hard to make anything of that; did she mean that Zevran had, in fact, put him out of mind? That it had taken him some time to do so? Or that he'd done no such thing? Alessar was certain that her ambiguity was intentional, but it was no less frustrating in that light.
"Spare us your forked tongue, belladama," Zevran said finally, sounding surprisingly irritated. "What news?"
The woman gave Alessar a triumphant smirk before turning to Zevran. As the two of them conversed in rapid Antivan, the Fereldan elf wondered which of them her needling had been aimed at - him, or Zevran. Or perhaps both of us, but for different reasons. He observed their body language as they spoke; while the woman's stance seemed open, even inviting, and her speech was frequently accompanied by gestures, Zevran remained almost uncharacteristically still, clearly intent on the newcomer's words but apparently unwilling to reveal his thoughts. After several minutes, the conversation seemed to come to an end, and Zevran turned away to scoop up his undershirt from where it had been tossed to the floor at some point last night.
"The respite was shorter than I'd hoped," was all he said as he met Alessar's eyes. "Regarding the reason I came here to begin with, cielo, there are still a few loose ends I need to attend to, and they have been both elusive and disruptive in turns. I..." He looked down for a moment. "I still have no wish to pull you into this, but now that you are here..."
Well, here it was, even sooner than Alessar had imagined, but perhaps settling it now would be better than letting things drag out interminably. He took a deep breath before replying. "If you want me to go, then I will." Back to Ferelden, and a slow death in the armor of the Warden-Commander. "The last thing I would want to do is to get in your way."
Zevran looked up at him sharply, golden eyes wide. "What? Of course I do not want you to leave," he said in surprise. "I simply did not want-"
"He does not want you known to the Crows, of course." The woman, forgotten in the moment of tension, approached Alessar with a deliberate, cat-like tread. "Foolish, when they have eyes and ears everywhere, yes? He would even strive to keep you a secret from his own House, if he had not needed our help to ensure your safety here." She smiled at the Fereldan elf, all thorns and few roses.
"Is it any surprise I might want to keep you away from him?" Zevran said in a tone that carried a distinct hint of warning. Alessar had seldom heard that tone from the other man, an obvious sign of anger from someone who normally attempted to diffuse tension with mockery and humor.
"How cruel, Master Arainai," the woman laughed, clearly pleased at the reaction she'd elicited. "And here I was hoping that you might share." She looked up at Alessar, her gaze frankly appraising as she came closer.
She stopped short as a blade suddenly appeared at her throat; Alessar recognized the bright edge even without seeing the familiar hilt, the dagger he'd given to Zevran so long ago. The other man's eyes were hard as he forced the woman to step back. "You would do well to remember that I did not free you from Master Novares to listen to your prattle, Aurelia."
"You freed me because you owed me!" the elven woman said indignantly, taking two further steps back to get away from Zevran's dagger.
"Indeed." Zevran's fleeting smile was cold and brittle. "And now that that is settled, I owe you nothing. Do not forget that."
There was a flash of something like fear in Aurelia's eyes before she recovered her facade of confidence. "You're no better than the rest of us, Zevran," she said finally before heading for the door, "even with a Grey Warden in your hip pocket. You just proved as much." Before Zevran could reply, she stepped out and shut the door behind her.
Both men stood in silence for a long moment before Zevran finally continued getting dressed. "I do not think it is wise to linger here, querido," he murmured. "Whatever you choose to do, I would advise leaving here first."
Numbly, Alessar started to retrieve his own clothes. He wasn't sure what he wanted to do now. Zevran was still entrenched in the Crows in some way, it seemed - had Aurelia been serious when she'd called him "Master Arainai"? The other man had never wanted him to get involved with his former (and apparently current) cohorts, and had come to Antiva alone precisely to avoid such a thing, but Alessar had overturned that by coming here himself. Would Zevran continue to try to keep him out, or...?
"What do you want me to do?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady. "You don't want me to leave, but you don't want me to help. What am I supposed to do, just watch and wait - oh, and try to hide, too?" Part of him was horrified at the bitterness in his voice, but another part of him was all too ready to unleash more. "I can't do that, Zevran. I can't be here, this close, and just... sit out while you're..." he threw his hands up in frustration, "I don't even know what you're doing, only that it has to be dangerous, because this is Antiva."
Before he could draw breath for another torrent of anxiety in the shape of words, Zevran drew close and cupped Alessar's face in his hands. "Cielo. I will not speak of it here, but if you wish to fight at my side, I will not stop you. In fact, I will be glad of the help from someone I..." he paused, as if uncertain of his next words, "someone I can trust in this nest of vipers. And perhaps, with your help, this mess will be concluded all the sooner." He gave Alessar a tentative smile. "But Aurelia is a brilliant example of why I did not want... why I was afraid to bring you here," he said quietly.
A brilliant example, with curves just so and a broad education, a little voice whispered in the back of Alessar's mind. He tried to ignore it. Zevran did not seem fond of the elven woman - but then, was "fondness" really required...?
"How so?" he managed to ask, trying not to dwell on how close to him Zevran was at the moment. He had let himself be distracted all through the night, but now was the time for clarity.
"I know you are more than capable of taking care of yourself in a fight," the Antivan elf said as he slid his arms around Alessar's neck, "even against trained assassins. It is not physical harm I am concerned with." He looked up at the Warden, his expression grave. "But you saw what Aurelia just tried to do. Once they realize that you are..." again, a hesitation before pushing forward, "that you are dear to me, any who wish to harm me - even my own allies, such as they are - will see you as a ready target. And if they cannot remove you through physical means, then they will try other methods instead."
"You mean they would try to drive us apart," Alessar stated more than asked. It was so obvious that he felt foolish for not thinking of it sooner, and it had come uncomfortably close to working, with very little effort on Aurelia's part.
"I mean precisely that, querido. Do you think she - and others - have not tried the same tactics on me, reminding me that the hero of an entire nation could surely find a more suitable lover than an assassin who had been paid to kill him?"
In fact, that had not occurred to the Fereldan elf, and for the first time he realized that the fears that had plagued him for months had not been his alone. The thought that Zevran might have been just as uncertain of the ... sanctity of their bond as Alessar had been made the Warden feel wretched for doubting him.
"I waited," Zevran continued, bringing one hand up to trace the dark tattoos on Alessar's cheek. "Though they tried a hundred different ways to tempt me, and mocked me for keeping faith with someone who had surely put me out of mind." His hand brushed over the earring in the Warden's left ear. "I waited, because if I gave in to them, it meant that I had given up on you."
The sense of relief was almost painful in its intensity; Alessar wrapped his arms tightly around the other elf, half-afraid that he would fall if he didn't.
"I... I'm sorry, Zevran," he said haltingly, "I shouldn't have-"
He never had the chance to finish his apology; Zevran cut him off with a kiss, and by the time they finally parted, he'd forgotten what he meant to say, but it probably didn't matter. Their relationship had been built on more than words, after all - and clearly, it would take more than words to tear them apart.
.fin.
Sigh, this got all SERIOUS, more than I intended. As it is, I feel a little shaky about addressing some of the Heavy Stuff here in what was supposed to be a timed response, and I hope that I'm not going to feel the need to retcon it at a later point. Unlike most of what I've been writing lately, this is actually relevant to the (post) WWN plot, and I may hit up some poor, unsuspecting soul for a beta later.
If it's not obvious (to those familiar with the storyline, anyway), this is the morning after Satinalia.
Traps of Our Own Devising
Author: jenovan
Word Count: 2264
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
It took Alessar a groggy moment to realize that the sound that had awakened him was a quiet knocking at the door of their inn room. By the time he'd sat up in belated alarm, Zevran had already slid out of the featherbed and into his leathers, and was on his way to the door. Hurriedly, Alessar followed suit, pulling on the soft gray velvet trousers from his costume while Zevran returned the rapping at the door with several knocks of his own.
A code, the dark-haired elf reasoned, the idea reaffirmed when another pattern of knocks sounded in reply. Zevran's caution didn't surprise him, but it did worry him. The other man had seemed relatively unconcerned about their safety last night, but he had been unwilling to discuss his current state of affairs, and Alessar had been all too easily distracted from such serious concerns amidst the madness of the first night of Satinalia. Now, though, with the early morning light peeking through the tightly-drawn curtains and a stranger at the door, all of the troubling scenarios the Warden had imagined in Zevran's absence came rushing back.
He was still alive and healthy - that had alleviated the worst and most immediate of Alessar's concerns. After that, though, his fears were more nebulous and seemed to shift from moment to moment, depending on what was currently at hand. Would Zevran no longer care for him at all? That had been refuted by the Antivan elf's enthusiastic greeting the night before, and by Zevran's demonstration that he still remembered precisely how and where to touch him for maximum effect. Was the former Crow safe here, in this city? Aside from being masked, he had seemed to take few precautions against being found - rather the opposite at some points, Alessar thought, his ears growing hot in a slight flush as he recalled how they'd made use of the room's balcony.
But perhaps all of that could be attributed to the fever of the festival. Would things change in the stark light of day...?
He'd barely finished with the laces of his trousers before Zevran flashed him a look of warning, his expression melting into an appreciative grin for just a moment before he opened the door. Alessar didn't have any concrete expectations about what sort of person had come to call, but the dark-haired elven woman who waited outside didn't seem to fit any of them. Her dress was unremarkable, her features pretty but not exceptional, but there was a challenge in her gaze and her bearing that immediately marked her as more than just another elven servant. A Crow, perhaps, or an agent of theirs?
There was a murmuring exchange of words in Antivan, and then at a gesture from Zevran, the woman stepped into the room, her hand brushing along the other elf's bare arm in a very familiar way as she passed him. Her coquettish smile to Zevran turned into something more predatory as her gaze landed on Alessar.
"Ah! So you are the legendary Grey Warden?" she asked, her Fereldan falling into the singsong cadences of a rich Antivan accent. "The man who clipped the wings of infamous Zevran Arainai?" She smirked and glanced sidelong at the other elf, who looked ever so slightly annoyed.
"I've done no such thing," Alessar replied, struggling to keep his tone nonchalant. "He's free to fly wherever he desires."
A joke, and not a funny one. As if he'd ever had a hold on Zevran, even in Ferelden. He had an earring, and some words; neither of those were necessarily binding, especially across a few thousand miles...
From his own tales, Zevran had had many lovers in his time as a Crow. Once in his old haunts, had he fallen into old patterns again? ...And if he had, what right did Alessar have to be upset? Perhaps there was a reason Zevran had always refused to say certain words, after all.
The woman laughed at his answer, mockery in her light brown eyes. "And fly he did, no? All the way back to Antiva!" She smiled sweetly then, and Alessar mentally braced himself for a verbal blow. "Still, It seems that he found you quite hard to forget, even with all of the excitement our lovely city has to offer..."
It was hard to make anything of that; did she mean that Zevran had, in fact, put him out of mind? That it had taken him some time to do so? Or that he'd done no such thing? Alessar was certain that her ambiguity was intentional, but it was no less frustrating in that light.
"Spare us your forked tongue, belladama," Zevran said finally, sounding surprisingly irritated. "What news?"
The woman gave Alessar a triumphant smirk before turning to Zevran. As the two of them conversed in rapid Antivan, the Fereldan elf wondered which of them her needling had been aimed at - him, or Zevran. Or perhaps both of us, but for different reasons. He observed their body language as they spoke; while the woman's stance seemed open, even inviting, and her speech was frequently accompanied by gestures, Zevran remained almost uncharacteristically still, clearly intent on the newcomer's words but apparently unwilling to reveal his thoughts. After several minutes, the conversation seemed to come to an end, and Zevran turned away to scoop up his undershirt from where it had been tossed to the floor at some point last night.
"The respite was shorter than I'd hoped," was all he said as he met Alessar's eyes. "Regarding the reason I came here to begin with, cielo, there are still a few loose ends I need to attend to, and they have been both elusive and disruptive in turns. I..." He looked down for a moment. "I still have no wish to pull you into this, but now that you are here..."
Well, here it was, even sooner than Alessar had imagined, but perhaps settling it now would be better than letting things drag out interminably. He took a deep breath before replying. "If you want me to go, then I will." Back to Ferelden, and a slow death in the armor of the Warden-Commander. "The last thing I would want to do is to get in your way."
Zevran looked up at him sharply, golden eyes wide. "What? Of course I do not want you to leave," he said in surprise. "I simply did not want-"
"He does not want you known to the Crows, of course." The woman, forgotten in the moment of tension, approached Alessar with a deliberate, cat-like tread. "Foolish, when they have eyes and ears everywhere, yes? He would even strive to keep you a secret from his own House, if he had not needed our help to ensure your safety here." She smiled at the Fereldan elf, all thorns and few roses.
"Is it any surprise I might want to keep you away from him?" Zevran said in a tone that carried a distinct hint of warning. Alessar had seldom heard that tone from the other man, an obvious sign of anger from someone who normally attempted to diffuse tension with mockery and humor.
"How cruel, Master Arainai," the woman laughed, clearly pleased at the reaction she'd elicited. "And here I was hoping that you might share." She looked up at Alessar, her gaze frankly appraising as she came closer.
She stopped short as a blade suddenly appeared at her throat; Alessar recognized the bright edge even without seeing the familiar hilt, the dagger he'd given to Zevran so long ago. The other man's eyes were hard as he forced the woman to step back. "You would do well to remember that I did not free you from Master Novares to listen to your prattle, Aurelia."
"You freed me because you owed me!" the elven woman said indignantly, taking two further steps back to get away from Zevran's dagger.
"Indeed." Zevran's fleeting smile was cold and brittle. "And now that that is settled, I owe you nothing. Do not forget that."
There was a flash of something like fear in Aurelia's eyes before she recovered her facade of confidence. "You're no better than the rest of us, Zevran," she said finally before heading for the door, "even with a Grey Warden in your hip pocket. You just proved as much." Before Zevran could reply, she stepped out and shut the door behind her.
Both men stood in silence for a long moment before Zevran finally continued getting dressed. "I do not think it is wise to linger here, querido," he murmured. "Whatever you choose to do, I would advise leaving here first."
Numbly, Alessar started to retrieve his own clothes. He wasn't sure what he wanted to do now. Zevran was still entrenched in the Crows in some way, it seemed - had Aurelia been serious when she'd called him "Master Arainai"? The other man had never wanted him to get involved with his former (and apparently current) cohorts, and had come to Antiva alone precisely to avoid such a thing, but Alessar had overturned that by coming here himself. Would Zevran continue to try to keep him out, or...?
"What do you want me to do?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady. "You don't want me to leave, but you don't want me to help. What am I supposed to do, just watch and wait - oh, and try to hide, too?" Part of him was horrified at the bitterness in his voice, but another part of him was all too ready to unleash more. "I can't do that, Zevran. I can't be here, this close, and just... sit out while you're..." he threw his hands up in frustration, "I don't even know what you're doing, only that it has to be dangerous, because this is Antiva."
Before he could draw breath for another torrent of anxiety in the shape of words, Zevran drew close and cupped Alessar's face in his hands. "Cielo. I will not speak of it here, but if you wish to fight at my side, I will not stop you. In fact, I will be glad of the help from someone I..." he paused, as if uncertain of his next words, "someone I can trust in this nest of vipers. And perhaps, with your help, this mess will be concluded all the sooner." He gave Alessar a tentative smile. "But Aurelia is a brilliant example of why I did not want... why I was afraid to bring you here," he said quietly.
A brilliant example, with curves just so and a broad education, a little voice whispered in the back of Alessar's mind. He tried to ignore it. Zevran did not seem fond of the elven woman - but then, was "fondness" really required...?
"How so?" he managed to ask, trying not to dwell on how close to him Zevran was at the moment. He had let himself be distracted all through the night, but now was the time for clarity.
"I know you are more than capable of taking care of yourself in a fight," the Antivan elf said as he slid his arms around Alessar's neck, "even against trained assassins. It is not physical harm I am concerned with." He looked up at the Warden, his expression grave. "But you saw what Aurelia just tried to do. Once they realize that you are..." again, a hesitation before pushing forward, "that you are dear to me, any who wish to harm me - even my own allies, such as they are - will see you as a ready target. And if they cannot remove you through physical means, then they will try other methods instead."
"You mean they would try to drive us apart," Alessar stated more than asked. It was so obvious that he felt foolish for not thinking of it sooner, and it had come uncomfortably close to working, with very little effort on Aurelia's part.
"I mean precisely that, querido. Do you think she - and others - have not tried the same tactics on me, reminding me that the hero of an entire nation could surely find a more suitable lover than an assassin who had been paid to kill him?"
In fact, that had not occurred to the Fereldan elf, and for the first time he realized that the fears that had plagued him for months had not been his alone. The thought that Zevran might have been just as uncertain of the ... sanctity of their bond as Alessar had been made the Warden feel wretched for doubting him.
"I waited," Zevran continued, bringing one hand up to trace the dark tattoos on Alessar's cheek. "Though they tried a hundred different ways to tempt me, and mocked me for keeping faith with someone who had surely put me out of mind." His hand brushed over the earring in the Warden's left ear. "I waited, because if I gave in to them, it meant that I had given up on you."
The sense of relief was almost painful in its intensity; Alessar wrapped his arms tightly around the other elf, half-afraid that he would fall if he didn't.
"I... I'm sorry, Zevran," he said haltingly, "I shouldn't have-"
He never had the chance to finish his apology; Zevran cut him off with a kiss, and by the time they finally parted, he'd forgotten what he meant to say, but it probably didn't matter. Their relationship had been built on more than words, after all - and clearly, it would take more than words to tear them apart.
.fin.