Short Series of Epic Proportions
Hey- I'm an old time Zevran fan, but a new time blogger, so this'll be my first post.
I bring you a few little gifts of fiction that came to me the other night. Four of them, to be precise. They are, in fact, inspired by a few random songs that never fail to make me think of Zevran, the devious little bugger.
BE WARNED! There's some hints at slash and general sex- but it's Zevran, so I suppose you should all expect that by now.
Here they are, under cuts:
Zevran woke up to the quite unwelcome gusts of putrid air emanating from the hound’s breath, just inches away from his face. His companions heard the loud retching even over the clamor of breakfast that morning, followed by a few unidentifiable curses, a loud thump, and finally the great beast giving up a whimper of displeasure as he trotted away from the prone- but not quite disarmed- elf. He was stretched out, he found, on the cold hard ground quite a ways away from his normal position for the night. And, along with being divested of his lovely new gloves, his hands were quite numb. And he just couldn’t quite crane his neck enough to see why. Even in his much-compromised position, he made a show of stretching out languidly, with a satisfied little groan, as if he hadn’t just spent the night on the frozen ground. None of his camp-mates so much as batted an eyelash, except for Alistair, who turned and gave him a thin smile.
“Morning, Zev. Sleep well?”
Once again, Zevran tried to crane his neck to see exactly what he was tied to- he caught a small glimpse of a bit of ragged rock near his wrist. With a grunt and some painful adjusting, he rolled himself over to face the pre-dawn sky….which was currently blocked out by a deeply displeased golem. Shale seemed to be debating on whether or not it would be worth the ire of the other Grey Warden to lift it’s massive foot and simply pop the elf tied to it like a bloody grape. He gave the creature a winning smile, which did nothing.
“Good morning, my fine, completely superior friend! Ahem.” He half turned to Alistair, who was still smiling as if pained.
“Alistair, my most talented warden…I believe your leather oil would be in my pack, perhaps in the third pocket.” And the elf gave a pointed look at the thick rope binding him to the ever-increasingly irritated golem. Alistair reached over and snatched the pack from the ground, coming to stand near Shale and Zevran. And then, with no designs on the third pocket, he tipped the entire contents of the bag on the ground near the innocently grinning assassin.
“Oh hey look, there’s my leather oil! Oh and Lelianna’s silver chain, and one of Morrigan’s poison vials. And I think Wynne will be pleased to see her hair brush again. Hm.” Alistair eyed Zevran, who seemed to be formulating an explanation, “Oh, and there’s a dog collar. And Sten’s whetstone. And the rubber ball that Sandal ‘lost’ ages ago. And a knife that looks suspiciously like our Grey Warden’s-“
“-He gave that to me, actually.” Zevran put in, brightly. Alistair was not moved. He opened his mouth to continue listing items which had “mysteriously” found their way into Zevran’s pack. And it wasn’t until all the items had been returned to their regular owners- including the Warden’s knife- and they’d all had breakfast and finished cleaning up the temporary camp site that they thought to untie Zevran. By which point, he’d been drug around half the camp by the ever-helpful Shale.
“Excuse me, Warden. Warden. Hello, yes. Could you please- Warden. Excuse me!” Zevran trotted along next to his ‘faithful leader’, who was taking broad strides towards the heavy gates that lead away from Denerim and stoically ignoring the elf. Zevran had to take two steps for every one that the Warden laid down, which of course did nothing to dispell his energy.
“Warden! Could you perhaps stop? Yes, it is-“ Here Zevran tripped over a broken crate in his path, gracefully regained his feet before ever fully hitting the ground, and paused to be slapped across the face by a passer-by.
“-Very important that we stop, just for a moment. Warden! WARDEN!”
The Grey Warden came to a rather abrupt stop and darted sideways into a narrow alley, dragging the elf behind him. Zevran semed used to this sort of behavior.
“Ah, ok, yes we are stopping-“
“What ARE you doing?” The Warden snapped, roughly sitting Zevran down on a few rice filled sacks nearby.
“I think I was following you out of the Arl’s very nice estate, as you told me I should, and then I was-“
“No. What…why…” The Warden stopped, and glanced down at the lithe body sprawled in front of him- every bare, utterly unclothed inch of it. Zevran caught the brief glance and grinned broadly.
“Like what you see?” He drawled easily, then recoiled, hands patting the air in a calming gesture as the Warden made to smack him. “Yes, yes, Warden. Very scary. Ok…why I am naked? Yes. Well. I…honestly don’t really remember.” The Warden actually did smack him this time, and Zevran offered a shrug. “Truly! Denerim is an excellent place to be if you are celebrating the defeat of the Darkspawn. You were celebrating, yes? Everyone was! It was very nice-“
“I get it, Zevran. You had a great time with the locals. What I want to know is why you were wandering the halls of THE ARL OF DENERIM’S ESTATE not even bothering to cover yourself! You scared half the women there! Including poor Alistair!”
Zevran had the grace to look very slightly ashamed of himself for a moment, before offering another small shrug and grin. “She took my clothing. Ahm. All of it.”
The Warden paused to consider this for a bit, while Zevran waved at a happy couple passing nearby the alley. And apparently the Warden leader found Zevran’s excuse a valid one, for a moment later, he had pulled the elf to his feet and dusted him off.
“Fine then. We’ll…sneak you back in, I suppose. And you will not be borrowing my clothes.” And he left the alley, Zevran slipping out beside him.
“They wouldn’t fit me anyways, my victorious friend.”
His hands were, in comparison, quite pale, Zevran mused. He stretched one out to grace the broad, naked back lying nearby. It was immediately swatted away with a displeased grunt- but it was enough to see just how vastly different the two men were. Not that that had bothered Zevran, when he’d offered himself to the warrior- sex was sex, after all. And now they had both been satisfied, and Zevran made to settle himself under the thin blanket than covered them. The body next to him was almost unnaturally hot, and very welcome in the middle of the snowy, blustery night .
Almost with cruel pleasure, Zevran reached his feet out and placed them squarely in the powerful thighs in front of him- and the very next thing he knew, he was flying, naked and flailing, out of the tent and into the boot-deep snow with a shocked yelp. His clothes and armor followed soon after, and then Sten rumbled from inside.
“Your usefulness has ended. You may go now.”
After a few moments of gathering his belongings and laughing quietly, Zevran made his way through the snow over to the Grey Warden’s tent and crawled inside, to be met with a slightly friendlier companion for the night.
Even before he saw the blow tear clean through the man’s stomach, spilling everything inside. Even before Wynne threw herself from the fray to go help their friend, writhing on the ground. Even before Alistair gave a startled yell and tried to fight his way out of the rush of darkspawn around them all to be at the other Warden’s side. Even before all that, Zevran had the Hurlock wielding the wickedly curved axe marked for execution- and after he saw his one and only friend fall, it took him startlingly little time at all to dispatch the darkspawn nearest him, cutting a bloody path open and speeding straight for the beast. The Alpha barely had time to wip its ugly head around before the elf collided with it, daggers seemingly appearing from nowhere and everywhere to sink into any exposed bit of hide there was. By the time the creature collapsed, taking the furiously quick elf with it and hemorrhaging great gouts of blood everywhere, the other darkspawn had sensed they were outnumbered and fled. Zevran had to be pulled off what was left of the Alpha by Oghren, who dropped him promptly and gave him a somewhat approving pat.
“Din’t know you had the berserker in ye, elf. Warden’ll be fine, Wynne says.”
Zevran nodded thickly and stole a glance over at the Warden, who was even now drinking one of the powerful healing draughts Wynne had made for them all. When he looked away again, he found Sten, Alistair and Oghren standing by and considering him carefully. Suddenly realizing he was once again being watched, he plastered on a grin that was marred by splashes of blood and stood to adjust his clothing and hair, as if nothing at all had happened. And of course, nothing had.
I bring you a few little gifts of fiction that came to me the other night. Four of them, to be precise. They are, in fact, inspired by a few random songs that never fail to make me think of Zevran, the devious little bugger.
BE WARNED! There's some hints at slash and general sex- but it's Zevran, so I suppose you should all expect that by now.
Here they are, under cuts:
Zevran woke up to the quite unwelcome gusts of putrid air emanating from the hound’s breath, just inches away from his face. His companions heard the loud retching even over the clamor of breakfast that morning, followed by a few unidentifiable curses, a loud thump, and finally the great beast giving up a whimper of displeasure as he trotted away from the prone- but not quite disarmed- elf. He was stretched out, he found, on the cold hard ground quite a ways away from his normal position for the night. And, along with being divested of his lovely new gloves, his hands were quite numb. And he just couldn’t quite crane his neck enough to see why. Even in his much-compromised position, he made a show of stretching out languidly, with a satisfied little groan, as if he hadn’t just spent the night on the frozen ground. None of his camp-mates so much as batted an eyelash, except for Alistair, who turned and gave him a thin smile.
“Morning, Zev. Sleep well?”
Once again, Zevran tried to crane his neck to see exactly what he was tied to- he caught a small glimpse of a bit of ragged rock near his wrist. With a grunt and some painful adjusting, he rolled himself over to face the pre-dawn sky….which was currently blocked out by a deeply displeased golem. Shale seemed to be debating on whether or not it would be worth the ire of the other Grey Warden to lift it’s massive foot and simply pop the elf tied to it like a bloody grape. He gave the creature a winning smile, which did nothing.
“Good morning, my fine, completely superior friend! Ahem.” He half turned to Alistair, who was still smiling as if pained.
“Alistair, my most talented warden…I believe your leather oil would be in my pack, perhaps in the third pocket.” And the elf gave a pointed look at the thick rope binding him to the ever-increasingly irritated golem. Alistair reached over and snatched the pack from the ground, coming to stand near Shale and Zevran. And then, with no designs on the third pocket, he tipped the entire contents of the bag on the ground near the innocently grinning assassin.
“Oh hey look, there’s my leather oil! Oh and Lelianna’s silver chain, and one of Morrigan’s poison vials. And I think Wynne will be pleased to see her hair brush again. Hm.” Alistair eyed Zevran, who seemed to be formulating an explanation, “Oh, and there’s a dog collar. And Sten’s whetstone. And the rubber ball that Sandal ‘lost’ ages ago. And a knife that looks suspiciously like our Grey Warden’s-“
“-He gave that to me, actually.” Zevran put in, brightly. Alistair was not moved. He opened his mouth to continue listing items which had “mysteriously” found their way into Zevran’s pack. And it wasn’t until all the items had been returned to their regular owners- including the Warden’s knife- and they’d all had breakfast and finished cleaning up the temporary camp site that they thought to untie Zevran. By which point, he’d been drug around half the camp by the ever-helpful Shale.
“Excuse me, Warden. Warden. Hello, yes. Could you please- Warden. Excuse me!” Zevran trotted along next to his ‘faithful leader’, who was taking broad strides towards the heavy gates that lead away from Denerim and stoically ignoring the elf. Zevran had to take two steps for every one that the Warden laid down, which of course did nothing to dispell his energy.
“Warden! Could you perhaps stop? Yes, it is-“ Here Zevran tripped over a broken crate in his path, gracefully regained his feet before ever fully hitting the ground, and paused to be slapped across the face by a passer-by.
“-Very important that we stop, just for a moment. Warden! WARDEN!”
The Grey Warden came to a rather abrupt stop and darted sideways into a narrow alley, dragging the elf behind him. Zevran semed used to this sort of behavior.
“Ah, ok, yes we are stopping-“
“What ARE you doing?” The Warden snapped, roughly sitting Zevran down on a few rice filled sacks nearby.
“I think I was following you out of the Arl’s very nice estate, as you told me I should, and then I was-“
“No. What…why…” The Warden stopped, and glanced down at the lithe body sprawled in front of him- every bare, utterly unclothed inch of it. Zevran caught the brief glance and grinned broadly.
“Like what you see?” He drawled easily, then recoiled, hands patting the air in a calming gesture as the Warden made to smack him. “Yes, yes, Warden. Very scary. Ok…why I am naked? Yes. Well. I…honestly don’t really remember.” The Warden actually did smack him this time, and Zevran offered a shrug. “Truly! Denerim is an excellent place to be if you are celebrating the defeat of the Darkspawn. You were celebrating, yes? Everyone was! It was very nice-“
“I get it, Zevran. You had a great time with the locals. What I want to know is why you were wandering the halls of THE ARL OF DENERIM’S ESTATE not even bothering to cover yourself! You scared half the women there! Including poor Alistair!”
Zevran had the grace to look very slightly ashamed of himself for a moment, before offering another small shrug and grin. “She took my clothing. Ahm. All of it.”
The Warden paused to consider this for a bit, while Zevran waved at a happy couple passing nearby the alley. And apparently the Warden leader found Zevran’s excuse a valid one, for a moment later, he had pulled the elf to his feet and dusted him off.
“Fine then. We’ll…sneak you back in, I suppose. And you will not be borrowing my clothes.” And he left the alley, Zevran slipping out beside him.
“They wouldn’t fit me anyways, my victorious friend.”
His hands were, in comparison, quite pale, Zevran mused. He stretched one out to grace the broad, naked back lying nearby. It was immediately swatted away with a displeased grunt- but it was enough to see just how vastly different the two men were. Not that that had bothered Zevran, when he’d offered himself to the warrior- sex was sex, after all. And now they had both been satisfied, and Zevran made to settle himself under the thin blanket than covered them. The body next to him was almost unnaturally hot, and very welcome in the middle of the snowy, blustery night .
Almost with cruel pleasure, Zevran reached his feet out and placed them squarely in the powerful thighs in front of him- and the very next thing he knew, he was flying, naked and flailing, out of the tent and into the boot-deep snow with a shocked yelp. His clothes and armor followed soon after, and then Sten rumbled from inside.
“Your usefulness has ended. You may go now.”
After a few moments of gathering his belongings and laughing quietly, Zevran made his way through the snow over to the Grey Warden’s tent and crawled inside, to be met with a slightly friendlier companion for the night.
Even before he saw the blow tear clean through the man’s stomach, spilling everything inside. Even before Wynne threw herself from the fray to go help their friend, writhing on the ground. Even before Alistair gave a startled yell and tried to fight his way out of the rush of darkspawn around them all to be at the other Warden’s side. Even before all that, Zevran had the Hurlock wielding the wickedly curved axe marked for execution- and after he saw his one and only friend fall, it took him startlingly little time at all to dispatch the darkspawn nearest him, cutting a bloody path open and speeding straight for the beast. The Alpha barely had time to wip its ugly head around before the elf collided with it, daggers seemingly appearing from nowhere and everywhere to sink into any exposed bit of hide there was. By the time the creature collapsed, taking the furiously quick elf with it and hemorrhaging great gouts of blood everywhere, the other darkspawn had sensed they were outnumbered and fled. Zevran had to be pulled off what was left of the Alpha by Oghren, who dropped him promptly and gave him a somewhat approving pat.
“Din’t know you had the berserker in ye, elf. Warden’ll be fine, Wynne says.”
Zevran nodded thickly and stole a glance over at the Warden, who was even now drinking one of the powerful healing draughts Wynne had made for them all. When he looked away again, he found Sten, Alistair and Oghren standing by and considering him carefully. Suddenly realizing he was once again being watched, he plastered on a grin that was marred by splashes of blood and stood to adjust his clothing and hair, as if nothing at all had happened. And of course, nothing had.