bamftastik
in
zevran
Pre-Awakenings Farewell
Finally got around to writing up my take on the events that happen between Origins and Awakenings... And thanks to tahara_l for nailing exactly what was in my head (again) with this lovely sketch (3rd down)
Characters: Zevran/f!Tabris, Alistair/Anora, Shianni, Isabela
Rating: T
Words: 2,500
Summary: The new Warden Commander reluctantly prepares for her journey to Amaranthine. (Possible Awakenings spoilers.)
Anora rounded the corner, the beginnings of a thin-lipped smirk forming as she paused and folded her arms. He hadn’t spotted her, pacing away down the corridor, eyes locked on that barred and familiar door. The rolled maps that he carried twisted nervously in his hands, their fraying edges worrying between his fingers. The gesture was strangely familiar… comforting, if out of place. Anora smiled.
“Ahem.”
Alistair whirled at the sound, dipping quick to catch a falling scroll. There was a flush there as he straightened, squaring his shoulders perhaps a bit more than usual. “I was… I was just… the reports…”
She moved to his side, one hand straying to idly smooth her skirts. “You and the Warden have been closeted most of the afternoon. Can you not give her leave to rest? Especially before such a journey?”
So tall he was, especially so close… familiar, in a different way. But there was none of that easy Therin charm as he scowled down at her. “It’s the journey that’s important. The state of Amarantine… the Wardens from Orlais… It’s not exactly a simple thing we’re attempting here, you know.”
“And I’m sure the new Hero of Ferelden can handle it.” She could feel the grimace tugging at her lips. Breathing deep, she stilled her features.
Alistair was doing well enough, surprisingly attentive and quick to learn, but still knowing enough to let her take the lead in matters that were beyond his experience. On this, though, he had been quite firm. The Grey Wardens would remain a sovereign order, their workings secret and separate from any interference of the state. Despite their gratitude for the Arling, whatever passed between her new husband and the Warden Commander was, politely, none of her business. There had been a great deal more words, of course, blushing and scowling and a few vehement hand gestures… In fact, Alistair was becoming quite the giver of speeches…
“Why do you look like the cat that swallowed the pigeon?”
“Canary.” The comment was offhanded, her eyes trailing over the curiously furrowed brow, down across the thick-set line of his jaw…
“What are you staring at?”
“Hmm?”
She heard it then, almost muffled by the door at her back, the telltale creak of bedsprings, the gasp of a shortened chuckle. Raising her eyes, she arched a brow.
“I told you… I wasn’t…” He gestured helplessly with the papers in his arms. “…Amaranthine.”
“Is her concern now.”
“But we’ve got to… this isn’t the time… for-for that.”
Anora tilted her head to one side as blinked up at him. He truly didn’t know.
“What?”
“He’s not going with her.”
“What?”
She shook her head. “He will join her there at some point, from what I understand. But he leaves to attend to business of his own. Tonight, I believe.”
“She… she didn’t tell me.”
“And should she have?”
“We’re friends, Anora. Friends. Do you understand that? Can you?”
Scowling, she folded her arms.
“Maker, I’m sorry.” His hand fell against her shoulder, the gesture feeling almost… natural now. She watched it there. “It’s not your fault… I just…”
“It is not the reaction I would have expected. You obviously do not trust him.”
He chuckled at that. “And yet I know that he would die before letting anything happen to her.”
“Ah.” Following the line of his arm, she came again to his face. “I’m sure he will return to her side as soon as he is able. But for now she has her duty, and you yours.”
“That’s all I seem to hear lately.”
Behind her the door gave a rattling shake, her smirk widening as she stepped close. “Has it all truly been so… arduous?”
They were alone - she had made sure of that - but still his head whipped round, gaze lingering again on the door before tilting down to her. His thought process was laughably transparent, but still she found herself smiling.
“Maker’s breath… again?”
As she slipped her arm through his and turned for their own chambers, he shook his head. “How did you know anyway? That he wasn’t going with her?”
“Despite what you may think, I do have friends of my own. Not all of us have such consuming, Grey Warden business.”
“I didn’t mean-”
She pressed close, hand slipping beneath his tunic to trail along his waistband. “And you would not believe some of the things they have told me…”
* * *
Tracing fingers along the intricate inlay of the headboard, she let herself sag. It was warm here, nuzzled against the slick curve of his neck, her legs still locked round his waist despite the looming threat of sleep. Beneath her he stirred, shifting to rest his back against the wood, hands moving up across her spine to tangle in her hair. She shivered not for the touch, but for the cold that would be so soon to come, her muffled sigh drinking deep of that slowly waning taste. Laying a kiss against her forehead, his fingers fell into a gentle rhythm behind her neck.
She could not say how long they had been sitting that way, collapsed and spent but still touching, kissing, lingering long as they could. The day had seemed to stretch, an endless string of meetings and arrangements to be made, Alistair and his unending stack of reports. Even the farewell banquet had seemed as if watched through distant glass, the parade of nameless well-wishers broken only by the brief embrace of those few who had come from the alienage. Her father’s arms had held tight, but his smile had been too stiff, his eyes too wide. She was going away again and this time she was going alone.
Had it not been for the hand beneath the table, resting ever against her knee - and on occasion higher still - she might have torn the whole hall down. Shianni, too, had noticed her unrest, sharing a smirk across the crowd. It was she that had bid them go, ushering them hastily toward the doors, assuring her that matters were well in hand. Strange to see her amongst them, nobles and Arls and hangers-on, but Shianni was a Bann now. And she - she was apparently an Arlessa.
Squeezing tighter, she stifled a groan against his shoulder. It was only now, now that they were safe behind closed doors that time had chosen to leap forward.
Zevran tsked, fingers running along her arms as he shifted her away. “Such a sour expression for so beautiful a face.” The smile was playful, but it did not quite reach his eyes. “Come.” He lifted her away from him, turning her so that her back rested against his chest. Again, his hands took up their familiar rhythm, kneading hard across her shoulders.
She sighed, settling against him. It had been that very touch, that wicked offer that had first broken her resolve. Funny she had not thought of it night until now. It had just been the way things are, it had just been… theirs.
“You worry unduly, my dear Warden.” One hand traced along her neck, stroking the gem dangling from her ear. Even the most surprising promises, it seemed, were doomed to be broken.
“Do I?”
“I will admit that I do not envy you the tedium, though I am assured that this Amaranthine is not the desolate outpost it seems.” His chuckle was warm against her cheek. “And seeing these nobles bow to you should be quite the sight, yes?”
“Zev…”
He cupped her cheek, turning her eyes to his. “Do not pretend you won’t enjoy it.”
She had to laugh for that smirk, for the arc of his brow. “Maybe a little.” Sliding lower, she settled her head against his chest.
“But I have seen you best darkspawn and dragons, men and demons… even the most skilled and dashing of assassins.” Laying a kiss upon her forehead, he chuckled. “What hope have a few Grey Warden recruits? I should worry for them, I think.”
“And if I said I worried about you?”
“A sensible concern, but the risk is a necessary one. The longer I stay, the sooner the Crows will come. We are rather known for our persistence.”
“Vigil’s Keep is secure-”
“-Which is why I do not fear to leave you there. You will have your Grey Wardens, mages, guards. And your escort arrived this morning. Mhairi. Young, eager… but not so stern as she seems.”
She could feel the groan welling in her chest. “What did you do?”
“Simply made her aware of what it is that she guards. A few glasses of wine, perhaps an idle threat or two…”
“Zev…”
But his face had fallen. He leaned back, turning her to face him. “Rumors of my death will not last. And your fame does you no favors. No.” Shaking his head, he scowled. “I would take this fight to them, end it now.”
“One way or another.”
He smirked. “This ‘death wish’ as you call it is merely the mark of a good assassin. And would you truly have me any other way?”
“I would not have you go alone. Come to Amaranthine. We will put thing in order and leave from there as soon as we can. In force.”
Throwing back his head he laughed, drawing her with him as he fell against the pillows. She landed on her elbow, propped above him.
“You would have the Grey Wardens invade Antiva?”
She did not blink. “Yes.”
“Hmm.” He tilted his head, looking up at her. “Indeed you would. The Crows should count themselves fortunate that your attentions are needed elsewhere.”
“Fine. Maybe I don’t want to be left alone.”
“That is hardly the case.”
“You know what I mean. You’re the only one left; everyone’s gone.”
“You have Alistair.”
“Don’t remind me. I’m surprised he hasn’t interrupted.” With a sigh, she flopped against his arm. “And he has his hands full. The trouble in the Bannorn, Anora…”
Zevran chuckled as she shuddered, running a hand along her back. “You do have a habit of throwing women into his bed.”
She leaned her chin on his chest, peering up at him. “How do you think that’s… going, by the way? She just seems so… cold. And she and Cailan never…”
Laughing, he drew her up to face him. “I would not worry about that.”
“Really.”
“Really.” He pressed his lips to her forehead, fingers again twining round the earring. “Such concern for Alistair… and yet you do not make such demands of me.”
She stiffened before she could help it, turning her eyes away.
Zevran only chuckled, stroking her hair. “But there will be time for that later, yes?”
The smile came slow, her kisses buried against his ribs. “Or, y’know, now…”
“You do not wish to rest before your journey?”
Her eyes snapped up, smirk spreading as she slipped lower still. “You really thought I’d let you sleep tonight?”
He sighed heavy, grinning behind an exaggerated yawn. But he moved quick, arms wrapping round her waist, pulling her up as he twisted to pin her beneath him. Pausing there, he smiled. “Your desire is my command.”
* * *
The path was familiar, recalling yet another memory. Not forgotten, never that, but it was only now that they returned in sharp relief, all the more tender for being the last. As if sensing her hesitance, Zevran twined his fingers through hers.
“I would not worry. It is your touch, I think, that she misses. Mine would seem only pale in comparison.”
Still she could feel herself flushing, blinking through the morning mist. It loomed in the waters beyond, the Siren’s Call, the only ship that she had ever had occasion to visit. And on that occasion…
Chuckling, Zevran cupped her cheek. It was true that they hadn’t slept, slipping out of the castle at the first strains of light. They had paused only once, a slight detour. She was to meet Mhairi in the market soon enough, but not without one more visit to her home.
The gate had been raised, the masons already finished with the bridge repairs, jagged planks marking the skeletons of new houses in the square beyond. But still her eyes strayed to the old rust of the gate’s bars, the sharp points meant to drive deep and keep them separate. Shianni was already moving to have it torn down, elves and men living as one.
And he had been there, behind her, arms wrapping wordless round her waist. He did not press her when she turned away, continuing along the street rather than cross that bridge.
Now, though, now they had come to the end, the road running out into the thick and pitted planks of the dock. They echoed beneath their feet, the lapping waves setting the looming shadow of the ship to rocking. She paused, staring up at it, unable to form the words.
Zevran stepped round, blocking her view, tilting her chin up to meet him.
“Zev!”
It came from above, the hiss of rapidly unspooling rope echoing as Isabela dropped from the deck. The captain rubbed her hands together, caring nothing for the burn, but if she remembered correctly, those rough fingers had been surprisingly gentle. She felt herself smiling.
Isabela mirrored her, bending quick to give Zevran a peck on either cheek. “Warden.” Turning, she repeated the gesture, but there was a mischievous glint behind her eye. “A pleasure, as always.”
“Isabela.”
The woman’s hand trailed along her cheek, sweeping aside her hair. Turning the earring between her fingers, she quirked a brow. “This is new.” She smirked over her shoulder. “Isn’t it, Zev?”
“Our dear Warden has impeccable taste.”
“Indeed she does.” Her chuckle was throaty and deep. “But if you’ll forgive me, I have final preparations to make. We leave as soon as you are ready.” With a parting nod, she made her way up the plank. “Warden. I will keep him safe as I can.”
“You can try.”
Laughing, she disappeared onto the deck.
Alone again. For the last time. The breeze had picked up, the scent of brine stinging sharp as she shivered against the sudden cold. But still he was there, arms wrapping round her waist, sliding over her back to pull her close. She let her head fall against him.
Again he was stroking her hair, drawing her near, tilting her face to his. She would not let him see her falter. Smiling, she blinked up at him. “Are you going to wish me luck?”
His grin was thin, crooked, both hands moving to sweep aside her hair as it blew wild in the breeze. Leaning low he brought his lips to her ear, lingering there, the words whispered soft.
Even as she pinched them shut, she felt the sting welling behind her eyes. But his lips were there then, hands sliding over her, crushing, pressing as she collapsed into his arms.
x-posted to swooping_is_bad
Characters: Zevran/f!Tabris, Alistair/Anora, Shianni, Isabela
Rating: T
Words: 2,500
Summary: The new Warden Commander reluctantly prepares for her journey to Amaranthine. (Possible Awakenings spoilers.)
Anora rounded the corner, the beginnings of a thin-lipped smirk forming as she paused and folded her arms. He hadn’t spotted her, pacing away down the corridor, eyes locked on that barred and familiar door. The rolled maps that he carried twisted nervously in his hands, their fraying edges worrying between his fingers. The gesture was strangely familiar… comforting, if out of place. Anora smiled.
“Ahem.”
Alistair whirled at the sound, dipping quick to catch a falling scroll. There was a flush there as he straightened, squaring his shoulders perhaps a bit more than usual. “I was… I was just… the reports…”
She moved to his side, one hand straying to idly smooth her skirts. “You and the Warden have been closeted most of the afternoon. Can you not give her leave to rest? Especially before such a journey?”
So tall he was, especially so close… familiar, in a different way. But there was none of that easy Therin charm as he scowled down at her. “It’s the journey that’s important. The state of Amarantine… the Wardens from Orlais… It’s not exactly a simple thing we’re attempting here, you know.”
“And I’m sure the new Hero of Ferelden can handle it.” She could feel the grimace tugging at her lips. Breathing deep, she stilled her features.
Alistair was doing well enough, surprisingly attentive and quick to learn, but still knowing enough to let her take the lead in matters that were beyond his experience. On this, though, he had been quite firm. The Grey Wardens would remain a sovereign order, their workings secret and separate from any interference of the state. Despite their gratitude for the Arling, whatever passed between her new husband and the Warden Commander was, politely, none of her business. There had been a great deal more words, of course, blushing and scowling and a few vehement hand gestures… In fact, Alistair was becoming quite the giver of speeches…
“Why do you look like the cat that swallowed the pigeon?”
“Canary.” The comment was offhanded, her eyes trailing over the curiously furrowed brow, down across the thick-set line of his jaw…
“What are you staring at?”
“Hmm?”
She heard it then, almost muffled by the door at her back, the telltale creak of bedsprings, the gasp of a shortened chuckle. Raising her eyes, she arched a brow.
“I told you… I wasn’t…” He gestured helplessly with the papers in his arms. “…Amaranthine.”
“Is her concern now.”
“But we’ve got to… this isn’t the time… for-for that.”
Anora tilted her head to one side as blinked up at him. He truly didn’t know.
“What?”
“He’s not going with her.”
“What?”
She shook her head. “He will join her there at some point, from what I understand. But he leaves to attend to business of his own. Tonight, I believe.”
“She… she didn’t tell me.”
“And should she have?”
“We’re friends, Anora. Friends. Do you understand that? Can you?”
Scowling, she folded her arms.
“Maker, I’m sorry.” His hand fell against her shoulder, the gesture feeling almost… natural now. She watched it there. “It’s not your fault… I just…”
“It is not the reaction I would have expected. You obviously do not trust him.”
He chuckled at that. “And yet I know that he would die before letting anything happen to her.”
“Ah.” Following the line of his arm, she came again to his face. “I’m sure he will return to her side as soon as he is able. But for now she has her duty, and you yours.”
“That’s all I seem to hear lately.”
Behind her the door gave a rattling shake, her smirk widening as she stepped close. “Has it all truly been so… arduous?”
They were alone - she had made sure of that - but still his head whipped round, gaze lingering again on the door before tilting down to her. His thought process was laughably transparent, but still she found herself smiling.
“Maker’s breath… again?”
As she slipped her arm through his and turned for their own chambers, he shook his head. “How did you know anyway? That he wasn’t going with her?”
“Despite what you may think, I do have friends of my own. Not all of us have such consuming, Grey Warden business.”
“I didn’t mean-”
She pressed close, hand slipping beneath his tunic to trail along his waistband. “And you would not believe some of the things they have told me…”
* * *
Tracing fingers along the intricate inlay of the headboard, she let herself sag. It was warm here, nuzzled against the slick curve of his neck, her legs still locked round his waist despite the looming threat of sleep. Beneath her he stirred, shifting to rest his back against the wood, hands moving up across her spine to tangle in her hair. She shivered not for the touch, but for the cold that would be so soon to come, her muffled sigh drinking deep of that slowly waning taste. Laying a kiss against her forehead, his fingers fell into a gentle rhythm behind her neck.
She could not say how long they had been sitting that way, collapsed and spent but still touching, kissing, lingering long as they could. The day had seemed to stretch, an endless string of meetings and arrangements to be made, Alistair and his unending stack of reports. Even the farewell banquet had seemed as if watched through distant glass, the parade of nameless well-wishers broken only by the brief embrace of those few who had come from the alienage. Her father’s arms had held tight, but his smile had been too stiff, his eyes too wide. She was going away again and this time she was going alone.
Had it not been for the hand beneath the table, resting ever against her knee - and on occasion higher still - she might have torn the whole hall down. Shianni, too, had noticed her unrest, sharing a smirk across the crowd. It was she that had bid them go, ushering them hastily toward the doors, assuring her that matters were well in hand. Strange to see her amongst them, nobles and Arls and hangers-on, but Shianni was a Bann now. And she - she was apparently an Arlessa.
Squeezing tighter, she stifled a groan against his shoulder. It was only now, now that they were safe behind closed doors that time had chosen to leap forward.
Zevran tsked, fingers running along her arms as he shifted her away. “Such a sour expression for so beautiful a face.” The smile was playful, but it did not quite reach his eyes. “Come.” He lifted her away from him, turning her so that her back rested against his chest. Again, his hands took up their familiar rhythm, kneading hard across her shoulders.
She sighed, settling against him. It had been that very touch, that wicked offer that had first broken her resolve. Funny she had not thought of it night until now. It had just been the way things are, it had just been… theirs.
“You worry unduly, my dear Warden.” One hand traced along her neck, stroking the gem dangling from her ear. Even the most surprising promises, it seemed, were doomed to be broken.
“Do I?”
“I will admit that I do not envy you the tedium, though I am assured that this Amaranthine is not the desolate outpost it seems.” His chuckle was warm against her cheek. “And seeing these nobles bow to you should be quite the sight, yes?”
“Zev…”
He cupped her cheek, turning her eyes to his. “Do not pretend you won’t enjoy it.”
She had to laugh for that smirk, for the arc of his brow. “Maybe a little.” Sliding lower, she settled her head against his chest.
“But I have seen you best darkspawn and dragons, men and demons… even the most skilled and dashing of assassins.” Laying a kiss upon her forehead, he chuckled. “What hope have a few Grey Warden recruits? I should worry for them, I think.”
“And if I said I worried about you?”
“A sensible concern, but the risk is a necessary one. The longer I stay, the sooner the Crows will come. We are rather known for our persistence.”
“Vigil’s Keep is secure-”
“-Which is why I do not fear to leave you there. You will have your Grey Wardens, mages, guards. And your escort arrived this morning. Mhairi. Young, eager… but not so stern as she seems.”
She could feel the groan welling in her chest. “What did you do?”
“Simply made her aware of what it is that she guards. A few glasses of wine, perhaps an idle threat or two…”
“Zev…”
But his face had fallen. He leaned back, turning her to face him. “Rumors of my death will not last. And your fame does you no favors. No.” Shaking his head, he scowled. “I would take this fight to them, end it now.”
“One way or another.”
He smirked. “This ‘death wish’ as you call it is merely the mark of a good assassin. And would you truly have me any other way?”
“I would not have you go alone. Come to Amaranthine. We will put thing in order and leave from there as soon as we can. In force.”
Throwing back his head he laughed, drawing her with him as he fell against the pillows. She landed on her elbow, propped above him.
“You would have the Grey Wardens invade Antiva?”
She did not blink. “Yes.”
“Hmm.” He tilted his head, looking up at her. “Indeed you would. The Crows should count themselves fortunate that your attentions are needed elsewhere.”
“Fine. Maybe I don’t want to be left alone.”
“That is hardly the case.”
“You know what I mean. You’re the only one left; everyone’s gone.”
“You have Alistair.”
“Don’t remind me. I’m surprised he hasn’t interrupted.” With a sigh, she flopped against his arm. “And he has his hands full. The trouble in the Bannorn, Anora…”
Zevran chuckled as she shuddered, running a hand along her back. “You do have a habit of throwing women into his bed.”
She leaned her chin on his chest, peering up at him. “How do you think that’s… going, by the way? She just seems so… cold. And she and Cailan never…”
Laughing, he drew her up to face him. “I would not worry about that.”
“Really.”
“Really.” He pressed his lips to her forehead, fingers again twining round the earring. “Such concern for Alistair… and yet you do not make such demands of me.”
She stiffened before she could help it, turning her eyes away.
Zevran only chuckled, stroking her hair. “But there will be time for that later, yes?”
The smile came slow, her kisses buried against his ribs. “Or, y’know, now…”
“You do not wish to rest before your journey?”
Her eyes snapped up, smirk spreading as she slipped lower still. “You really thought I’d let you sleep tonight?”
He sighed heavy, grinning behind an exaggerated yawn. But he moved quick, arms wrapping round her waist, pulling her up as he twisted to pin her beneath him. Pausing there, he smiled. “Your desire is my command.”
* * *
The path was familiar, recalling yet another memory. Not forgotten, never that, but it was only now that they returned in sharp relief, all the more tender for being the last. As if sensing her hesitance, Zevran twined his fingers through hers.
“I would not worry. It is your touch, I think, that she misses. Mine would seem only pale in comparison.”
Still she could feel herself flushing, blinking through the morning mist. It loomed in the waters beyond, the Siren’s Call, the only ship that she had ever had occasion to visit. And on that occasion…
Chuckling, Zevran cupped her cheek. It was true that they hadn’t slept, slipping out of the castle at the first strains of light. They had paused only once, a slight detour. She was to meet Mhairi in the market soon enough, but not without one more visit to her home.
The gate had been raised, the masons already finished with the bridge repairs, jagged planks marking the skeletons of new houses in the square beyond. But still her eyes strayed to the old rust of the gate’s bars, the sharp points meant to drive deep and keep them separate. Shianni was already moving to have it torn down, elves and men living as one.
And he had been there, behind her, arms wrapping wordless round her waist. He did not press her when she turned away, continuing along the street rather than cross that bridge.
Now, though, now they had come to the end, the road running out into the thick and pitted planks of the dock. They echoed beneath their feet, the lapping waves setting the looming shadow of the ship to rocking. She paused, staring up at it, unable to form the words.
Zevran stepped round, blocking her view, tilting her chin up to meet him.
“Zev!”
It came from above, the hiss of rapidly unspooling rope echoing as Isabela dropped from the deck. The captain rubbed her hands together, caring nothing for the burn, but if she remembered correctly, those rough fingers had been surprisingly gentle. She felt herself smiling.
Isabela mirrored her, bending quick to give Zevran a peck on either cheek. “Warden.” Turning, she repeated the gesture, but there was a mischievous glint behind her eye. “A pleasure, as always.”
“Isabela.”
The woman’s hand trailed along her cheek, sweeping aside her hair. Turning the earring between her fingers, she quirked a brow. “This is new.” She smirked over her shoulder. “Isn’t it, Zev?”
“Our dear Warden has impeccable taste.”
“Indeed she does.” Her chuckle was throaty and deep. “But if you’ll forgive me, I have final preparations to make. We leave as soon as you are ready.” With a parting nod, she made her way up the plank. “Warden. I will keep him safe as I can.”
“You can try.”
Laughing, she disappeared onto the deck.
Alone again. For the last time. The breeze had picked up, the scent of brine stinging sharp as she shivered against the sudden cold. But still he was there, arms wrapping round her waist, sliding over her back to pull her close. She let her head fall against him.
Again he was stroking her hair, drawing her near, tilting her face to his. She would not let him see her falter. Smiling, she blinked up at him. “Are you going to wish me luck?”
His grin was thin, crooked, both hands moving to sweep aside her hair as it blew wild in the breeze. Leaning low he brought his lips to her ear, lingering there, the words whispered soft.
Even as she pinched them shut, she felt the sting welling behind her eyes. But his lips were there then, hands sliding over her, crushing, pressing as she collapsed into his arms.
x-posted to swooping_is_bad