Fic - A Child Unexpected (Interlude the First)
Title: A Child Unexpected (Part 3 of 10(?))
Author: skybound2
Characters: Fem!City-Elf PC (Kallian Tabris), Sten, Zevran, and Alistair (the overall fic is Zevran/Tabris with Sten and some others tossed in. Liberally, at times. References Alistair/Tabris and Zevran/Other.)
Word Count: ~2500 (this chapter, ~8900 so far)
Rating: T (some mild sexin's in this part)
Summary: Heroes have problems too. That's why they need friends. In this bit: A small interlude between out Warden and favorite assassin.
Spoilers: Through end game.
Author's Note: So, this bit is really more of an "Interlude" rather than a proper chapter, which will hopefully give some depth to Zevran and Tabris (there will likely be one or two more of these before the story is done). Next time, we shall return to the regularly scheduled plot! This story can also be found at FFN. Many, many thanks to pennydreadful for the beta!!!
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Interlude (the First)
The Bannorn: The Night before the Fall of the Archdemon
“Such a sad face on such a lovely woman. This is a crime.” Zevran approached her with careful steps, as one would a frightened animal. For that was what she was. She had never done a decent job of hiding her emotions at the best of times, and this was far from the best of anything. Her entire posture screamed out tension and pain. The lack of any visible wound indicated that this pain was an internal one, which in Zevran's experience was far worse. It was a simple task to ease a physical ache. The right salves for a wound, the gentle yet demanding touch of a lover's hand. These things he knew. These things he could offer. And while he'd been a sounding board for Kallian on nights such as these before, nights when self-doubt or recrimination would become too much for their leader and she'd venture off away from the prying eyes and minds of the camp, never before had the wound been so obviously deep.
How does one heal a broken heart? What platitudes and anecdotes could be used to accomplish such a task? Zevran had no experience in this. His own heart had only begun the process of healing after he'd joined the Grey Wardens, in no small part due to their leader. She had shown him mercy, and trust, when he had done nothing to earn either. Readily, she had accepted him; called him friend. But that was the rub, wasn't it? He'd made no secret of his attraction for her, this was true; even if she had turned him down again and again. But he could not discount the role his growing and conflicting emotions for this woman had played in making him whole once more.
One thing was certain, there would be no quick fix. He would offer what help he could though, paltry and ineffective as it may be.
“Good evening, Zevran.” There was exhaustion in her voice, the simple greeting coming off cold, and anything but welcoming.
“And good evening to you, my Grey Warden. And what a lovely evening it is.” He sucked in a deep, deliberate breath, as he positioned himself to the right of where she stood, staring out over the open and rolling fields. “The air is lush and crisp. As good a night as any for what may possibly be our last, yes?”
She almost, but not quite, smiled. The edges of her softly curved mouth tugging up slightly. The action more closing resembled a grimace than a smile really. Well - no matter. He would simply have to try harder.
He crossed his arms in front of him in an imitation of her own closed-off stance, and nudged her gently with his left shoulder. “Come now! Surely you can scent it in the air! Victory is but a long and painful march away!”
This time, she did smile. And the expression lit up his soul. “You make it sound easy, Zev.”
Ahh, yes! The sound of his shortened name was a small victory. “Easy? No. No, no, no. Not easy. Never that. But I do find myself, feeling certain that our - your - victory will come to pass. It feels...inevitable.”
“Inevitable?” And she made a face then, not unlike the face she made whenever Oghren cooked - like she was uncertain what it was she was smelling. Her arms dropped from their protective position - another victory - and she turned her body towards him somewhat. “Why?”
He pondered on this for a moment, his gaze focused on the icy waters looking out at him from her sharp-featured face. “You bested me, did you not?”
She laughed, loud and brief, her cheeks coloring beautifully. “No offense, Zev. But you are hardly comparable to an Archdemon.”
He splayed his hand across his heart, “You wound me! Here I thought She and I were bosom companions! I had such plans for the two of us...” His face turned serious once more, “My point, such as it is, is that you have vaulted - quite gloriously if I do say so myself - over every obstacle that you have come across so far. You are practically the embodiment of a warrior goddess. To see you on the battlefield is a wondrous thing.” She frowned tightly, but he soldiered on. “But it is more than that. One could not accomplish what you have this past year simply by being good with a blade. There are thousands of darkspawn already that can attest to that. No. You also command attention. From the lowliest mercenaries, to the highest ranked nobles.”
She looked at him, skeptical, and then made her way over to the sole tree in the clearing, and propped her body against it. He followed at a discrete pace. No use making her feel trapped. “I know that you were mostly focused on cleaving Loghain's head from his shoulders during the Landsmeet, so you may not have noticed. But you...you shone in there. And there was not a noble head who wasn't blinded by its brilliance.” Perhaps he was laying it on a bit think, and Maker only knew that had he been speaking about anyone else, three-quarters of what he had said would have been embellishment. But with her...that was not the case. She had rightfully earned every word.
She was not looking at him, her gaze fixed on some far off point, her plump lip being chewed mercilessly between her teeth. A habit of hers that had long driven him to distraction. “Not everyone.”
He was caught off guard by not just her statement, but by the child-like way in which she uttered it. She seemed so...lost. “Pardon?”
She turned, laying her back flat against the scratchy bark of the tree; her arms hung limp at her sides, the palms of her hands pressed against the wood. He felt himself tugged ever forward by her gaze, step after step, until he was only a few feet from her. “I said 'not everyone' - there are battles that I have lost Zev...battles that I knew I could never win, but that I fought anyway.”
“But you are still here, that is the point.”
She glanced away again. “Is it?”
He grasped her chin in his palm, the heat from her skin like a beacon to him. He wanted nothing more than to fall into her. “Yes.”
Her head shook silently back and forth - and broke his hold. He allowed his arm to drop like lead back to his side. “I'm not so sure. It just seems...” Her breath clipped off, chin tucking down as her arms crossed over her torso once more. “If I am the victor, shouldn't I be able to keep something that I want? Haven't I earned that much?” Finally, emotion was back in her voice, lacing through it with heat and passion. If only, Zevran thought, it was an emotion other then misery.
“To the victor go the spoils, my Grey Warden.” It was as close as he could bring himself to acknowledging what they both knew. Alistair, King as he would be, was not a spoil of war to be kept. No matter how much she may have wished it.
When she raised her chin again, it was with purpose. Gone was the frightened, somewhat wistful child of moments before. He stood, entranced by that look wondering just how he'd caught himself in her web, as she reached out one small hand to encircle his forearm. “And what of you, Zev?”
“What of me?” Uncharacteristically, he felt a lump in his throat; some bit of coiling, curling emotion churning its way up from his center. His voice was rough, and low.
She nodded, once. Her hand lightly squeezing his arm, her thumb rubbing gently against the skin. “You are as much a victor in this as me. You have been here, by my side, from nearly the beginning. What is it that you want?” In reward. The words were not spoken, but they rung clear as a bell between them.
“Well, I want what I have always wanted. A warm bed draped in the finest silks, a bottle of wine aged to perfection, and a -”
“A warm body to share it with?” The look in her eyes was one such that he had never seen directed at him from her before. There was heat, and abandon in it. They were a predator's eyes, a seductress' eyes. If this was the look that Alistair had been on the receiving end of for so many months, it was a wonder the boy wasn't a smoldering ember of ash.
“That goes without saying, of course.” He smiled, a wide disarming smile, and was pleased to see the answering one shining out on her face.
“Of course.” She looked down, affording him the chance to catch his breath. His gaze lingered on the curve of her neck, the tip of her ear - exposed as it was from the hair trickling down in soft waves over her shoulders. The dark expanse of it highlighting the creamy color of her skin in the dark night. “Zev?”
“Hmm?”
Focused as he was on her delectable looking throat, he did not see her move. It was only when he felt her, pressed up against him in a most intimate fashion that he snapped back to attention. Her one hand was now clenching his shoulder, and her other had risen to cup his face in its palm. Of their own volition, his hands reached out to grasp her, instinctively tugging her closer to him. Even through the armored leathers they each wore, the heat of her was a searing contrast to the cool night air. Her voice was breathy, her mouth only an inch or so from his. “Nevermind.”
Then her lips were upon him. Assaulting his senses. The kiss was not perfect. Her lips, chapped. The skin peeled a bit where she always chewed upon it. But the taste was sweeter than chocolate. The cavern of her mouth, lush and inviting. And if there was more than a bit of desperation in it, more than a bit of fear - well, he paid it no mind.
He coaxed her, gentling the kiss, as moment by moment, they relaxed back against the tree. The hand on his cheek moved, a slow easing path, until her fingers were running through his hair, her nails lightly scraping at his scalp A purr rumbled through him at the sensation. He used one of his hands to brace them against the tree, keeping some of his weight from her, while his other plied gently at the hem of her tunic, teasing it up so that he could stroke the skin of her belly, and hip. The answering hum of approval from her more than enough encouragement for him.
Unable to resist the lure of her neck any longer, he broke from the kiss, and trailed a moist path down the slope. Her breath was coming in quick gasps now, her own lips tugging at his ear. Her tongue darting out to swirl at the skin behind it. It was only years of experience that kept his knees from buckling at the sensation.
The hand that had been clutching at his shoulder delved down, over his back and across his hip, before it settled at the waist of his leathers. Her calloused palm dragging gently across the skin there. A growl was pulled forth from his chest, and he dove back into the warmth of her mouth. Their tongues swirling together with growing intensity. His left knee settled in the junction of her thighs, and pressed upwards, releasing a heady mewl from her throat.
His brain skittered to a halt, calling his entire body back to attention, and forcing him to pull back enough to meet her eyes.
The blue of them was darkened to a near black, their lids heavy, and her skin pleasantly flushed as she panted. He wanted nothing more than to ravish her thoroughly. Sadly, somewhere along the line she had taught him the meaning of honor. So he had no choice but to halt the proceedings, and make certain that this was want she wanted.
He may not know precisely how to heal a broken heart, but this - this he could offer. Atypically for him however, he could not yet do so without reservation.
“Are you certain?” His body was confused and angered at the interruption, and without his say so, it revolted from his plans by pressing her tightly between himself and the tree. In response, her own body rubbed up against his, the resulting friction causing delicious sensations to course through him.
Her eyes, unfocused as they were, blinked several times, before they were able to make the seemingly difficult journey from his mouth to his own gaze. “Wha- what?”
“Are you certain, Kallian. We can stop this now, but if we go any further, I'm afraid that there will be no turning back.” The muscles in his arms and legs were vibrating from the effort not to move.
She bit her lip again, and oh, how quickly that sent the blood southward. There was tension in her posture, but after a moment, she nodded. Her hand teasing the skin of his hip once more. He groaned.
“The words, mi cara.” He closed his eyes tightly, waiting for the rejection he was sure would come. Now would be the time that she finally came to her senses, and forced him to play the role of the gentleman once more. Now would be when she realized that Alistair marrying another woman really meant very little. That there was no reason that they couldn't go on as before - albeit more discretely. Now would be the time that he finally turned himself away fully from affairs of the heart.
Her voice, her lovely, often blunt voice, was soft and sweet. And the words a balm he had not quite known he needed. “Yes. I want this - you. I'm certain.”
He took a second to appraise her. To be sure that she meant every syllable, while he was no saint, neither did he want to be the villain. Not anymore. Not with her.
As he looked upon her, he could no longer sense any doubt - it was as if it had all been erased with her declaration. It was more than enough. Moments later they tumbled to the ground, a tangled knot of limbs and lips - mixed with equal parts of laughter and moans.
And there, in an open field, he made love to her beneath the canopy of a lonely tree.
On to Chapter 3
Author: skybound2
Characters: Fem!City-Elf PC (Kallian Tabris), Sten, Zevran, and Alistair (the overall fic is Zevran/Tabris with Sten and some others tossed in. Liberally, at times. References Alistair/Tabris and Zevran/Other.)
Word Count: ~2500 (this chapter, ~8900 so far)
Rating: T (some mild sexin's in this part)
Summary: Heroes have problems too. That's why they need friends. In this bit: A small interlude between out Warden and favorite assassin.
Spoilers: Through end game.
Author's Note: So, this bit is really more of an "Interlude" rather than a proper chapter, which will hopefully give some depth to Zevran and Tabris (there will likely be one or two more of these before the story is done). Next time, we shall return to the regularly scheduled plot! This story can also be found at FFN. Many, many thanks to pennydreadful for the beta!!!
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Interlude (the First)
The Bannorn: The Night before the Fall of the Archdemon
“Such a sad face on such a lovely woman. This is a crime.” Zevran approached her with careful steps, as one would a frightened animal. For that was what she was. She had never done a decent job of hiding her emotions at the best of times, and this was far from the best of anything. Her entire posture screamed out tension and pain. The lack of any visible wound indicated that this pain was an internal one, which in Zevran's experience was far worse. It was a simple task to ease a physical ache. The right salves for a wound, the gentle yet demanding touch of a lover's hand. These things he knew. These things he could offer. And while he'd been a sounding board for Kallian on nights such as these before, nights when self-doubt or recrimination would become too much for their leader and she'd venture off away from the prying eyes and minds of the camp, never before had the wound been so obviously deep.
How does one heal a broken heart? What platitudes and anecdotes could be used to accomplish such a task? Zevran had no experience in this. His own heart had only begun the process of healing after he'd joined the Grey Wardens, in no small part due to their leader. She had shown him mercy, and trust, when he had done nothing to earn either. Readily, she had accepted him; called him friend. But that was the rub, wasn't it? He'd made no secret of his attraction for her, this was true; even if she had turned him down again and again. But he could not discount the role his growing and conflicting emotions for this woman had played in making him whole once more.
One thing was certain, there would be no quick fix. He would offer what help he could though, paltry and ineffective as it may be.
“Good evening, Zevran.” There was exhaustion in her voice, the simple greeting coming off cold, and anything but welcoming.
“And good evening to you, my Grey Warden. And what a lovely evening it is.” He sucked in a deep, deliberate breath, as he positioned himself to the right of where she stood, staring out over the open and rolling fields. “The air is lush and crisp. As good a night as any for what may possibly be our last, yes?”
She almost, but not quite, smiled. The edges of her softly curved mouth tugging up slightly. The action more closing resembled a grimace than a smile really. Well - no matter. He would simply have to try harder.
He crossed his arms in front of him in an imitation of her own closed-off stance, and nudged her gently with his left shoulder. “Come now! Surely you can scent it in the air! Victory is but a long and painful march away!”
This time, she did smile. And the expression lit up his soul. “You make it sound easy, Zev.”
Ahh, yes! The sound of his shortened name was a small victory. “Easy? No. No, no, no. Not easy. Never that. But I do find myself, feeling certain that our - your - victory will come to pass. It feels...inevitable.”
“Inevitable?” And she made a face then, not unlike the face she made whenever Oghren cooked - like she was uncertain what it was she was smelling. Her arms dropped from their protective position - another victory - and she turned her body towards him somewhat. “Why?”
He pondered on this for a moment, his gaze focused on the icy waters looking out at him from her sharp-featured face. “You bested me, did you not?”
She laughed, loud and brief, her cheeks coloring beautifully. “No offense, Zev. But you are hardly comparable to an Archdemon.”
He splayed his hand across his heart, “You wound me! Here I thought She and I were bosom companions! I had such plans for the two of us...” His face turned serious once more, “My point, such as it is, is that you have vaulted - quite gloriously if I do say so myself - over every obstacle that you have come across so far. You are practically the embodiment of a warrior goddess. To see you on the battlefield is a wondrous thing.” She frowned tightly, but he soldiered on. “But it is more than that. One could not accomplish what you have this past year simply by being good with a blade. There are thousands of darkspawn already that can attest to that. No. You also command attention. From the lowliest mercenaries, to the highest ranked nobles.”
She looked at him, skeptical, and then made her way over to the sole tree in the clearing, and propped her body against it. He followed at a discrete pace. No use making her feel trapped. “I know that you were mostly focused on cleaving Loghain's head from his shoulders during the Landsmeet, so you may not have noticed. But you...you shone in there. And there was not a noble head who wasn't blinded by its brilliance.” Perhaps he was laying it on a bit think, and Maker only knew that had he been speaking about anyone else, three-quarters of what he had said would have been embellishment. But with her...that was not the case. She had rightfully earned every word.
She was not looking at him, her gaze fixed on some far off point, her plump lip being chewed mercilessly between her teeth. A habit of hers that had long driven him to distraction. “Not everyone.”
He was caught off guard by not just her statement, but by the child-like way in which she uttered it. She seemed so...lost. “Pardon?”
She turned, laying her back flat against the scratchy bark of the tree; her arms hung limp at her sides, the palms of her hands pressed against the wood. He felt himself tugged ever forward by her gaze, step after step, until he was only a few feet from her. “I said 'not everyone' - there are battles that I have lost Zev...battles that I knew I could never win, but that I fought anyway.”
“But you are still here, that is the point.”
She glanced away again. “Is it?”
He grasped her chin in his palm, the heat from her skin like a beacon to him. He wanted nothing more than to fall into her. “Yes.”
Her head shook silently back and forth - and broke his hold. He allowed his arm to drop like lead back to his side. “I'm not so sure. It just seems...” Her breath clipped off, chin tucking down as her arms crossed over her torso once more. “If I am the victor, shouldn't I be able to keep something that I want? Haven't I earned that much?” Finally, emotion was back in her voice, lacing through it with heat and passion. If only, Zevran thought, it was an emotion other then misery.
“To the victor go the spoils, my Grey Warden.” It was as close as he could bring himself to acknowledging what they both knew. Alistair, King as he would be, was not a spoil of war to be kept. No matter how much she may have wished it.
When she raised her chin again, it was with purpose. Gone was the frightened, somewhat wistful child of moments before. He stood, entranced by that look wondering just how he'd caught himself in her web, as she reached out one small hand to encircle his forearm. “And what of you, Zev?”
“What of me?” Uncharacteristically, he felt a lump in his throat; some bit of coiling, curling emotion churning its way up from his center. His voice was rough, and low.
She nodded, once. Her hand lightly squeezing his arm, her thumb rubbing gently against the skin. “You are as much a victor in this as me. You have been here, by my side, from nearly the beginning. What is it that you want?” In reward. The words were not spoken, but they rung clear as a bell between them.
“Well, I want what I have always wanted. A warm bed draped in the finest silks, a bottle of wine aged to perfection, and a -”
“A warm body to share it with?” The look in her eyes was one such that he had never seen directed at him from her before. There was heat, and abandon in it. They were a predator's eyes, a seductress' eyes. If this was the look that Alistair had been on the receiving end of for so many months, it was a wonder the boy wasn't a smoldering ember of ash.
“That goes without saying, of course.” He smiled, a wide disarming smile, and was pleased to see the answering one shining out on her face.
“Of course.” She looked down, affording him the chance to catch his breath. His gaze lingered on the curve of her neck, the tip of her ear - exposed as it was from the hair trickling down in soft waves over her shoulders. The dark expanse of it highlighting the creamy color of her skin in the dark night. “Zev?”
“Hmm?”
Focused as he was on her delectable looking throat, he did not see her move. It was only when he felt her, pressed up against him in a most intimate fashion that he snapped back to attention. Her one hand was now clenching his shoulder, and her other had risen to cup his face in its palm. Of their own volition, his hands reached out to grasp her, instinctively tugging her closer to him. Even through the armored leathers they each wore, the heat of her was a searing contrast to the cool night air. Her voice was breathy, her mouth only an inch or so from his. “Nevermind.”
Then her lips were upon him. Assaulting his senses. The kiss was not perfect. Her lips, chapped. The skin peeled a bit where she always chewed upon it. But the taste was sweeter than chocolate. The cavern of her mouth, lush and inviting. And if there was more than a bit of desperation in it, more than a bit of fear - well, he paid it no mind.
He coaxed her, gentling the kiss, as moment by moment, they relaxed back against the tree. The hand on his cheek moved, a slow easing path, until her fingers were running through his hair, her nails lightly scraping at his scalp A purr rumbled through him at the sensation. He used one of his hands to brace them against the tree, keeping some of his weight from her, while his other plied gently at the hem of her tunic, teasing it up so that he could stroke the skin of her belly, and hip. The answering hum of approval from her more than enough encouragement for him.
Unable to resist the lure of her neck any longer, he broke from the kiss, and trailed a moist path down the slope. Her breath was coming in quick gasps now, her own lips tugging at his ear. Her tongue darting out to swirl at the skin behind it. It was only years of experience that kept his knees from buckling at the sensation.
The hand that had been clutching at his shoulder delved down, over his back and across his hip, before it settled at the waist of his leathers. Her calloused palm dragging gently across the skin there. A growl was pulled forth from his chest, and he dove back into the warmth of her mouth. Their tongues swirling together with growing intensity. His left knee settled in the junction of her thighs, and pressed upwards, releasing a heady mewl from her throat.
His brain skittered to a halt, calling his entire body back to attention, and forcing him to pull back enough to meet her eyes.
The blue of them was darkened to a near black, their lids heavy, and her skin pleasantly flushed as she panted. He wanted nothing more than to ravish her thoroughly. Sadly, somewhere along the line she had taught him the meaning of honor. So he had no choice but to halt the proceedings, and make certain that this was want she wanted.
He may not know precisely how to heal a broken heart, but this - this he could offer. Atypically for him however, he could not yet do so without reservation.
“Are you certain?” His body was confused and angered at the interruption, and without his say so, it revolted from his plans by pressing her tightly between himself and the tree. In response, her own body rubbed up against his, the resulting friction causing delicious sensations to course through him.
Her eyes, unfocused as they were, blinked several times, before they were able to make the seemingly difficult journey from his mouth to his own gaze. “Wha- what?”
“Are you certain, Kallian. We can stop this now, but if we go any further, I'm afraid that there will be no turning back.” The muscles in his arms and legs were vibrating from the effort not to move.
She bit her lip again, and oh, how quickly that sent the blood southward. There was tension in her posture, but after a moment, she nodded. Her hand teasing the skin of his hip once more. He groaned.
“The words, mi cara.” He closed his eyes tightly, waiting for the rejection he was sure would come. Now would be the time that she finally came to her senses, and forced him to play the role of the gentleman once more. Now would be when she realized that Alistair marrying another woman really meant very little. That there was no reason that they couldn't go on as before - albeit more discretely. Now would be the time that he finally turned himself away fully from affairs of the heart.
Her voice, her lovely, often blunt voice, was soft and sweet. And the words a balm he had not quite known he needed. “Yes. I want this - you. I'm certain.”
He took a second to appraise her. To be sure that she meant every syllable, while he was no saint, neither did he want to be the villain. Not anymore. Not with her.
As he looked upon her, he could no longer sense any doubt - it was as if it had all been erased with her declaration. It was more than enough. Moments later they tumbled to the ground, a tangled knot of limbs and lips - mixed with equal parts of laughter and moans.
And there, in an open field, he made love to her beneath the canopy of a lonely tree.
On to Chapter 3