❛❛ MAY I REST MY HEAD ON YOUR BOSOM?

❝  hwuh -- ?  ❞   is all the assassin manages, pawing absently at the book they had been reading.   perhaps to feign some sort of cognizance. not that they had much. stuck in that weird space between sleep and reality, he squints, continues:   ❝ why do you say these things? i thought today was ..  ❞  & he stifles a yawn, stirring fully now,   ❝  .. okay. very cold and wet.. and muddy .. lots of demons, too.. no, okay today was pretty shit. still: what is wrong, my friend? ❞

how strange.    it isn’t often that this particular elf finds themselves in .. tender moments.  for a while it’s clear that he is unsure how to proceed -- deflection, laughter & light flirtation eventually give way and he sits.  ears dead out and to the side a while when she starts.. nerves that he passes off as being ticklish. for once, zevran isn’t a very good liar. 

❝  this song is nice.  ❞   he admits after a while, jutting his bottom lip out. it stirred a nostalgia within him, that he wasn’t entirely sure was his.   ❝  what .. where did you learn it ??  ❞

Zevran toys absently with his dagger. Some may be wary of this, considering the entire .. assassin angle .. though, it is honestly more of a bashful gesture. Fiddle with things and distract the mind.  It is a kind thing to say.  Reflexively almost, he grins.  Never one to drop an opportunity to poke harmless fun .. especially to deflect from delving deeper into conversations.  ❝  Oh, Inquisitor. Is this the part where we elope into the sunset? I do hope so.   ❞

Perhaps he did look moody .. alright, for certain he did. Forlorn maybe. Most people had left the tavern at this point: Zevran thought themselves almost alone. To say that a sudden looming stranger makes them jump is an understatement.

After muttering to himself in his native tongue, he rakes some hair back from his face.  ❝ Yes, my friend: -- you just scared the shit out of me. ❞  & he’ll claw his tankard from the table, holding it to his chest dramatically. The bartender was collecting empties, but he wasn’t quite done yet.  ❝ Otherwise .. perhaps ?? I could tell you a great many things, but it all depends on what you are seeking. ❞

Isabela decided to take a SIDE trip, she wanted to see how Zevy was doing however, when she entered the room she blinked noticing he was near the washbasin. At first she was kind of distracted from his well, lack of there clothing when she noticed the cloth. ‘ Did you get into another fight? seriously….come here you silly fool, I can bandage that up for you.’ Isabela said closing the door behind her, making sure no one entered with a soft click she went over to him.  ‘ Come now, don’t be shy It’s not like I haven’t seen all that BEFORE.’

the  suspicion  is  warranted  ,  isanami  will  give  him  that  .  he  understands  zevran’s  distrust  for  the  crows  ,  given  the  stories  even  he  has  heard  in  his  time  in  their  service  ,  yet  he  bears  him  no  ill  will  .  if  anything  ,  there’s  a  bit  of  fascination  glittering  in  his  eyes  as  he  sits  beside  him  ,  resting  his  cheek  in  his  palm  &  offering  him  a  placating  grin  .

‘  poison  ,  no  .  not  something  i  use  often  .  spit  in  it  ?  i’d  never  be  so  barbaric  ,  my  friend  .  if  i  disliked  you  so  ,  i  would  simply  avoid  you  .  if  i  wished  to  kill  you  ,  no  doubt  we  would  have  already  crossed  blades  .  ’    he  tilts  his  head  ,  resting  his  forearm  still  against  the  table  while  the  other  absently  stirs  at  his  own  meal  .    ‘  no  game  .  i  have  no  intentions  of  harming  you  ,  nor  will  i  ever  for  the  length  of  this  inquisition  .  i  only  wish  to  extend  an  olive  branch    …    begin  a  kinship  .  i  do  not  fault  you  for  your  lack  of  trust  in  me  .  i  only  hope  to  show  you  that  it  is  unnecessary  .  ’

Zevran is unconvinced, but not without his gentler side. Rotten wardens .. showing him kindness, making him kind. They .. don’t necessarily relax.. but they work their jaw, flex their fingers. Adjust. His posture isn’t necessarily hostile now. More wary. 

❝  The entire length of this inquisition? You will eat those words. There are some here who wish to clump me just for speaking sometimes. ❞   & he exhales. Studies his new .. companion .. for a while. He makes a good point: if he wanted to kill Zevran then he most like would have tried already. Unless he’s just feigning to gain trust. 

To their credit they had held out. It was creeping up on Zevs second day awake, so the fact he lasted this long was .. formidable. Regardless: this bundle of elf and cloth rested up against the Inquisitor like it was natural to do so. They’d slumped against him a few minutes ago, and now there they snooze. 

The birds in the tree that the two lean against start to stir. Distantly, the world is waking up -- and Zevran will too, surely soon, and he’ll undoubtedly be mortified. Never mention it again, if he can help it. But for now he is peaceful, and above his sleeping head, the birds begin their morning song. 

MAINS CALL !!    liking this post means you are a okay with me & zev:

sending you memes and / or random inbox things whenever

tagging you in random starters

having multiple ongoing threads with you if that’s okay with all parties

basically just loving on you okay

“No, the ‘Hero of Ferelden’ beat you,” Alistair makes a face at such a cliche title. “I was merely standing there. If it was just me, my cause of death would have probably been blushing and stuttering. It would have made the whole situation far easier, wouldn’t it?”

He looks over at his arm. It really is just a small gash and he’s gotten far worse from just sparring, but for some reason it makes his chest feel tight. He rubs his free hand against his clavicle. “If the knife was poisoned, I’d be dead already, right? What if it happens again? I mean, it has to happen again, doesn’t it? That’s what people do to rulers, they kill them.” The whole of his family, save maybe his mother were murdered, now that he idiotically reflects on it.

Heavy the head that wears the crown, or some shit like that.

He wants to get up and pace, he wants to scream, he wants to hit something. He wants, he wants…

“Zev? Can I ask you a question?” Alistair pauses, regretting the inquiry he’s going to make before it’s even out of his mouth. “And if you don’t want to answer it—don’t. Just tell me to mind my own sodding business. But, how did your mother die?” 

As Alistair continues, Zevran lightly works his hand free. Flexes his fingers to work out the ache from having them squeezed in such a way.  ❝  Yes, Alistair. You would be dead already. No one is going to kill you today, at least.  ❞ & then, the elf potters around the room for some bandages, something to wipe the wound down with. Years of living alone, place to place, mean you pick up some first aid skills. Nobody likes an --- 

& then comes the question. His hands hover over his target for a while, jarred. Infection. How strange.    ❝ My mother?  ❞     He confirms, features wrinkling for a moment before spreading to something of a nervous smile.  Noticing he’s hovering now, he sits again, busying himself with starting to dab at the gash with the gauze he had found.   

A sigh huffs from him.   Like honesty is an effort.    ❝  No one ever told me exactly.  ❞  He admits.    ❝  But, she died a day or so after I was born .. so.. ❞ & he doesn’t finish. Doesn’t really have to. The implication for him was that his mother had passed from infection after childbirth. Ironic, to him, that he was born a killer, but the topic sits heavy in his throat.