#crowt3

Zevran/Male Surana, (past) Zevran/Taliesen, M, 4652 words (Chapter 1 of 2 )

The familiarity ached. There was the quirk of his smile, the shape of his shadow in candlelight, the faint smell of candied orange peels he liked to chew. Zevran knew the five most likely places he’d concealed weapons beneath his clothes, but knew just as well how to read the ease in Taliesen’s broad shoulders. This was not a man poised for a quick draw. He knew it was worse than reckless to think of Taliesen as "safe" at this moment, but Zevran’s every instinct clamored to remind him that this was a man he fought beside, not against. 

Awhile back, I read and loved @saltlordofold's fic "Belief." It awakened a desperate desire within me for reimagined, dialogue-heavy Denerim encounter from Zevran's POV, focused on processing his feelings about Taliesen and Rinna. 

Oh hey, I love this ask and was saving it because I wanted to post it with a fic I'm writing. It's a re-imaginging of the Taliesen encounter in Denerim in my Edric Surana-verse. However it's taking a little longer to finish than I hoped, so I'm gonna indulge myself by replying now ;D

Some of you may know that I've written a lot of words about Taliesen. (I was kissed by a witch and cursed to think constantly about very minor video game side characters.) Keep in mind, DAO gives us about 60 seconds of a cutscene to work with, plus Zevran's remarks like, "we were friends once, and more." So obviously everything I write about this man is pure speculation and headcanons. I really enjoy reading other people's ideas about Taliesen and Rinna, especially if they're different than mine!

As for your question: personally, I've never been very interested in redeeming Taliesen. He did murder his girlfriend, after all. Zevran is pretty complicit in the girlfriend-murdering, but while Zevran was present for the act, he did not actually do it. Like a lot of people, I have some HCs about Zevran objecting to killing Rinna, and doing his damnedest to find other options. In my opinion, Zevran's emotional torment over Rinna's death, followed by his post-Origins atonement via dismantling the Crows, becomes narratively stronger when contrasted with Taliesen's unapologetic refusal to admit what they did was wrong.

I characterize Taliesen as someone traumatized by a messed-up system, who decides that his only chance at happiness (or hell, his only chance at survival) is to claw his way to the top of that system and become a Crow master himself, thus perpetuating the cycle. Sometimes traumatized people do fucked up things! Their trauma alone does not make them worthy of redemption. I write Rinna as Taliesen's narrative foil: she comes to the conclusion that her only chance at happiness and survival is getting out of the Crows entirely. (She also learns she has the potential to become the queen of Antiva, re: World of Thedas bastard lore, but she never explains this to her boyfriends. She has her own thing going on.) Zevran's on the edge of figuring out alongside Rinna that the Crows are awful, but then he and Taliesen are told they have to kill her.

To me, Taliesen is the kind of person who says, "If I just do X, Y, and Z, then I'll finally have made it. Then I will finally be strong/happy/safe/one of the cool kids." Except after blood, sweat, and tears, he finally achieves Y and then the goalposts always move, because the Crows are simply designed use him until they break him. His story has a kind of inevitable, Shakespearean tragedy feeling to it. Because he can’t see beyond the Crows, he’s always gonna be stuck playing by their rules, and in those rules, he can never win.

I write Zevran as loving Taliesen, both as a childhood friend and later as a lover. But I think that love is always complicated by the fact that they're trauma-bonded by a system that Taliesen chooses to confirm to, and that Zevran ultimately decides to tear down.

The DA4 Crow concept art awakened something in me. The world needed elaborate assassination fanfic. If it was a humorous, bittersweet, and horny episode from Zevran’s past, all the better. Black Emporium 2020 gave me as much of an excuse as I ever need. “Only Yours To Give” was born.

I offer you 11k of hijinks, stolen kisses, sword fights, invented and canonical Chantry lore, and the Zevran/Rinna/Taliesen angst that DAO teased but never delivered.

Zevran Arainai knelt in a shadowed gallery overlooking the grandest Chantry sanctuary in Antiva City. He had a grave and perilous job ahead of him. He also had a leg cramp.

Before him, the Cathedral of Our Lady the Redeemer sprawled in an opulent glory of marble, oil paint, and gold leaf. High stained glass windows cast dappled shadows, like filtered light onto a forest floor. Frescoes covered every wall: legends from the birth of the world to the fall of the Golden City, scenes from Andraste’s life, depictions of the world to come when the Chant resounded from every corner of the Maker’s domain.

The columned gallery ran the length of the sanctuary at balcony-height, back from the ornate entry doors, up to the altar where Andraste stood carved from rose-veined marble. The gallery was rarely used, except on holidays when minor nobility crowded the pews on the polished floor. Common folk were relegated to craning their necks and straining to catch the Grand Cleric’s words.

He cast a furtive glance down the long gallery, toward the closed door that led to the staircase that brought him here. Satisfied that the corridor was still empty, he let his gaze drift outward again to the statue that dwarfed the hall. When he spoke again, barely above a murmur, it wasn’t to recite prescribed words.

“With your blessing and forgiveness, I will finish this job with as much mercy as I can manage. Additionally…” his hands still folded, Zevran offered a sigh and a shrug, “I apologize in advance for poisoning the holy water. I did try to think of a better option. In the grand scheme of things, I both hope and suspect this minor blasphemy won’t tip the scales. But nevertheless - I am sorry.”

The door at the end of the gallery creaked. He turned his head barely a fraction. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a woman in the white and crimson robes of a lay Sister catch the handle so it shut softly behind her.

He dropped his eyes to the columned rail. After a steadying breath, he offered a muttered conclusion, the standard: “In the name of Andraste, your bride and champion, our prophet and redeemer.”

The Sister wore hard-heeled shoes that echoed down the gallery. The sound grew louder with her approach. He kept his gaze downcast.

The pew behind him creaked as she sat down. Her robes rustled softly when she crossed her legs.

“There’s just something stirring about seeing you on your knees, Zevran.”

“At the mercy of a beautiful woman? Ready to serve her every whim?” He couldn’t help his smile as he turned to look up at her.

Rinna’s full lips quirked. “We are talking about Andraste, aren’t we?”