Mar 30, 2015
Now that Zevran Week is over, I’ve collected my drabbles and put them together on AO3. I’ve also added a small bonus scene and fixed some minor grammar issues.
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Now that Zevran Week is over, I’ve collected my drabbles and put them together on AO3. I’ve also added a small bonus scene and fixed some minor grammar issues.
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eristhenat asked for her warden & Zev “Haunt Me”:
Taeral was still. Pale skin glistened where it was not black from fire and pain. Scarlet trickled between his eyes like a dagger's edge. Zevran's hands trembled as they reached for him, cupping his face and lifting his chin, waiting for his eyes to flutter and meet his. They did not. Nothing, nothing, not even a breath, not even- “No, no, my love-”
He had dreamed of it every night since. He almost welcomed it; a reminder of what he so nearly lost. Zevran's eyes fluttered open, hands reaching for Taeral and finding him immediately, fingers bunching in his hair until he had to remind himself to be gentle - there would be no more pain for him, no more. Zevran focused on him slowly, pale moonlight streaming through the palace's windows and meeting the cold sweat that glistened on his forehead. He wiped it off, careful not to wake him; though like this, it was hard not to see him as he had been – bones broken, eyes empty... But no, his chest moved in slow, calm rhythm now, bandages hid the worst of the burns and his cheeks had regained a little of their colour. Truly, there was only one thing that should still be reminding him... His fingers delicately trailed the burn at the centre of his chest; small, circular – the size of an earring. His earring, of course, heated to the point of scalding by the archdemon's terrible flames. He hadn't realized he'd hung it around his neck at all, not until he'd seen the mark. It would likely be there for the rest of his life. He couldn't work out whether that was fitting or nauseating. A hand caught his and he found Taeral watching him, eyes still reddened but soft, alive, “What's wrong?” He bought his hand to his lips, kissing his fingers lightly. “Nothing, it is nothing. Go back to sleep.” His eyes were already drooping but he fought against it, eyelashes fluttering, “Will you...” “I am not going anywhere, my love.” His eyes drifted shut again with a gentle sigh. No, he was not going anywhere, and he was a fool for not telling him earlier. He would spend every night holding this man in his arms, if he let him.
"Unbind Me" - Zevran/M!Mahariel for Zevran Week, please?
Zevran couldn’t stop laughing when he finally found him. Partly because he was so relieved – he was safe, safe – but also because he was in nothing but his smalls, hands chained above his head. If it hadn’t been for the dripping dungeon walls and the bloodied guard corpses, it would have been quite the enticing sight. “My dear Warden,” he said between breathless chuckles, “Did you miss me?” Mahariel glared back at him, “Really, Zev? You think is funny?”“Oh, yes.” “Get these manacles off so I can strangle you.” Zevran chuckled, leaning down to peer at the lock on the cell door. He prodded at it a bit - once, twice, three times. Drummed his fingers against the bars. He tentatively, delicately lifted a lock-pick from his pocket between thumb and forefinger – it slipped and he lost it through one of the sewage grates. If he was perfectly honest, he had no idea of how to open it. Really, Leliana should be there; but then that wouldn’t be romantic, would it? Mahariel’s eyes were closed, expression pained, “You can’t open it, can you?” “My hands can be put to much better use, I assure you.” He groaned. Zevran grinned. Not five minutes later the remainder of the guards came crashing through the door and Zevran ended up in there with him – stripped down to the same attire, much to his delight. “Zev, this isn’t funny.” Zevran threw his head back against the stone wall, grinning ear to ear. “Really, my love, I am just glad that you are safe.” Mahariel’s expression softened. He sighed, glancing around the cell. “Looks like I’ll have to flirt my way out after all.” Zevran smirked, “Now you are speaking my language.”
Break me. Zev/mCousland (purple Cousland if possible :D)
“So we meet again, my dear Warden,” Zevran smirked, settling down in the grass opposite him. Leaves rustled and his hair brushed lightly at his throat in the breeze. He closed his eyes for a moment, sighing as the sun warmed his cheeks. Ferelden was so rarely like this. “Not even a joke? Come now, I set you up splendidly.” Nothing. Zevran opened his eyes to finally look at him, giving a small sigh. “Perhaps you are still angry with me. Of course, you have every right-” Zevran jumped, feeling a hand grasp at his shoulder – but no no, just his imagination as usual. He laughed suddenly, the sound straining through his throat. “We cannot continue like this, really. Years in such silence is-” He choked on his own laughter. He cleared his throat. “It is too long.” He reached out to cup his cheek, to trace the line of his jaw and his lips. His fingers met cold stone instead. The grave was damp with mould around the edges, discoloured by rain and age; but still tall, still proud. It was only fitting. Somehow, it still broke his heart. “…I’m sorry, my love. I should be there with you.”
a wondrous thing (ao3)
note: this is something that was sitting in my docs for a while unfinished, meant to be something bigger as the plan was to write from the perspective of all companions but alistair kind of took over, so here you have it. i thought i would give it a cute finish and post for zevran week!
He doesn’t know what she sees in him. Sure, he’s got that ensaring accent, the suave confidence, a willingness to share his supposed large collection of experience in certain areas of romance that he himself can’t claim- okay, maybe he did know what a woman might see in the assassin. But that didn’t mean had to understand it. She’s THE Grey Warden (at this thought, he’s keenly aware of just how often during their adventures his own status as a Warden is promptly forgotten by friends and foes alike). Of all the men for a woman of that calibre to fall in with, she chooses the Antivan who tried to kill them all.
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“I just wonder why you have always turned down my invitations.” Zevran asked softly, he honestly sounded a little embarrassed.
Amell felt her face drain of color, she hoped he would take this the right way and not be offended or scared off. “I don’t want something just physical, I wanted to take it slow and…” She sighed and told him the truth as simply and plainly as she could. “Knowing where you come from, I didn’t want to take advantage of you. You’re a person and you deserve respect.” Amell always had a sneaking suspicion her ex-Crow didn’t think very highly of himself. Maker, at least she hoped he was hers.
He stared at her, mouth slightly open. Zevran grabbed her hands roughly. “This… This is true?”
Amell nodded, she wasn’t sure what he was thinking.
“Mi amor, luz de mi vida.” He murmured putting his face onto her hands. She didn’t know what all that meant but she felt a hot tear drip onto one of her hands. She kissed the back of his head gently then lifted his face up to look at him.
She looked into his beautiful, brown eyes. He looked... happy, despite the tears. Amell brushed away the silent tears running down his face and kissed each cheek tracing the their salty path.
“Mi amor.” She leaned and whispered in his ear before scooping him up in a big hug. One Zevran fiercely returned.
“You’re alright with what I said?” She asked without letting him go.
“Oh yes, you… just surprised me.” He admitted, his face still buried in her shoulder.
“You’re sure?” She asked pulling away to look at him again. His voice sounded rough.
“I am quite sure, yes.” He smiled and stroked her cheek. “I’m sorry, I have first watch. I… I should go.”
Tactile
sumomoblossom77
asked
“Zevran prompt: Tactile :)”
She is cold, hard metal. Steel scraping against steel, iron clanging in her ears. Armor buckled tight, protecting but choking; she feels a chain around her neck--a necklace carrying the weight of iron and gold and steel. At night she unclasps the necklace and lets the ring fall into her hand, the cool chain pooling in her palm, before she puts it safely away.
He is leather, smooth and supple. His clothes carry the scent of the earth and his hair smells like the smoke of the campfire. She kisses the curve of her neck and could swear he tastes like spices; vanilla and cinnamon and the salty tang of sweat.
When they’re together, the world feels soft. She lays on blankets that feel like fine silk and thick, warm wool, no matter how old and ragged she knows them to be. Rough hands, scarred hundreds of times over, but softened by familiarity and by rich Antivan oils, work deep into her muscles and coax the rest of her day away.
Nightmares
Zevran x Lyra Tabris
There are nights when he wakes up screaming, and there’s nothing she can do.
At first, she think it’s just nightmares. Just nightmares, that is, and nothing more. But she recognizes his reluctance to talk, and gradually she realizes that the nightmares are his demons; the things that haunt him that he cannot run from in the dead of sleep.
It starts like a moan or a sigh in his sleep, but climbs rapidly to a sound that wakes them both--and he cuts it off the second he becomes conscious of his surroundings.
Lyra, startled and frightened, still asks him if he is alright though her words are timid. He assures her, “Everything’s fine. I’m sorry for waking you. Go back to sleep.” His voice is strained.
She wonders if his nights are haunted by the Crows. As they grow closer, and she learns, she wonders if he is haunted by Rinna.
But those terrible nights grow more frequent, as they get closer and closer to facing the Archdemon. And they grow worse, and she fears that he his hardly getting any sleep--certainly no more than she is. Lyra worries about him.
He wakes in the wee hours of the morning with a shout, and his arms jerk away from his body before he can regain himself. Lyra grabs him, holds him tight, she whispers even as he’s coming to: “You’re okay, you’re okay.” She can feel tears stinging her eyes, afraid of nothing more than the fact that she cannot help him.
Zevran finds himself, and he buries himself in her embrace. He holds her tight, but he his still trembling, and when he speaks he does not hide the shaking in his voice. “Lyra.” Her name is all he can say. “Lyra, Lyra,” like a sorrowful lullaby.
She holds him tighter, “I’m here.”
And she may never believe it, but it is enough. They hold each other until sleep comes again for them both. The next day she’ll think, somewhere in the space between dreaming and waking, that she heard him tell her “I cannot lose you.”