but also maybe 04 for zev and a mahariel of ur choosing uwu xo
04. — salve // #WIITHKNIVES (@vilifyme)
"Where is he?" Iloen descended upon the camp like a fury of locusts — thrumming with rage that would have sent lesser men shrinking into their tents to avoid being swept up in it. Blood caked her face and leathers — some certainly hers, however most had the distinctive hue of darkspawn ichor — and there was a prominent limp in her gait, but she let neither distract from her quarry.
Leliana made a half-hearted attempt to intercept, but the Dalish deftly avoided her and circled the campfire Alistair was pointedly engrossed in diligently stoking. Eyes trained on a familiar tent. It's flap pulled back, the shemlen mage was preparing to enter when Iloen hissed, "Leave him!"
Wynne had more sense than to protest, hands lifted in silent surrender as Iloen ducked past her and into clutch of the tent. Pitched just tall enough to afford her the benefit to loom, she did just that. The Dalish archer stood over the form stretched out, wounded but alive, on the bedroll before her. Zevran the sole recipient of the ire that bubbled behind clenched teeth and quivering fists, balled at her sides.
It was there she stood for a long moment. Glowering down at him with flinty green eyes that scoured for any sign of mortal injury. Only once she was satisfied he wasn't going to give way in the next few moments did she speak. "Don't you ever do that again." Calmer now for what it was worth, Iloen's demand was thick with something she had yet to acknowledge. Something heavy that sat in the pit of her belly and made her palms slick.
Finally, she knelt beside him. Wiping her hands on the flattened grass before digging into the satchel at her hip and producing a small wooden box. Its contents a mystery until she pulled the needle and sinew from it. "I let you live so you can help me kill my enemies. Not put yourself between them and me."