Made for Zevwarden Week 2020 for the prompt #RELATIONSHIPGOALS : The Future
"A love so great could never be destroyed."
In a world where chaos reigns and monsters roam about, the Warden met someone who made her dream about a normal life and growing old together. In such a short time he gave her joy, excitement, pleasure and most of all unbound love. Her path was clear before and it is even clearer now: she must protect the world and the people in it who matter to her. But her sacrifice is now going to mean so much more...
(I decided to use different wardens for the prompts because I just got a different vibe for them. And she isn't taller, just on a higher step)
This fic still needs more work, so I’m just posting a WIP/sneak peek. (This is very much the first draft and not even the entirety of it - so there are bound to be changes.)
The title is absolutely a working title, too.
@zevraholics
One Piece At A Time
Set two years after the Blight.
Zevran loses a treasured memento of his beloved Warden - but he gains something even more precious in the process.
Zevran races down the ever narrower alleyways, deeper into the maze that is the Wycome alienage and as the walls close in on him, the colours, smells and noises begin to smother him, drain the remaining shreds of breath out of his burning chest. His heart is pounding so hard and fast it feels like it's going to burst and his lungs feel as if the ribcage has been shrinking around them these past twenty minutes.
The moment flashes in front of his mind's eye again.
A dark-eyed girl, dressed in faded rags and covered in barely faded bruises, bumping into him in the middle of the road. Him bending down to help her up - paying all the attention to his coin and gear and failing to notice his pendant slipped from underneath his tunic.
The old chain snapped so easily Zev didn’t even realize what happened until the little thief managed to put some distance between him and herself.
And again, he curses himself for a fool. Falling for the oldest trick in the book. Damn, not even falling for the bloody trick but for those black eyes of hers.
Even the mere memory of Lenn's eyes strips him of all his defences - and apparently, his wits, too.
You foolish, foolish bird...
He lost sight of her a good while ago. This is her home, after all. She knows all the shortcuts and dead ends and she's a scrawny kid, too – that about doubles the number of routes and hideouts at her disposal.
By now, Zevran is chasing pure luck and fading echoes.
...
Slink squeezes deeper into the shadows between Darrow's place and the old warehouse. Her heartbeat picks up and she holds her breath as the footsteps draw nearer and rush by and she offers a silent thanks to the Watcher for holding a shadow wing over her.
The stranger will ask around. Maybe he'll stick around, too, looking for her. She's going to have to stay low for a few hours.
Seems like the trinket is worth a lot. To the golden elf, anyhow.
She waits for the echoes to fade before she sneaks out into the alleyway and back in the direction she came from.
Not long after, she's sitting under the old apple tree in the alienage orchard, inspecting her loot.
It's been a piss poor day. She only has a few coppers – and that stupid locket.
Now that she can properly inspect it, it becomes clear whatever value it holds is purely sentimental.
There's a pang of guilt but Slink pushes it back.
His fault. Should have been more mindful of that and less mindful of his bloody coin.
It couldn't have been worth much even when it was new. It might have been pretty once but even Slink can tell the materials are second-grade at best and that it was made by some underpaid apprentice in one of those workshops that spit out dozens of such trinkets every day. The wire outline looks like a flower of some sort. Poppy, perhaps? The remnants of red enamel suggest as much. The metal has already gone ugly green in places the cleaning cloth can't reach, even though the more accessible areas are polished to a sombre bronze sheen. Bits of the filigree are missing – and the locking mechanism is broken, so the thing has to be secured with a twist of wire. Overcome with curiosity, she removes it and opens the locket.
There are two miniature portraits, both beautifully rendered and each probably worth more than the locket itself. Two pairs of eyes staring back at her. She recognizes the golden eyes of the handsome stranger that tried to be nice to her today, despite knowing all too well what she was up to. The other man's eyes are black, deeper than even her own, framed in dark tattoos she knows to be the Watcher's shadow wings.
Well. Looks like the Watcher abandoned this one. The smudged blood staining the lower half of his picture and the anguish – not anger – in the golden elf's voice when he called after her... They tell a story.
She thinks of her mother's copper ring and its comforting weight pulling at the leather string around her neck – before Old Seb took it from her as "compensation" for food and lodgings when she failed to bring in enough loot.
And there it is again, the jab of guilt, stronger this time.
...
The alley spits Zevran out in the alienage square. It's busy this hour of the day. There are people talking and laughing, groups of old men huddled around makeshift tables, gossipping and playing chess or cards, children playing in the shadow of the vhenadahl, women hanging out laundry to dry, peddlers offering their goods...
He pauses and looks around, catching his breath.
Very well. You've lost her. Nevermind. She'll try to sell it. Probably won't get much for it. It was a cheap trinket to begin with – and a good portion of the enamel chipped off when...
He draws a slow, calming breath and his vision blurs a bit.
He closes his hand over his chest where the pendant should be. That missing weight there pulls him down heavier than any physical object could.
It's been two years. Two whole years and even though the pain has faded somewhat, Lenn's likeness has been fading faster from his memory.
More and more often these days he closes his eyes and struggles to conjure up Lennan's face, only to be left with blurry, vague, strangely disjointed outlines. A shattered image – and he's losing it, one shard at a time...
Zevran is not ready to let it go. He's not ready to let *Lennan* go, not yet. Maybe not ever.
When Lux agreed to join Merrill and her friends in a night out, he knew it would be awfully tiring, but being taken to a dance club was never in his plans. Luckily for him, there was a nice open bar right across the dancing floor and, most importantly, there were stools. He tried to tell Merrill where he would be staying, but the loud music obligated him to gesture “drink” and “sit” while pointing at the bar. The girl smiled and gestured back in agreement before being pulled into the crowd by the two girls that were accompanying them that night.
At the bar, when he found a free spot to stay, Lux went classic and ordered whiskey, no ice. Sipping on his drink, the blond man turned around on the stool to watch the partying people and rest his elbows and back on the counter. It was all a mess. Dim colourful lights flashed all around, shining over some sort of dry ice smoke that smelled like plastic. Where there was no strobing lights, there was black light instead, which made any white or neon coloured clothes around stand out brightly. Even his own hair seemed to glow. And the music? It was almost like facing hell itself.
The glass on his hand emptied itself too quickly, and so he ordered another and then another and then one more. Leaning his back against the bar comfortably and resting his boots on the stool, he kept on watching the dance floor, looking for Merrill to make sure she was alright. At least someone better be having fun, he thought. He rested his lips against the glass, feeling the slight burning sensation from the alcohol drops along its edge, and then taking a small sip. On the dance floor, Lux eyes were caught by a white hair shining neon purple. A young woman was dancing by herself, moving her body slowly, paced with the beating sounds and having her eyes closed. Lux couldn't help but to watch her and the way she ran her hands up her neck and nape, putting the long loose hair up for a moment before letting the curly locks fall back along her crop top and shoulders. She opened her eyes and met his gaze, smiling in the corner of her lips. Instinctively, Lux looked away, flushed by the thought of staring rudely at someone, but took nothing for his eyes to follow back the path to the crowd and… do not find her. He frowned, scanning the people.
"Hey" the voice came from his left, making him startle a bit despite all the noise around him. The elven woman by his side was facing the bar and for a moment Lux thought she said nothing at all, until she turned her gaze to his face, smiling "Do you wanna make shots?"
"What?" he asked, a bit confused.
She giggled "Tequila, do you like it?". Before he could answered, the barman handed the girl two shot glasses with a yellowish drink spilling from its edges. She offered him one "I'm Eryn, by the way"
"I'm… Lux" he hesitated, not sure of what else to say.
"Nice to meet you, Lux. So," she took the glass to her mouth and drank it in a single sip, making a weird face and noise right after "Do you wanna dance?"
"I don't, actually"
"Too bad. Well, have a great night then" smiling brightly, she turned on her feet and went to the dance floor, but not without looking back over her shoulder at him with an rather inviting look.
His eyes followed her body for a few seconds "Shit, whatever" he mumbled, turning the tequila in his glass to his mouth and leaving the bar at once to the crowd. Reaching her was harder than he predicted. Maybe he had too many drinks? He lost himself in thoughts, only to be brought back to reality by the white haired woman in front of him, who ran a hand up his chest to his shoulder, leaning on him while dancing. He stood still, looking down to her as she got closer and pulled him by the wrist and wrapped her own body with his arm. Then, caressing up his muscles, she hugged him on his neck. Lux palmed her waist, feeling her exposed skin hot to the touch and looking directly at her face, to meet her eyes. Amongst all of that mess of strobing lights and smoke, the scene felt unreal enough to make him pull the woman closer and follow her fluid movements according to the music.
She was teasing him and had no intention to hide it. A million thoughts came to his mind and, still, he focused on nothing else. Her eyes were fixed on his as they spun around the dance floor. She was too close and tangled her fingers to the hairs on his nape, scratching his scalp lightly with long nails. He couldn't help but to risk moving one hand down to her hips and was glad to receive a lusty smile as response. As they kept on dancing, Lux felt his blood rushing more and more, taking him away from any hesitation he could have left, and just when he was about to lean closer to her, she spun on her axis to touch her back against his chest, pulling her hair to the side and exposing her neck. Lux bit his lips. She was an attractive woman, he could easily admit so, but more and more the night diverged from what he was expecting. She placed her hands over his and lead him across her body, reaching and terribly dangerous proximity to her chest as she conducted their dance.
The last shot of tequila surely helped, because when Eryn turned around once more, he pulled her close enough to make her breasts touch his torso, but so did her when she put her forehead against his. Dark as that place was, Lux could only see the woman in front of him, glowing purple, and moving shadows all around. He wanted to get closer, but when he was about to make a move, he felt himself being pulled down and a pair of lips touch his. Eryn kissed him deeply and shamelessly, touching her body on his and holding him by his neck. He did not thought of refusing, and once again let her lead their pace, quick and strong. His mind was absent, controlled only by his body's wish for more, which accepted any invitation to explore her skin while holding her.
She pulled off for air, nibbling on his lips as she scratched his neck down to his shirt's collar. Moving naturally among the crowd, she lead him away from the dance floor, heading to a more private space. Lux made no objections, but could notice with the corner of his eyes Merrill and her friends in a distance, looking at them with shocked smiles on their faces. Whatever else happened that night, Lux was sure he would blame it on the alcohol and strobe lights.
These were the sketches I had prepared for Zevwarden Week 2020, but couldn't get around to do them as bigger and more solid pieces. These are all 5x7cm thumbnails.
for @heniareth during OC Kiss Week, just under the wire!
King Sulri Aeducan and Inquisitor Thena Adaar meet for negotiations at Skyhold during DA:I. They're all very professional... until the negotiations are concluded.
Inquisitor Thena Adaar lounges in the comfortable chairs Josie had brought in just for the aftermath of these negotiations. She’s impressed, as usual, with Josie’s sensitivity to subtlety. Thena is sitting just a bit lower than King Sulri Aeducan, without being uncomfortable herself, nor with any awkwardness on Sulri’s part. That helps put them on more even position, in spite of Thena’s height and horns.
“Well, I think those negotiations have turned out well for both of our peoples,” Thena says. She’s wearing softer, less formal clothing for this evening’s socializing, but in a color Josie had once said made her look less like granite. At the time, Thena had tried to explain the compliments she’d gotten for her ‘chiseled’ cheekbones, but Josie had said that had nothing to do with her wardrobe.
King Sulri gives a sweet smile. “It helps that Ms. Montilyet isn’t willing to milk her allies dry for a short-term gain,” she said.
“Do you encounter that attitude often?” Thena asks.
“Let’s just say it’s refreshing,” King Sulri says. She had done this during the negotiations, too. She wasn’t stingy with necessary information, but she also didn’t allow anything to slip that was unnecessary.
“Well, Josephine is the best,” Thena says. “If she did ever decide to milk anyone dry, I’m sure they’d thank her after.”
King Sulri raises an eyebrow. “Would they?”
“Not like… that? Is that dirty? How would that…?” Thena sputters. “Nevermind, I probably don’t want to know.”
Sulri laughs. “Don’t worry! I’m just teasing you. I’m a little surprised how quickly your mind went to the gutter, though, Inquisitor Adaar. After all, I’m quite sure I don’t know how that would work, either. I gather,” and here she waves her hand gracefully in the direction Josie had disappeared to, “Ms. Montilyet does not have sexual inclinations.”
Thena sighs, but it comes out a little more long-suffering than she intended. “No, she doesn’t.”
Sulri smiles coyly at that. “You’re an admirer, I gather?” she asks, leaning forward, and there seems to be something else behind the question.
Thena considers carefully. She’s been shot down so often lately, gently and otherwise, but she likes to think she doesn’t let that slow her down. Eventually, something will go her way. It always does. Eventually.
“Yes, though I like to think I just generally appreciate people,” Thena says. “There’s a lot to like about Josephine. I would argue there’s as much to like about you, as well.”
“Really?” Sulri seems to be a bit taken aback, but then smiles again, like sugar and trouble. “Well, that’s darling, but you hardly know me.”
“Don’t I?” Thena counters. “I’ve watched you through this negotiation. You prioritize your people, not the nobility. I think you’re like me, you want as many people to get through this Corypheus mess as possible.”
“Including myself,” Sulri snaps, “and not including anyone who would betray me.”
Thena’s mouth twists in something wry. “Naturally. Does that even need to be said?”
“Just so we’re clear,” Sulri says haughtily. She seems very pleased, which encourages Thena.
“Even with all that, though, you are also gorgeous. I wouldn’t be in a position to offer anything stable—we both have obligations apart—” Thena is pleased when Sulri snorts at this understatement. “but that never stopped me as a mercenary, and it certainly wouldn’t stop me now. If you were willing.”
“Darling,” Sulri says, standing gracefully. Here it comes, Thena thinks, bracing herself for disappointment. But then Sulri grabs Thena’s wrists, sending a thrill shooting through her arms, and lower. “You certainly are as forward as they say Surface mercenaries are.”
Thena’s brain is softening around the edges a bit already, and she struggles to keep her mind on moving things forward. “Yes, ma’am,” she manages.
“How darling,” Sulri says softly, and Thena feels herself melt at the warmth in her voice. She hovers an inch from Thena’s lips, a sweet, mineral freshness in the air around her. Thena feels her breath hitch, and that scent overwhelms her. She dreams of Sulri’s hair in her fingers, of their skin brushing bare together, of their longing meeting in the soft silence of Thena’s bedroom.
Then Sulri kisses Thena, pinning her wrists firmly to her chair. Their longing meets, expands, explodes, showers over them as Sulri teases, and taunts, and tantalizes.
Then she takes a step back.
“Wow,” Thena says, those sparks of longing still dancing over her. “I. I have a room. I definitely have one of those. It’s nice, even. It’s discrete, from here. Would you…?”
“My darling Inquisitor,” Sulri says as she releases Thena’s wrists and backs up another few steps. “I’d be delighted.”
