An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Rating: Gen
Pairings: Zevran & Warden, Warden & Warden
Summary: an epilogue to "Stranger Things Have Happened", my fic of the redcliffe quest
Quentin rose late in the morning, light already filling the entirety of the small guest room as he pulled on his robes. The others' rooms were already empty, so he walked down by the lake, breathing in the fresh morning air, enjoying the feel of the warm sun. Down by the docks, he spotted a figure in the water, and as he approached, he recognized the head of ginger hair as belonging to Fox.
"What are you doing?" Quentin called.
Fox swam closer. "Swimming," he said. "Water's nice, you should come in."
"What about the 'no swimming' sign?" Quentin said.
"What sign?" Fox said innocently. "I can't read, I must have missed it."
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Rating: Teen+ (for some non-graphic fighting)
Status: COMPLETE
Pairings: Zevran/Warden, Zevran&Warden (different Warden)
Summary: while travelling to Redcliffe, Quentin and his party run into a stranger who's very good with a pair of swords. they agree to a brief alliance that may end up lasting longer than they expected
...
At the head of the group, Cerberus dashed between the animated corpses, clawing and biting and smashing into them with the force of a whirlwind. He knocked down a particularly bare skeletal figure, and tore a bone from its arm, pausing to gnaw on it, tail wagging.
Alistair swung his shield, knocking aside a skeleton aiming for the Cerberus. "At least the dog's having fun," he shouted to Sten.
"His count is likely also higher than yours," Sten said, raising his sword to block a corpse's wild swing.
"What? No way, I'm at 11, how many has he killed?"
"13," Sten said.
took me long enough, but i finally finished this fic :D it ended up being longer than i expected, so if you started reading it before, start with the first chapter and scroll down because i added more content
“Are you sure, bella?” Zevran asked the lovely woman in front of him. “A tattoo is no simple task.”
Leila Tabris crossed her arms in front of her chest, an irritated expression on her face. “It isn’t a tattoo, Zevran.”
The assassin raised an eyebrow at her tone. He kept forgetting how young the city elf truly was. “My apologies. I was merely concerned.”
“Over a bit of ink?” She wasn’t convinced, it seemed. Zevran always had an angle, it was true, but in this, he was sincere. He was already attached to her and did not wish to see her make a mistake.
“No.” Zevran chuckled, shaking his head. “I only know that once you see it on your body, you will want to make it permanent.”
“You think you know me so well.” Leila scoffed, pulling her tunic up over her head and tossing it on the chair beside her. “Just do as I ask.”
Zevran bowed mockingly, enjoying the red at the tips of her ears as she grew angry again. He motioned towards the empty table in the room they shared. “If you would be so kind.”
Leila stuck her tongue out.
“Don’t tease me, bella.”
She rolled her eyes before doing as he’d asked. She laid flat on the table, her chest pressing into the blanket he had placed for her comfort. Zevran approached her with an ink well and a small brush in his hand. He positioned these beside her.
“Is there a specific design you’d like?”
“Surprise me.”
Zevran smirked before getting to work. Dipping the brush into the inkwell, he made sure he had a sizeable amount of ink before turning to Leila’s exposed back. Slowly and with great care, he ran the brush over her smooth bronze skin, creating art of swirls along her hip. He knew, without a doubt, that the budding young assassin would want it as a tattoo in the future. He hoped to be alive to see it.
Here is some Zevran angst for Zevran week. Written from a prompt given to me by fenharelsshadow
Theron had lied. He had promised that he would return from Fort Drakon, that he would slay the Archdemon and be back in time to celebrate with a glass of fine Antivan brandy.
He had lied.
Zevran sat in the tent that’d been provided for him. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t eat. All he could do was stare at the entrance to his meager quarters, the fabric whipping in the wind. The stench of smoke, blood, and death filled the air. Wails could be heard from a distance; mothers, wives, sisters finding their dead.
His friends had returned from the top of the Fort, weary and bloodied. Alistair, the future king of Ferelden, was injured, having taken a bad hit from the dragon. Wynne was exhausted, her pale face looking even more ghostly than normal. Sten, the powerful Qunari, was the only one who looked as if he hadn’t been in a battle. Only there was something in his arms…
The first tear fell. Zevran didn’t even notice. His heart ached. He wished to die. There was not a thing that could be done to relieve the pain he felt. The Archdemon lay slain, a sword protruded from the amethyst dragon’s skull. Thedas was safe from the Blight.
But at the cost of the man he loved. Theron Mahariel lay prone on a table within the camp, on display for those who wished to see the Hero of Ferelden, a name given to his love by the new King and Queen.
Theron was a hero, there was no question about that, but Zevran didn’t care for him being a hero. He didn’t care that the Blight was over. He only cared that he was alone, again.
Rinna’s death had not hurt this much. In fact, nothing had hurt this much.
His eyes registered a movement at the front of the tent. His heart picked up speed, a blind hope energizing him. When he saw the familiar red-haired bob of his companion, Zevran’s gaze dropped away, the pain returning anew. Leliana didn’t speak, didn’t offer condolences. She sat beside him and took his hand, the only comfort she could offer for their fallen friend.
“There was one time, when I was still with the crows-”
“Shut up Zevran. We’ve heard enough of your stories,” Leliana snapped. You looked over at her, weary of her behavior. She had been in an ill attitude for a couple of days now, but every time you tried to get out of her what was wrong, she’d completely change the subject. Finally, you had given up.
Zevran’s hair rippled in the wind as he clutched his chest in mock offense. “Oh you hurt me, Leliana. I’m going to hang my head in shame and perhaps cry a little. Wynne, may I comfort myself in your bosom?” Wynne rolled her eyes, twirling her staff absentmindedly.
“Zevran. Old as your grandmother, remember? We’ve talked about this.” You chuckled at your party members. Zevran enjoyed getting everyone going, you thought. It was something the Antivan elf was good at, and he enjoyed it almost as much as he did trying to get you to join him in his tent each time you set up camp.
“It does not matter how old a woman is. If her bosom is a good one, then I would very much like to cry on it. Or-”
“Zevran!” You scolded him into silence, but not before he could get a couple of chuckles out. He winked at you when you turned to glare at him, but you were distracted as Wynne’s eyes went wide.
“Watch out!” Her staff shot forward, green magic rippling from the end as it brushed past your shoulder. Before you were able to turn, you could hear the magic meet its mark and the wail of a darkspawn. Zevran already had his set of daggers in each hand as he rushed towards the ambush.
“Don’t stare at my behind too long, love. You’ll get distracted that way,” Zevran teased as he rushed past you. You were about to retort, but your attention was drawn towards a horde of darkspawn that rushed to your party.
“If it’s a fight they want,” you said, twirling your sword, “it’s a fight they’ll get.” You gripped your sword, plunging it into the skull of a darkspawn just as it reached you. Fighting your way towards Zevran, who seemed to be overrun by darkspawn, you lose track of how many you killed as the blood began to stain your armour.
“My knight in shining armour, coming to rescue me!” Zevran swooned, bringing his daggers down onto the back of a demon in front of him. You refrained from rolling your eyes, much like Wynne had, turning your back on Zevran to protect his, knowing that he would keep you from being stabbed in the back.
“Not the time Zev!”
“Oh I get a pet name now? And what should I call you? The Beauty, prettiest of all of Ferelden? Or perhaps…” he trailed off as he was forced to focus on the fight in front of him, and you can’t help the smile from creeping up on your lips.
________
Later that night, you found Zevran near the bonfire of your campsite. The soft flames caused his tanned skin to glow, which gave him an ethereal look, his gaze gleaming as they stared absentmindedly in the flames. The others had gone to bed, and it left you alone with the Antivan assassin. You find the thought oddly pleasing and slightly nerve wracking. You took a seat next to him, ignoring his intense stare and slightly playful smile.
“I see the Beauty has graced me with her presence. How lucky I must be.” The world was silent, save the soft caress of his words and the patter of cracking wood. You shut your eyes, breathing in the fresh air and relishing the gentle breeze press against your face.
“I wanted to thank you Zevran.” You glanced over to see Zevran’s gaze turn serious, a foreign look on his face. “There have been plenty of times that you could have stabbed me in the back, and yet, you’ve kept your word. Turned your back on those who you trained with, grew up with.” And there it was again. All seriousness drained from the elf’s face, and he leaned closer to you. Your gaze grazed his lips, but you’re not sure he noticed.
“I could not waste a beautiful body such as yours. Plus, I must admit, I do wish to stab it. A dagger would not be my weapon of choice.” You groaned, causing Zevran’s throat to rumble with laughter, and you attempt to push him over, pressing your hands to his chest. His hands suddenly clamped over yours, preventing you from pulling away. Instead of falling over, like you had hoped, he was pulling you towards him. His lips were suddenly upon yours, and you found your walls shattered, despite your best attempts to keep them up around him at all times.
The kiss was soft, much gentler than you thought could come from someone like him. There was a certain danger behind it, sure, but you felt safe in his embrace. Your eyes shuttered closed, and you deepened the kiss, allowing yourself to fully relax.
Finally he pulled away, and your eyes are heated. “I suppose you share my gratitude?” You found yourself saying, despite the fact that your head was spinning.
Zevran seemed just as affected, and he tugged you to your feet. “Come. Let me show you just how far my gratitude extends.”
This time, as he led you towards his tent, you did not refuse.
