#zevranfic

[space-buns]

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.

[memmett]

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.

[memmett]

"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.”

[memmett]

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.”

[yashabeausmoved]

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.

If he’s being honest with himself, it was partly jealousy at first that clouded his view on the matter. Once he got past the attempt on his life, that is. He would never admit it, not under any circumstance where he has a choice in the matter, but looking back he knows he harbored a bit of a crush on his brave companion. She was beautiful, smart, resourceful and most importantly laughed at his jokes instead of at him. As their friendship blossomed, he’d come to care for her deeply, but even he could tell he wasn’t alone in this. Although they may not always get along, he was fairly certain each one of their merry band of traveling misfits would gladly lay down their life for their leader. Sure, it would be in the name of the Blight, but it would also be for her. Even the Qunari had developed a startling fondness for the Warden. He swears he actually saw Sten crack a smile in her presence once, but his eyes made have been playing a trick on him.

But her and Zevran, that’s a mystery he still can’t grasp. Do all women have some sort of secret attraction to paid killers? Should he be growing his hair out and getting tattoos? These were the sort of things he often asked himself while sitting around camp. He sometimes liked to imagine the couple having an argument and suddenly- poof! Frog Zevran. His amusement was generally short-lived, however, because his mind would quickly wander into something more serious. Could they actually trust the assassin? What were his intentions with her? Madalena was her own person, yes, and Alistair knew she could handle herself. At first he hadn’t been terribly concerned, as it seemed a relationship based in one thing the two shared very enthusiastically each night at camp (tents should really have thicker walls, he had decided after that first night). But over time he’d watched them both, and it became clear even to a romance novice like himself that something more was at work.

—

An earring. He gave her an earring, one singular earring he feels he should note. Didn’t they typically come in pairs? Was he missing something? The Warden had pulled Alistair aside that night to talk. Their confrontation with the archdemon was rapidly approaching, and there was much Grey Warden business to discuss. Oh, and the little part where she was putting him forward as king. But that was beside the point, which was….oh right, that earring. Or rather, what the piece of jewelry represented. They had a long, at times awkward but honest conversation about life, love and all the best ways to shred darkspawn into a bloody pulp.

“You know, don’t tell Morrigan, but I think you might just be my best friend, Alistair.”

“My usual instinct would tell me there’s a joke at my expense hidden somewhere in those words, but just this once I can tell you’re serious. And I- it’s an honor. I feel the same way, I’m sure you know by now. Anyway, if you do ask Morrigan she’ll certainly assure you you’re my only friend too. Lucky you.”

“Lucky me indeed. Speaking of, I wanted to talk to you about something. You know, as my best friend, you have important responsibilities to uphold.”

“Oh? Well this should be good. Or mildly embarrassing. What is it, then?”

She seems thoughtful, before she shrugs. “How do you…tell someone very important to you how you truly feel about them? I mean, there were people, when I was in the tower. Temporary companionship, fun for a night, but nothing- nothing like this.”

“You mean, how do you tell the elf who tried to assassinate you once that you’re sickeningly in love with him?” She shoved him then, hard. “Hey! Come on, we’ve all seen you staring at that earring whenever you’re not wearing it. Not to mention the uh, things we all hear at night.” He cleared his throat before moving on. “Look, I won’t pretend to understand it, and it’s not as though I have a lot of experience in this sort of thing myself but I would think he’d want to know. Given that we may all be killed any day now, I’d say sooner rather than later.”

“You know, for once, I think you may be right Alistair.” She felt a rush of emotions suddenly, mostly dominated by excitement at the prospect of finally making her feelings for Zevran official after many attempts and much deliberation. Before her friend could make another teasing remark, she’d grabbed his face to to plant a swift kiss to his cheek. As her fellow warden turned some shade of pink, she stood and took off.

—

She found her lover- her love, at the tavern where he appeared to be talking down a predictably drunk Oghren who’d apparently challenged the barkeep to hand combat for reasons unknown. Amusing as the whole scene was, she had other priorities now. Spotting her as she entered, Zevran’s face was beaming. Without a word, she took the elf’s hand in her own and led him back into the private rooms of the establishment. “Why my dear Warden, I do like your enthusiasm,” she heard Zevran remark as they moved and the smirk on her face continued to grow. Once the noise of the place had been reduced to a dull background roar, she spun around to face him. “I need to tell you something now.” When he seemed ready to reply, she waved her hand to quiet him.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you this for some time now. I was going to tell you just the other day, but then you had your lips on my- well, you don’t need me to explain your wide array of talents.”

“On the contrary-“ He began, eyebrow cocked, but she brought a finger to those same lips to silence him again.

“I love you.” She spoke the words without a further moment of hesitation, savoring the look of surprise on his face. It was extremely hard to catch a former assassin of the Crows off guard, so this was no small achievement. “I, Madalena Amell, most likely best mage in Thedas, am completely in love with you, Zevran Arainai. This is new to you, I know. It’s new to me too and I have no expectations, only that you let me love you because if I’m going to face probable death at the breath of an archdemon in a few day’s time then I’m going to do it being yours.”

The barkeep, exhausted and sore, found the pair an hour later celebrating her announcement atop barrels of cheap wine. “Te amo,” the elf had been muttering against the woman’s skin.

[space-buns]

“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.”

[badpoetwithdreams]

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.

[badpoetwithdreams]

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.”