This is a little idea that I came up with several months ago. I posted it originally on the FanFiction site and, with encouragement from Erynnar, I am posting it here. I hope you all enjoy!
The idea for this one came to me weeks ago while I was making dinner for my family (I’ll let you figure out the menu that night!). I had been playing DA:O right before starting, and my brain was obviously still in Ferelden! LOL! Anyway, it took me a while to get it down to where I liked it … this is actually my second version. I’m not quite sure I’m satisfied with Zevran’s reaction at the end … but I simply can’t get him down on paper well. I understand him and can see him in my head … but he just won’t appear on paper right! If you have any suggestions, please let me know!
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Though the hour was late, business at the Gnawed Noble Tavern was as brisk as ever despite the persistence of the Blight. It seemed that as the devastation and peril brought on by the Blight increased, so did business at
such establishments. Zevran Arainai didn’t mind the comings and goings of the patrons, nor the numbers to be found within the tavern’s walls. After all, he was an assassin and the best way to “disappear” in his profession– and he was a professional in this regard - was to simply blend in and become a part of the surrounding crowd. In order to have a crowd in which to disappear, one had to have multitudinous people present.
With that in mind, Zevran skulked and skirted his way through the common room towards the back of the tavern in the direction of the room he was sharing with some of his companions after what he felt was a profitable night. However, it was as he passed the lodgings of his female companions in the room next to his
that the elf found his curiosity piqued.
“Oooooh!” he heard the honeyed alto tones of his fearless leader moaning as he started by the room. His already pointed ears perked up at this. Then came a deep male chuckle. “You like that, do you?” it asked seductively.
Alistair. Zevran chuckled softly to himself. The future king of Ferelden had finally given
in to his natural instincts and desires, it seemed. Zevran knew that he would be making the most
of teasing the innocent young man over the next few days. Smiling wickedly at that thought, he turned
back towards his room ….
… and froze mid-stride when he heard a new voice, this one with a heavy Orlesian accent. It sounded pouty as she said, “But what about the rest of us?” Again, Alistair chuckled. “Be patient,” he replied to Leliana. “I have enough to go around.”
The rest of us?! Enough to go around? Zevran couldn’t move for a long moment. His brain suddenly felt as if were on overload. This was too interesting to pass up. Just what was the ex-templar up to? When had
he become so brazen? And, more importantly, he added to himself, why was I not invited?
When the haughty tones of the apostate witch cried out, “No more teasing! It’s my turn now!” Zevran found himself scooting ever closer to the door that stood between him and the events occurring on the other side. He placed an ear up against the barricade so he could hear the conversation more clearly. Shortly thereafter, he was rewarded with Morrigan’s throaty groan of pleasure.
Leliana clapped her hands together delightedly while saying, “It’s – It’s so … sticky!” After a moment longer, she spouted off a stream of Orlesian that could only be construed as a positive reaction.
Alistair’s voice snorted in amusement at her reaction first then he asked politely, “Wynne, would you like a turn?”
Wynne’s grandmotherly tones chuckled delightedly at his inquiry. “Usually I would decline,” she explained at length, “given that these types of activities are fit mostly for the younger generations. However,” she added, “I will take you upon your offer this one time, my boy!”
The next few moments were filled with such noises of pleasure and delight that Zevran was unable to contain his curiosity any longer. Falling back on the techniques he had specialized in since a child under the tutelage of the Crows, he quickly bypassed the locking mechanism on the barrier, entered the room silently and stealthily made his way to the rear chamber where the others were located. The light was dim save for one bright candle on a nearby nightstand, so he was able to remain in the shadows unseen.
As he inched further into the room, he found his five companions seated on the bed, Alistair near the headboard and in the middle with Elissa to his right, Leliana to his left and one of each of the mages on either side at his feet; and all fully clothed. Moving ever closer, Zevran caught himself frowning. What in all of Thedas are they doing? he wondered.
“Oh, Alistair,” Elissa murmured, leaning into his shoulder, “that was absolutely wonderful!”
Leliana softly murmured her agreement as well; her eyes closed tightly, a look of pure bliss passing over
her features. She too was leaning against the ex-templar.
"Ah, my boy,” Wynne told him warmly, “should the Maker decide to reclaim these old bones on the morrow, I shall go to his side a very, very happy woman thanks to you!” Along with her words, she leaned forward to
pat the young man affectionately on his knee.
Zevran was happy to notice the blush that slowly crept up Alistair’s neck and continued to the tips of his ears.
Morrigan hmpfed in satisfaction, loudly licking the tips of her fingers, one at a time. “Now then,” the exotic beauty demanded, “what did you call this … this creation again?”
Alistair sat back, a contented smile crossing his features, his eyes closing in remembered pleasure. “It’s called pizza. Specifically a cheese-extra-cheese pizza,” he explained. “I came across a shop this afternoon making them. You can get them made with all kinds of toppings, but once I saw the basic cheese, well ….”
The women all giggled knowing of his passion for all things cheese. And, after their own enjoyment of his treat, they could not blame him one bit for indulging.
Zevran on the other hand, came to such a sudden stop in motion that he was at first afraid he’d alerted them to his presence in the room. After a long ten-count, he realized they had not and turned away in disgust, leaving the room, his concentration no longer on them or their discussion. Pizza! Of all the ….
Sighing, Zevran silently exited the room and turned towards his own. As he entered his room, he noted that Sten
and the mabari were already sleeping soundly, and Oghren, as usual, was snoring off his drink. He removed his armor and weapons, setting them within arms reach and slid beneath the sheets of his bed. “What a disappointing end to an otherwise delightful evening,” he muttered to himself as he rolled over.
Modifié par ladyames, 04 juin 2010 - 01:43 .
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