Judging time! Looks like we got a good number of entries and non-entries alike this time...
if I don't bork the formatting the first time it'll be a miracle! Edit: aaaand I borked the formatting. *headdesks and scrambles to fix*
payroo wrote...
Prompt: Consolation
Every origin has a sort of crisis point in DAO, where they confront the
troubles of their past (think returning to Orzammar for dwarven Wardens,
Redcliffe for mages, etc.) In the game the PC doesn't get to talk to
the companions much about his/her personal problems, but that's what
fandom is for!
How would Zevran console the Warden?
Time Limit: 3 hours
Deadline: Tuesday April 12th
Prize: a sketch of whatever you want
ENTRIESfrostajulie wrote...
My entree for Brynee Cousland began at 4:30 ended at 5:35 edited until 5:47
Brynee Cousland stared in horrified disgust at the gurgling prostrate form of the former Arl. He wheezed loudly, blood frothing on his lips as he inched backwards.
"I-" He coughed, bloody sputem spraying the front of his armor. Her nose curled in disgust, her entire body trembling with barely suppressed rage.
"deserved-" Here he slipped off his elbow, and weakly attempted to right himself, "more!" And with a final malevolent glare he collapsed in a dead and bloody heap.
"No." She mutterred, a whispered breath, a disbelieving exhalation, a muted prayer. Her eyes were locked on the still corpse, wide, disbelieving, furious. Zevran tentatively reached for her. Alistair took a step towards her, Leiliana uncocked her bow, concern creasing her brow even as she turned to survey the hall from whence they had come.
"No!" Brynee screamed. Darkness. Fury. Hate. Blades drawn, skin ashen, heart pounding, she fell upon his corpse with such energy and violence that at first no one reacted. "No! No! No! No!" Her voice scraped from her throat like metal on stone, her daggers sank deep into unprotesting flesh, over and over she stabbed, harder and harder, deeper and deeper, her blades violating his corpse in a bloody macabre rhythym, punctuated by her harsh cries.
Blood, sprayed and pooled until Howe was nothing more than a hunk of unrecognizable dead meat on a boned frame and it happened so quickly but seemed to endure for an eternity as the team stared in horror at their leader, their steadfast rock of support, the one who looked for the best, hoped for the best, cheered them on to be their best, yet now fell upon the dead arl with an animals ferocity, yeilding herself up to the very worst demons of her nature.
Her cries became incoherant; wild, feral whines mostly-- .pouring from a throat wounded by a grief so profound the collective souls of all shivered in response to their mournful cadence.
As her stabbing motion slowed but her grief showed no sign of abatement Zevran reached for her. The moment he touched her she dropped her daggers and buried her face into his chest and wept. Great gulping sobs.
Alistair's eyes met Zevran's over Brynee's head, It was obvious to the former templar that the Antivan had not a clue how to comfort the Warden. He had one hand lightly gripping her upper arm and his other hanging awkwardly at his side. And why should he know how to offer comfort to another when such comfort had never been offerred to him? Zevran knew how to play a part, to fake a role, to manipulate a mark into believing he felt something he did not feel could never feel. Yet now, as he held the weeping and trembling warden whose bed he had shared for over a year, whose touch he gloried in and whose cries of passion he heard in his dreams, he realized what he felt now was real. And as such he had no clue what to do because anything he would have done when an assassin would have been a ruse and he wanted to offer real comfort not a cheap trick of his trade. And as all of this went through his mind in the span of several heartbeats all Alistair saw was a growing look of panic.
The former templar flushed. There had been a time- however briefly, when he would have loved to have been the one she turned to for comfort, even now, he could not still the smallest twinge of envy he felt toward the assassin who halfheartedly embraced the sobbing warden. Still it was not he his sister-warden had chosen, whatever she saw in that oily elf, it brought a light to her eyes she had been missing and Alistair had not even known it should be there until Zevran had joined them. It was not a light he would see die, regardless of its cause.
As Alistair tiptoed past the two, he gently but firmly grabbed Zevrans hanging arm by the wrist and laid it on top of her hair. with his hand atop Zevrans, atop her hair, Alistair couldn't resist pressing his own awkward comfort on her crown before walking away. As he joined Leiliana at the door Alistair turned to see Zevran's amber-eyed gaze had followed him but he had made no change in movement. Sighing heavily, rolling his eyes heavenward Alistair pulled Leiliana into his arms, ignoring her surprised squeak. with one hand he rubbed her hair and with the other he held her tight. Understanding flashed in his eyes, Zevran gave a small nod of thanks to the templar before turning his attention to the warden.
Leiliana smiled beguilingly into Alistairs eyes as he released her. Blushing furiously Alistair tried to whisper an apology, but the bard waved him off.
Zevran could feel her tears drenching the front of his armor but as his hands found a rhythymn that seemed to ease her suffering he found himself experiencing a very strange and awkward feeling. It had nothing to do with sex and yet everything to do with the woman in his arms. It was so foreign to him that he could not even put a name to it. Eventually he stopped trying but in the back of his mind he felt a vague sense of unease, a faint twinge of disturbance.
When at last they parted it was she who broke the embrace. Wiping her eyes with the heel of her hand and red facedly wiping her nose on the sleeve of her armor Brynee found herself unable to look at the assassin, instead her eyes locked upon the corpse of the fallen Arl.
"I still hate him." She rasped.
"I know." Zevran said.
"I wanted more." She grunted, tears welling up. "I deserved----" She choked on her words. Her eyes shooting to Zevran's in horror.
Fingers, weatherworn and sunbronzed reached out to move a sticky wet lock of hair from her face as his eyes, so full of understanding, laced with shared pain, locked with hers.
"I know." He whispered.
Brynee inhaled shakily letting her gaze linger within his before she moved to retrieve her daggers. Her lips curled in disgust as she wope them clean on the armor of a nearby corpse. As the two moved to leave the room, she paused to look on Howe for a final time. He represented everything she had lost, her past, her family, her home.
"I still hate him! He's dead, he's so dead and I still hate him." Her voice, strained scratch of sound, full of bewildered despair and spent rage tugged at a part of him Zevran was not aware of until that moment and he placed a warm palm against the small of her back, nudging her away from the carnage.
Brynee's eyes left the fallen form of her enemy to connect with the arm of her elven lover. Howe was her past, he was everything that hurt her, everything that broke her, he was destruction and pain and betrayal and hate. Here was her future. He was a part of everything that helped her, everything that healed her, he was passion and comfort and strength and joy.
Brynee Cousland did not look back again.
Awww, I really liked this! I liked how Alistair had to help poor emotionally-stunted Zevran along, and how Zev gets the hang of it eventually!
Loved how Brynee catches herself from repeating that same line "I deserved more." And the ending makes me so hopeful and happy!
Hilde wrote...
Da'len
Time: 2hours
Prompts: 2
I love that you address how the Dalish would feel about the Dalish Warden getting involved with an outsider, among many other things that would distance him from the clan. I can so see Sarel being the confronting one (given how grumpy he is before you agree to listen to his storytime).
Halae Dral wrote...
School and theatre have been eating my free time alive lately, but I did manage to do something for this prompt in what time I have. (I've got to start bringing better paper with me, though.) I wanted to try to write, but writing takes me far longer than drawing does...
(Since I think it wasn't really clear: this was supposed to be Zemariel after he figured out that his father had been captured, and Zevran trying to cheer him up with a humorous story)
Time: 40 minutes
Prompts: 0 (this is prompts won/given and not entered, right? Otherwise I think it's seven)
Aww, Zev's smile is so sweet
I really like the sad half-smile on Zemariel as well. I can really see that despite his worry, he can't help but be cheered up by Zevran somewhat.
Tigress M wrote...
Hi y'all! I saw this prompt the other day and couldn't help myself. I had to write something. 
Time: 2 hours
Prompts: 2
Confessions
She stared at the corpse at her feet, the tears silently slipping down her cheeks.
“I’m sorry but you won’t be able to bury it… him,” said Alistair, his face grim. “We’ll have to—“
“I will see to it, my dear fellow,” said Zevran. He patted the Templar on the shoulder and nodded.
“Yes… well then… I’ll go walk the perimeter to make sure there aren’t any more strays.” So saying, Alistair turned, leaving the two elves alone.
Ehrin never moved. Her eyes never veering from the horrible abomination at her feet. The thing that used to be her friend.
Zevran slipped beside her, laying an arm across her shoulder. He felt her body stiffen at his touch, but she did not pull away. That was something at least, and he would take what he could get right now.
“I am here.” He didn’t know what to say, but he hoped those words were enough for this woman who held tight to her thoughts and feelings, rarely letting anyone know what was going on inside. This was the first time he’d ever seen her cry and it tore at his heart like nothing else had since… Best not to think about that. This was not the time. She needed him here and now, not dwelling on some long past mistake that could never be forgotten, or undone.
“I killed him.”
The words jerked him back into the present, hauntingly echoing his own thoughts. “You did what you had to do. What he asked you to do.”
“I shouldn’t have let him touch the mirror. I should have stopped him. “
He didn’t know what she was talking about. She’d never talked about the events that had led her to the Grey Wardens. Even Alistair didn’t know anything other than that Duncan had saved her, but from whom or what, no one knew.
“I should have—“ she continued, still staring at the dead ghoul at her feet.
“Guilt will not bring him back,” he said, interrupting her. Hooking a hand under her chin he turned her face towards his. “It will not change anything except your view of the world, causing you to see everything through a cloud of darkness that will eat away at your soul.”
She gazed into his eyes, seeing his care and concern, but knowing she deserved none of it. She wanted to give in, to let his words find purchase in her heart, but she couldn’t. Instead she jerked her face away from his tender touch and turned her back on him once again. “That is all I deserve.”
“No!” he demanded, grabbing her by the shoulder and whipping her around to face him one more time. “I will not see you walk the same path I have tread.”
She looked at him in confusion, her own pain momentarily forgotten as she heard the agony in his voice.
Relief flooded through him as he watched her focus shift from within to without. He led her away from the corpse to sit beside a nearby stream, nodding to Sten as they passed, giving the Qunari the go ahead to remove the body.
“Tell me your story, and I shall tell you mine,” he said, sitting her down on a fallen log.
And so she did. She told him about finding the ruins and the tainted mirror within. The tears fell freely down her cheeks as she spoke of searching for him, finding no evidence of his existence anywhere within the cave. She let him wrap his arms around her as she described the funeral of her closest childhood friend.
“How can I live with knowing that if I’d insisted we tell the Keeper before heading into the ruins, or if I’d pulled him away from the mirror, or if I’d searched longer, he might still be alive?” She looked up at him with pleading eyes. Hoping for answers.
“You can’t.” His words seemed to shatter her soul.
And then he told his story. He told her about Rinna. About her supposed betrayal. About watching as Taliesen killed her, turning a deaf ear on her pleas for mercy and her protests of innocence. And then about finding out she had been telling the truth, after all.
Ehrin was numb. Her own guilt seemed such a paltry thing compared to what he’d been living with for so long. “How did you go on?”
“I didn’t.” He took her hands is his, a painful smile on his lips as she looked up at him. “I wanted to die. I came here, to Ferelden, to die. And then you saved me. In more ways than you’ll ever know, my dear Warden.”
His words pierced her heart. She could do nothing but stare into his eyes as her mind raced.
He raised her hands to his lips and kissed them tenderly. “Now, it’s my turn to save you.”
She thought about all that had happened. If they hadn’t found the mirror, she would not be a Grey Warden and this man beside her would most likely be dead. Was Tamlen’s life worth this Assassin’s? But she chided herself for that thought, knowing full well that had it not been the mirror, some other recklessness on Tamlen’s part would have eventually caught up to him. That realization startled her, but she knew it was true. Tamlen would have gone his own way, with or without her.
A smile slowly spread across her face as she cupped Zevran’s face in her hands and pulled him to her. Her lips brushed against his. Her voice full of love as she whispered, “You already have.”
I love drawing parallels between the warden's backstory and Zevran's
and the idea that they save each other, since in the game it often does seem like a one-way street of the PC fixing everyone's lives
Corker wrote...
My poor Surana was partnered with "show no fear, show no pain" Morrigan for most of the game. After his dog was his only source of comfort (not like that!) during the nightmarish descent into the Deep Roads, he decided he needed someone who wouldn't spurn him for showing a little weakness here and there. Happily, Erian made all sorts of bad decisions, so I picked a spectacularly awful one from late game for the prompt.
(And as much as I might like to think that this would be a deal-breaker with Zevran... it's not. 
)
Blood Price
Time: 1 hr 20 min
Prompts: 3
Erian Surana studied the murky green bottle carefully, as if it held a great secret. “It... it was worth it. Wasn’t it, Zevran?”
The mage wasn’t drunk. Zevran suspected he very much wanted to be, from the way he clutched at the bottle, but Erian didn’t get drunk. A bit of giddiness was not worth the risk of wandering the Fade addle-brained. The assassin shrugged non-committally. “You tell me, my Warden. It is hardly my area of expertise.”
“I need help. Knowledge. Training,” Erian told the bottle earnestly. “I’ve been doing well so far, but it can’t last.”
“It can’t? Why not?” Zevran kept his tone idle as he made the challenge.
“The risks are real, Zevran, the Chantry’s right about that. But there must be ways of... of mitigating them, or... you know. Things north would be different,” Erian finished awkwardly, shooting a nervous glance over his shoulder.
“I am no Chantry brother, if you are seeking absolution.”
The bottle wobbled, neck drawing small circles in the air as Erian let it go suddenly. He clasped one of Zevran’s hands in both of his own. “Please don’t be angry with me. Please, I couldn’t bear it, Zevran.” The assassin could only blink in wordless shock. Why should the Warden, who commanded demons, faced down legends, and destroyed hordes with a thought and a gesture, be afraid? Fear was what he saw in those grey eyes, felt in the desperate grip on his hand. Not the fear of his presence, which he had seen in his victims often enough, but fear of his... absence?
The thought warmed him and made him uncomfortable both. He tried to cover it by looking away and chuckling. “You are not rid of me that easily, my dear Warden,” he said, giving Erian a pat with his free hand. “It was a moment’s anger, old pains remembered. I feel no real kinship with those of the alienage.” It was mostly true.
“Nor do I,” the elven mage admitted. “Not... not that it was right. Maker, I know it was wrong!” he hastened to add. “But... but I had to. I need his help. I had to let him go.”
Then she needs to die. His own words, from over a year ago, came floating back. He had been wrong, then. Perhaps Erian was wrong, now. But it was surely not his place to judge or condemn. “Then I suppose that it was worth it, my Warden.” He said the words slowly, maybe even reluctantly.
But it was enough. Erian’s eyes lit with pure relief. “Thank you. Thank you, Zevran.”
What was done, was done. It was best to just go forward.
Yikes! Poor Erian... this really helps me mentally justify why Zevran would still stick to a Warden who takes Caladrius' deal. I can see why Zev would be uncomfortable with someone needing him to just
be there. Erian is such a messed-up soul... I love it when you let him out of the Tower XD
jenovan wrote...
Whew! Was afraid I wouldn't make it!
Since I've spent lots and lots of story-time with Zevran consoling poor Alessar Tabris, I figured I'd try my other Warden instead.
Mirror
Time: 2:45
Prompts: 2
Aaaaah, I have such a weakness for confused!feelings between Jowan and the mage Warden. I love the careful way Zevran steps around the betrayal issues, and how he decides to ultimately console Devin...
Verly wrote...
Prompts 0 This is my second entry
Time: 1:30
I decided to enter for this prompt. this is my first zev or Vey ff I hope it reads the way I was trying to get it. this has been in my head for a couple days so I decided to get it down
“Brand”
They speak of her with such distain. His Warden, the woman
he saw stare down a werewolf and have him agree not to fight her. Veylya Brosca,
his Warden, who stood toe to toe with Alistair when she sacrificed Isolde for
the sake of her child. His fair Warden,
who now bowed her head in shame when the Shaper told her she never existed in
Orzammar.
As they walked out
the door he said, “How could he say that to you and get away with it?”
She looked up into his eyes and he could see something he
had never seen before. Shame. “Because
he is right. In Orzammar I did not exist. This mark on my face” she touched it,
“is to tell anyone who looks at me that I do not belong, that my drunken excuse
of a mother shouldn’t have had me. “
He felt a sharp sense of anger, “Since the year that I have
known you, I have never seen you back down from a challenge.” He touched her cheek
and said, “This brand is not all that you are!”
He could see that she was hurting when she said, “Oh, that’s
rich coming from you. “ She reached up and touched his Crow tattoo. “This is
all you seem to think you are.”
He thought of what she said as they finished their business
in Orzammar. She made her sister Rica
happy by making Bhelen king. That was
the best choice, in his opinion, anyway.
The opposition, Harrowmont, seemed to want to hid behind others and let
THEM make decisions.
They reached their camp near sundown. He grabbed Vey’s hand
and said, “Come with me.” Normally, he
loved flaunting their lovemaking in front of everyone. Wynn had already
complained to Vey, much to his amusement. “Too loud where they?” He chuckled at the thought as Wynn shot him an
icy glare. But this was something they
had to be alone to discuss.
She looked up at him and said, “I need you Zev. Help me wash
away that ugliness I felt for the first time again since I left home.”
She might have been shorter than his all previous lovers,
but she had a better body then any of them. He couldn’t stop himself from loving the extra
curves that Dwarves were blessed with.
He looked down at his lovely Vey, His Warden, and looked
more closely at the brand that she felt such shame for. He could tell that she
was doing the same with his Crow tattoo. It was like looking at each other with
different eyes.
“I at first thought this brand was like my Crow markings.
That it made you important in Orzammar. I’ve seen you do ‘almost’ everything I
did as a Crow over this past year. I watched you talk your way out of some very
hairy situations. Then there was the
time with Isabella, Leliana, you and me, you were not lost at all, you gave
that unfortunate looking Dalish elf the time of his life before marrying him
off to that young girl. I thought, “She
is like a Crow, or a bard. How fun”, but no, now I find out that you are
nothing like that. Tell me, what don’t I know?”
“I didn’t want to tell you what it was like in Orzammar. You’ve met Rica. She was a Noble hunter. She
was prettied up and trained to find a nobleman to give him an heir. Which she did.”
Zev thought about that and said, “But you were not like that
am I correct?”
“Oh, no, not me. I
was used for getting information from scum.
I worked for Jarvia’s boss. I don’t want to speak that foul man’s name ever
again. I had to do his bidding. As a
Brand there was no other work for me. For
the most part Leske and I cracked sculls together to get information. There
were some cases though that brute force was not going to work. Those were the
times that he sent me to gather information alone… using my body. Rica, never knew, I wouldn’t let her
know. She thought by being a Noble
Hunter she was keeping me from that type of …um…work. The only real difference was that she at
least got to be with noblemen. I on the other hand was made to sleep with scum occasionally.
According to the boss, I had to have the information he wanted one way or
another.”
He watched as her eyes drooped with shame again, “Oh no you
don’t.” he lifted her head back up, “do you really think I would judge you? How
could I judge you? You know what I am?”
“You don’t think less of me then?”
“no, no, there is nothing you could say to make me think
less of you. I am not going anywhere, I am yours, as you know.”
She looked up at him and smiled,” Then make the world disappear
again.”
He chuckled, “gladly.”
The end.
I love the focus on the brands that both of them have to bear. Even though Zevran's marks were "earned" they do confine him. I especially like this line “Oh, that’s rich coming from you. “ She reached up and touched his Crow tattoo. “This is all you seem to think you are.”
NON-ENTRIESTaisin2 wrote...
Not an entry for the prompt ('cause not qualifying, no Warden in it), but it was inspired by it.
AU for DA2 ending, F!Hawk, Zevran.
Conversation
"...I've just... I've. He is dead. He."
They are drinking in The Hanged Man. They are supposed to celebrate - that's the excuse this elf gave to her friends, when he extracted her from the mess produced by Meredith-plus-Idol. From historical statues lying broken in the courtyard, blood, pieces of mages, templars and Orsino. Yes, Orsino. Strange, he was so tiny - and became such a huge monster. She actually liked him. Before monster. Why did he had to go mad too? Betany would cry...
She've said this aloud?
"Yes, my dear, you did. It's of no matter, my lovely, newly appointed Vice-count, nobody hear us. Right now, no one will remark even if you dance naked on the table. Pity for them, and all goodness for me."
The Hanged Man is full to bursting, the noise so loud it's fit to be cut with a knife. They are sitting in the corner, and it feels private. It feels isolated from the world. The elf before her is smiling. It irritates her.
"You... stop smiling like that. Like you know. Like you know why."
"I know why," the elf smiles wider. "This Orsino decided you would lose. Tck. Should have known better. People like you don't lose."
"No. Not... that." she inhales the last of her beer, put the mug down. Blinks, and the mug is full again.
"Ugh?"
"Tavern magic, my dear. Enjoy while it lasts."
"Ah." She stares at her beer warily. Magic. So it may disappear. Or transform into a demon. Can there be a deamon of beer? from beer?
"Beer is a demon enough by itself," chuckles the elf. "Do you feel possessed?"
"A... bit. In a good way."
"Good."
"Stop... smiling."
"But I know," smiles the elf. "I can smile. Because I know why."
"He... why doesn't it feel like I won? Elthina, she..."
"Remarkable woman, the Grand Cleric."
"Yes..."
"Saved everyone sane."
"...Yes."
"And you hate her."
She stares at him. And he smiles. Like he knows.
"Because you saved her life."
He does.
"...yes."
"This mage you've been with, your lover, so vocal about the freedom for the mages - wasn't here today."
He really does. One glance, one stupid flirt, one buch of Crows and one set of insane everyone killed together, and he does.
It feels... liberating. No-one else knows. No-one of her best friends. Not even the wise and I've-seen-or-written-about-it-all Varric.
"I... He. Sela Petrae and Drakestone. He wanted."
"Ah. Boom, yes?"
And she laughs, silly, into her beer, and coughs. The beer splatter is all over the table, and on the elf, and on her face too - her face feels wet.
"Boom," she agrees. "Yes."
"He drank wine, am I right?"
She blinks. Nods.
"Crow poison variant, I presume, then. Time delayed, painless, but the acidity is high in all of them."
She shudders. Clenches her mug. And nods. Once. Twice. Drinks her beer. Coughs again.
"I don't know. Not even... not where... Just... no boom."
"I'll ask around."
"Why?"
He smiles. His face is young - and then it's old - and then young again.
"Stop changing," she says. "Stop. Stop smiling, like you know."
"I do," he says, "I do. At least he has really betrayed you, or tried to. At least you were right."
"You... wasn't?"
"No."
"Ah." She looks at him - he is old again - and asks, because she just got that idea right now, and can't stop thinking about it, it's like a demon voice in the back of her head:
"You didn't try to kill yourself. Why?"
"I did."
"You... did?"
"Like you did. Exactly like you did."
"I..." She didn't, not really, she didn't even think about it in such words, she just wanted everything to stop - and the quietest place in battle was near Meredith-plus-Idol. There was no time to think there. And then -she won.
"I lost," he continues, "but I was spared."
"And then? then - why?"
"There was a Blight," he says. "A very big dragon we had to kill. A big work to do. It takes the demons from you. For a time."
"... Dragon," she laughs. "You know, we killed a High Dragon, just before. Last dragon he killed. He... You smile again."
"I can. I know."
Dots connect in her beer possessed mind.
"...The hero of Ferelden. She spared you. She - killed the Archdemon."
"So many capital letters," he sighs. "She was like you. Fire, steel and wit. Liked beer. Liked sex."
"Liked you."
"So she has said."
He is looking into his beer, and she remembers flirting with him, and how he turned her - and Isabella! - down. Six years passed since the Blight.
"You know," she marvels. "You. All of it. How... how?"
She doesn't even know what she is asking about, only that the doesn't know the how of being in the world without Him. And this one - he had six years to learn.
"Like you breath, one breath at the time. You find a dragon to kill, and you kill it. Bit by bit. And then you find another."
"No dragons," she says. "All done. Poor dragons."
"Kirkwall is a big city," he smiles, young now. "Surely you will find a dragon big enough, Your Highness the Vicecount?"
"Ah. Yes. A big... dragon, this city."
"Indeed."
"You know," she says. "You know all. Will it? ever?"
"I don't know," he says. "Never did for me."
Ah. Well. She'll ask Varric then. Tomorrow. And she will believe him.
Even if he doesn't know.
And then - then she will find her next dragon to kill.
Nnnngh... maybe it's because I just completed my Anders-mancing DAII playthrough myself... but this made me choke up a bit.
I like your post-Ultimate Sacrifice Zevran... he's very believable in his grief and his words to a grieving Hawke.
Shadow of Light Dragon wrote...
Non Entry.
1 hour. Probably more cheese than comfort, and not enough Zev. 
AU- Both dwarf Origins became Grey Wardens in this setting. Aeducan romanced Zevran, and sacrificed herslf to kill the archdemon. Brosca romanced Alistair, who was crowned king.
Approximately a year after the Blight. Tentative epilogue for Diamond Dust.
---
Magna Brosca stood alone in the the Deep Roads and closed her eyes, trying to sense the darkspawn she knew were hunting her amidst the ambient feelings of taint this place was infected with.
The patrol she'd been guiding from Orzammar were all dead, her dog was dead, and help was a long way away. She wouldn't be the first Grey Warden to go down fighting in the Deep Roads. A morbid part of her mind said it would be better if it happened now rather than thirty years down the track. What life was this, always in the dark, elbow-deep in darkspawn ichor and stinking of death? The Carta had been a laugh a minute compared to being a lone Grey Warden.
There had been...invitations to events and functions outside of Orzammar. Urgings to visit old friends: Leliana in Haven, Oghren at Kinloch Hold, Alistair in Denerim, where he ruled as a reluctant king with a wife that was not Magna. As much as she wanted to visit all of them, as hungry as she was for fellowship, for some reason she could never bring herself to answer the invitations. She was starting to wonder if losing Alistair, Leske and Kol had made her afraid of letting anyone else connect; if you didn't love you couldn't lose, and if you couldn't lose you couldn't hurt.
The howls of the sharlocks were drawing nearer. Magna tightened the strap of the Aeducan shield on her arm and pressed on, searching for a more defensible position. She almost jumped out of her skin when a slender figure slid out from behind a crumbling statue up ahead.
"What by the Stone--? Zevran?"
The blond assassin's smile was wearier than she remembered, his features more gaunt. "You are a hard woman to track down, Paragon."
"Magna," she corrected automatically. "What are you doing down here? Do you have any idea how dangerous it is?"
"Not as dangerous for me as you, I wager," he replied. "The shadows do not hide a Grey Warden as effectively as they do a former Crow, yes?"
"How long do you think you'll stay a former Crow before you contract the Taint?" she retorted, hurrying over. "Look, we can argue about this when we're not about to be attacked. If you're going to head back into those shadows then I suggest you do it now."
Zevran shook his head and drew his blades calmly. "I think you would rather not be alone for this fight, and I do not intend to let you die."
Not after my lover sacrificed herself so that you could live a life and care for your family.
Magna felt a hot surge of shame and glanced away from the knowing look in his golden eyes. "How long have you been following me?"
He shrugged. "That is not important. Whether or not you like it, Warden, here I am. But if you prefer your solitude, say the word and I will leave you to it--after the fight."
"You're welcome to stay. If that's what you want." She fiddled with the strap of Kol's shield, then added, "I'm not her, Zev. If you've come here looking for her...you won't find her."
"And I am not Alistair," Zevran replied. "I...I offer what comfort there is in friendship, Velvet. I have nothing else to offer, and desire nothing more in return."
"'Velvet.'" She cracked a smile, something inside her easing. "I haven't heard that nickname in forever, Feathers."
He flashed a small grin in response, and then the Shrieks were upon them.
---
This reminds me of why I like friend!Zevran so much too - Zev does make such a good friend once he gets past all his baggage. Also, this AU intrigues me!
RESULTSAll right, time for the results! Judging is always so hard for me... especially with so many great entries! I definitely got my fix of Zevran's consoling and then some
the winner is...
frostajulie! I really liked the comfortable rapport between Brynee and Zevran... and the involvement of the other companions as well.
(PM me for the prize)
next prompter is...
Verly - Have at it!
Thanks for all the great entries, guys! You make Zevthread proud.
Modifié par payroo, 13 avril 2011 - 05:51 .
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