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NEW additions are in bold.

The Best Things

The Search for the Dragon's Claw, an adventure serial featuring Ariane, Finn, f!Mahariel and the dog.  In search of the companion dagger to Dumat's Spine, following clues left in the Black Fox ballads, fighting Orlesian Wardens and dragon cultists!

The Demon Queen of Kirkwall: Ariane, Finn and f!Mahariel go to find the Sabrae on Sundermount and are pulled into an escalating nightmare of horror. Warning for character death.

The No. 1 Lowtown Detective's Agency: DA2 AU in which Aveline is drummed out of the guards and winds up working freelance in the Alienage with Merrill as a partner. Lies and treachery abound as different groups vie for control over a priceless artifact which is totally not the Maltese Falcon, honest.

 

The Black Fox and the Bounty Hunter: The story of how the Black Fox recruited the bounty hunter Karolis as his right-hand man. One chapter.

 

An Illustrated Guide to Thedas: The Fall of Tevinter, the rise of the Chantry, and magic in Thedas, explained via stick figure.

Birthright, my f!Brosca playthrough.  With pictures!

Wardens and Such

Vashti Mahariel
Close-mouthed Dalish Warden grieving her exile from her people.
Dalish Dreams (Dalish not living up to the fantasy): Vashti asks Zevran about his time with the Dalish 11/30/10
Baubles (Guilty Pleasure): Zevran spies Vashti indulging in a rare fit of femme.  (Uh, no. That's nothing dirty.)
Abelas(Long Nights in Orzammar): Zevran gets Vashti drunk.  Goes about as well as you'd expect.
Fly Away (But I won't do that): Vashti still trying to get her flat-eared friend to change. 9/10
Temptation to Virtue (Temptation): Zevran leaves the Warden's company. 5/2/11
Cross class Combo(Warden sets a trap): Ambushing bandits with the Awakening crew. Writer's Lounge prompt.
An Unlikely Outcome  Would a Dalish save Amaranthine?  10/14/10
Bone Splinters: Five years after the Blight, Zevran pays Vashti a visit. 10/7/10
The Search for the Dragon's Claw, a novella-length adventure serial featuring Ariane, Finn, f!Mahariel and the dog, post Witch Hunt.
The Demon Queen of Kirkwall: Sequel to Dragon's Claw.  The team goes to find the Sabrae on Sundermount and are pulled into an escalating nightmare of horror.
Culpability: A deleted scene from a future chapter of "Demon Queen."  Finn and Vashti play the blame game.
When in Tevinter: (on kmeme, mildly NSFW): Finn explains certain Circle Tower customs to Ariane.  6/3/11
O Captain, My Captain (Without Reservation): The moment Zevran falls for Isabela. 7/22/11
Three Deaths in Kirkwall (Zevran's Death): Middle vignette, trickery with Isabela 2/20/11
Watching the Watchers (Voyuerism): Zevran eyeballs an attractive elf, unaware that he's also being watched. 2/9/11
Words to the Wise (Decisions): Zevran dispenses tactical advice to Isabela in Kirkwall, and then romantic advice to Vashti in Amaranthine.
A Rescue: Our gang won't stand idly by while another elf is handed over to slavers, no serah! 5/2/11
Deleted Scene: A random observation spun into random dialogue that really didn't fit well into 'A Rescue.'  5/2/11
From the Ashes: NSFW site. From the sequel to the sequel of 'Dragon's Claw.'  Finn falls in love.

AU: Dies the Fire: (Reversed Roles) An alternate universe where Duncan recruits Zevran, and Howe uses the Origin character as an assassin.  Unrecruited!ghoul!Vashti.  6/3/11
AU: Complications(NSFW site): All my Wardens end up in the same party and most of them are fighting over Zevran. So Spectacles Surana puts her awkward moves on Vashti.

Kallian Tabris:
Profane Alienage thug with a good heart and her own kmeme series (Randy Rogues). Stories listed in in-(and post-) game chronological order.
More Detailed Feedback: NSFW.  A short entry into the kmeme's Lost Comment Quest, where writers reply to comments separated from the fills they belong to.  Zevran offers his unasked-for opinion, back in the days before Leliana was hardened and the trio started their thing together.
A Day at the Fair (Holiday, Zevran-style) 11/9/10  First half was prompt winner!
Shallow (other rogue specs)   10/7/10
The Symphony I See in Thee
Sore Losers: NSFW. Microfill on an endurance game
Unlettered: NSFW. Zevran left Kallian a letter, but she can't read it.  Who in camp can help?
Motivational:NSFW. Leliana teaches Zevran lockpicking using, ehm, secret bardic methods. 
Warnings for assorted kinks but it's a light and playful piece.
Buried Treasure (Into the tent): Zevran snoops and finds something unexpected.
Welcome Wagon: NSFW. A hearty Alienage welcome for Leliana, courtesy of Kallian and Shianni. No squick.
All The Single Ladies: NSFW. The boys are away, so the lady companions (and Shianni) let down their hair.  Follows Welcome Wagon.
Fight (Flat-ears) 3/8  (contains some coarse NSFW language)
Even Cowgirls Get the Blues: NSFW. Even terminally high-spirited Kallian gets shaken by late-game revelations in Redcliffe and needs some support.
Still Life with Woodpecker: (Support, comfort) Directly follows previous fill, obvs. Kallian regrets what she's done to her good friend Alistair. 4/13/11
Object Lesson: NSFW. (Vengeance) After the Archdemon, Zevran demonstrates what it's like to be left anxiously waiting for a few hours.  5/22/11
It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time: NSFW. Kallian discovers chocolate and decides that the only thing better than chocolate would be chocolate with a Zevran filling.
In Service to the Crown: NSFW.  Queen Anora is uncomfortable openly admitting her bedroom preferences, but is encouraged by Leliana's nonjudgmental experience. 6/13/11
Are You Being Served? NSFW.  Five years after the Blight, Leliana asks her two old partners in bed crime to help her on a heist for the Crown.  Masquerading as the Orlesian libertine Lady Jolie and her two elven servants, they attend a debauched party to steal back the Crown of the Rebel Queen Moira Theirin.
Crunch-Squish-Splat (Small Sacrifices): Spending the Satinalia holiday in Denerim's alienage is... gooey.
A Very Special Episode (Ten years later) Zevran finds lyrium dust in Amethyne's room.  3/28

AU: Spy vs. Spy: (The Real Deal): Rinna was never killed, and Zevran's assassination attempt is for real.

Neira Surana
Bespectacled no-nonsense mage bridging the gap between theoretical and applied knowledge.
Love, Pure and Chaste from Afar: NSFW. Ser Cullen is a little fixated on an oblivious Neira.
Coming Out of the Closet. NSFW.  What if instead of finding Gideon the lyrium smuggler in that closet, Neira found Solona Amell?  Fill is actually an Amell/Leliana romance and very tame, just on the kmeme.
Q&A: NSFW.  Invited back to the Siren's Call, Neira assumes Isabela was just being polite.  She's happy just to watch, really.  And ask questions.
By the Book: NSFW. Zevran finally convinces f!Surana that he really is interested in her, and she literally pounces.
First in Her class: NSFW. Follows directly on By the Book.  Neira realizes that she needs hands-on instruction to excel. Zevran is pleased to teach her.
Rough Draft (The Warden's Bad Poetry): How hard can arranging words in accordance with rules governing accent and rhyme be, really? 
Chronology: (Fade Dreams) Zevran rescues Neira from the Sloth demon.
She's Just Not Into You: NSFW. After striking out on Warden Commander Surana, Anders decides she's just a cold woman who doesn't like men. Then Zevran arrives at the Vigil.

AU: Complications (NSFW site): All my Wardens end up in the same party and most of them are fighting
over Zevran. So Spectacles Surana puts her awkward moves on Vashti.

Lorelai Brosca
Upbeat and spunky duster, frequent purveyor of metahumor.
Birthright, playthrough fic in the form of dialogues
Incoming! (First Time): It's Zevran, Lorelai and Sten's first time. (Innuendo aside, it's SFW.)
Desperate Haven (Protective Zevran): Why I hate Zev's default tactics in this Chanter's Board quest. 1/3/11
Rouge and Party Makeup.  Inspired by remarks from soignee and mousestalker.  12/1/10
Fire Goes Out (Before and After): After Lorelai's death, Zevran finds he's changed.
Homecoming (Reunion): Zevran returns to Antiva. 11/2/10
The Antivan Ambassador (DA2 cameo): If I could have a DIY Zevran cameo... 3/28/11
Last Words : US!Warden in Gauntlet; original prompt on kmeme; link goes to SFW reply on SFW site 2/9/11

AU: Born Wrong: (Reversed Roles)  An alternate universe where Duncan recruits Zevran, and Howe uses the Origin character as an assassin.  In the same style as Birthright.  6/9/11

Odessa Amell
A cruel and jaded Orlesian noblewoman (widow of an Amell) of about 45 years. 
Once (2/25) - In "Puppet," Odessa mentions that she's only ever begged once. 
To the Tower (3/7) - How a 40-year old woman ends up in the Circle Tower as an apprentice
Fresh Meat: NSFW.  Mages seduce new templars to exert some measure of control over them.
Pop Quiz: NSFW. Odessa Amell helps the knight commander with some templar training on desire demons.  Warning for dubious consent.
Cup Your Joining: NSFW.  By golly, this one's fully consensual.  First time for everything.  Odessa sets her sights on the exotic-looking Grey Warden guest in the Tower.

Conversations with My Character: Her imaginary playthrough as a dialogue between the Author and the character. Oct-Nov 2010
Magi Origin, Ostagar, Flemeth's Hut, Lothering, Camp, Redcliffe Village, Redcliffe Castle, The Long Road
Intermission, Broken Circle I, The Fade and Broken Circle II, Denerim, Haven, Elves and Dwarves, Denerim II, Denerim III, Alienage and Landsmeet, End Game

Puppet: NSFW. Jowan makes the mistake of trying to cage Odessa Amell.  Warning for Domination/submission, dubious consent.
An Old Joke: NSFW.Odessa vs. the Redcliffe desire demon.  Warning for Domination/submission, violence, dubious consent.  You know, the usual with her.
Untitled (Wardobe Malfunction): Ruined clothes as a pretext for forced feminization.  Sort of a fail on Odessa's part.
Not Enough: NSFW. What's it take to rescue Odessa Amell from the Fade?  Warnings for dubious consent, drug abuse, dominance/submision and humiliation.
Cruel to the End (Loyalty): In Denerim, Oghren tries to convince Zevran to get out. 2/6/11
Scars(One Way Trip): After the Blight, Zevran goes to Antiva and does not return to Ferelden.  In Kirkwall, he meets another of Odessa's victims.  Come for the understated angst, stay for Shadow of Light Dragon's magnificent "Hotel California" filk!

AU: For Sale: (Reversed Roles) An alternate universe where Duncan recruits Zevran, and Howe uses the Origin character as an assassin. 6/9/11

Adriana Cousland
A solo tactical playthrough that took a sudden role-playing turn in the Gauntlet. Adriana sided with the cultists and went totally off the rails, becoming a dragon-worshipping lyrium smuggler.
Apostate: (Faith) Why would the scion of the Couslands suddenly turn on the Chantry? 6/9/11
Frightening Appearance (Tattoos): Adriana wants a facial tattoo. 1/27/11
A Political Animal (Crow): One too many assassination attempts; the fate of Vigilance. 11/23/10
Ch-ch-ch-changes (A funny thing happened): ZevThread prompt for a sudden change in Zevran.  When the pair get to Kirkwall, he finds he's not quite himself...
Three Deaths in Kirkwall (Zevran's Death): First vignette; luck runs out, eventually. 2/20/11

Irini Cousland
Standard f!Cousland #3 (WC ending), only bald.
A Killer's Consolation (Hurt): Zevran does his best to offer some words of solace after Alistair's death.
Ghosts of Kal'Hirol  More than dwarven spirits haunt Irini Cousland.  9/2/10
Trust (Friendship): The Warden Commander and her barber. 10/12/10  Prompt winner!
Atypical Rivalry (Lovers): Awakening party banter between Zevran and Sigrun.
Three Deaths in Kirkwall (Zevran's Death): Third vignette; Zevran as an advisor to Deliah Howe's son. 2/20/11

Erian Surana
Nebbishy mage finds paranoid purpose in preparing to meet phantom qunari invasion.
Meditation.  Morrigan seduces m!Surana.  8/10/10
Scrutiny (Zevran's gaze): Morrigan doesn't like the way Zevran looks at Erian. 10/10
Fall from Haven: Part 1,Part 2, Part 3, Part 4.  Straight-up retelling of Erian's trip through Haven, by request.  8/17/11
Blood Price(Consolation): Erian Surana lets Caladrius go and is afraid Zevran is angry with him. 4/11/11
Keeping Secrets (Secrets): Zevran helps Erian keep the secret of his blood magic by silencing the suspicious. 5/9/11

Other Wardens
Sweet and Adorable (Holiday gift-fic for Sialater; her Warden Moira) 12/13/10
Lost Opportunity (Invited to join in...): Ruthna Aeducan. 3/1  Prompt winner!
Dual Wielding Kisses (First Kiss): Also Ruthna. 9/10
Falon'Din's Reach (Zevran, Instrument of Fate): AU Dalish Zevran encounters Danyla. 9/10
A Parting Gift (Leather): A soon-to-be US f!Cousland and the Antivan leather boots. 8/10
How You Do It (Hair): An m!Cousland overhears Zev and Leliana talking about how they do it. 8/10

Just Zevran

Dialogue Option (Animals): Zevran narrates an adventure involving the King of Antiva, a fellcat, and a pair of Antivan boots.
Payback (No More Mr. Nice Guy) - A Zevran's POV on the epilogue to "Hawke's Harlots," below under NSFW.
The Importance of Having Boots (Crossover): Zevran has a lot in common with a certain feline assassin.
A Midsummer Night's Fade Fancy (Crossover): Zevran's knowledge of poisons saves a fairy queen from an unsightly encounter.
Aphorisms(Pearls of Wisdom): NSFW.  Taliesen, Zevran and Rinna quote proverbs for points while, uh, doing a bunch of NSFW stuff.  It started with "A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush" and then came an all-out assault on Poor Richard's Almanac.
Meta-Jealousy (Jealousy): Zevran sulks and pouts even with the Author. 1/20/11
Antivan (Zevran + Taliesen): Questions surrounding Zevran's return from the Dalish. 1/13/11
There's a Hole in the Bucket (A dark hole): Inspired by the children's song. 9/10
Forever (Til the Sun Sets) (Children): Zevran's continued Adventures in Babysitting. 8/20/11
Antivan Fiction (Zevran talks his way into and out of trouble): Spoof on "Pulp Fiction" movie. 7/10

Nathaniel Howe
Mistake: Breaking and entering Vigil's Keep is going smoothly, until... 11/17/10
The Past is a Far Country (Secret): Sigrun's playful prying goes too far.  11/10
Relations: A brief theatrical scene spoofing on both senses of the prompt "relations." 9/10


Lulz

Companions' Favorite RPGs: Tabletop edition
Blood Magic Is Okay!: Response to a kmeme prompt for Merrill giving a presentation on why blood magic isn't so bad. Link goes to a Google Docs presentation, SFW.
Take Two: Varric helps Sebastian cast and stage a liturgical drama. There are creative differences.
Meta-Frustration: My mage and templar OCs try to help me out with the Asunder writing comp.  I was flailing a lot.
Realistic: Unposted troll reply to someone who wanted the DA2 male love interests transported to the real world where they (deep breath) encounter a modern f!Hawke, but "I want realistic."
Moar Meme: Lorelai Brosca, Kallian Tabris and Vashti Mahariel do the interview meme. Together.
Interview with a Vamp: Writer's meme interviewing a character (Odessa Amell)
Casting for a Kirkwall Night's Dream: Who would play whom in Shakespeare's frothy fantasy comedy.
Crowning Moment of Awesome: DA2. Somebody wanted to see Merrill put a flower crown on Fenris.  I live to serve. 5/9/11.
An Illustrated Guide to Thedas: The Fall of Tevinter, the rise of the Chantry, and magic in Thedas, explained via stick figure.  5/2/11
Self-Presentation: An observation about certain trends on the kmeme.  Metahumor.  4/4/11
The Free Marches Planning, Development and Zoning Commission: Who decided to put a Circle in Kirkwall, anyway?! 3/30/11
The Aldebrants!: Finn's parents in their own sitcom.  3/4/11
Never Have I Ever: My Wardens play a drinking game.  Metahumor.  1/6/11
Jeevan, a recruitable companion for the HNM. 12/4/10
The Affairs of Dragons.  Do good mothers have cultists?  Is city elf as nutritious as free-range Dalish?  11/28/10
Top Ten Infinite Discussion on the DA:O Boards.  Strike them down and they will return more powerful than you can imagine.  11/10/10
A Method for the Detection of Abominations, Dagna's research proposal.  8/4/10
The Stone Prisoner, another one of Bann Teagan's special deliveries from Orzammar.  8/10

Other Stuff

The No. 1 Lowtown Detective's Agency: DA2 AU in which Aveline is drummed out of the guards and winds up working freelance in the Alienage with Merrill as a partner. Lies and treachery abound as different groups vie for control over a priceless artifact which is totally not the Maltese Falcon, honest.
Escape from the Aeonar: I'm headcanoning Lily into a masked bandit in the forests of Amaranthine.
 Halamshiral: My entry into the "Dragon Age: Asunder" competition. Warning for character death.
The Black Fox and the Bounty Hunter: The story of how the Black Fox recruited the bounty hunter Karolis as his right-hand man.
A Grave Responsibility: Another go at the Asunder competition that I ended up not submitting.  The conundrum from "Bag Men" is passed to Moira, the blood mage the Warden can spare in the Tower.  (According to the toolset, that's her name.)
The Bag Men: Aborted entry for the DA: Asunder writing competition.  The Mages' Collective Liaison faces a conundrum.
The Starchild and the Old God Baby: Cara of West Hill had ten fingers and ten toes when her parents pulled her out of that crater nineteen years ago...
WIP - Age of Dragons: AU crossover with Geoffrey of Monmouth's History of the Kings of Britian. Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6 
The Demon Queen of Kirkwall (DA2 spoilers) I so wish this were a possible ending for mage Hawke in DA2.  4/15/11.
Avalyn, the Dalish version of the Aveline story.  11/18/10
Kriemheld and the Tezpadam  A dwarven fairy tale.  8/10
Portrait of the Lyrium Artist as a Young Man  Sandal character sketch. 7/23/10
Songs of Thedas: My list of fan poetry and songs
Dirty Work: Medium-length story of three dusters on a heist

Blasphemy
A short and unfinished series of scenes in which King Alistair and Queen Anora become happy and old problems with Warden Commander Cousland are resolved!
Mightier Than the Sword: Two years after the Blight
Epistolary Romance: Two months later that
Cousland: Five years after the Blight
Reunion: Ten years after the Blight[/list]NSFW
Yeah, I finally started writing smut.  To my surprise, I'm apparently not bad at it.  Most of my DAO smut is listed under the relevant Wardens, above.
Dragon Age: Elvhenan:
Alternate universe where Arlathan never fell.  Solona is an elven Grey Warden fighting the Blight and dealing with her growing attraction to Avvar berserker Alistair.  Mostly romance novelesque, one ill-conceived explicit scene, and the Dark Ritual.
Wild Blood: Sequel to DA:E.  Hawke is a Chasind witch; her tribe ends up outside of Stonewall, chased by the Blight.  A Brecilian elf and her hired allan'isa show up one day on an errand from the Witch of the Wilds, and Hawke's life goes upside-down.  Warning for bondage, blood play.

Broken Dolls
One-off porn-without-plot spirals into another series that gets surprisingly srsbzns.  Sometimes, in between the porny parts.
Runs in the Family: 9:4 Dragon. Younger versions of Gamlen and Bran boozing it up in the Hanged Man after an attempt to break Leandra away from Malcolm failed. 
Liaison: After the Deep Roads, before Act 2.  Circle Mage Bethany is the Circle of Magi's liaison to the Keep, where she catches the seneschal's eye.  Breastplay.
Good for One Thing: Sequel for Liaison.  Bran's going to show Bethany the many ways a man can do that one thing Isabela says they're good for.
Mosaic: Marian Hawke eagerly embraces her duties as a Kirkwall noble, including the duty to marry. Varric hurries to keep her from matching up with Mr. Wrong - and then things get complicated.
Centerpiece: Bran and Bethany attend one of Lord Cyril's orichalcum-fueled parties.
Captain Isabela's School of Debauchery: Isabela teaches Merrill how to peg with the assistance of Seneschal Bran.
These Boots Were Made for Walking: Safe for Work, posted to BSN.  Isabela leaves Kirkwall.
Broken Dolls: Safe for Work, posted to BSN!  A follow-up to "School of Debauchery" six months after the end of Act Two, aka "Six months after Isabela vanishes into thin air."
Empty: A year after Isabela's departure, Merrill still isn't over her.  She tries forgetting by indulging her size kink with Maraas, the kossith mercenary.
The Short Happy Life of Kirkwall's Seneschal: Based on Bran's cameo in Mark of the Assassin, with an nod to Hemingway.
What I Want: Merrill's mirror briefly flares to life, displaying the most secret sexual desires of the closest person to it.  Merrill, Isabela, Bethany, Marian.
Strength: Isabela's plan to confront Castillon goes terribly wrong. Warning for noncon.

AU? - Dreams Best Left Dead: It's my head canon that BD!Bran was besotted with Leandra Amell when they were young.  This de-aging prompt let me explore that a little, but I'm not sure if I want to count it as part of the Broken Dolls canon.

Love Me
dom!Isabela and sub!Aveline, mostly from Aveline's POV
Slumber Party: Aveline has a consensual encounter with a tentacle-thing, with Isabela offering color commentary.
Beg Me: Isabela makes good on the promises she offered in 'Slumber Party.'
Watch Me: Isabela enjoys m!Hawke's natural gifts while Aveline watches.
Make Me: Lost Comment Quest; Aveline wants to be made to cry.
Hold Me: Isabela offers some dommy TLC to a stressed-out captain.  Aveline gets the feels and freaks out.
Save Me: Aveline to Isabela's rescue during the Arishok brawl.

NEW - Marry Me: Aveline loves her new husband, but something is missing on the honeymoon.

NEW - Forgive Me: Does Isabela ever get that ass-kicking Aveline threatened?

Other DA2

 

NEW - Until Sex Comes Out: Sort of companion piece to Kindness Coins.  f!Hawke who is happy for Fenabela and has herself moved on to other relationships.

NEW - Kindness Coins: Request was for f!Hawke who isn't understanding of Fenabela.  Coming right on the heels as this did of the Elliot Rodger murders, I had some opinions on people who think they're entitled to other people's bodies.

NEW - In the Details: Hawke sweeps Fenris off his feet. By sweeping.

NEW - Don't: Sebastian is rough with Hawke, so Aveline and Isabela have a few words. I found the prompt problematic in a few ways, but it let me articulate those in Aveline and Isabela's voices, so.

NEW - For the World Is Hollow and I Have Touched This Side of Paradise: Star Trek AU, Science Officer Merrill/Alien High Priest Sebastian.  More sex pollen, so warning for dubcon.

NEW - Orlesian Silk Panties: A six-word story to answer the prompt given in the title. (First comment under the prompt.)

NEW - Dangerous Botany: Isabela/Aveline/Merrill sex pollen fic. Sex pollen, so warning for dubcon.

NEW - The Guilty Needs Be Punished, Betting Men: OP asked for Fenris telling someone "This is all your fault."  With Merrill in the first, Donnic in the second.
Balanced: Merrill and Aveline kiss. I don't sail that ship myself, but what the hey.
#YOLO: (WIP) Magically sex-swapped Carver gets up to escapades with Isabela and now Zevran.
Never Gonna Give You Up: Sequel to "Shot Through the Heart."  Isabela seduces Bianca (or is it the other way around?).  
They Can Sense Fear - The No **** True Story of the Battle of Squealing Plains, when Kirkwall fought a battle against the nugs.
Two Allegories Met in a Dilapidated Mansion: Isabela tries to put a positive spin on Fenris's situation after 'Alone.'
Agony Arishok: Sequel to 'Serious Sten.'  The Arishok writes an advice column in Kirkwall.
Know When to Walk Away: Isabela refuses to take part in a bet.
The Dragon Trick The prompt was 'wingfic.'  f!Hawke/Merrill flying at the Bone Pit.
Armor: How Fenris/Aveline would start (e.g., slowly and awkwardly)
Crowning Glory: Through good times and bad, Merrill gifts her companions with garlands of flowers.
How Strange: Prompt was for a companion's reaction the first time they take a life.  Merrill. 
Baby Got Packed!: Captain Isabela likes big, uh, boats and she cannot lie.
Shianni: Another anon filked most of 'The Music Man' with DA2 themes. Down at the bottom, I added this (with permission) to cover "Shipoopie."
First Time: Lost Comment Quest fill.  f!Hawke, Isabela and Merrill stop by the Blooming Rose to avail themselves of a new worker who just happens to share something in common with one of their other companions.
Sorrows of Arlathan: Merrill asks Carver to help her re-enact the fall of Arlathan.  Via rough sex.
Danarius: Prompt was to humanize an unlikeable character
More Filthy Filk: To the tune of "The Ball of Ballinor/Kerrymuir," just another Tuesday night at the Hanged Man for the team.
Five Mages: Prompt was for five different sympathetic viewpoints from five mages and how they fit themselves into the Circle system.  Finn, Bethany Hawke, Huon, Moira, Eadric.
City of the Summit: What if our Kirkwall was the Spock-with-a-beard side of the eluvian? What would the other side look like?
LCQ: Running Out of Options: Isabela needs a story  idea.
Tambourines and Glitter: David Gaider said that if the DA2 companions were a band, Merrill would frolic and bang the tambourine.  I hypothesize it's because they don't dare let her do anything else. (Modern band AU)
Lost Dwarven Glories: Star Wars/DA2 crossover.
Bonds of Smoke and Salt: WIP. Fenris/Isabela relationship fic in Act 3.
Tying Up Loose Ends: POC f!Hawke, Isabela and Athenril at the Rose after the 'Loose Ends' quest.
Hell's Handbasketeers: An ode to the kink!meme, to the tune of Barrett's Privateers.
When Schleets Attack!: Isabela's aversion to pants explained!
Can You Hear Me Now?: Fenris/Aveline. She's a screamer, he's got a voice kink.
The Cuckoo's Nest: AU request for Hawke running a brothel and the companions working there, consensually.  Lots of rare pairs.
What Friends Are For: Varric narrates the troubled lovelife of fat!warrior!Hawke and Fenris.
Inspirational Reading: Merrill and m!Hawke are inspired to get a little rough by Isabela's Fenders story.
Interested Anon: Another Lost Comment Quest entry.
Gear of Warriors: Isabela's boots and Aveline's headband get it on.  No, really. 
Pretty Penelope Post: Another Lost Comment Quest, featuring Carver. Anon wonders whether a post is being filled.
Rites of Spring: Isabela/m!Hawke, femdom, rimming and waxplay in the Chantry.
In a River of Darkness: Hawke belongs to Kirkwall.
An Exception: Hawke makes Fenris carry the butteryfly sword.  He likes it.
Nameday Shenanigans:  It's Isabela's nameday, and her sweetheart Merrill has arranged for her to bang all the companions as a gift.  
Recompense: The prompt was for LI's unfortunate sleeping habits (snoring, drooling, etc).  Bedhog!Merrill is confronted by the individual most put out by her sprawling ways.
Promises, Promises: In the brig for a duel that turned into a Lowtown-wide brawl, Isabela pushes Aveline just a bit too far.  Spanking, fingering, edging, and very non-regulation use of a guard's truncheon.
More of These Stories: A contribution to the Lost Comment Quest.  Merrill/f!Hawke
The Mark: Prompt was for Carver and m!Hawke as Cain and Abel.  Anders/Justice in the Morgan Freeman role.
Apologies to Pete Seeger: Where have all the corpses gone, long time passing?
Six Things:  Isabela hides Bethany from some templars in her room at the Hanged Man, uses the down time to provide her with an education.
Little Brother Is Watching You: Meredith's paranoia extends to monitoring the City Guard.  Templar Carver volunteers to spy on Aveline.
In Small Packages: There was a kerfluffle around the prompt, which drew my attention. Because otherwise I doubt "Isabela grows a micropenis" would have really caught my eye.  Bonus Talkative Man drive-by!
Na Inan: Fenris discovers he has a kink for others' fear.  With Merrill. Warnings for dark and dubcon shading strongly to noncon.
Disney Crossover Crack - Two 'Little Mermaid' minifills and two Sten minifills
Dysmorphia: Prompt was for secret!mermaid!Anders. I went with a mermaid who's been turned into Anders. Drabble.
When You Assume...: Anders and Fenris think they're teaching Merrill a lesson she won't forget.  They're sort of right, but for all the wrong reasons.  Warning for attempted noncon that backfires when the target is exceptionally willing and slightly obtuse.
Echoes of the Past: Dark!Vengeance!Anders sets out to hurt Fenris, working at the Blooming Rose under an assumed name to get quick coin for Varania's passage.  Warnings for dubious consent, humiliation, and abusive talk.
The Adventures of Warden Korof and Xerxes: Again, only NSFW because of the site.  A peek at the "speed griffin" story the bartender Corff at the Hanged Man is writing.
Shiver: Anders has a rune with the Telekinetic Shiver spell enchanted into f!Hawke's underpants.  When the clinic cats lose the activated rune, Hawke's underwear won't quit - while she's in a meeting with Bran.  Hijinks ensue.
Hawke's Harlots: Evil bastard m!Hawke pimps out the string of elves he's coerced into prostitution.  Warnings for dubcon/noncon, incest, generally being a creepy darkfic.
Soup Ritual: Seriously, half of these are only NSFW because they're on the meme.  Isabela feeds a sick f!Hawke soup in bed.  Mushy fluffy fluff.
Shot Through the Heart: Varric is worried that Bianca might fancy His Highness the Archer, and takes steps to make sure his girl stays his.  As cracktastic as it sounds.
Romeo, Doff Thy Name: Why does Hawke go by 'Hawke' instead of her given name?
Hard Lessons: Student/teacher kink as f!Hawke learns the Force Mage spec from Orsino.
Monkey's Paw, Kmeme Edition: Prompt was "Sebastian blows up the Chantry."
What Not to Wear: Merrill is determined to make friends with Fenris, unaware that the dress Isabela picked out for her is showing rather more than she realizes.
He really meant a cat show: Microfill; OP requested Anders going to a cat show.
Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da: F!Hawke is badly injured and cannot have children.  She is chill with that.  (Not porn but it is on the kmeme.)
Number Eighty-Three: The Kirkwall Book Club discusses One Hundred and One Uses for a Phallic Tuber.
Idolatry: A dark fill.  Blood Mage f!Hawke has turned Aveline into her devoted thrall.  Warning for dubious consent/mind control.
Vir Adahlen: Dom!Merrill and f!Hawke with tentacles vines.
Put Your Shoulder Next to Mine and Pump Away (WIP): Isabela domming a warrior f!Hawke. Guest appearance by Aveline/Donnic.
Karolis Triumphant and Tethras 301 Midterm: From the year 14:10 of the Ice Age, documents from an institution of
higher learning, studying the great master of the King's Tongue, Varric Tethras. Fill is SFW lulz but site is not.
Penance: Sebastian confeses to Sister Petrice.
Did he delve in your Deep Roads?: Marian Hawke is convinced to try anal sex when she and Varric run out of contraceptives in the Deep Roads.
Sparks: Leandra Amell celebrates Kirkwall's Victory Day with her household. Nonexplicit fluff.
Even the Mighty: Prompt was to humanize Hadriana
Orichalcum, 25mg, to be taken orally: Follow the pharmacist's instructions, kids.
Bet You Can't Have Just One: Aveline and Donnic have a collection.
By Any Other Name: Why does Bethany want to get rid of a perfectly nice luxury toy?
The C*ck Rings of Ancient Arlathan: Merrill acquires a magical talking penis possessed by a spirit of desire.  Isabela helps her shut it up.  Warning for self-inflicted and nonsexual CBT.
Supply Side Economics: Isabela and Athenril snark then get busy with bracers on, before being interrupted.
No Talking: Merrill/Fenris porn without plot.  OP requested consenual rough sex with breath play.  Title refers to an absense of the usual bedroom talk I like to give characters - if Fenris tried growling anything about blood mages or magisters, Merrill just had to go straight into lecture mode to correct him, and it sort of killed the mood.  So... no talking.
Lowtown Girls Gone Wild: Uncle Gamlen's pitch for his next big money-making idea.  Hawke is not amused.
Not a Python Reference - Entirely tame (but still on NSFW site).  A twenty-something shotgunner comes through Merrill's mirror to deliver a geek culture reference.
Wild Blue Yonder: Short crack.  Merrill goes through the mirror and comes back with a zepplin for Isabela.  Because ZEPPLIN.
Mutli AU Microfills: OP shuffled the companions' roles around and requested fic.  Short fills for pirate Fenris/Sister Isabela, warrior Bethany/abomination Sebastian/mage Carver, merchant Merrill/naive Aveline.
Discworld Crossovers: Not smut but on the k!meme.  Aveline/Vimes, Flemeth/Weatherwax, Anders/Greebo/Ogg.

Salvos in the Limerick Wars: On the kmeme although not very raunchy. By Fenris, By Varric (it's a sonnet because Varric has class), By Anonymous Dockworker, By Anonymous Qunari,  By An Irate Creditor

DAO
NEW - Griffon Queen: To the tune of 'Dancing Queen.'

NEW - Art Appreciation: Prompt was for someone to ask to be drawn "like one of your Orlesian girls."

Team Warden Go!: Somebody requested magical girl Oghren.  I live to serve.
Failing (Oghren's Song): NSFW because it's on kmeme.  Oghren's Broadway showtune.
Breakthrough: WIP. Dagna becomes the first dwarven mage in millenia.
Pretty Elf: Pearl foursome with a burly, dominant f!Cousland, dark but consensual. Warning for racism and some depersonalization.
Never Again: Prompt was "The Dalish are hypocrites" and asked for a reply to an elf!Warden's rant.  It ticked me off, so I wrote Velanna demolishing OP's premise.
Negotiations: Anora reluctantly falls for the infuriating and confusing Warden-Commander f!Mahariel.
Double Your Fun: Nathaniel, Sigrun and f!Kader minifill.
Conscription and Meet Your Mates: After the siege of Denerim, Shianni contracts the Blight sickness. To save her, Kallian gives her the Joining and brings her to Amaranthine.
Serious Sten: Sten's dating advice column.
In Flagrante: Alistair's married to Anora, who's friends with Natia, who's lovers with Alistair, who's drinking buddies with Zevran, who's lovers with Anora.  Then Natia and Anora make out and they've got to iron things out again.
If Nobody Else Can Help...: Prompt was for the DAO gang to all be engineers.  A-Team style montage for the defense of Redcliffe.  I dunno, it was just a crack sort of a day...
Re/Bound: Zevran/Shianni microfill. Hurt/comfort, bondage and oral.  Shianni is on the receiving end of none of it.
In the Bar: Where my characters go when I'm not writing them.
Extra Anchovies: Somebody requested Zevran as a pizza delivery boy.  This required a response.
Hunting Ghilan'nain: Ehhh.  Tantric Dalish rituals.  Non-linear narrative and the narrator is hallucinating.  Not my best work.
Helmet Head: It's like hat hair, only moreso, and Zevran thinks it looks delightful on m!Mahariel.
And Fain Would Lie Down: What if the true love from "Lord Randall" (Child ballad 12) were Flemeth?
The Mage Came Back: What is this I don't even.  DAO spoof on "The Cat Came Back."  Only NSFW because it's on kmeme.
Bide, Lady, Bide: Desire demon possession as an excuse for an extended riff on the Child ballad "The Two Magicians."  Pretty PG-13, all told.

ZevDLC
Writing work done for a fan-produced DLC that failed to launch

Chanter's Board Quests
Courtesan's Guild Quests
Mainline Quest, Phase 1
Mainline Quest, Phase 2 (first board only)

Technical Talk
Essays and ruminations on lore, world-building, and writing topics

The Anders Experiment: Playing DA2 as Anders

• Anders, the Tragic Hero of DA2?
• Prologue
• Recruiting Myself
• Act One Adventures
• Some Meta-gaming Issues
• Fenris
• End Act One, Summary, Begin Act 2
• A Terrible Plot to Blow Up Part of Kirkwall and Foment Crisis!
• Bugs and Pacing Act Two.
• Big Damn Mage Heroes
• Then Something Terrible Occurred
• A Few Quiet Moments
• Anders and Merrill
• End Act Two, Summary, Begin Act Three
• On the Loose
• An Underwhelming Reunion
• Helping Hands
• Best Served Cold, Part One
• Best Served Cold, Part Two and A New Path
• Finale

Solving the Old God Baby Problem: Dealing with a choice that should branch a game world, and can't be allowed to.
Guildmaster of the Antivan Crows: Revisiting ideas on Crow command structure
On Constructive Criticism - Giving it and receiving it.
How to Write Smut Like Corker - what it says on the tin
Aveline's Thin Blue  Line: A possible angle to add a spot of tarnish to DA2's knight in shining armor.
Kmeme Trends: Frequency data fromthe delicious archive.
Triple sigil all the way across the sky, what does it mean?: Maunderings on binding spirits and demons.  4/25/11
Proposed revisions to DA2 and addendum 3/25/11
Tranq Darts: Discussion on the Rite of Tranquility and abominations. 4/19/11
Roll and Keep Arcane and Primal Spells: I have a mind to port Thedas over to AEG's 7th Sea system. 4/29/11
A theory on demonic power: Why big demons have a harder time crossing over than the pikers your PC slays by the dozen.  3/29/11
Circle Mages: Out and about: How much freedom do mages have?  3/3/10
Ten-Foot Tall Bugs: problems with solving DA:O's mysteries. 12/4/10
Don't It Make My Brown Eyes Blue?: The lyrium trade in Ferelden.  11/19/10
Dalish Renaissance: Admiration for a dead empire has been massively inspiring in our world.  11/15/10
Name That Vallaslin!: My personal choices for assigning Creators to tattoos.  11/5/10
Dwarven PR: How much of an impact can Orzammar really have on the darkspawn situation under, say, Antiva? 10/8/10
Red Jenny: An idea for the mysterious group.&

Modifié par Corker, 22 juin 2014 - 06:47 .

[Corker]

Prompt: "I ran off to join the famous Dalish when one of their clans drew near Antiva City. Naturally, the reality did not live up at all to the fantasies."

Dalish Dreams

"I ran off to join the famous Dalish when one of their clans drew near Antiva City. Naturally, the reality did not live up at all to the fantasies." 

The words fell easily from his lips; perhaps they were part of a tale told more than once in the past.  Then they kept falling until they hit the ground and lay there between them, heavy and awkward.  Vashti Mahariel crossed her arms and looked down where she imagined them to be.  "Sorry to disappoint."

"Oh, not you, dear Warden.  You live up to any possibly fantasy I might..."  He had the good sense to go no farther with that line of thought when she lifted her gaze to glare at him.  "Ah.  Or perhaps not."

She didn't turn to go.  She looked down again, scuffed the ground with one foot, turning imagined words over in her mind as if to find grubs under them.  "Why did you go back to Antiva City?"

"As I said, the reality..."

She glared at him again, but with annoyance this time.  "Explain that, please."

"Well, since you have asked so nicely, my Warden...  For one thing, I did not think there would be so many rules.  The Crows had rules - so many rules! - and they were so very wearying.  One hears of the free Dalish and thinks, 'Ah, there I will be free from people telling me where to go and what to do and how it should be done.'  But no!  There are even more rules!  Prayers and rituals and chores and duties, it did not end."

Vashti chuckled at that.  "Did you really think we danced all day among the trees, eating grass like halla?  We don't work, we don't eat."

"I am familiar with that concept, yes," Zevran said, a trifle peevishly.  "I merely thought each would do what he found agreeable, not what the Keeper said that he would do."

"That would be nice, I suppose," Vashti agreed.  "In some magical clan where there were exactly enough hunters and craftsmasters, halla keepers and storytellers, mothers and Keepers.  It all has to get done, just as all the Creators must be honored."  She indicated the vallaslin on her forehead.  "Falon'Din, bridging the here and the Beyond.  Why?  Somebody has to wear it."  She shrugged. 

"I admitted it was a fantasy," he said, crossing his own arms now that the Warden was having a bit of fun at his expense.  "Did you wish to hear the rest, or do you want to continue to poke fun at my childish naivety?"

"Mm," Vashti paused to consider, then shook her head.  "No, please continue."  More seriously, she added, "It is a great sadness to know that one of our brethren came to us, but departed.  I would know why.  Perhaps in the future..."

Zevran waved a hand dismissively.  "Were I older, perhaps I would have stayed.  I expected a warmer welcome and took offense when I did not recieve one."

Vashti thought of Pol, the alienage elf her clan had just taken in.  He was to have been hanged as a thief, whether justly or not she did not know.  He was a stranger and an outsider, possibly a criminal, and while they had taken him in, he was indeed held a little at arm's reach until his measure could be taken.  "Not every elf who comes to the Dalish is truly seeking a free life," she said carefully.  "We have had our share of spies and bandits insinuate themselves into our clans.  Surely, as a Crow..."

Zevran grimaced.  "I know, I know.  It was a youthful folly.  They were my mother's people, after all, and..."

And on moonlit nights, cradling a pair of butter-soft doehide gloves against his chest, he had imagined what it would be like to have a mother, a soft creature made of love and gentle caresses, who would call him in from playing with the halla by the stream to feed him a stew rich with venison and root vegetables, who would ease the tangles from his fine pale hair and perhaps teach him to carve wood, not flesh, with small sharp knives.

They were both examining the ground as if it might contain a map to the lost Sacred Ashes of Andraste.  "My mother's, as well," Vashti said at length.  "I also... lost her when I was young." And as dear as Ashalle was to her, it had not stopped fancies that always started with, If my mother were here...

"Are you quite well answered, Warden?" Zevran asked quietly, in a tone that subtly suggested she had damn well better be.

"I am.  Ma serranas, Zevran."  Impulsively, she added, "Abelas."

"Hm?"  He looked up, playful good humor masking his face once again.  "That is a Dalish apology, is it not?  Is the great Grey Warden apologizing to me?  Whatever for?"

The word was for apology and sympathy both, and she suspected he knew as much.  But if he wished to play the game, Vashti was inclined to let him, at least right now.  "For... for us not... helping you more.  You were a child, we should have made allowances."

"It is in the past," he shrugged.  "And this second experience is much superior to the first, I must say.  Quite a lot more loot, for one thing."

"As you like, Zevran."  And there they left it for the night.

[Corker]

Prompt: Crows

A Political Animal

"Have you come to kill me?"  The distinguished older man, dressed in a silk lounging robe, looked up from his book calmly to ask the question as the door banged open.

"If I have to."  Adriana Cousland put a foot on the stubborn corpse clinging to her offhand dagger and shoved.  It fell limply to the floor, and she gave both daggers a slow spin in her hands. 

"Any why would you have to?" the Guildmaster asked.  He closed the book and set it down on a side table, then rested his hands in his lap.

"Because you keep taking contracts on me, you flaming idiot!"  Adriana stalked carefully around the rugs that were scattered over the floor, certain one or more concealed a trap of some kind.  "It's a right royal pain and interferes with my business."

"Surely you understand that I could hardly refuse a personage as august and revered as the Divine." 

"You'd better figure out how to do just that, signor, or it's going to go badly for you."  She came at the side of the chair, rather than the front.

He shrugged, turning both hands palm up.  "Perhaps you have some ideas for me?  I am in a bad place."  He scratched the back of his neck and smiled roguishly.  "In more ways than one, it seems."

His elbow had scarcely begun to move down when a hand with a blade materialized from behind the chair.  It snaked around, pressing the Crow dagger to his throat.  "Whatever is in your hand, I recommend that you drop it," Zevran said, voice hard.

The Guildmaster's hand opened, and a small glass vial dropped quietly between his side and the chair back.  Adriana fished it out while the man sat motionless under Zevran's blade.  "Very definitely in more ways than one, signor," she agreed.  "Look.  I have my own business.  I don't want yours.  I don't want to lose my left hand just to keep your people off my back."

"Your left hand?" he asked, confused.

"She means me," said the elf behind the chair.  "We've discussed it, you see.  If I were Guildmaster, I would certainly take no contracts on her."

"You say that now," the Guildmaster said with grim humor - then made a little choking sound as the knife pressed closer. 

"I know you've got a reputation to maintain," Adriana went on.  "Crows never miss a mark, and so on.  And you'll disappoint the White Divine, and I understand that's a consideration.  So, being a reasonable woman, I've come with an offer."

"What, besides my life?" the Guildmaster asked with mild surprise.

Adriana ignored that.  "First, I have contacts in the Imperium.  They've got more than a few magi who would be pleased to work with your organization, if the price were right.  I also have the contacts and facilities to move them from Minrathous to Antiva City without the templars interfering.  A supply of high-quality blood mages ought to go a long way to taking the sting out of whatever sanctions the White Divine chooses to enact.  Second," she sheathed both knives and shrugged a third baldric off.  She drew the sword, and the Guildmaster's eyes widened.  "So you've heard of Vigilance," she grinned.  "Good.  It's yours.  You can say you stole it from me, if you like, to help salve your Guild's wounded honor.  And then we're done.  Do you understand me?"

To his credit, he was silent for a long moment, considering the deal.  "And if I refuse?"

"If you refuse, or if I ever see another Crow anywhere near me again, I'll kill you dead.  And after your Guild has finished with the infighting and put another Guildmaster in your place, I'll kill him.  I will continue this for five Guildmasters or until the Crows fall apart, whichever comes first, and if you people still don't get the point, I'll keep on with it.  Because I am tired of this.  Can I be any more clear?"

"Perhaps," he said thoughtfully, "we can present the blade to the Divine.  As you would obviously never part with it willingly, we must have taken it from your body.  If another woman took over your operation and your name, that would hardly be our fault."

"That sounds lovely," she said.  "So it's a deal?"

"It is a deal," the Guildmaster confirmed.  The knife at his throat slowly retreated, and Zevran stood up behind the chair.

"You should see the first mages before Wintersend," she said, resheathing Vigilance and handing it to him.  He took it carefully.  "And before you get any more clever ideas, you do understand that, working in the Imperium as I frequently do, I have countermeasures for most blood magic?"

"It was a deal," the Guildmaster said, sounding wounded.  "I have no ideas concerning you at all, I assure you."

"Good.  Make sure it stays that way.  Come on, Zev.  Let's get out of here."

[Corker]

Prompt: A Theodosian holiday, Zevran-style

A Day at the Fair

The people of Redcliffe needed a celebration.  After all of the horrors that had been visited upon the village, and the continuing, looming threat of civil war and Blight, they needed a reminder of the joy of life.  Arl Eamon rose from his sickbed not long before Summerday, and festivities which had been put off in light of his condition were rapidly put back on again.

The Warden and her companions were convinced to stay for the Summerday fair.  The people wanted to show their gratitude to those who had saved them and their arl.  And after the harrowing journey to the lost village of Haven, and then the trip through the Gauntlet, they were ready for a little celebration themselves.

Peasant bagpipes filled the air with raucous, reedy music as young men and women danced carols in the main square.  Ale and cider flowed freely, and whole baked fish were sold as quickly as they came off the coals.  Bodahn Feddic cracked open a crate full of ribbons, sparkling glass gewgaws, and tin soldiers, and did a brisk trade in them. 

Bann Teagan had sent to Rainesfere for a large, plump pig.  The porker was even now snuffling around a mud-filled pen, as a crowd of eager young men gathered around.  They would separate into teams of four, and whoever could hold the pig the longest would win it.

Kallian Tabris was, for once, feeling merry.  Perhaps it was the two glasses of cider.  Maybe it was giggling with Leliana over ribbons.  But mostly it was just so nice to be doing something so normal.

Zevran tsk'ed at her and shook his head.  "Truly?  You find this amusing?"

"Sure I do!" she said, grinning broadly.  "It's fun!  And... different!  Summerday was a little different in Denerim."

"Also in Antiva City," Zevran nodded.  "There were no slobbering pigs, for one thing.  Why are they all staring at it?  I would think these sturdy country boys would have seen one before."

"You don't know?  They're going to wrestle it!"

"Wrestle it?" He raised an eyebrow.  "The pig?"

"Yes!"

"I did not know that pigs wrestled."

"They don't!  But they'll wrestle it in the mud, and it's slippery, and there aren't too many hand-holds on a pig.  People fall down a lot.  It's funny!  And the winner gets the pig."

"For a candle-lit dinner and what passes for dancing in these parts, I take it."

She punched him in the arm.  "Only if you mean that the pig is the dinner."

"Hm."  He tapped his lips thoughtfully.  

"Andraste's knickers!"  Kallian tugged on his sleeve and pointed. "Look, they've got Sandal riding in a goat cart!"

------

Kallian gave the conversation no more thought until perhaps a half an hour later, just before the pig wrestling was due to start.  "Come, Alistair.  For the children!" Zevran was insisting.

"I don't know.  Farm animals and I don't get along," her fellow Warden replied dubiously.

"It's a splendid idea," Bann Teagan agreed.  "Good for morale and charitable.  It wouldn't be the first time you've been covered in mud, Alistair."

"It's not something I want to make a habit of!"

"You're going to wrestle the pig?" Kallian asked incredulously.

"Your Antivan friend here suggested it," Teagan replied.  "I thought it was somewhat ridiculous, as it's my pig, but if we win, we'll have it roasted and shared around tonight, starting with the children of Redcliffe."

"It is ridiculous," Sten said, crossing his arms.  "If your people are hungry, feed them.  Kill the beast cleanly and be done with it."

"Oh, and there goes our fourth man." Zevran drooped, disappointed.  "Is there no persuading you, Sten?"

"No.  I am a Sten of the Beresaad.  When the pig breaks out of its pen and threatens my life, I will fight it, and not before."

"If I may?"  Ser Perth approached with his peculiar hestitant respect.  "Although it is... lacking somewhat in dignity, I do not place myself above the bann.  If you need a fourth man, I am he."

"See? Ser Perth does not place himself above the bann," Zevran murmured to Alistair.

"All right, all right!" Alistair sighed, knowing when to throw in the towel.  "I'll wrestle the blasted pig."

"Marvelous!  We must make ready, then," Zevran said, nodding toward the crowd of young villagers, most of whom were already stripped to the waist.

"What?" Alistair squawked all over again.  

"Our armor would give an unfair advantage," Ser Perth explained placidly, unbuckling his curiass.  "Something hard to press the pig with."

"We could wear shirts," Alistair said flatly.

Bann Teagan plucked at his silk doublet.  "I'm not quite so well off that I can afford to destroy this by rolling about in the mud with it."  He began to undo the buttons.

"You have nothing to be ashamed of, my friend," Zevran said, tying his hair back into a... well, a pigtail.  "And the day is warm, and it will save you from at least an hour of scrubbing your linens afterwards."

"I suppose, but... how are you undressed already?"

"Practice, of course."  Bann Teagan chuckled, then tried to hide it in a cough.

"Modesty is becoming, but surely there is no blame in this," Ser Perth said, shucking his padded gambeson as well.  "It is all in good fun."

Alistair glowered at Zevran, who did his best to look innocent.  "Fine," the ex-templar sighed again.  "I hate doing laundry anyway."

"We should go last, so as not to dispirit the lads," Ser Perth said.

"Quite true," Teagan agreed.  "But we should announce our intentions, I think, before the contest is underway.  I will see to it."  Ser Perth automatically followed the bann, and Alistair trailed uncertainly along behind.

Zevran looked back over his shoulder at Kallian and smirked.  "Happy Summerday, my dear Warden.  I hope it compares well to the ribbons, yes?"  And then, with a languid stretch and a wink, he was off after his team.

------

Bann Teagan, at least, was having fun. He laughed uproariously every time he slipped and fell into the mud, calling the pig a worthy adversary and letting it know it hadn't seen the last of him. The villagers clearly approved of this bit of theater and cheered.

Zevran, Alistair noted, was as spirited as he was in mortal combat, laughing the whole time. He was strong for his size, Alistair knew, but they needed sheer bulk to try and keep the pig in line. So the elven assassin generally ended up at someone's side or back, helping them grab and hold the pig. He seemed to prefer to team with Teagan for this close-quarters combat, and that suited Alistair just fine. Now he just needed to keep the pig between him and images he'd rather not see.

He didn't notice it at first, not with the laughing and shouting and snorting and cheering. Then there was a sudden sharp pain in his shoulder, well away from the pig's sharp feet or snout. Then he heard the buzzing - bees?

Some of the villagers were pointing into the air excitedly. A whole swarm of bees! If they could be lured into a hive, it would mean more honey for the village. Someone was sent to fetch some honeycomb and a box and the Maker was thanked for this fine gift on Summerday.

Alistair was stung again, and he heard Zevran grunt. Ser Perth made a pained, quizzical sound. Right in front of his nose, Alistair saw four... not bees. Wasps? Blighted wasps? land on the pig. Four stingers plunged down.

The pig squealed and bucked, throwing Perth immediately. "Keep hold, keep hold!" Teagan exhorted.

"Does this count?" Zevran had slithered up onto the pig, locking his legs around its fat neck. He couldn't be said to be controlling it, but he certainly had a hold on it.

More wasps buzzed low and stung, and the pig tore out their grasps, careering around the pen with the assassin along for the ride. The villagers cheered some more, and Teagan and Perth scrambled after the pig.

Alistair didn't. He'd finally placed the bugs as something he'd seen in the Wilds, around Ostagar. Ignoring a few more stings, he took a deep breath and drew his hands in, focusing. Then he pushed out, with breath and arms and will, shoving away any magic in the area.

Morrigan fell six feet out of the sky, splat into the mud.

It would be wrong to say that a silence fell, not with the pig still squealing and Zevran laughing and Teagan shouting. But the villagers, at least, grew quiet at this display of sorcery.

From the sidelines, Leliana began to cheer loudly. "Brilliant! How did you do it? Didn't it look real?" Kallian quickly joined in, and the villagers slowly followed.

Morrigan got to her feet, ignoring the pig as it thundered past with its attendants. She wiped mud off her face and, after a moment of consideration, flicked it at Alistair. "I hate you," she told him.

"Pig," he said.

"What? What are you talking ab-- Oh!" The porker knocked her back down into the mud, and Alistair grabbed onto a shoulder again, trying very hard not to notice how close that put his face to the back of one of Zevran's thighs.

The pig was, at length, subdued and led off to its fate. The five climbed over the pen rails, Ser Perth courteously offering Morrigan his hand, which she spurned.

"Well, that was invigorating!" Zevran said. "And the wasps certainly added some challenge to it. We have you to thank for that, lovely Morrigan?"

She sniffed. "I will not deny it. I think it added to the amusement. Would you not agree?"

"Oh, very much so." Zevran smiled wolfishly. "I will display the marks with pride. How do you call them... love bites, yes?"

Her golden eyes widened. "It was nothing of the sort and you know it!"

"The heart knows what the heart knows," he sighed dramatically. Alistair snickered. "And here I thought she didn't like me."

"I do not. In fact, I hate you both. More than ever," the witch gritted, before turning on her heel and stalking off.

"We're going to pay for that later," Alistair grinned.

"I am in fact looking forward to it," Zevran replied. "It will make the dull nights in camp more interesting, no?"

[Corker]

ZevPrompt: Reunion

Homecoming

She lay sprawled indolently on the sand, still waiting for him.  It had been... four years? Five?  She was as he remembered: beautiful and corrupted, dangerous and welcoming, a fleshy courtesan with a dagger hidden in her bosom.  He stood still for a long moment and just watched, waiting to feel anticipation or relief, disgust or longing, anger or gladness.

Nothing.

Even the sight of fair Antiva City, long-absent, her familiar gleaming towers and putrid canals, the orange-scented gardens, the bustling markets and the dingy quays, moved him not at all.

He was not surprised.

He had remained too long at the Denerim court.  He had needed to blame someone, and Alistair had needed to be blamed, and so they had circled each other in guilt, anger and grief.  And word had reached the Crows that Taliesen's task was left undone, that the traitor still drew breath, and so men had been sent.

The fight had been brief but thrilling.  For the first time since Fort Drakon, he felt alive, perhaps because death was so close.

The would send more, and more.  There was no need to risk anyone at the court, he told them.  He would go, take the battle to them.  And that road led here, to the glittering gem on the bay.

Just... don't go back to the Crows, okay?

She'd known.

But she'd left him anyway.

He stepped forward into the city's cold embrace.

[Corker]

ZevPrompt: Friendship

Trust

It was a morning ritual, kept religiously.  The warm water would be there, waiting, brought from the kitchens.  She would be awake, dressed only in undertunic and trousers; the uniform for the day, be it of brocade or of drakeskin, would be laid out nearby, an empty shell of the Warden-Commander waiting to be filled.  But Irini Cousland required something first, this small vanity, this touchstone of normalcy.

He would have his kit with him, the soap and the brush and the blade.  The warm scent of  sandalwood would escape from the soap tin, pushing aside the Vigil's ever-present odor of woodsmoke and wet dog.  She would settle into her chair, tipping her head back and closing her eyes, as he swept the brush over the small cake, raising a fine, dense lather.  Then, with practised, gentle strokes, he would paint her head with it, covering the dark bristles that had sprung up since yestermorn with a cap of snowy white that reflected the pink and gold of the dawning day.

They might pass a few words, then, about her Wardens, or the news from Denerim, or the dead.  And eventually, he would interrupt, saying, "It is time," and reaching for the razor, long and thin and keen.  And she, whom few in the Vigil would dare interrupt, would check herself and sit  back again, ready for his ministrations.

And he would marvel, each time, at her closed eyes and exposed throat,  lain unhesitatingly under the sharp blade in his hand. 

That was the measure of their friendship.

Modifié par Corker, 29 décembre 2010 - 01:41 .

[Corker]

Bone Splinters

And he had thought northern Ferelden was bitter and cold.

Anora must have been looking for an excuse to rid herself of the Hinterlands, Zevran decided.  No sane person would live in these half-frozen swamplands.  It wasn't just cold, it was wet and clammy and muddy and cold.  The wet dog smell was gone, replaced by a lovely bouquet of rotting vegetation and fetid water.  A truly wretched little hellhole of a wilderness, haunted by Chasind who didn't appreciate the sudden influx of elves.

Ostagar had been a good deal, though.  The Dalish had been quick to settle in and around the fortress, making moves to repair and restore it for when - not if - the humans decided to take back the lands they'd granted.  The Hero of Ferelden had enough gold to hire a few dwarven engineers to oversee the process, and the Imperial Highway was being steadily disassembled for its stone - and to prevent an army from marching straight down it to Ostagar's door.  Keeper Lanaya had talked about the process almost endlessly, boring him with excited details about dwarven stonecutting practices, but he had listened politely and nodded in the right places.

His reception had been warm enough, once he produced the gift he brought - an incomplete set of elven armor, forged in the days of Arlathan.  Lanaya had been overjoyed to have it, bringing forth the gauntlets that he'd last seen squeezed over Alistair's large hands and completing the set.  He'd been thanked profusely.

They offered to carry word of the armor's return to the Warden.  He had been surprised to learn that she was not in the fortress, nor even nearby it.  She lived, they told him, deeper in the Korcari Wilds, keeping a lonely patrol against such creatures of darkness and magic as still haunted the place.  He dithered, not particularly wanting to go splashing through the swamp, but in the end felt that it was ridiculous to have come so far and not to at least visit his friend.

Besides, she might still have his belt. 

As the sun began to dip down, and he still did not see any sign of this hut she was said to inhabit, he stopped to make a simple camp on the highest, driest ground he could find.  Getting wood dry enough to burn was something of an effort, and he only had half an armful when he noticed the gathering shadows.

They flitted from hilltop to scrub brush in the distance, a dozen or more dark darting forms, fast and low to the ground.  Wolves, he thought.  No great trouble to someone who'd fought a pack of giant spiders in Ortan Thaig, but pride led to carelessness.  Best to find some high ground in a clear area and ready his bow.

That had come from their campaign, too.  He'd never seen a finer weapon, but she'd refused it as human-made.  Her loss.  He hurried back to the spot he'd picked for his camp, dropped the wood and strung Mage's Eye, carefully surveying the terrain, looking and listening for the approach of the pack.

The howl came from nowhere and everywhere.  No simple wolf-cry, it seemed to reach right into his head and demand that he run away.  But - to where?  Which direction would be away from that sound, and which toward it?  The indecision was paralyzing...

...but only momentary.  Less well-trained prey might have been held longer, but Zevran had spent too many years running towards danger to be affected for long.  The pack did not know that, of course, and were charging up the hill to his position.  He nocked and drew an arrow, but held fire for the moment, calling out instead, "Who's the good dog, then?"

He was rewarded with several short, sharp barks, and he smiled.  No wolf-cry, indeed; it was the dread howl of a mabari war hound.  The wolf-pack slowed, flowing around him rather than overwhelming him.  They circled warily, watching the bow with interest, as the great hound shuffled forward to regard the elf.

"So you remember me, eh?  I admit, I am somewhat put off by this welcome.  Are we not friends?"

The dog - she had never really named him, just called him Dog - had the good grace to look abashed, but barked in warning.

"True, you do not know why I come after so much time, and things do change.  You are a good dog indeed, and loyal to your mistress.  I am looking for her, by the way.  Does she take callers?"

The dog licked its chops and looked to one of the circling wolves, a pale white ghost of a creature, and whuffled.  The wolf slowed, peeling out of the circle, and sat down on its haunches to howl.  It did this twice more, until an answering howl - one obviously not from a lupine or canine throat - came ringing over the marshland.

The dog barked.

"Thank you," Zevran said, finally relaxing the bowstring.  "You know, I have to say, these are most unusual wolves here.  Looking at those muzzles, I might almost say there is a family resemblance.  Are congratulations in order?"

The dog barked happily, panting and wagging his tail.

Zevran kept up a one-sided conversation with the dog until the white wolf darted off and returned moments later with the Dalish Warden.  The sun was almost entirely below the horizon now, and the falling shadows made her stern face more unreadable than usual.  "My dear Warden," he bowed.  "We meet again, as promised."

"What do you want?" she asked bluntly.

He raised his eyebrows.  "A place to sleep out of the wet, perhaps.  Other than that... nothing.  May not one pay an old friend a visit?"

"Nobody comes here unless they need something," she grated, then paused.  "Did you realize you left your momento behind?"

"Actually, I came to return the armor," he replied, nettled.  "It is at Ostagar, with Keeper Lanaya."

She rocked back on her heels, considering something for a moment, then turned abruptly.  She snapped her fingers and the wolf pack fell in behind her.  "Come," she said, perhaps assuming he was not so well trained as they.

*******

The hut, she said, had been Flemeth's.  She did not actually expect the old Witch of the Wilds to return here, but she assumed if Flemeth had dwelt here, it was a place of power and bore watching. 

The place was filled with weapons.  Curved Dalish knives and swords, elegant axes and even a large battleaxe hung from the walls.  "This seems a little... excessive," Zevran noted.

"I've taken up June's path, when I am not patrolling or counseling the Keepers on humans," Vashti answered.  "There was a wealth of dragonbone outside; it seemed that it should not go to waste."

His hand froze inches from a weapon.  "These are... Flemeth's bones?"

"Should I have buried them?"

"Do you know, I am going to change the subject."  He cast about for something, but the usual small talk seemed inadequate in the face of that dark and suspicious glare.  Inspiration struck, and he reached for his belt.

She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow skeptically.

"No, no," he clarified.  "This was yours as well.  I returned the armor to your people, but thought perhaps you would like this back."  Pulling it free, he held the belt of Dalish leather out to her.

She regarded it for a moment, then left him standing there holding it while she opened up the single chest in the room.  He caught a glimpse of the gold jewelry and the sapphires she'd collected, and a few other odd items, as she picked out a familiar item - his belt with the round metal bosses.  "You propose a trade, then?"

"You did keep it," he said quietly.  He paused, then shook his head.  "No, not a trade.  I just thought that you might have missed this."

"I was angry you left with the armor," she said finally.  "But I would have made a gift of the belt.  That and your gloves, so that you have something of your mother's people with you."

He nodded, and slowly refastened the belt.  "I thank you."

She nodded briskly.  "Take the bed, if you like.  I'll be out with the pack."  And she disappeared out the door into the night.

-------

There was a lot to be said for beds, even lumpen ones with a mattress stuffed with marsh reeds.  Mainly warm and dry, but also stable and flat and a little bit cozy.  Zevran rolled over to regard his bedmate.  "I should get up," he said reluctantly.

The dog blinked drowsily and yawned, cavernous jaws opening wide.

"Enough!" the elf protested.  "That breath will knock me out of bed.  Fiendishly clever, you mabari."  Steeling himself for the blast of cold air, he tossed the blankets aside and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.  He wondered if there would be warm water for washing, or if one just broke the crust of ice and got on with it.

The hearth was just embers; he stoked it up with some kindling laid nearby, figuring that as a good guest he could at least help with the chores.  "Now what?" he asked the dog.

The mabari whuffled and levered himself out of the bed, then trotted to the door and nudged it open.  Zevran followed the beast outside, where Vashti was peering suspiciously into a pot perched on what must be her forge.  She glanced up when the door swung open.  "Andaran atishan," she greeted him.  "The rice is ready."

"Ma serannas," he tried replying with the Dalish 'thank you' he'd heard at Ostagar.  She narrowed her eyes but didn't scowl, so it was something.  "Does one eat it from the pot?"

"No, the bowls are inside.  I know where."  She disappeared back into the hut and returned with a pair of wooden bowls and two spoons.  Not bothering with a ladle, she deftly dipped each into the porridge and handed him one.  He smiled thanks and took a seat on one of the stumps pulled up nearby.  It was as bland as boiled grain could be, but it was hot and filling and didn't have weevils in it. 

He said as much, since she was looking at him as if she expected him to say something.  That netted him a surprised grunt in reply, and she moved to sit as well.  "I was expecting complaints," she admitted.

"I have spent most of the past few years aboard ship," he said with a chuckle.  "The seafaring life has many things to recommend it, but the food?  Is not one of them."

"You took to the sea?"

"Yes.  I ran into an old acquaitance of mine in Denerim, after we parted ways.  She is a ship's captain and was leaving ahead of the darkspawn horde, so I... left with her.  I got along well enough with her crew and just never managed to leave."

"What does one do, on a ship at sea?"  Vashti was paying far too much attention to her bowl, he thought.  Perhaps she was unhappy that he had left, while the others had stayed?  But she had been the one who told him to go, that he was not needed - and, as they had been victorious, she had obviously been correct. 

"Nothing or everything.  Days of smooth sailing and boredom, then hours of storm or battle.  We ran cargos, took a few passengers... the odd raid, here or there, if we learned of a ship with a cargo worth stealing.  We went to Rivain, Seheron, even some Tevinter ports... I have been quite the world traveler.  Nothing has been as fine as my dear Antiva City, but then, no one is trying to kill me, either.  Well, not consistently.  There's been the odd scrape here and there."

"Are there many on the ship?"

"We can make do with as few as ten or twelve, but since we like to sleep, there are usually twenty or so.  Why?"

But she shook her head in reply, still looking down at the bowl in her lap.  "Now you have me curious," he said.  "What are you thinking?"

"That I do not understand you," she said at length.  She looked up. "You wander from place to place, alternate between times of great leisure and times of great trouble, times of fat and of lean, keep company with a band of just two dozen, and enjoy the occasional raid, but the Dalish life was not for you?"

He opened his mouth and closed it.  When she put it like that... but no, there were differences.  "Well, we get shore leave more than once every ten years," he replied, trying to keep his tone light.  "And the captain is not nearly as fussy as a Keeper about the company I keep."

She stared at him flatly for a long moment, then pointedly went back to eating her porridge.

That made him angry.

"How free can one be," he asked, more heatedly than he'd meant, "with others making rules for what one can do, even with one's own body?  I have had that life in Antiva, more than enough of it.  And neither does my crew care to judge me, past my skill with a blade or my seamanship.  No one cares where you are from, who your parents were, as long as you pull your weight.  That is a welcome difference."

She finished her porridge quietly and rested the spoon in the bowl.  "They made me commander of a fortress, for a little while.  Many human men took my orders and carried them out.  And there was not a chair in the place for me, in which I could sit without my legs dangling like a child's."

"You are complaining about chairs?"

"No one cared that I was an elf, as long as I pretended that I wished to be human.  They were very quick to suggest that perhaps the old arl's son should resume his family's title when I placed Fen'Harel by the gates and lit fires to Elgar'nan in the courtyard."

"That is not how it has to be."

"But that is how it is."

He set his bowl aside abruptly, wondering why he had bothered to come.  "Thank you for the food," he said as smoothly as he could manage.  "If I leave soon, I should make the fortress well before dark."  He rose to go.

She stood as well.  "I'll show you the quick way," she offered.  "It's drier."

"I would hate to keep you from your work," he demurred.  "There will be enough daylight, I am sure."

She stared silently for another long moment.  When it seemed like she had nothing else to say, he turned to go.  "Ma serannas," he heard behind him.  "Alistair has come here, but no others.  I would not choose your path, but walk it in peace."

He paused.  "What path would you choose?"

There was silence behind him, and then: "There are no choices left to me."

"Brasca!"  He turned on one heel, leveling an accusing finger at her.  "You?  Have no choices?  That is ridiculous.  Nothing could keep you here, if you do not wish to be here.  They say you defeated Ferelden's greatest general in single combat, that you saved Denerim from rampaging darkspawn, that you personally drove an ancient relic of the Dales into the skull of the Archdemon, making you the greatest elven hero since Garahel!  And so now you hide in a hovel in a freezing swamp and say you cannot leave?"

"I so say," she answered him, not angry or upset but deeply, deeply tired.  Shaking her head, she sat back down on one of the stumps.  "I am a Grey Warden.  I am... too changed to live with my brethren.  But... I never wanted more than to be with them.  So I remain here, close enough to almost belong, until death comes a third time.  I have Dog, and Wolf, and their pups, and the forge.  If it is not all that I want, it is more than I would have if I left."

He knew each of the words, and the sentence made sense, theoretically, but he could not understand it.  But he did understand that this was, in some measure, what she wanted.  "I would not choose your path..." he echoed.

"Dareth shiral, Zevran."

"Til we meet again, my dear Warden."

[Corker]

Prompt: Other rogue specializations

The Symphony I See in Thee

Six weeks ago, this would have been a lovely opportunity rather than a cause for mild alarm, Zevran mused as he carefully stirred the stew, giving no sign that having a shapely redhead pressed against his back was in any way of interest to him.  Six weeks ago, they hadn't gotten to Denerim and the Orlesian bard Marjolaine was still alive.  Even five weeks ago, they hadn't had that... energizing encounter with Isabela aboard the Siren's Call.  That was when it all started to go badly, he thought.  Well, not badly for him, but camp life had gotten rather more difficult.

It seemed clear to him that Kallian was merely dallying with them both, and it suited him well enough.  But after the night aboard the ship, Leiliana started to get oddly possessive.  Zevran had expected to be told that Kallian would be leaving off their liaison to satisfy her more demanding lover, but no - the Warden had gotten stubborn about the ultimatum and spurned the bard instead.   And now, having had her to himself for two weeks, Zevran was no longer inclined to share.

They had been an icy two weeks; both of the rogues were more inclined to hide strong feelings which could be used against them.  But Kallian had just been to speak privately to Leiliana, and he'd heard the two laughing together in high spirits, and now Leiliana was plastered against his back.  As this was coming from his former rival and a trained bard, he was inclined to think he should not jump to any happy conclusions. 

At length, he set the spoon aside and straightened.  "Yes, Leiliana?  Can I help you with something?"

She giggled.  "Took you long enough."  She let go and stepped back, allowing him to turn around and see her face.  It looked open enough, but with bards, who could tell?  "I was just thinking... it was so dark in Isabela's cabin, I didn't really get a good look at your tattoos."

He raised an eyebrow.  "I thought we were never to speak of that? At your request, I would add."

"Well, I was just talking to Kallian and... well, I had to admit what a fine catch you were, and... she suggested you wouldn't mind if I, well, visited tonight!"  she said brightly.

He paused to look her up and down slowly, because it gave him a moment to get over the sudden shock.  "As tempting as the offer is, Leiliana," he said at length, "I can not say that it seems wise."

"It seemed wise enough last month!"

"Things were different last month.  None of us were so... attached.  I do not see this ending well."

"Zevran," she said matter-of-factly, "it is like this.  First, what I was looking for... was not there.  Even if I could seduce Kallian away from you, it would still not be what I truly want.  So, I must look elsewhere for that.  I am at peace with it.  But until then..."  She cast her eyes down, and a note of uncertainty crept into her voice. "We are so near to the Landsmeet, and the final battle, and... who knows what!  I do not want to waste a single minute of the time the Maker has granted me on this world; what may be the only time any of us has left!"  She raised her eyes again and shrugged.  "You and I, we have both made love to people we cared nothing for.  And for me, at least, I have done it with those I have truly loved.  So... why not with friends, as well?  Must it be either meaningless or true love?"

Zevran spread his hands peaceably.  "I cannot argue with you on that.  Although, in the long run, these things... very often go badly."

"I am not speaking of a long run.  Just until we save the world or die trying.  After that," she shrugged, "who knows what will come?"

He sighed. "Well, that is all very good from your side, but... I am pleased with the way things are arranged just now. Perhaps I do not wish them changed."

She looked at him closely for a moment, then appeared to change the subject.  "You know how you would kill me, right now, yes?  If you needed to?"

He wasn't surprised that she was right; while he hadn't consciously planned any such attack, the moment she asked, he already knew which blade he would draw and the angle of his strike.  What did surprise him was that the answer stuck in his throat.

The surprise must have shown on his face.  She laughed, not unkindly.  "If you told me how you would do it, you'd have to come up with another one, of course.  It must be a heavy burden, to always know the ways in which you could be threatened, and all the ways you must defend against those threats.  It makes it... difficult to relax and truly let go, doesn't it?"

"Perhaps," he said guardedly. 

She took a step closer to him.  "But if you could not defend, were prevented from acting... then, you would not be responsible for maintaining such never-ending vigilance, yes?"

While it was true, he wasn't certain he liked that she had guessed it.  "But I would be responsible for not allowing myself to come to such dire straights, of course."

"Zevran."  She put her hands on her hips and glared at him in mock annoyance.  "You remind the Warden about how she captured you at the slightest pretext.  You joke about chains and rope - I suppose so that when Kallian didn't understand, you could brush it off, yes?  She is... beautiful and uninhibited and enthusiastic, but not very sophisticated.  I am from Orlais, where we preserve the very best of Tevinter decadence and invent new variations each month, and I am a trained bard.  Don't play as if you don't know what I mean, or..."  She reached out to cup his chin in her palm and tilt it up, "I will be very cross with you."

This, he found to be a rather more compelling argument in favor of her proposal.  He half-closed his eyes.  "Will you be very cruel, then?"

"I will be cruel in the kindest ways," she promised with a slow smile.

"Now that is delightfully ambiguous," he smirked despite himself.

She was suddenly all seriousness.  "Whatever taste I had for vicious sport... I lost some years ago, Zevran.  Kallian... also is not so inclined."

He wiped the smile off his face and nodded, solemn.  "I understand, Leiliana.  Believe me... I do."

"I thought you might."  She settled on hand on his shoulder companionably for a moment, until the ghosts of their pasts had time to return to the Fade.  "No, I think instead we will have a kind of a concert," she mused, continuing her flirtation, "and see what music can be coaxed from such a fine instrument.  You'll find I have techniques for strings," and she ran light, ticklish fingers up his sides, "percussion," both hands flew back down, landing a playful smack on his rear that made him, of all things, laugh, "and winds."  She pulled up slightly, urging him to tiptoes, as she bent down to place a hot, open-mouthed kiss on the side of his neck.  He hummed appreciatively and she broke off, giggling.  "A fine start.  And then I will give Kallian a few lessons, and we shall play duets until dawn."

[Corker]

ZevPrompt: Other rogue specializations

Shallow

"I admit, I am surprised the bardic secrets are kept so closely."

Leiliana let her fingers dance out the song's closing cadence as she tilted her head at the assassin.  That was bait, she was sure, but she approached it anyway.  "Why do you say that, Zevran?"

"They seem... somewhat trifling, if you will pardon my saying so.  Inspiration is all very well and good, but putting steel in flesh is what wins the day."

Leiliana looked down at her instrument and carefully began a new piece.  "Ah, Zevran, perhaps you are ready to become a bard yourself.  You have already pierced our first secret."

"Oh?" 

"Indeed, the four Great Songs are only a cover.  Very clever of you to deduce this."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him lean back and cross his arms skeptically.  "But those are the bardic skills you bring to our company, yes?  Is there something you have kept from us?"

"Only to preserve harmony.  But a little dissonance, by way of demonstration, will do no harm.  Keep an eye out in Morrigan's direction, would you?"

"I... certainly.  Why?"

"The effect will be most subtle with her.  If you don't watch, you might miss it."  So saying, she brought the prelude around to lead directly into the song.

It was an old Orlesian standard, very popular and well-known even in Ferelden.  It was a love song, of course, perfectly balanced between sentiment and bitter regret, and the music was subtly manipulative rather than florid and grand.

She did not look up, but projected out, both her voice and her presence.  That would catch their attention; upon seeing her turned so inwardly, they too would be drawn in.  She was careful not to acknowledge the soft footfalls and quiet murmurs that were gathering around her; the spell, such as it was, required that the song appear to consume her entire attention.

She let the last words fade softly and fingered a lingering postlude, looking up only when the last note was an echoing ghost in the night.

Wynne was seated nearby, tears in her eyes.  "I loved that song as a girl," she sighed. 

Kallian had also joined them by the fire, and the Warden looked at her wistfully.  "That was really beautiful."

Morrigan, she saw, had been drawn a half-dozen paces away from her fire, but had already turned back.  Leiliana smiled, pleased; the elven funeral song had been too obvious to impress the witch, and she was glad she'd been able to find a more affecting piece this time.

"Thank you," she said graciously to the mage and Warden.  "I'm glad you liked it.  But I did not mean to disrupt the evening chores."

"You can disrupt them like that any time you want," Kallian said, brushing her fingertips over the bard's shoulders as she returned to her abandoned axe.  Wynne nodded in agreement before rising to get back to the wash.

Zevran was looking at her closely.  "So... what?  You... can summon an audience?  Good for making some coin, I suppose, but..."

Leiliana sighed and shook her head.  "The lute, the song, the performance... it gets the girls."

Zevran's gold eyes widened.  "I... see.  Perhaps I spoke ill of the bardic arts too soon, then..."

[Corker]

Meditations

"Melancholy, Erian? Tis not like you."

The Grey Warden left off staring blindly into the fire to focus on Morrigan. "You weren't there."

"I was not, for you deemed my company unsuitable. Afraid of what your dear old friends would say if you brought an apostate home, mm?"

"This is not about you!" He stood up abruptly, staring her down even as he had to look up to do so. "Or, to the extent that it was, I was more afraid of what dear old Knight-Commander of the Templars might say. Or not say, but just do. Because what I really need to be doing now is fighting the Chantry and the Blight. That's why I left you at the docks." She paused, considering, then nodded once. He sighed and sat back down. "Be glad of it. There was nothing but horror there."

"I am not... insensitive to that," Morrigan said finally. "The darkspawn taint was corrupting my own home."

"Then let me be," Erian replied wearily.

"So you can fall into a maze of your own making? I think not." Morrigan extended a hand imperiously. "Come with me. We cannot have you so absorbed in these foul memories. Unlike Alistair, you actually do things around here."

He looked at the pro-offered hand, then up at her. "What's this?"

"A meditation my mother taught me, to ground oneself in the present moment. You are living too much in days that already past, and we need you in the here and now."

Both his eyebrows raised. He had to admit, he was curious, intrigued at learning something of the foreign mystical tradition in which Morrigan had been schooled. "Very well," he said, accepting the hand up. "A meditation."

"Come to my camp, tis more quiet there." And so they went.

"Sit comfortably, where you like." He did as directed, arranging himself cross-legged on a pile of furs. She was pacing slowly, not looking at him, in a manner that strongly reminded him of some of the lecturers at the Tower. "Close your eyes." He did that as well. "Focus your attention on your breathing. No not attempt to alter it; merely attend to it."

Yes, this was very much like apprentices' lessons. "There's more to it than this, I trust?" he asked.

"Do not speak," she reprimanded him, sounding annoyed. "In fact, do not think or analyze or remember. Attend to your breathing." Not entirely properly chastened, he sighed, but returned his attention to his breathing.

He was unsure how long he had been focusing on the rhythm of in and out when she spoke again, less crisply this time. "Now, listen. Tell me what you hear."

"The fire," he said immediately, because it was crackling nearby.

"And?"

"Sister Leiliana is singing. Sten's armor. There - the dwarves' ox."

"And?" Much more softly, now.

"A nightbird. Water. Leaves." There was another sound, very close by, a soft sibilant of fabric over flesh and before he could identify and speak of it, she was already asking, "And?" A whisper, in his ear.

"Aaand you moving about."

"Attend to your breathing, Erian." That seemed an excellent suggestion. He remembered just in time that he was not supposed to control his breathing, just focus on it, although he found that focusing on it helped to slow and steady it. He swallowed and decided that this must be some sort of test of concentration. Yes. "Now - ah, keep your eyes closed, tis important - what do you smell?"

Ah, this would be a tour of the senses, then. He gave a small unconscious nod of understanding. "Woodsmoke. Musty, poorly-cured hides." He patted the ones he sat on. "Earth. Elfroot poultice." He paused, sensibilities insisting that the next be censored out, but it was too obviously part of the exercise to ignore. "Sweat. Mine and... yours, I think. I... thought you were uncomfortable in close proximity to - "

"Ssh, there is no thinking." That was very much unlike an enchanter's correction. It was like... like... He had nothing to compare it to. He noted, a little distantly, that his breathing was becoming uneven again. "There is just sensing, feeling. What do you feel?"

This was really very subtle, a small and slightly desperate voice insisted. A very clever meditation that required a paradox, of fully sensing things without allowing them to distract from one's purpose. Because it was very distracting, now that he was attending to sensation. "The... the fire, heat. Ground... is uneven, there are bumps, the texture of the hide... "

"And?"

"And... and you, your... body heat, breath on my neck - Ah!" The gentle touch trailing down that exact spot where he had felt her warm breath was unexpected and electric. He opened his eyes, surprised, in time to see her face coming very near. There was just one sense left.

Taste.

Modifié par Corker, 17 décembre 2010 - 06:30 .

[Corker]

A Method for the Detection of Abominations

Dagna the Smith

Introduction
Recent events in the Tower have illustrated, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the inadequacies of Chantry monitoring of magi. The environment of total observation 1) created the discontent which led to the revolt and 2) failed to discover the problem before it erupted violently. As no man or team of men can possess omniscience, it remains that there shall always exist a possibility for events to take place outside of templar observation, regardless of their dedication or vigilance.

A test to detect whether or not a mage is harboring a demon would be a step towards ensuring the safety of all within the Tower and the world at large. This proposal will suggest a course of research that will result in such a test, which could then be applied regularly and without much inconvenience to anyone.

Many lyrium-forged blades exist in Thedas today which respond magically to the presence of undead (as well as darkspawn, dragons, and others). If lyrium smiths can create blades which react to a demon animating a dead corpse, it seems plausible that they can also create one which would react to a demon inhabiting a living body.

This of course does not address the related problem of detecting blood magery. Certain Tevinter records may hint at methods for that, but the books are at present sealed.

Background
Bane Blades and Other Directed Weapon Responses
Dwarven smiths have for ages produced "bane blades," swords, axes and other weapons which do especial harm to particular types of creatures. Infusing the steel with lyrium and other components creates a sympathetic link to the creature type, and the blade magically 'responds' to their presence, typically biting more deeply.

Anecdotal evidence indicates that elven craftsmen possess similar techniques. Human Tranquil frequently create Silverite and Cold Iron runes, which 'know' darkspawn taint and the undead, respectively.

Other Weapon Enchantments
Most undirected weapon enchantments are permanent. A blade with an aura of cold is always cold. A blade forged with Frozen Lightning always crackles with sparks. The assumption has always been that, if one wants an enchanted weapon, one wants the enchantment to always be operational.

However, there is at present no indication that the same sympathetic principles used to create bane blades could not also be applied to other kinds of effects. So one could perhaps create a blade which only radiates cold when in the presence of undead.

The Undead
As mentioned in the Introduction, it is well-known that the undead are merely puppets, corpses animated by Fade demons. Bader of Ostwick, in his seminal tome "The Maker's First Children," explains that demonic possession is largely the same for the living and the dead. The primary difference is that the living have a will with which to resist the possession, but the dead do not.

Proposed Method
Techniques exist for creating bane blades sympathetically attuned to the undead. With a few small changes, these techniques could be used to create blades which attune to demons in living bodies rather than in corpses.

Further, it is proposed that rather than the usual property of the bane blade, the magical weapon be endowed with some clear triggered enchantment that will activate only in the presence of abominations. This will remove the uncertainty that would be involved in cutting mages with the bane blade and judging them as abominations based on the severity of the wound. A weapon that glows, or emits heat or cold, or otherwise gives an unambiguous sign of the presence of the baneful creature would be a superior indicator.

Corpse gall is traditionally used to prepare bane blades against the undead. What substance should be used against abominations is an area for open research. Normally, the remains of abominations would be next to impossible to come by, but as the cleansing of the Tower continues, we have the opportunity to collect some remains for study. Even the charred remains may be of use.

As a former journeyman Smith of Orzammar, I am aware of the techniques used in the creation of bane blades. However, a master smith would do a better and more sure job, with less chance of ruining or wasting the rare remains of the abomination and lyrium. With sufficient funding, it would be possible to commission one or several prototype blades from the Smith Caste. The Tower's experts on abominations could travel to Orzammar to assist with the sympathetic tuning of the blades.

Alternatively, if travel to Orzammar is not an option, there is a dwarven smith claiming master status in Denerim. With a large Chantry presence in the city's Market District, there should be no problem in obtaining enough templars to safeguard several magi on a trip there.

Finally, an abomination would have to be located to test the weapons. This would be the most difficult part of the research. Also, as we do not yet understand why some magi instantly become deformed by their possession and some do not, and as a field test would almost certainly involve one of the obvious sort of abominations, it is not entirely certain that the blade would detect the less obvious sort.

Conclusion
Although the results are not guaranteed, this is an important area of research. If there is even the slightest bit of success, the Circle will have developed a bane blade effective against obvious abominations, which would be a good weapon for templars to carry. If the results are more generalizable, however, we may have developed a critical tool to prevent future disasters like the one of 9:30 Dragon.

[Corker]

ZevPrompt: Antivan leather

A Parting Gift

Haven

Something was rotten in the village of Haven, and Elizabeth Cousland was determined to find out what.  Zevran and Alistair peppered the local merchant with various inane questions, putting on quite the show of feigned idiocy, while Eliza deftly worked the lock on the large iron chest.  Maybe they were smuggling lyrium out of the mountains, or...

She felt a latch tip over and the lid was suddenly loose.  With a quick look to make sure Alistair's broad shoulders were still between her and the merchant, she cracked the lid a hair.  Light danced on small, glittering beads and the smell of leather escaped.  What...?  Valuable beaded leather... without thinking, Eliza yanked the lid fully up.

"Hey!" the shopkeeper protested.  "How did you - those aren't for sale!"

A pair of doehide boots, the finest, softest leather out of Antiva, covered almost entirely in elaborate, exquisite beadwork.  Gold, silver, gemstones and even lyrium danced in geometric and foliate patterns, a mosaic in minature.  It was some of the most remarkable craftsmanship Eliza had ever seen.  "Where did you get these?" she asked softly, not turning around.  The tone of her voice made Alistair and Zevran both break off their prattling.

"They are not for sale," the merchant repeated.  "Please do not touch them!  Put those down, ser!  They are worth a small fortune, and I am holding them for - "

"They are worth a small fortune," Eliza agreed, turning.  "They were especially commissioned for the marriage of an Antivan noblewoman to the future teyrn of Highever.  I will be taking them now.  You may have in exchange the gratitude of the Couslands, or our blade."

"They are for the holy Father!" the merchant howled, producing a knife from beneath his counter.  Crow dagger and Warden longsword finished him before the Cousland blade could even be brought to play.

Castle Redcliffe

"Zev."  He looked up, and she was already in the doorway.  His smile died on his lips as he saw her face - she had not looked so stricken since the Lady Isolde had died.  So he only nodded in greeting.  "Your wish?"

"I want you to have these."  She lifted those marvelous boots from her side and held them out to him.  "You said you wanted a pair."

"I... what?  But... these were your sister's, were they not?  My dear Warden, I could hardly accept - "

"Take the boots, Zev.  Please.  They won't do anyone any good sitting in my pack.  Might as well find them a good home."

He almost argued.  Why shouldn't she wear them, after all?  Would not that be the best place for them, upon her feet?  But she looked so... worn, and unhappy, that he simply nodded.  "May I, then, ask what prompts this generous gift?"

"I just said," she said through her teeth, "I want them to get some use."

He knew, suddenly and with certainty, that there was something else to it.  Unaccountably, he remembered pressing one of his fine daggers into Taliesin's hand, joking that it would have to give him much-needed help until Zevran returned from Ferelden. 

He took the boots with one hand and caught her wrist with the other.  "Warden?" he asked, amber eyes searching her dark ones.

She looked down at the floor.  "Good night, Zev," she said quietly. Firmly but gently, she removed his hand and stepped back, disappearing into the darkened hallway.

[Corker]

ZevThread Prompt: Hair

How You Do It

Aidan Cousland hadn’t meant to start eavesdropping. He’d just stepped away from the fire for a moment, towards the latrine Sten insisted they dig every time they stopped, when he heard Zevran and Leiliana talking together quietly. They paused, and he thought perhaps his presence had been noted, but instead they continued on.

“So how do they do it in Orlais?” Zevran was asking.

“It’s very complicated,” Leiliana replied. “I haven’t even bothered to try since I’ve been in Ferelden. And the Chantry frowns on such things.”

“Ah, but you are away from the Chantry now, no? And resuming the life of a bard?”

“Well, yes! But... there are certain supplies I would need.”

“Oh?” Zevran sounded intrigued, and Aidan had to admit that he was as well.

“Some powders, some pigments, but mostly the oil.”

“Oil? They have oil here in Ferelden. This should not be an impediment.”

“It’s not the right kind, Zevran. Trust me on this. It makes all the difference. You can’t just slather on lamp oil or cooking oil.”

“Well, why not? I am eager to see this demonstrated.”

“Well, the stink, for one thing! And the mess. If it’s not to be a great slippery mess, you have to use the right kind.”

“Bah, you tease. I will not be so cruel. You wished to know how I do it?”

“Oh, indeed. From what I can tell, the results are amazing.”

“Why, thank you, my dear bard. See here? Very fine leather thongs.”

“Leather? Really? Isn’t that difficult to work with? I would have thought silk.”

“Silk may be more beautiful, but it slips. Leather gets a good grip and will not slide. Things will stay where you put them.”

“But isn’t it hard to tie?”

“Not at all, if you use the right knots. Here, allow me to demonstrate.”

Aidan, grinning broadly, stepped forward with a smart remark upon his tongue. He stopped in mid-stride at the unlikely scene that presented itself in the fading light of day - Zevran fiddling with one of his braids, tying it off with, yes, a fine leather thong, and Leiliana hovering over him watching carefully.

They both looked up at him, the very picture of innocence. “Yes, Warden?” they chorused expectantly.

“I... was... just heading for the latrine.” Aidan shook his head slightly. “Didn’t mean to interrupt your... grooming session?”

“Oh, it is no bother,” Leiliana said. “Come back when you’re done and we can compare how Fereldens do it.”

“Uh... maybe another time. If you’ll pardon me.” Bemused, he continued on his way.

Bard and assassin traded smirking glances, pleased with their impromptu performance. “You’re quite quick-witted, Zevran,” Leiliana smiled. “Have you ever thought about learning the bard’s trade?”

“That depends.” He raised an eyebrow. “Will it involve the oil you mentioned?”

[Corker]

Kreimheld and the Tezpadam

Once upon a time in far-off Kal-Sharok, Kriemheld was a young woman of the Artisan Caste. Her clan were stone-carvers, and Kriemheld's father made sure she was trained well in the art of chisel and file.

But Kriemheld's mother died, and her father remarried. His new wife was an evil woman, with bad intentions for Kriemheld. Because Kriemheld was very beautiful, the wife thought that she should try to attract a husband from the Noble Caste. Kriemheld's father was scandalized at the very thought and forbid it. But when he died, the evil wife was determined to have her way.

She made Kriemheld put down her chisel and her file and soak her hands in water and nug fat to make them soft. She refused to allow Kriemheld to cut her hair so that it grew out, long and prone to tangle. She took away the girl's good leather apron and put dresses of surfacer material on her, strange thin fabrics made of plants and insects. Kriemheld was miserable but smiled as her stepmother bid.

Finally, the stepmother secured an invitation to a royal ball. The king had named his heir, and the young prince would be looking for a bride. "You must go to the ball," the evil woman said. "Pretend that you do not speak, so no one will ask you for your caste. The prince will fall in love with your beauty and marry you, and then it will not matter."

"But dear mother," Kriemheld said, for she was good-hearted and loved the woman despite her bad ways, "but dear mother, the prince should marry a woman of the Noble Caste. This is not right."

"Hush! I said, you do not speak tonight! I wish to live as a noble woman, in a fine house well above my station, with all manner of fine things. I do not wish to do hard work, chipping away at stone until I am old and blind. Go to the ball, child, and make your mother happy."

So, deeply unhappy, Kriemheld went to the ball. She hoped that the prince would not see her, or that if he did see her, she would be so very plain compared to all of the noble ladies that he would pay her no mind. Then her mother's evil plans would come to naught.

Woe to Kriemheld! The prince did see her and was immediately smitten. He danced with her again and again, and as the Proving bells began to chime the latest hour, he rose to announce that he had chosen his bride. His eyes shone like lyrium in the dark as he looked at Kriemheld.

It was more than she could bear. She could not disobey her stepmother and speak, but she could also not allow such a noble prince to marry her. In dismay, she turned and fled from the room, she fled from the palace, she fled from the city itself, so great was her shame and despair.

Kriemheld found herself lost in the Deep Roads.

This was a long time ago, before the darkspawn came, so the Deep Roads were not as dangerous as they are now. But they were still no safe place for a young woman of the Artisan Caste to be by herself, at the latest hour of the day, when no travelers walked them and bandits crept from stone to stone. Frightened, Kriemheld sat down at the edge of the road and wept.

As she cried, a clutch of tezpadam heard the sounds and approached. They circled her, a hunting pack, and began to chirp in excitement. Kriemheld heard them and looked up.

"Come and take me, friendly tezpadam!" she said. "For I am miserable and lost and must make my end with honor. I could not betray my prince nor could I disobey my dear mother, and an unhappy creature am I!"

The sound of her beautiful voice and the scent of her lovely long hair touched even the wild tezpadam. They gathered around her, not to bite and claw, but to fawn and chirp. "What is this?" she asked. "Will you help me, dear tezpadam?" And they hopped and down, tails quivering.

"Well... I am a bit thirsty," she said. And the tezpadam lead her to a pool of fresh water that was hidden behind an outcropping nearby.

"Oh, my good tezpadam!" she clapped, stroking their heads. "I am also lost. Do you know the way to Kal-Sharok?" The tezpadam raced off, doubling back time and again to find Kriemheld, who was not as fast as they. And they led her without error to the gates of Kal-Sharok.

"Now, my fine tezpadam," she said, "I have told you my tale. How can I return to the city with honor?" The tezpadam milled about for a moment, chirping and quivering, and then as one they ran as fast as they could into the city. "Wait, wait!" Kriemheld cried. But the tezpadam did not wait, and Kriemheld was left behind.

But the tezpadam returned, streaked all over with blood and carrying in their double jaws a chisel, a file, and a leather apron. "Oh tezpadam, my tezpadam!" Kriemheld said, taking the items from them. "You have brought me my things. Thank you! But how did you get them? Are you hurt?" The tezpadam circled around her, pressing affectionately against her legs, before the whole pack darted off into the Deep Roads.

Mystified, Kriemheld put on her leather apron and picked up her chisel and file. She followed their trail of blood through Kal-Sharok and bit her fist when she saw that it ended at her own house door. Fearfully, she opened it but - inside was all clean and empty.

No one ever saw Kriemheld's evil stepmother again. She inherited her father's house and married another stonecutter, and they raised stonecutter children who served Kal-Sharok faithfully.

The End.

[Corker]

ZevPrompt: Zevran talks his way into and out of trouble

Antivan Fiction

"Pure Tellari Swamp deathroot in that bottle; this one, Korcari Wilds. Both are excellent, but I know some people prefer one over the other. Fifteen silver for either, and that is the price for 'family.'"

Zevran sniffed in disdain and indicated a third bottle filled with a brilliant blue liquid. "And that?"

"You have an eye for quality, my friend. The House of Crow's own special mix, only improved even further. Forty silvers."

"Forty silvers? Lorenzo, I have just come from Antiva City. Do you mean to tell me your Trevino alchemy can compare to the best the capital has to offer?"

The poisoner looked indignant. "I learned my craft at the feet of Maestro Giovanni Serrano. I would - I have staked my life on the quality of my goods. You will find nothing better in Antiva City, I swear."

Zevran raised a skeptical eyebrow but shrugged one shoulder. "Very well; forty silvers. If it works as advertised, I shall return for more."

"Excellent, excellent." Lorenzo shuffled to pluck the crystal bottle from its perch. "Will you stay for supper, my friend? Teodora, our other guest, is quite lonely..."

"Which was Teodora? The one painted like a ****?"

"That's Julia. My wife."

There was a moment of awkward silence, but Lorenzo did not seem inclined to take offense. His wife was painted like a ****, after all. "Well," Zevran finally cleared his throat, "alas, I have a prior engagement this evening. But I thank you for the offer."

Lorenzo shrugged. "Hurry back, if you want more of this," he hefted the bottle before handing it over, taking the silvers with his other hand. "It sells quickly."

_______

Dinner with Maria had gone splendidly. She was a cagey creature he had been pursuing for weeks, but dinner seemed to be the tipping point. He charmed, he flattered, he danced with her. It was not unexpected that she claimed to be tipsy from drink and asked him to escort her home.

Her home, that was unexpected. The villa sprawled behind the iron gates, an elegant mansion fit for a nobleman. And above the gate perched a wrought iron crow, black wings outstretched.

"You naughty minx," he forced a smile and a laugh. "This is your home, truly? And here I thought this was Maestro Ualla's dwelling."

She waved negilently at the guards and the gates swung open. "It is. Is it not usual for a woman to live with her husband?"

"Your... husband?"

"As if that bothers you, Zevran Aranai." She stepped forward and glanced over her shoulder, beckoning. "The stories have made it out here to Trevino, you know."

Husbands in principle, no; Crow Master husbands whose loyal guards were watching him enter the villa in the company of his wife, yes. That bothered him very much.

So did offending the wife of a Crow Master. He sauntered ahead, mind working furiously. He could escort her in and take his leave the very moment he thought of a plausible excuse - hopefully, that would be quickly enough that the guards couldn't begin to suspect that anything had happened.

Maria perhaps expected this. They were scarcely through the door of the dark and sleeping house when she twined one hand in his hair to pull him close; the other went straight to his belt. He didn't dare break the kiss too soon or show too little enthusiasm, but when she got the buckle undone and pulled the belt free he had to grab at the waist of his trousers to keep them up. He needed time and space and he needed it now. "I hate to break the mood, amora," he confided in her ear, "but there was rather a lot of wine drunk tonight, and..."

Maria sighed, rolled her eyes, and gestured imperiously at a nearby door. He darted a quick kiss at her neck. "Just a moment," he insisted, and hurried to the garderobe.

When he emerged, pants in hand and a brilliant excuse on his tongue, Maria Ualla was lying unconscious on the floor, the small crystal bottle that had been in his belt pouch still in her hand.

-------

The pounding at the door woke Lorenzo and Julia both from a sound sleep. "What?" demanded Julia sleepily. "What at this hour? Lorenzo, I have asked and asked - "

"Silence, woman," he grumbled, pulling himself out of bed. "Will you tell the House of Crows no? Coming, coming!" he shouted. "Cease or you will bring the guard, you fool!" But the pounding continued as Lorenzo made his way from his quarters in the back to the front of his shop. "Who goes?"

"Open up! Lorenzo, open!"

"Who is that? What are you thinking, coming at this hour, with this noise?"

"Zevran Aranai, Lorenzo! I need one of your cures, presto! This woman, she is dying!"

"You botched a job and brought it here? Are you a rank novice? Go, go, leave! There is a midden four blocks south, leave her there!"

"She is Maestro Ualla's wife, Lorenzo, and she was last seen with me! Open!" The pounding on the door became thumping as the assassin outside began launching himself bodily at the door.

"Madman! I do not know you! I will call for the guards!" Lorenzo cast about frantically, looking for something to barricade the door with.

"And I will tell them you sold me the poison!"

"Bastardo!" Lorenzo yanked open the door; behind him, Julia was beginning to whine and wail. "Maker's mercy, what happened?" Maria's mouth was flecked with bloody foam and her eyes rolled in her head. It was not the usual effect of the toxin.

"She drank it. Andraste's blood, I left her alone for a few minutes and when I came back... who drinks poison, Lorenzo?"

The alchemist growled in his throat. "Lay her down here. Mages do, when they think something blue in a bottle is lyrium."

"Mages... she's an apostate?"

"She's dying, you idiot! Drank an entire bottle of... let me see... this might work..."

"Hurry!"

"Here." Lorenzo thrust a plate at him, a small smudge of gritty paste in its center. "Apply that to a blade and put it in her vein."

"I'm not a barber-surgeon!"

"Nor am I, and you are the fool who let her drink the poison! I am not going to stab Maestro Ualla's wife! You are!"

"Fine, fine... where should I..."

"A vein, a vein! No matter which one! Do they not teach you these things?"

Of course, of course they did... Zevran forced himself to calm; drew a dagger and scooped up the paste on its tip. The inside of her elbow and...

Maria jerked, spasmed, and suddenly bolted upright, screaming.

"Are you all right?"

Wide-eyed with shock, she gestured dramatically and a bolt of white-hot energy slammed into Zevran's chest.

"Right enough," Lorenzo said.

[Corker]

The Stone Prisoner
Inspired by an offhanded comment about someone's computer blowing up because of "Antivan leather caught in the gears."  And also by Aimo's "Stone Temptress" artworks.

The fingers of one black gauntlet traced idle circles around the gleaming round brass knob atop the lever. "This is your last chance," Diamanta purred. "Once I throw this lever and detach it, the gears will begin their slow - agonizingly slow - dance. And I think you see where it'll go from there."

He glanced down at the web of leather around him. Straps encircled his arms, buckled around his legs, wrapped around his bare chest, then angled off into the mass of giant brass and bronze machinery behind him. The way they twisted and interlaced, it was hard to tell what would pull snug first, but obvious that eventually, they all would, mercilessly tightened by the unstoppable turning metal.

But he lifted his chin in defiance. "Do your worst."

"If you think that I won't... you're sorely mistaken." Diamanta abruptly ceased fondling the lever, grasping it firmly in her gloved hand, and pulled. The gears behind him groaned to life as she twisted the gleaming rod and yanked it free of the activaction mechanism hidden under the floor.

The looser straps immediately began to slide snakelike over his skin. Diamanta sauntered over, testing the growing tension with the brass rod she held. She glanced up at him sidelong, under lowered lashes. "Having second thoughts yet? No, I suppose not yet. But give it a quarter of an hour and we'll see."

The tension built slowly and steadily as the great clockwork continued its relentless motion. His limbs were burning, and the belts across his chest were digging painfully into the skin, but he was resolved to make no sound. Diamanta used that infernal rod to push his chin to one side, considering him. "You really are going to be tiresome about this, aren't you?" she asked. "We'll see how that steely demeanor fares when your bones are pulled from your sockets!"

The door at the far end of the room slammed open. "Not today, Diamanta!" She charged through, sword at the ready, and he was never happier to see her.

Diamanta screamed in frustrated rage. "Perhaps you've caught me, but you'll never save him!" With that, she threw the control lever across the room. It rolled and rattled across the slate floor, heading for the smoking crevasse that dropped clear to the Dead Trenches!

"Calenhad! Fetch!" With that simple command, the faithful mabari hound leapt into action, chasing the rod across the room. His mistress squared off against Diamanta, who had drawn her long wicked knives. The long feud between the two of them would be settled today, one way or another.

The largest gear ticked forward another notch and pain lanced up his right leg. One way or another - but would it be soon enough for him?

Diamanta lifted her daggers and ---



"You didn't strike me as the bookish sort, Zevran." Warden Surana paused at the chamber door.

He was a trifle surprised. Not that she was there - he had heard her footfalls coming - but that she had stopped. They had not spoken much, since she had spared his life. He hastily pulled the gold-rimmed spectacles he'd found next to the book from his face. "I am full of surprises, my dear Warden," he smiled back.

"What is it you've found?" He held it up, opened to the first page where the title was written in large letters. "The Stone Prisoner? Is it about golems?"

He opened his mouth, closed it, and said truthfully, "There are golems in it." Diamanta had two as guards.

"May I?" She held out a slender hand. "Now that we have a golem in the group, I feel that I should learn what I can of them."

"But I have not yet finished it," he protested before he could even think about it.

The effect on Warden Surana was immediate. "Oh, I apologize! I am sorry; that was terribly rude of me, Zevran. May I have it when you are finished, then?"

He had the chance to think the better of it while she was speaking, and he offered the tome to her with a broad smile. "No no, do be my guest."

"No, I couldn't possibly. When you are finished will be soon enough, I'm sure."

"My dear Warden... from what I know, and from what I have read, I believe that you are far more in need of this book than I."

[Corker]

ZevPrompt: Zevran, Instrument of Fate

Falon'Din's Reach

"It burns!  Please... kill me..."

Morwen Amell stared at the werewolf.  "But... I'm a healer.  I can help - "

"No!  There is no help!"  Danyla shook her massive head.  "The pain... I cannot..."  She growled, claws flexing, seeking something to tear into, something that might ease the blood frenzy.  "Please, I beg you..."

The guide Zathrian had sent with them stepped silently past her, within the compass of those too-long, furred arms.  She had gone down to one knee, so he had to problem embracing her, his head resting near her ears, flat against her head in pain.  "Danyla."

"Zevran!  Zevran, you... you will..."  Her arms curled around him and Morwen tensed.  The razor-sharp claws skittered lightly over his hardened leather armor, but she yet held herself back from violence.

"Ssh.  I will stay with you, as you go to the Fade, and then Beyond.  Go in peace, sister."

Morwen saw his left arm jerk suddenly, and the werewolf howled.  Her claws dug furrows in his armor, but he clung to her determinedly.  Within the space of a breath, she was halfway to dying, limbs going slack with shock.  "Thank... you..."  She breathed her last words and slumped forward, and he staggered under the weight of her dead body.

Morwen stood, rooted in shock, but Alistair had the good sense to hurry forward to help Zevran lower the dead werewolf to the ground.  He, drenched in her blood, stayed kneeling beside her once she was laid out.  "She was my clan sister," he said quietly.  "I would sit vigil with her until the moon rises.  We no longer have Falon'Din to show our dead the way Beyond, and I do not wish to leave her spirit alone."

"I... I suppose..."  Morwen stammered.  "We could... camp here."

"Will you burn the body?" Morrigan asked, uncharacteristically quiet.

Zevran bowed his head.  "That is not our way.  But..."

"The Veil is thin here," the witch finished for him.  He nodded.  "And her form is... corrupted."  He paused and, reluctantly, nodded.

"I'll start collecting wood," Alistair volunteered.

"I'll go with you," Morwen said hastily, suddenly greatly preferring the company of the near-templar to the strange and fey tableau here. 

They were not far, perhaps only dozens of feet into the forest past the clearing where the ambush had been, when from behind them came the sound of a song, ancient and eerie, music speaking of sadness and peace: a voyaging song to bid the fallen hunter farewell.

[Corker]

ZevPrompt: A dark hole


There's a Hole in the Bucket

"Not a word, Taliesin.  Not a word, not a syllable, not an inarticulate grunt."

His partner leaned against the doorframe, grinning widely.  "Then may I join you for tea?"

"Who is this?  I did not give him permission to speak!"  The tiny girl dropped her teacup to the table and pointed a slim golden wand at Taliesin.  "Bow before the Queen of Antiva, cur!"

Taliesin bounced up off the doorframe, smile gone and anger in his eyes.  Zevran held up a hand, warning him back.  "This is the Guildmaster of the House of Crows, your Majesty.  I am afraid he is recalling me to my duties."

"No!  We must finish our tea!"

"Ah, but there is a sinister plot against your Majesty.  I must go and foil it."

The 'queen' pouted.  "Oh, very well.  I would be cross if I were assassinated."

"Just so, your Majesty."  Zevran carefully unfolded himself from the undersized, but gilded, chair that had been pulled up to the equally small and ornate table.  Taliesin only half-stifled a chuckle at the befrilled, Orlesian-style doublet and fashionable over-the-knee, stacked heel boots.  "Until we meet again."  He gave a low bow, and the girl waved her wand in dismissal, before turning to her dolls to explain to them the details of the assassination plot against her.

The two Crows walked down the halls of the villa in silence for a moment, until Taliesin finally asked: "Why were you pretending to drink tea with Duke Orsino's daughter?"

Zevran sighed.  "That is a long story.  Duke Orsino had promised his daughter that she would have a real Crow for her Queen's Court, you see.  He actually submitted a contract for it."

"Right!" Taliesin's eyes lit up.  "I thought no one would take it?  Too degrading."

"Indeed," Zevran replied drily.  "Unfortunately, I was in dire need of a sapphire, which the duke could supply on short notice."

"A sapphire?  Zev, we just finished a job.  As soon as we get our cut..."

"That would not have been soon enough.  You see, I needed the sapphire right away, to trade to the lapidary for some lifestones."

"I really don't follow.  You can get acidic coatings from the quartermaster, you know."

"Ah, the lifestones were not for me.  They were for the poisoner, the one just off the piazza.  That was the payment she required for the antivenom."

Light dawned in Taliesin's eyes.  "You were poisoned?  On the job?"

"Finally, you connect all the pieces.  Yes."

"What, the snake?  But we knew about the snake, Zev!  You were sure you'd be able to get the key before it could strike, and you wore hardened gloves to boot!"

"The captain was cleverer than we gave him credit for, Taliesin.  Indeed, had the key just been in that hollow, protected by the snake, I think that I would have suceeded without any injury.  But..."  He made a fist with his hand and held it up.  "The hole was smaller than this.  One can reach in quickly, but when one tries to escape with the prize..."  He dropped his hand and shrugged.  "By the time I had adjusted my grip on the thing to remove my hand, the snake had more than enough time to bite its way through the gauntlet."

"You should have told me!"

"You had your own part of the job to do.  I can take care of myself as, indeed, I have."

Taliesin sighed and shook his head.  As the pair emerged into the late afternoon, the sunlight bright upon the gathering thunderheads, he said, "Zev?"

"Yes, my friend?"

"Do keep the boots."

[Corker]

ZevPrompt: But I won't do that

Fly Away

"What I want is to begin again."

Vashti Mahariel tilted her head, her dark face still but hope sparking in her eyes.  "To begin again? A new life, free of these Antivan Crows?"

Zevran nodded.  "I... owe you much," he said slowly, looking at her hands as if they were two snakes he was considering capturing, and wondering how to go about it without being bitten. 

She was not unaware of his interest; but then, he was vocally interested in virtually everyone in the group save Oghren and the dog.  And while he was undeniably handsome, he had seemed a flat ears at heart to Vashti - too content to live among humans and do their bidding.  She had tried, as best she could, to show what it meant to live as a free elf, with the hope that he might understand, might choose a better life for himself.

So, with only a second of hesitation, she took both his hands in her own.  He looked up, surprised, and she caught and held his gaze.  "You wish to live free?"

The intensity, the heat in her voice confused him.  "Yes, I... I..."  Realization dawned and he said slowly, "You are speaking of... something else, no?"

"No.  I am speaking of the only free life for the elvhenan."

"So I thought."  He looked away, and Vashti realized with sinking heart that the new beginning he wanted had not been an elven one.   But he did not draw away, and instead asked simply, "Is that where you will return, when this is over?"

She dropped her head in sorrow.  "I cannot.  I wish that I could, but... I cannot.  I must remain with the Grey Wardens."  She would not bring the taint back to her people.

"Then," and now Zevran did draw his hands back, gently, "I am sorry to disappoint you, my dear Warden, but... as I told you, I have tried the Dalish life.  It... did not suit me."

Vashti's chin came up, and her eyes were dark with anger and dismay.  "Fly to a new gilded cage, then, crow," she spat, "and feast on whatever scraps and leavings the shemlen see fit to toss to you.  It is by far easier than the life of the hunting hawk, I suppose."

He bridled at that.  "There are more possibilities in life than slavery or wandering poverty.  Hawks nest also in the cities."

"And they are the weaker for it," Vashti shot back.  She raised a hand and turned away, not wishing to speak any longer.  "Do as you will," she said bitterly.  No healer could make the blind see.  It was not her fault that he did not wish to leave the humans.  Not her fault.

"I had thought perhaps to remain in your company."  From any of the others, the words would have been heavy with reproach.  Zevran said them idly, as if they were but a passing thought, but they stopped Vashti short regardless.

She did not turn back around.  "You deserve better than that," she said after a moment.  "But do as you will."

[Corker]

ZevPrompt: First kiss

Dual Wielding Kisses

Sten had stared rudely at the young couple, muttering only, "Most unsanitary," before continuing on his way.  But he had that look about him, so no one was surprised when he demanded later in camp: "What is the meaning of this pressing of the lips?"

Leiliana looked up at him, bemused.  "It is a kiss, Sten. Do not the qunari kiss?"

"No, we do not.  What is its meaning?"

"It shows affection," Leiliana explained.  "Familial or romantic."

"The qunari do not form such bonds.  They only serve to entangle."

"You've never been kissed?"  Leiliana looked astounded.  "Oh Sten!  How sad!"

"Believe me, I am in no hurry to remedy the situation," the giant deadpanned.  "It appears to be an unpleasantly moist experience."

"Oh no!  Not at all!  Why, I remember my first kiss." Leiliana clasped her hands around her knees, smiling as she gazed into her memories.  "Lady Cecile was hosting a grand ball, a masquerade.  I danced several times with a very handsome gentleman much too old for me, and he gave me the gentlest, loveliest kiss before he disappeared.  I never did find out who he was."

"Hehhhh.  Reminds me of my first time, too.  Well, first kiss, I suppose," Oghren put in.  The companions looked at him warily, mindful of how Storytime with Uncle Oghren usually ended.  "Some noble's daughter thinkin' she could go slumming by the Proving Grounds without the Warriors knowing.  Heh.  Like the guard shadowing her didn't give it away, right?  I was a young buck, barely into my beard; I remember she had the biggest, roundest - "

"Oghren!" Wynne protested.

" - shield, and an axe," he continued, unperturbed.  "And a mighty fine rack.  We went a few rounds, got good and sweaty, and swapped spit while her guard was busy sparring with a friend of mine.  Never did catch her name.  Good times, yeah... good times."

"And you, Warden?"  Zevran's usual purr contained more than a bit of smirk, and half the group was hiding smiles.  Ruthna Aeducan, former dwarven noble and noted axe-and-shieldmaiden, had grown progressively paler and more horrified as Oghren had narrated his anecdote.

"Uh... that is... well... surely I have nothing as interesting to tell as you, Zevran," Ruthna dodged.

"I cannot even recall my first kiss.  What fair Leiliana neglected to mention, Sten, is that the kiss may be used to feign affection as well."

"Which is why I eschew them," Morrigan pronounced.  The witch had appeared to take a portion of the stew that cooked by the main fire, but was apparently unable to leave without a parting sally.  "I agree with Sten: slobbery, awkward and unnecessary."

"My dear, then you do not know what you are missing!"

"And do you propose to show me, then?"  "Neither do I."  Morrigan's sharp retort and Alistair's glum observation came out together.

"My friend Alistair?  Also never kissed?  Tsk, tsk.  Come, there is no need for either of you to languish so.  Allow me to remedy the situation."

Alistair blinked at him.  "You're joking, right? Tell me you're joking."

Morrigan put her free hand on her hip.  "Stab you in the face, I said, and I meant it.  Do not test me on this."

Zevran sighed sadly.  "You are both lacking in imagination and deviousness.  Consider if you both accepted my offer!"

The witch and the templar stared blankly for a moment, but Oghren - not lacking at all in the imagination department when it came to this sort of thing - guffawed.  Zevran swept a hand out dramatically to gesture to the rude dwarf.  "Oghren understands!  Come now!"

"I am glad to think differently than the dwarf," Morrigan sniffed.  

Chuckling, Oghren said to her, "The look on his face...", nodding towards Alistair.

"The look on her face," Zevran spelled it out for Alistair, indicating Morrigan.  

"Is this what passes for comraderie among you people?" Sten asked distastefully.

Morrigan and Alistair each considered the other for a long moment, weighing personal animosity against the cost of a kiss.  Oghren chanted, "Do it, do it, do it," under his breath until Ruthna and Leiliana both swatted him. 

"Absolutely not."  "No, I don't think so."  The assassin responded to the simultaneous answers with a long sigh that left him looking utterly deflated.  "Well, let it not be said that I did not try to assist my boon companions in adding to the full experience of their lives."

Oghren perked up at that.  "Hey, you know, the one who started this whole sodding conversation still - "

"No."

[Corker]

ZevPrompt: Zevran's gaze

Scrutiny

"I do not care for the way he watches you."  Morrigan's lovely pale golden eyes narrowed as she looked away, across the campsite to the main fire.  The object of her ire was lounging there, listening to Leliana's after-supper performance.  The soft sound of her lute did not reach this far, but Erian Surana caught the occasional snatch of song from where he sprawled next to the seated witch.

"Why?" he asked simply.  It seemed a reasonable question.

She turned her head to look down at him and raised a fine eyebrow.  "You do not mind that a man who tried to kill you keeps you under such close observation?" Morrigan replied tartly.

Erian paused to give this due consideration.  "No, not especially," he said slowly.  "I am... fairly certain he will not try again.  But I asked why it displeases you."

She smiled and twisted where she sat, stretching out her legs and lowering herself onto one elbow so that they were side-by-side.  "You would tell him to cease his staring, to please me?"

He smiled faintly himself.  "Did I say that?  I think you are keen to avoid the question."

She pulled back abruptly.  "Because the answer should be obvious to any fool," she gritted.  "I am disappointed that you cannot fathom this riddle without hand-holding."

He frowned, stung.  "'Obvious' would be jealousy," he said.  While he had perhaps little personal experience in these matters, hundreds of stories and poems made the obvious answer clear.  "You wish that I should think you jealous, Morrigan?"  He was genuinely puzzled.  "It seems unlike you."

"Hmph."  Turning her head away, she lifted her chin imperiously, but the lack of an instant return sally spoke volumes. She looked back at him slantwise.  "Will you tell him to desist in his glances?"

Erian shrugged.  "I will speak to him of it.  Perhaps he is just looking to see if my armor needs repaired.  He said that was something he could do."

Morrigan glared across the campsite again.  "I sincerely doubt that."

[Corker]

Nathaniel Prompt: Relations

Act 3, Scene 2

[An elaborate four-poster bed in a darkened room.  Moonlight from the window silhouettes ELIZA and NATHANIEL, making love in the bed.  Both are vocal in their pleasure but ELIZA is getting louder and louder as she nears climax.]

Eliza: Oh... Oh!  Oh, Thomas!

[NATHANIEL starts bolt upright and stares at her.  She stares back wordlessly as she realizes what she's said.  Abruptly, he gets out of the bed.]

Eliza: Oh Maker... Nathaniel, Nathaniel, wait!  Please, I didn't mean...  Please stop, don't...

[He grabs his robe from a chair and departs stage right, not looking at her.]

Eliza: Nathaniel!

[Curtain.]

[Corker]

Nathaniel Prompt: Secret

The Past Is a Far Country

"Can I help you with something, Sigrun?"

"Oh, um.  Not really.  Well, maybe."  The scout looked a little abashed to be caught staring, but it passed quickly.  "That... looks like a Shaper's amulet you're wearing."

"I don't know," Nathaniel admitted evenly. "It was a gift."

"Could I... see it?" Sigrun asked.  Unable to think of a particularly relevant reason to say "no," Nathaniel unhooked the clasp and held it out her her.

Sigrun turned it over in her hands, fingers tracing the precise silver lines.  "Shiny," she murmured, and then held it up to her ear.

"What are you doing, Sigrun?"

"Listening for the lyrium.  Yeaaaah... there it is.  That's... really amazing.  I've never really heard it before.  It's dangerous to get near it unless you're a Smith, but they put a little in each of these."

Nathaniel held out his hand again, and Sigrun reluctantly put the pendant into it.  "Odd," he said.  "I've never heard anything."

"Oh, you wouldn't," she started.  "You're a -- hey."  She caught his wrist.

He glared.  "Sigrun."

"That ring's dwarf-made, too," she noted, letting go.  She looked up and smiled mischeviously.  "Also a gift?"

"That's really not your business."  His tone was extremely final.

"Are you... are you blushing?  Oh Stone, it was a gift and from somebody special, I bet!"  Sigrun bounced on her toes, delighted at the discovery.  "Maybe I knew her in Orzammar, you think?  It's not like they just give out Shaper's amulets.  That grew feet and walked, I just know it."

"I... don't care to speak of it," Nathaniel said stiffly.  "Especially if you're going to behave so childishly."

"Oh, come on," Sigrun reached up to lightly punch him in the arm.  "I'm just kidding with you.  You're a good guy.  You deserve to have some friends.  Or... more than friends.  You know, whatever."

"I... thank you, I suppose," Nathaniel sighed.  "Now if your curiosity is quite satisfied, I have things to attend to."  He turned to go.

"You're not gonna tell me?" Sigrun exclaimed behind him.

"No."

"I'll... I'll get Anders to help!" she threatened.

"I'm quite experienced in dealing with Anders," Nathaniel waved dismissively without even looking back. 

Sigrun crossed her arms and chewed on her lower lip.  This would be a challenge.

*******

"I can keep this up all daaa-ay!  I'm a dwarf!  We're well known for our endurance!"

Velanna whirled in the courtyard, finally unshouldering her staff.  "Stop following me!"

"Just aaaask him, he'll tell you!"

"Leave me out of it!"

"Then I'm gonna keep following you..."

The elven mage leveled the staff at the grinning Legionnaire.  "No, you're not," she said flatly.  The air rippled with magical power, and then Velanna set the butt of her weapon down with satisfaction.  "There.  By the time that wears off, I'll be..."

"What wears off?" Sigrun asked innocently.  "Was that supposed to be a spell or something?  Dwarf, remember?"

"Oh!"  Velanna looked skyward in exasperation.  "Fine, fine!  If it will get you to leave me alone."

"Aw, come on.  You know you want to hear this, too."

"I know nothing of the sort," Velanna said crossly.  "I have no interest in knowing how he came across his plunder.  Aren't you concerned that he took it from your people?"

Sigrun considered that.  "You know, if he took it from the Shaperate himself, I might have to give him a big hug."

Velanna sighed with exasperation and re-shouldered her staff.  "Where is he?"

"This way, I think." Sigrun trotted down past some of the outbuildings, looking back repeatedly to make sure that Velanna was still following.  Sure enough, he was inspecting the archery butts.  "You go ahead," she nudged Velanna when the elf caught up to her. 

"You," Velanna called, which got him to turn around.

"My lady," he began courteously enough, but his brow darkened when he saw Sigrun hovering a few paces back.  "May I be of service?"

"Will no one rid me of this troublesome dwarf?" Velanna asked, lips pressed into a thin line.    "She has been harrassing me all day, taking massively unfair advantage of her magically-resistant nature to vex me."

"Let me guess," Nathaniel said drily.  "She wants you to ask me something."

"Yes, precisely.  Please, would you humor her, Nathaniel?"

Shaking his head, he walked over to the dwarf.  Sigrun was smiling, but nervously now.  Nathaniel didn't look tolerantly amused.  He looked rather annoyed, or possibly disappointed.

"It would be one thing to enlist Anders in pestering me, Sigrun," he said levelly.  "It is another thing entirely to pester Velanna also."

"...Sorry."  Sigrun heaved a sigh and looked at her feet.  Not such a clever plan after all, apparently.

"Besides," she was a little surprised when Nathaniel continued, "how would you even know if I were telling you the truth?  I could easily spin some tale about how I came by these items, and you would have no way to know if it were a lie or not."

"Because you're you," she replied earnestly, looking up.  "You don't lie about important things, like trying to kil the Commander, even when maybe you should."

"Maybe they're not important."

Sigrun shrugged.  "Then I'd get a nice story out of it.  Seems pretty win-win."

"I don't like talking about it," he said quietly.  "Not one of my best moments."

"Oh."  Sigrun bit her lips together.  "Sorry.  I didn't mean..."

"She was dead-set againt my returning to Ferelden.  So I... left.  In the middle of the night.  Because if she'd begged me to stay, I would have.  And I couldn't."  He paused.  "Is that a nice story?"

Sigrun felt about three inches tall.  "I'm really, really sorry," she half-whispered.  "I just thought... I didn't know..."

"No, you did not, because I do not like to talk about it," Nathaniel repeated, with intensity and just the barest suggestion of real anger.  "You will perhaps keep this in mind the next time your curiosity threatens to get the better of you?"

"Yes. Definitely.  One hundred percent."

"Good.  Now go, please."

"Going, now!"

Nathaniel watched the dwarf hustle back the way she'd come.  Velanna was still standing awkwardly behind him.    "I should go, too," she murmured.

"That's it?" he asked, a little harshly.

"Look, I didn't want to know - " Velanna started defensively.

"You asked me to humor her.  So I did."  Even elven hearing couldn't quite tell if the emphasis was on you or on asked. 

"Oh.  Yes, I see.  Well..."  The pause was almost painfully long.  "Thank... you?"

His bow was as elegant and economical as his draw.  "You are most welcome, my lady," he said, in a honeyed tone that still carried a hint of sharpness, a small mocking bit of anger.  "Don't let me keep you further from your duties."

"Indeed."  And she hurried off as well, leaving him alone with his memories.

[Corker]

Desperate Haven
Prompt: Protective Zevran

------------
Author's Note: 
Honestly, the only times I notice those default protective tactics are when they are pissing me off. Like they do in this Chanter's Board quest. Every goddamn time.
-------------

"What the hell, Zevran?" Lorelai Brosca glared at the elf, momentarily crushing his hand as Morrigan removed another arrow.

"My dear Warden, I heard you cry out. You were surrounded by hurlocks and -- "

"When I say, 'Get those archers,' Zev, I mean kill them. All of them. Right awaaAAY, Aeducan's balls, woman!"

"'Tis the venom that burns you. Hold still, the wound wants cleaning."

"Damn. What was I saying? Kill them. Yes. Not 'mark them lightly with your daggers and then let them continue to shoot arrows at me.'"

He looked down at the ground penitently. "I am sorry, my dear Warden. Next time, I will be sure to let you bleed out."

"Thank you. Much obliIIIGEd are we done here yet?"

Epilogue: In the battle for the Alienage, Lorelai would find herself surrounded by darkspawn and wonder where Alistair had gotten off to. He was hanging back, shooting arrows at things... as she'd commanded him to do before the gate broke.

[Corker]

Bumped for updates under ZevThread and NSFW.