The battle had ended in an outstanding victory in Zevran's mind. It seemed that lady luck was on his side, perhaps even the lovely lady Andraste herself, as he was positioned at the gates of Denerim alongside their soon-to-be-King Alistair, the beautiful Leliana, Herf the hound and the somewhat sober Oghren. Grinning widely both the dwarf and elf had rushed into the onslaught of Darkspawn, Zevran dancing between shadows and backstabbing their enemies while Oghren took most of the damage. In the distance he could hear the other warriors, Alistair’s nervous chuckle and Leliana’s bloodlust obvious amongst them. By the end of the siege they were all spattered with blood and had to spend much time washing the possible taint off of them.
When the light went overhead Zevran let out a victorious cry, smiling as if he were by the Grey Warden herself. Her companions were overjoyed to see her back, some confused that she had lived but Zevran had noticed. He saw the look pass between Alistair and Aliena, noticed Morrigan’s shifting into a small dog to run off. Sometimes it paid to be the wall which listens in.
In Denerim things were much different. Zevran had watched the revelries, his back stiff as he awaited his visit for the Grey Warden, the Princess consort or whatever Alistair had called her. At any moment he expected a visit from the Crows, a dagger at his back or a well-aimed arrow hitting one of the new royals. Finally the Grey Warden parted from Wynne and approached him.
“You aren’t thinking of leaving, are you?”
Zevran raised an eyebrow at the red-haired Warden. “And if I said I was thinking of moving on? Seeing the sights, meeting new people and killing a few?” He would not ask to stay, in fact a feeling that he was missing something was pulling him away, but the assassin needed to know where he stood.
“You’re welcome to stay.” That face, impassive as ever, said nothing helpful beyond an offer for him. He could have a home in Denerim.
His face lit up, the cocky grin chasing away his worry even as he felt the pull to leave again. “Then let the Crows bring it on. I can mock them while you crush their skulls. It’s the sort of thing that made us friends after all.”
Their conversation did not last much longer, something the elven assassin was thankful for as he decided his time in the royal party was done for the moment. It was much too crowded, something he had become oddly uncomfortable with since his peculiar dream, and soon he found himself wandering a nearby forest outside of the city.
“Hello? Little bird can you hear me?” Being there felt right somehow and Zevran’s body relaxed as he saw a small bird fly overheard. He was not sure why he had called out. What hand was moving him, manipulating him? It was almost worrying. He thought he felt a presence, his senses sending a chill up his spine and soon his daggers were out. He was ready for battle.
“Come my friend, show yourself. While I do enjoy the chase I must admit I’m no fan of being on the receiving end.” He laughed. “Well, not in this case that is.”
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timeasmymeasure
I prefer the red deer tyvm
Date: 2012-09-27 11:41 am (UTC)When the light went overhead Zevran let out a victorious cry, smiling as if he were by the Grey Warden herself. Her companions were overjoyed to see her back, some confused that she had lived but Zevran had noticed. He saw the look pass between Alistair and Aliena, noticed Morrigan’s shifting into a small dog to run off. Sometimes it paid to be the wall which listens in.
In Denerim things were much different. Zevran had watched the revelries, his back stiff as he awaited his visit for the Grey Warden, the Princess consort or whatever Alistair had called her. At any moment he expected a visit from the Crows, a dagger at his back or a well-aimed arrow hitting one of the new royals. Finally the Grey Warden parted from Wynne and approached him.
“You aren’t thinking of leaving, are you?”
Zevran raised an eyebrow at the red-haired Warden. “And if I said I was thinking of moving on? Seeing the sights, meeting new people and killing a few?” He would not ask to stay, in fact a feeling that he was missing something was pulling him away, but the assassin needed to know where he stood.
“You’re welcome to stay.” That face, impassive as ever, said nothing helpful beyond an offer for him. He could have a home in Denerim.
His face lit up, the cocky grin chasing away his worry even as he felt the pull to leave again. “Then let the Crows bring it on. I can mock them while you crush their skulls. It’s the sort of thing that made us friends after all.”
Their conversation did not last much longer, something the elven assassin was thankful for as he decided his time in the royal party was done for the moment. It was much too crowded, something he had become oddly uncomfortable with since his peculiar dream, and soon he found himself wandering a nearby forest outside of the city.
“Hello? Little bird can you hear me?” Being there felt right somehow and Zevran’s body relaxed as he saw a small bird fly overheard. He was not sure why he had called out. What hand was moving him, manipulating him? It was almost worrying. He thought he felt a presence, his senses sending a chill up his spine and soon his daggers were out. He was ready for battle.
“Come my friend, show yourself. While I do enjoy the chase I must admit I’m no fan of being on the receiving end.” He laughed. “Well, not in this case that is.”