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suaveleather) wrote2012-09-24 06:41 am
PSL - Starwind/Zevran
Love is something eternal; the aspect may change, but not the essence
In the first year or so following Rinna’s death Zevran had mourned the love which was lost, in his own peculiar way of course. He had thrown himself into his work, his will to live not completely gone but thrown to the side as guilt consumed him. The idea of love scared him but the idea of a raven haired beauty revisiting him in his nightmares, throwing accusations upon him, scared him that much more.
In the first month or so following his joining of a certain Grey Warden Zevran had mourned his freedom yet followed the flame-haired beauty’s instruction none-the-less. The more time he spent with her the more his former lover visited his dreams, accusations worsening each night until Zevran chose to fight until exhaustion. Only then did were his dreams less violent but still the Rinna’s ghost visited upon him.
Yet one night, without warning, his nightmares changed. No longer did his raven-haired ghost visit upon him. No longer did her cold touch caress his tan skin, promising to pull him into a hell he had flung her into. No, not at all. The nightmare was a new kind of torture which he had never dreamed of before. The nightmare was one of love, an odd one which he had never asked for and which made him yearn for more when he awoke the next morning. No, the raven hair was gone, cast aside, and yet he dreamed of caresses still. He dream of pale hair and paler skin, a small frame pressed upon as it whispered foreign words into his curved ear.
“Ashke.”
Zevran’s dark lips turned the foreign word over as he sat by the fireside, his fingers running along the smooth side of his daggers. The image of feathers visited upon his mind yet he could not identify his dream lover. A name, not forgotten but lost during the chaos of battle, escaped him and made him feel empty.
Ah how he needed to be filled. In more ways than one.
That night the elf visited the tent of one of the visiting mages, determined to find what was lost. He needed to feel whole and what better way than to be filled, so to speak. Yet, as pale as the mage was, as light as his hair was it was not right. The thin fingers trailed over his skin and out of the corner of his eye Zevran saw a ghost.
Without a word he had climbed out of the bedding the next morning, guilt gnawing in his stomach. He had woken up so hopeful, believing to wake up to a whispered language he could not remember. He had expected to see feather light hair splayed over the covers, a feminine face lying on his chest and pale fingers hold onto him, searching for warmth.
No, this was not to be found.
As the morning rays of light settled upon the camp Zevran dressed in his armor, readying for the oncoming final battle. There were more important matters to consider and his dream lover must come last. For a moment, just a moment, he thought he heard the word pass by his ear. He had believed he felt a hand upon his shoulder and a well wish echoed in his head. As the soldiers gathered nearby Zevran joined the side of his red-haired Warden, a cocky smirk upon his face and, for the first time in a long while, he felt as if was that much closer to being whole.
no subject
Ah, time. He had almost forgotten the problem with time. He had bought some by standing by the Warden's side but his time traveling with her was up. Yes he had said he would stick around but that only allowed so much longer.
"Of course, but... That does not matter now, no?" His eyes had finally noticed the trembling and a protective urge had him loping toward the man. Without thought he reached a hand out to tuck that hair away. He stepped forward with a grin, turning the odd affectionate gesture into one he could handle a little better.
"You are truly a magnificent creature. It is a shame for you to have hid away like this, away from praising eyes. If you have no plans then you would not mind accompanying me back into Denerim, no?"
no subject
Still, he was glad to see the feather being treated with the same care he’d granted to the earring, went still at the touch of other fingers in his hair for fear of flying apart. It was surprisingly (or perhaps not) difficult to breathe as he stared into those brown eyes that were suddenly closer to him than he had expected. It was several moments before he could bring himself to look away and start breathing again.
He nodded, though, in the general direction of another tree. He’d made his decision, but he’d have to keep reminding himself that is was better walls than loneliness. Better caged than the “free” life he had been living alone.
“If that is where you are going, then I am as well.”
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Ah, but did it matter? He had given the Grey Warden his word, promising to stay, and after all the woman had done he was not happy with the idea of lying to her. Perhaps there was another solution. He would have to think on it.
"Nevermind, it is no matter my pretty friend. Shall we be off? Hmmm, would you like a tour of the palace first? Or shall I show you the more... interesting spots of Denerim?"
no subject
Seeing as he didn't know the city, though (or any, really), he had to go with Zevran knew about them. Something told him it was much more than the typical citizen, and doubtless with less savory origins. If only he could remember...if he could know why he thought all these things...
Eventually, he had to give up remembering anything beyond fuzzy dream-memories and shrug. "I care not. I will see what you choose to show me."