Trovommi Amor: The Seat of Authority

[onemorealtmer]

Note:  the "next" link goes forward into the next several (pre-existing) chapters.  Go to my dw for full index, etc, etc.  Love y'all.  Will do more reading and ogling and posting as soon as... well!  As soon as I physically and mentally CAN.

Title:  The Seat of Authority
Words:  1429
Rating:  PG-13
Characters:  Zevran/f!Tabris (Taniva) with various party wimmins
Summary:  Zev has acclimated to darkspawn battles, and mucking around Redcliffe is boring.  Perhaps robbery will help.

 <- Previous:  Just Being Practical

The Seat of Authority

 

            The ashes did what it was hoped they would do, and the arl woke from his poison-induced slumber, to the great pleasure of his wife.  She had already sent their son away to the mages, and thus had been alone while they’d been gone – assuming, of course, that she had not availed herself of Bann Teagan’s company, as any reasonable lady would have done.

            Eamon wanted to speak with just the Wardens, which meant that the rest of them were left to entertain themselves.  They were all most welcome, they were told, all cherished guests, which meant that they were abandoned to boredom in pretty surroundings.  Naturally, Zevran was the first to tire of it:  even Morrigan, though restless, was able to distract herself by gaping at the expensive mirrors and decorative pieces around them.

            “What does it find so fascinating about mirrors?” Shale sighed.  “They reflect what is in front of them.  So does a lake.  Did it spend its time in the Wilds mooning about over lakes?”

            “’Tis not the same thing at all,” Morrigan insisted, crossing her arms.

            Leliana giggled.  “You must not underestimate the importance of mirrors, Shale.  They are an important tool for a woman.  And these are very nicely made, I think.  Plating the frame with gold makes it so shiny, doesn’t it?”

            “It does,” Morrigan admitted, stroking the frame before her with one fingertip.

            Fine things were all well and good, Zev thought, but since these were too expensive to buy, too large to steal, and he would have nowhere to keep them if he had them, they lost their appeal after a while.  He left his companions and started wandering the halls in search of something to do.

            So many locked doors.  He remembered telling his Warden while tied up at her feet that he could pick locks for her.  The thought provoked both a chuckle and an unexpected twinge of guilt.  He’d already been getting rusty then, and now that he was accustomed to letting her do it because she was so much better at that, he must be even worse.  Maker forbid he should actually need to get through a locked door without her there.

            Perhaps some practice would pass the time.

           

            He chose the door he thought he remembered leading to an office – he had no ambition to actually take anything, but rifling through a desk would be more interesting than looking at a child’s playthings.  His picks felt almost alien in his hands, further proof of how lazy he had been about keeping up this skill.  Unpleasant questions arose about just how reliant he was allowing himself to become on others, and what other abilities he might find atrophied when he needed them.

            Click.

            That was a relief, and an excuse to drop that line of thought.  The room was indeed an office, nicely appointed as one would expect for a noble of high importance.  He rifled idly through shelves and inspected decorative items, wondering if he had enough of a thief’s instincts in him to actually take something.  Not that he was opposed on principle, of course, but he was much less in need at the moment than he’d grown up accustomed to.  Anyway, even here, many things were too big to simply tuck into a boot and carry off – and then if one did, where would one put them without a permanent residence?  To whom would one sell them?  Those dwarves, perhaps.

            Still, easier to find something small.  He sat down in Eamon’s ornate chair, intending to go through the drawers, but they too were locked.  Starting to lose interest and to feel a bit lazy, he leaned back and pondered the view from his seat.  He was still doing so when his Warden appeared in the doorway.

            “Somehow I thought this was where you’d wander off to,” she smirked.  She tucked her unruly hair behind her ear – and just like that, he was cheerful again.

            “I wanted to see what it would feel like to be the arl!” he grinned up at her.  “I’m glad you’re here – so far it has not been very exciting.  What did Eamon keep you talking about for so long?”

            “You’ll laugh if I tell you.”

            “Come sit in my lap and tell me.  You can be my arlessa!  Or perhaps my insolent maid.  Your choice.”

            She snickered but came obligingly and sat with him, wrapping one arm around the back of his neck as he slipped both of his around her waist.  “He wants Alistair to be the King,” she said.

            So of course he did laugh.  “Alistair?  But I thought they knew each other!”

            “I know, that’s what I thought.  But he really seems taken with the idea.  He’s insisting that we come back and plan it all out after we’re done gathering allies against the archdemon.”

            “Riding our coattails, then!  I do enjoy politics, as a spectator.  In the Crows we used to make bets on such things.  We were privy to a lot of inside information, as you can imagine.”  He slid one hand down her leg, feeling for the edge of the leather skirt of her armor.  “So what did Alistair think of the idea?”

            “He didn’t approve.  But he couldn’t disapprove strongly, of course.  He’s awful at that, which is just exactly why he shouldn’t be King.  So he ended up just sulking, and I’m sure Eamon thinks he’s going to go along.”

            He wasn’t quite listening any more.  Having found the bare flesh of her leg, his fingertips were stroking back up along the inside of her thigh, and that was where most of his attention was.  “Mmm.  You know, perhaps you should open the locked drawer on this desk, just in case there is something interesting in it.”  His right hand moved up into her hair.

            She squirmed against him just a little, her breaths growing deeper as she relaxed into his ministrations.  While she made quick work of the lock and opened the drawer with only her right hand, his left hand was moving inexorably up between her thighs, reveling in the softness of the skin there and causing him to wish, again, that she didn’t insist on wearing smallclothes beneath her armor.

            She leaned forward, away from his nuzzling toward the base of her neck, as she pulled something out of the desk that had interested her.  What she held up before them did not strike him as that fascinating:  it was just some sort of clay amulet hanging from a strap, and one that had been broken and glued back together at that.  She, however, seemed quite taken with it.

            “This is a find!” she said.  “I know who needs to have this.”

            “Is it for me?”

            With a sneer, she dropped it down into her cleavage.  “No.”

            “But why would you put it there if it was not for me?” he grinned, dropping his right arm to pull her closer.  “How far down did it go?  Do you think I can reach it with my tongue?”  He kissed his way down the bared part of her chest, and as the tip of his tongue danced across her skin she threw her head back and laughed.  Really laughed, and dug her fingers into his hair.  As much as he appreciated her as a deadly rogue, the glimpses he was starting to catch of her unguarded, as a wild, joyful girl, were intoxicating.  He pressed more urgently up into the cleft between her thighs, hoping to make her squeal.

            Just as she was starting to make the sound he wanted, the door swung open again, and he felt her tense and swing toward the noise, thrusting his hand away.  He looked over more idly and saw Wynne, chagrined and making an awkward face.

            And then he felt his Warden change in his arms, slumping heavily back into the tired, guarded, serious woman she was to the others.  For a moment he hated Wynne.

            After a false cough, the old mage said, “Yes, well.  Taniva, Alistair wanted to find out where you’d gone.  He’s eager for us to move out of Redcliffe, and everyone else is getting ready.”

            Taniva sighed as she disentangled herself from his embrace.  “We’re coming.”  She rose and left the room without looking back or making eye contact with Wynne.

            Zevran did make eye contact with her, and it was not pleasant.

 

 

Next: The Evils of Righteousness ->

Comments

[1smut_princess]

Awww - I needed this....