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peopleofthedas2011-01-03 09:44 am
bellaknoti) wrote in peopleofthedas2011-01-03 09:44 am
fanfic: Wings of the Storm Crow
Series: Wings of the Storm Crow
Title: The Second Conversation (Chapter Ten)
Rating: AO
Pairing: Lily/Zevran
Summary: Ohhh... Didn't I already figure out that it's pointless to try and hide things from him? What am I doing to myself... to us?
Four months pass by in a blur while I reel from the sudden shift in my paradigm. I get a lawyer, but really, all I have to do is file some paperwork. I append a copy of my old restraining order to my statement, Zev puts in a statement that carries unexpected weight due to his military status, and Jack writes this horribly eloquent statement about what he witnessed the night I went to the hospital. I can barely read it; there are so many things I said, so many things I did that I didn't even know about. Jack's actions on my behalf, both nights there was an ambulance at my house, endeared him to my assassin, and as we meet with him several times over the time it takes to settle things, they strike up an easy friendship, much to my surprise.
I throw myself into my work, creating like a fiend. There are nights when Zev has to come out to the shop and literally drag me away from my tools. My hands, they just won't stop. The night I actually say this to him, we are climbing the steps to the porch, and he turns, taking me by the shoulders, so he can catch my eyes. He always makes me look him in the eye when he's talking to me, and this is a really hard thing for me to do. I’ve spent too many years training myself to keep my eyes down so as to minimize my chances of getting my ass kicked. But it is good for me, and I feel so much safer, every time. It's like he's deprogramming me. Maybe he is.
“Cara, that is what I am here for. There are other ways to occupy your hands.” He says things like this to me, things that should be obvious, but that I never really apprehended before, and suddenly problems just unravel. I love him for this, so much. We barely make it inside.
He spends most of his time engaged of one of four activities: helping me prowl the beach, reading everything he can get his hands on, going places with Jack, and sparring at the dojo, now that he's found it. I can't resist staying, sometimes. He is incredible when he's on his own, but against an actual opponent, he is grace personified. Much to my surprise, I’ve actually seen the sensei there hand Zev his ass a couple of times; after the second time I witness it, I am banned from coming.
“You are too much of a distraction,” he tells me, as we leave. I crawl into the truck and unlock his door.
“How can you protect me if I distract you from fighting?” I mean, really, how does this even make sense? Ah, but of course, there's always a reason for the things he does.
He looks at me very seriously and says, “You cannot be there, because I am always trying to compensate for your presence, wanting to adjust myself to a better position relative to protecting you. I spend too much time with warring instincts, and miss my mark for trying to dance too much.” He growls under his breath, aggravated, and I duck my head.
“So noted. I’ll... I’ll just wait out here, then.”
He grimaces and waves a hand dismissively as I pull out of the parking lot. “No, no, va bene, cara, you are right. It is a wound to my pride. I should not be so easily distracted.” He reaches over and covers my fingers where they rest on the gear shift, and I smile. At home, we make lunch, and then I head out to work while he sits down with a book on the Renaissance.
Several hours later, he comes into my shop, and there is an air of dark disquiet around him that I had thought we were long since past. My hands still, the sand paper coming to a rasping halt, and I stand up. I set the block down and dust off my gloves, then drop them on the table so I can pull my mask off. “Zev?” I prompt, but he does not look up. His arms are crossed, his face turned away, just standing there, leaning against the door. It does not bode well that he is not talking, and it's even worse that he won't look at me. “Er... what happened?”
He takes an inordinate amount of time to respond, his hands gripping opposite elbows, lips turned down in a not-quite frown. “I was looking through the bookshelves and the CD stacks. I was bored.”
I tilt my head, and move towards him, but he flinches away, and I step back again, now truly worried. “Tell me what's wrong. I can't imagine anything that you'd find– Oh.” I stop short. In the ordered rows of cases, there are also my games. Video games.
“A game.”
The bottom drops out of my stomach. “You found the disc.”
“A game, cara.” His voice is so accusatory, it makes me sick with immediate self-loathing. He pushes away from the door frame, coming toward me. “Not a story. A game.” There are angry lines around his mouth and eyes, and I quail. I am not afraid of him; no, not at all. He would never harm me; never. I know this. But there is a world of difference between 'hurt' and 'harm', and it would be as easy as a sneer to hurt me down to the very core.
I swallow. “It started as a story. People wrote a story, and made it into a game, so that other people could live in the story. I... didn't want to tell you that it was... a game... too.” I drop my gaze. This is what I get for trying to protect him. Hadn't he said? He is a man; he needs no protecting. Fuck.
Now he looks at me, his gaze snapping up to mine like a whip lash, and I recoil from the fire in his eyes. “And why not?” he snaps. “Because you think I could not handle it? Could not come to grips with it?” He shakes his head, raking a hand through his hair. “How is it so different, eh? It has gone from a story that you had written, to a story that many lived in, and then it was a story that was different for everyone. And now I find that it is a game.”
“No! No, gods, I think you could handle just about anything!” I growl at myself, irritated, frustrated. Of course it was going to come out, sooner or later; I thought, at the time, that we would talk about it later, and then... later just sort of... never came. I should have known better than to even try and hide this. I just... Gods, I’m stupid. I hang my head. “It's because I didn't want you to think less of me for it. I didn't want you to think that I had used you... that you were unimportant.”
Zev rubs his temples with one hand, the other gesturing as he paces. “I am used to being used, cara, but with you, and my memories of you – I wasn't used. Even if they were not real, even if I was not real to start with.” He sighs, sounding disgusted. “What I think less of you for is that you chose not to trust me.”
This is like being kicked in the stomach; my knees give way and I sit down, abruptly. Just lucky for me there is a stool behind me. My lips are numb, and I stare at him, struck dumb for a minute. Finally, I force myself to speak. “My fear is... so great... It gets the better of me, sometimes.” I pass a hand over my face, my shoulders dropping, and look out the window toward the sea. The tide is so far out, a long expanse of sand stretches on away toward the thin white line of the breakers. The setting sun peeks out from under the layer of clouds, just at the horizon, painting the water orange and fuchsia.
My voice is quiet when I continue. “It is not lack of faith in you, but in my own worth, really. It's been eight years of hell, followed by four months of this... sudden safety.” I toss my hands up, helplessly. “I am... still lost. Still waiting for him to come and hurt me, still terrified that he could take everything. I keep waiting for someone to come and take this away from me, tell me there's been some mistake.” I bow my head.
He rubs the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes. “I continue to forget it has not been two years for you. However, cara mia, you have my earring, do you not? It is not a thing I give lightly, and no one could part me from you without me being dead and rotting.” He barks a short laugh. “I looked it up, though. So, apparently, with the right words, I do give it away easily!" There is a manic edge to his laughter, shoulders shaking.
I watch this sudden change with alarm. “No! Are you kidding me? You didn't have a problem with the idea of a casual relationship, yeah, okay. I’ve been there myself. After a... thing like that...” I swallow and look away, then clear my throat. “Anyway, I know very well what kind of mindset comes after that. Who gives a shit, right? I wasn't interested in 'casual', so I didn't take you up on it. Others, meeting other versions of you, have.
“I took the time to talk to you, to try and unravel you, because I cared. I turned down Alistair, even though he was sweet, because I was more interested in you. I did these things because it is my way. There is nothing calculated about us; things were different then. So few people had been to Thedas; I didn't know what I was getting into. I went in completely blind... Not like others, who look up the information, find out how to manipulate events to their own ends.
“No. I spoke to you, and I treated you like a person, because you are one. It was not easy to get to know you; you know it wasn't easy. Every time I opened my mouth, I wondered if I was going to say something stupid, and I still kind of feel that way sometimes. And so what you've got here, is the Mahariel with the Maxwell behind her. I have all those issues and more. I could tell there was something going on with you, because I’ve been there. I wanted to know what happened, and in the end you told me, and I realized how much you and I are alike, in certain things.”
He holds up a hand, forestalling me. “I understand, far more intimately than you shall ever imagine – which is as it should be – the situations you come from.”
I look back out the window. The sky is turning indigo, the sun reduced to a red line on the horizon. “I worried about paradox. If you picked it up, if you looked at it, would it somehow... do something to you?”
He snorts, scoffs, and I give him a sharp look. “Forces beyond our control put us here together. I didn't want to look at that too closely; I didn't have the guts to even touch it.” I swallow. “Look, there's a theory that all places we think we invent are actually real places. They say that we travel when we dream, and we go to other worlds, places like where you come from, and have experiences there. We bring these tales back to our world as fiction, in all its forms. I've never seen anything solid to prove this theory... until you. You're the only person I know of to ever show up from a place that was supposedly 'not real'. I mean, there's always stories, but...” I sigh. “There are stories about everything.”
“As for that,” I say, gesturing toward the house, the games, “My best guess is that he's an approximation. Gaider must have dreamed himself to Thedas, and met you there, then tried to recreate you here. He was close enough that I was able to know you, anyway, and I must have known you so well as to call you all the way here.” I rub my face again.
“I know, that's a lot of 'perhaps' statements. I am grasping at straws here. String theory might explain it, I don't know. There are so many things in this world that cannot be seen, cannot be explained.” I shrug, helplessly. “Something strange and cosmic happens to me, and I am terrified of losing it. I didn't want to even think about it too hard, in case it was like a soap bubble singularity, and my probing at it makes it just...” I hold my hand up, all my fingertips pressed together, and then spread my fingers out suddenly, holding nothing but air. "Pff. Disappear. End of my life. Shattered Lily,” I finish in a whisper.
I watch as the speed of his pacing increases, back and forth, back and forth. “I am well acquainted with chaos theories. I understand that! What I do not understand – cannot – is... is...” He clenches his jaw, the tendons standing in relief. “You had how many chances to tell me this? I do not care about the paradox. I care about you not telling me.”
I cover my face with my hands.
He begins pacing again, agitated. I can actually hear his feet on the floorboards, and I know that doesn't bode well, at all. “But when have I ever – ever! – given you cause to doubt me? To doubt that I will find some way to understand what you say? It is... the doubt. Is there nothing I can do? Must I always fail in this?”
It kills me - he's blaming himself, belittling his value, and oh, my gods, I made him mad at me. I am such an idiot. I shake my head, despondent. “No...” I moan. “It's not you. It is entirely me, I swear to you. My reasons are many, and irrelevant, and not one of them ever had anything to do with me thinking you couldn't handle it. I am... not always very...” I sigh again. “I can be very self-destructive. I do not mean to do it, but I do. I sabotage the things in my life that I love most, without even meaning to. You stand there thinking that I believe you to be worth less than you are, while I've been sitting here the whole time since you showed up, trying to figure out how I'm actually going to keep you convinced I'm worth your time.”
Puffing his cheeks out he exhales, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, and silence reigns for a time. “Faugh. This entire thing is stupid, cara. It is not befitting of our natures and our relationship for us to act this way, and yet, here we are.” I look up, and I can tell he must have one hell of a headache, as so far he has had to rub his head several times, and he's been wincing off and on. “Both of us think we are not worth keeping, yes? You sabotage, I withdraw. This is not how things should be. This is not how things are with us. But we act this way? Auck. I cannot think. Just– Tch. Cara. You say you trust me, then you do things that say the opposite. I feel as though I must walk upon eggshells, and be ever vigilant for partial truths! That is not how things are between man and wife!”
I stop cold, staring at him, suddenly clutching the edges of the stool with a white-knuckled grip. What kind of frightened flutter of madness is this? Do I even dare to look at this concept from just the corner of my eye? “Wife?” I rasp. My voice is hollow; if I say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing, and fuck it all up right now, I'm going to turn into a pile of dry sand and blow away.
He grits his teeth. “We may not have that document– This place, and all its papers and licenses and rules...” he says, disgusted. “A marriage is between two people who vow to take care of and love each other. We are married. So why do we act like foolish children, playing at house?”
I stare at him, kind of in shock. I hadn't really thought of it like that. Married? Committed, yes... but... the white dress, the paper, the priest, none of this has happened, no rite of passage, no clear signifier that flipped the switch in my brain from 'girlfriend' to 'wife'. “I– We–” I shake my head. “Because I'm apparently uncommonly thick-headed? I didn't realize you thought of me that way.”
He gives me a look, one brow raised. “Before there were governments and rules, regulations – before paper-obsessed bureaucrats came to be – two people would say that they were together, and that would make them wedded.” He jerks his head towards the house. “There are books on jumping over swords, or brooms, or– or slaves blowing into jugs and sharing a cup or some such, and that made them married. You have my earring, and that is more ceremony than many have."
My eyes hurt. Realizing that he has thought of me this way since he was first here... oh, how he humbles me. If I had understood he considered it a marriage rite, I would have proceeded a lot differently... certainly with more confidence. “I... I am trying to undo a lifetime of self-preservation habits. It is not my purpose to hide things from you. If you ask me a direct question, I answer. I'm not used to being safe to do that... with anyone. You... have me at a disadvantage. When I wrote to you, I could change what I said, make it better, more right, more honest. I could go back and fix it, so that I never said the less accurate thing. You only knew me at my best. Here, now, it is harder for me, because I cannot go back and edit myself. I miss things. I forget to tell everything. Honesty has put me in the hospital.” It's my turn to grimace, and I hasten to carry on. “I do not mean to visit these things on you, and I would never think that any of it will happen again, but to train myself out of the fear is turning out to be very hard.”
Finally his pacing stops, and I can tell he had to force himself to still – normally he is so measured, that I can feel the agitation radiating off of him in waves. “Honesty has done many things to each of us, but we are each others' refuge, the one place where honesty is not meant to harm.”
I am utterly defeated. What am I going to do with myself? I just want to lay down on the floor at his feet. I turn my face away, just in time to hide the first tear that escapes me. I've no right to tears, I brought this on myself. “I failed you,” I admit, trying to keep my voice steady.
He curses, then comes to me, wrapping his arms about my shoulders. “Tch, woman...” he mutters. “You are so difficult sometimes, cara. You take on burdens that are supposed to be shared; it is not a failing. Merely a... ah... an eccentricity. A very, very bad habit.” Oh gods, he is hugging me, and this sounds suspiciously like sudden forgiveness. I quiver, trying to hold it together, and then suddenly burst into tears, burying my face in his neck.
“I hate it when you're mad at me!” I wail.
He presses his lips to my forehead, squeezing me tighter. “Shhh... Cara mia... Amora – hush. I am... disappointed. Frustrated.” He rocks me side to side, his voice low and soothing, and I try to get a grip. I choke myself back fairly quickly, but, gods, nothing can strike a white-hot bolt of fear straight to the heart of me quite like the idea of this man being upset with me, for any reason. I swallow hard, taking comfort from the familiarity of his hands in my hair, and calm myself by main force. “I had thought us past this. This is like one of those, ah... What are they? Yes, the bumps, the yellow ones. Speed-bumps – unpleasant and jarring, but moved past quickly. It is a shock; it is disconcerting to think that I am someone you can doubt, and it stings.”
“I do not doubt you, not for a second. I doubt myself, I doubt the humour of the gods, I doubt the nature of reality, I doubt everything else, but I believe in you.”
He tangles his fingers in my hair, cradling my head in his hand. “We have not been clear enough I suppose, but what more can we do, other than continue, until we relearn how to share space? This is no camp, this is not the Blight. This is a place where rules are different, people are different – your background is different.”
“I know. I greatly fear whatever mechanism it is that brought you here, because I do not know what triggered it, or whether I could fuck it up somehow, inadvertently, and... and...” I shake my head. “I am just filled with irrational fears. You should ask me about mirrors sometime.”
His lips quirk. “If they bother you so much, we can remove them, and I shall apply your paints for you, and do your hair so that you needn't worry over looking in them.”
I can tell he's trying to make me laugh, and purposefully ignoring the other things and I shudder, trying to go along with it. “You have no idea how tempting that offer really is.” I wonder if there will ever be anything I could do to fix this, or if what I've broken is gone now. I truly do not know how it is I rate high enough to deserve this good fortune, and I pray once more that the gods still find us humorous enough to let me keep trying to be worth it.
He bends his head, his mouth unexpectedly close enough that I can feel his breath across my cheek. He whispers, and his lips brush mine when he speaks. “Duly noted, cara.”
I never could have predicted that he would kiss me, after all that. Sudden forgiveness, sudden kindness; it is over, our fight, just like that, with a kiss and a soft word. I melt into him, clinging tightly, overwhelmed with relief. 'Man and wife', he said... 'Man and wife'. It echoes around and around in my head, and the more I think it, the more I feel it. Of course; of course we are. I do not understand how I failed to notice before. I was his, obviously, but the word... he says it like a title, and I intend to take it as such, to strive to be worthy of it.
After too little time he breaks away gently, and nuzzles at my cheek. “If there is one good lesson gained from the Crows, it is that we should not live in constant fear, but live bravely, and enjoy life when it is good.”
I smile, a little watery around the edges, I'm sure. “I'm trying to keep up; your strides are long.”
“Tch. When you cannot keep up, I shall carry you; it is what a husband does for his wife, while she gives him purpose.”
I trace the edge of his lip with my fingertip. “Can you forgive me?” I ask, though I know he already has; I wish to make the effort. “Can I make it up to you?”
He gives the tip of my finger a playful nip. “I would be willing to exchange forgiveness for a massage. Sensei Andre was uncommonly aggressive today.”
I giggle, sudden warmth thawing the frost of self-loathing. He called me 'wife' again. It's crazy how safe that one, simple word makes me feel. “Massage, now that is something I can do.” I flex my hands. I'll have to run them under some hot water, but I think I've got at least an hour in them. I look back up at him and smile. “So, what are the naming conventions in Antiva? Are they the same? Patrilineal?”
He frowns. “No. A woman keeps her name. Children take both parents', or they can choose to keep one as they grow older.” He thinks a moment. “Similar to Spain, I think. Antiva seems to be half Spain, half Italy.”
I nod, thinking, then rise, and walk with him back to the house. “Is that how you would prefer it to be?”
He wraps an arm around my waist, drawing me so tightly against him, we're half atop each other as we head inside. “Anything you desire would make me happy.”
I laugh. “What a pair we make, then. Here was I, thinking the same thing about you. We'll never make any proper decisions this way.” His hand is warm upon my waist, and I can smell his neck as I turn my face toward him. A sudden rush of an entirely different kind of warmth assails me, and I feel the colour rise in my cheeks. I wonder how long it will last, that I cannot think of anything but his hands on me when I get so close to him. I cannot be distracted now, though; he needs me to fix him, so I pull him with me into the bedroom. I give him everything I have, try to pour all my fear and doubt into the energy I need to unravel all the tension and anger his muscles are suffering under. I continue until my hands ache, until he no longer flinches from any spot that was in need, until the tendons no longer jump under my fingertips.
Once I'm finished, he groans, stretching and rolling his broad shoulders. He looks up at me, smiling lazily, his eyes half-lidded. “Umf... do you feel better Lily mia?”
I pause, surprised, and then smile, slowly. This was as much for me as it was for him; he knew it, I didn't. “You're too clever for me by half.”
Title: The Second Conversation (Chapter Ten)
Rating: AO
Pairing: Lily/Zevran
Summary: Ohhh... Didn't I already figure out that it's pointless to try and hide things from him? What am I doing to myself... to us?
Four months pass by in a blur while I reel from the sudden shift in my paradigm. I get a lawyer, but really, all I have to do is file some paperwork. I append a copy of my old restraining order to my statement, Zev puts in a statement that carries unexpected weight due to his military status, and Jack writes this horribly eloquent statement about what he witnessed the night I went to the hospital. I can barely read it; there are so many things I said, so many things I did that I didn't even know about. Jack's actions on my behalf, both nights there was an ambulance at my house, endeared him to my assassin, and as we meet with him several times over the time it takes to settle things, they strike up an easy friendship, much to my surprise.
I throw myself into my work, creating like a fiend. There are nights when Zev has to come out to the shop and literally drag me away from my tools. My hands, they just won't stop. The night I actually say this to him, we are climbing the steps to the porch, and he turns, taking me by the shoulders, so he can catch my eyes. He always makes me look him in the eye when he's talking to me, and this is a really hard thing for me to do. I’ve spent too many years training myself to keep my eyes down so as to minimize my chances of getting my ass kicked. But it is good for me, and I feel so much safer, every time. It's like he's deprogramming me. Maybe he is.
“Cara, that is what I am here for. There are other ways to occupy your hands.” He says things like this to me, things that should be obvious, but that I never really apprehended before, and suddenly problems just unravel. I love him for this, so much. We barely make it inside.
He spends most of his time engaged of one of four activities: helping me prowl the beach, reading everything he can get his hands on, going places with Jack, and sparring at the dojo, now that he's found it. I can't resist staying, sometimes. He is incredible when he's on his own, but against an actual opponent, he is grace personified. Much to my surprise, I’ve actually seen the sensei there hand Zev his ass a couple of times; after the second time I witness it, I am banned from coming.
“You are too much of a distraction,” he tells me, as we leave. I crawl into the truck and unlock his door.
“How can you protect me if I distract you from fighting?” I mean, really, how does this even make sense? Ah, but of course, there's always a reason for the things he does.
He looks at me very seriously and says, “You cannot be there, because I am always trying to compensate for your presence, wanting to adjust myself to a better position relative to protecting you. I spend too much time with warring instincts, and miss my mark for trying to dance too much.” He growls under his breath, aggravated, and I duck my head.
“So noted. I’ll... I’ll just wait out here, then.”
He grimaces and waves a hand dismissively as I pull out of the parking lot. “No, no, va bene, cara, you are right. It is a wound to my pride. I should not be so easily distracted.” He reaches over and covers my fingers where they rest on the gear shift, and I smile. At home, we make lunch, and then I head out to work while he sits down with a book on the Renaissance.
Several hours later, he comes into my shop, and there is an air of dark disquiet around him that I had thought we were long since past. My hands still, the sand paper coming to a rasping halt, and I stand up. I set the block down and dust off my gloves, then drop them on the table so I can pull my mask off. “Zev?” I prompt, but he does not look up. His arms are crossed, his face turned away, just standing there, leaning against the door. It does not bode well that he is not talking, and it's even worse that he won't look at me. “Er... what happened?”
He takes an inordinate amount of time to respond, his hands gripping opposite elbows, lips turned down in a not-quite frown. “I was looking through the bookshelves and the CD stacks. I was bored.”
I tilt my head, and move towards him, but he flinches away, and I step back again, now truly worried. “Tell me what's wrong. I can't imagine anything that you'd find– Oh.” I stop short. In the ordered rows of cases, there are also my games. Video games.
“A game.”
The bottom drops out of my stomach. “You found the disc.”
“A game, cara.” His voice is so accusatory, it makes me sick with immediate self-loathing. He pushes away from the door frame, coming toward me. “Not a story. A game.” There are angry lines around his mouth and eyes, and I quail. I am not afraid of him; no, not at all. He would never harm me; never. I know this. But there is a world of difference between 'hurt' and 'harm', and it would be as easy as a sneer to hurt me down to the very core.
I swallow. “It started as a story. People wrote a story, and made it into a game, so that other people could live in the story. I... didn't want to tell you that it was... a game... too.” I drop my gaze. This is what I get for trying to protect him. Hadn't he said? He is a man; he needs no protecting. Fuck.
Now he looks at me, his gaze snapping up to mine like a whip lash, and I recoil from the fire in his eyes. “And why not?” he snaps. “Because you think I could not handle it? Could not come to grips with it?” He shakes his head, raking a hand through his hair. “How is it so different, eh? It has gone from a story that you had written, to a story that many lived in, and then it was a story that was different for everyone. And now I find that it is a game.”
“No! No, gods, I think you could handle just about anything!” I growl at myself, irritated, frustrated. Of course it was going to come out, sooner or later; I thought, at the time, that we would talk about it later, and then... later just sort of... never came. I should have known better than to even try and hide this. I just... Gods, I’m stupid. I hang my head. “It's because I didn't want you to think less of me for it. I didn't want you to think that I had used you... that you were unimportant.”
Zev rubs his temples with one hand, the other gesturing as he paces. “I am used to being used, cara, but with you, and my memories of you – I wasn't used. Even if they were not real, even if I was not real to start with.” He sighs, sounding disgusted. “What I think less of you for is that you chose not to trust me.”
This is like being kicked in the stomach; my knees give way and I sit down, abruptly. Just lucky for me there is a stool behind me. My lips are numb, and I stare at him, struck dumb for a minute. Finally, I force myself to speak. “My fear is... so great... It gets the better of me, sometimes.” I pass a hand over my face, my shoulders dropping, and look out the window toward the sea. The tide is so far out, a long expanse of sand stretches on away toward the thin white line of the breakers. The setting sun peeks out from under the layer of clouds, just at the horizon, painting the water orange and fuchsia.
My voice is quiet when I continue. “It is not lack of faith in you, but in my own worth, really. It's been eight years of hell, followed by four months of this... sudden safety.” I toss my hands up, helplessly. “I am... still lost. Still waiting for him to come and hurt me, still terrified that he could take everything. I keep waiting for someone to come and take this away from me, tell me there's been some mistake.” I bow my head.
He rubs the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes. “I continue to forget it has not been two years for you. However, cara mia, you have my earring, do you not? It is not a thing I give lightly, and no one could part me from you without me being dead and rotting.” He barks a short laugh. “I looked it up, though. So, apparently, with the right words, I do give it away easily!" There is a manic edge to his laughter, shoulders shaking.
I watch this sudden change with alarm. “No! Are you kidding me? You didn't have a problem with the idea of a casual relationship, yeah, okay. I’ve been there myself. After a... thing like that...” I swallow and look away, then clear my throat. “Anyway, I know very well what kind of mindset comes after that. Who gives a shit, right? I wasn't interested in 'casual', so I didn't take you up on it. Others, meeting other versions of you, have.
“I took the time to talk to you, to try and unravel you, because I cared. I turned down Alistair, even though he was sweet, because I was more interested in you. I did these things because it is my way. There is nothing calculated about us; things were different then. So few people had been to Thedas; I didn't know what I was getting into. I went in completely blind... Not like others, who look up the information, find out how to manipulate events to their own ends.
“No. I spoke to you, and I treated you like a person, because you are one. It was not easy to get to know you; you know it wasn't easy. Every time I opened my mouth, I wondered if I was going to say something stupid, and I still kind of feel that way sometimes. And so what you've got here, is the Mahariel with the Maxwell behind her. I have all those issues and more. I could tell there was something going on with you, because I’ve been there. I wanted to know what happened, and in the end you told me, and I realized how much you and I are alike, in certain things.”
He holds up a hand, forestalling me. “I understand, far more intimately than you shall ever imagine – which is as it should be – the situations you come from.”
I look back out the window. The sky is turning indigo, the sun reduced to a red line on the horizon. “I worried about paradox. If you picked it up, if you looked at it, would it somehow... do something to you?”
He snorts, scoffs, and I give him a sharp look. “Forces beyond our control put us here together. I didn't want to look at that too closely; I didn't have the guts to even touch it.” I swallow. “Look, there's a theory that all places we think we invent are actually real places. They say that we travel when we dream, and we go to other worlds, places like where you come from, and have experiences there. We bring these tales back to our world as fiction, in all its forms. I've never seen anything solid to prove this theory... until you. You're the only person I know of to ever show up from a place that was supposedly 'not real'. I mean, there's always stories, but...” I sigh. “There are stories about everything.”
“As for that,” I say, gesturing toward the house, the games, “My best guess is that he's an approximation. Gaider must have dreamed himself to Thedas, and met you there, then tried to recreate you here. He was close enough that I was able to know you, anyway, and I must have known you so well as to call you all the way here.” I rub my face again.
“I know, that's a lot of 'perhaps' statements. I am grasping at straws here. String theory might explain it, I don't know. There are so many things in this world that cannot be seen, cannot be explained.” I shrug, helplessly. “Something strange and cosmic happens to me, and I am terrified of losing it. I didn't want to even think about it too hard, in case it was like a soap bubble singularity, and my probing at it makes it just...” I hold my hand up, all my fingertips pressed together, and then spread my fingers out suddenly, holding nothing but air. "Pff. Disappear. End of my life. Shattered Lily,” I finish in a whisper.
I watch as the speed of his pacing increases, back and forth, back and forth. “I am well acquainted with chaos theories. I understand that! What I do not understand – cannot – is... is...” He clenches his jaw, the tendons standing in relief. “You had how many chances to tell me this? I do not care about the paradox. I care about you not telling me.”
I cover my face with my hands.
He begins pacing again, agitated. I can actually hear his feet on the floorboards, and I know that doesn't bode well, at all. “But when have I ever – ever! – given you cause to doubt me? To doubt that I will find some way to understand what you say? It is... the doubt. Is there nothing I can do? Must I always fail in this?”
It kills me - he's blaming himself, belittling his value, and oh, my gods, I made him mad at me. I am such an idiot. I shake my head, despondent. “No...” I moan. “It's not you. It is entirely me, I swear to you. My reasons are many, and irrelevant, and not one of them ever had anything to do with me thinking you couldn't handle it. I am... not always very...” I sigh again. “I can be very self-destructive. I do not mean to do it, but I do. I sabotage the things in my life that I love most, without even meaning to. You stand there thinking that I believe you to be worth less than you are, while I've been sitting here the whole time since you showed up, trying to figure out how I'm actually going to keep you convinced I'm worth your time.”
Puffing his cheeks out he exhales, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, and silence reigns for a time. “Faugh. This entire thing is stupid, cara. It is not befitting of our natures and our relationship for us to act this way, and yet, here we are.” I look up, and I can tell he must have one hell of a headache, as so far he has had to rub his head several times, and he's been wincing off and on. “Both of us think we are not worth keeping, yes? You sabotage, I withdraw. This is not how things should be. This is not how things are with us. But we act this way? Auck. I cannot think. Just– Tch. Cara. You say you trust me, then you do things that say the opposite. I feel as though I must walk upon eggshells, and be ever vigilant for partial truths! That is not how things are between man and wife!”
I stop cold, staring at him, suddenly clutching the edges of the stool with a white-knuckled grip. What kind of frightened flutter of madness is this? Do I even dare to look at this concept from just the corner of my eye? “Wife?” I rasp. My voice is hollow; if I say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing, and fuck it all up right now, I'm going to turn into a pile of dry sand and blow away.
He grits his teeth. “We may not have that document– This place, and all its papers and licenses and rules...” he says, disgusted. “A marriage is between two people who vow to take care of and love each other. We are married. So why do we act like foolish children, playing at house?”
I stare at him, kind of in shock. I hadn't really thought of it like that. Married? Committed, yes... but... the white dress, the paper, the priest, none of this has happened, no rite of passage, no clear signifier that flipped the switch in my brain from 'girlfriend' to 'wife'. “I– We–” I shake my head. “Because I'm apparently uncommonly thick-headed? I didn't realize you thought of me that way.”
He gives me a look, one brow raised. “Before there were governments and rules, regulations – before paper-obsessed bureaucrats came to be – two people would say that they were together, and that would make them wedded.” He jerks his head towards the house. “There are books on jumping over swords, or brooms, or– or slaves blowing into jugs and sharing a cup or some such, and that made them married. You have my earring, and that is more ceremony than many have."
My eyes hurt. Realizing that he has thought of me this way since he was first here... oh, how he humbles me. If I had understood he considered it a marriage rite, I would have proceeded a lot differently... certainly with more confidence. “I... I am trying to undo a lifetime of self-preservation habits. It is not my purpose to hide things from you. If you ask me a direct question, I answer. I'm not used to being safe to do that... with anyone. You... have me at a disadvantage. When I wrote to you, I could change what I said, make it better, more right, more honest. I could go back and fix it, so that I never said the less accurate thing. You only knew me at my best. Here, now, it is harder for me, because I cannot go back and edit myself. I miss things. I forget to tell everything. Honesty has put me in the hospital.” It's my turn to grimace, and I hasten to carry on. “I do not mean to visit these things on you, and I would never think that any of it will happen again, but to train myself out of the fear is turning out to be very hard.”
Finally his pacing stops, and I can tell he had to force himself to still – normally he is so measured, that I can feel the agitation radiating off of him in waves. “Honesty has done many things to each of us, but we are each others' refuge, the one place where honesty is not meant to harm.”
I am utterly defeated. What am I going to do with myself? I just want to lay down on the floor at his feet. I turn my face away, just in time to hide the first tear that escapes me. I've no right to tears, I brought this on myself. “I failed you,” I admit, trying to keep my voice steady.
He curses, then comes to me, wrapping his arms about my shoulders. “Tch, woman...” he mutters. “You are so difficult sometimes, cara. You take on burdens that are supposed to be shared; it is not a failing. Merely a... ah... an eccentricity. A very, very bad habit.” Oh gods, he is hugging me, and this sounds suspiciously like sudden forgiveness. I quiver, trying to hold it together, and then suddenly burst into tears, burying my face in his neck.
“I hate it when you're mad at me!” I wail.
He presses his lips to my forehead, squeezing me tighter. “Shhh... Cara mia... Amora – hush. I am... disappointed. Frustrated.” He rocks me side to side, his voice low and soothing, and I try to get a grip. I choke myself back fairly quickly, but, gods, nothing can strike a white-hot bolt of fear straight to the heart of me quite like the idea of this man being upset with me, for any reason. I swallow hard, taking comfort from the familiarity of his hands in my hair, and calm myself by main force. “I had thought us past this. This is like one of those, ah... What are they? Yes, the bumps, the yellow ones. Speed-bumps – unpleasant and jarring, but moved past quickly. It is a shock; it is disconcerting to think that I am someone you can doubt, and it stings.”
“I do not doubt you, not for a second. I doubt myself, I doubt the humour of the gods, I doubt the nature of reality, I doubt everything else, but I believe in you.”
He tangles his fingers in my hair, cradling my head in his hand. “We have not been clear enough I suppose, but what more can we do, other than continue, until we relearn how to share space? This is no camp, this is not the Blight. This is a place where rules are different, people are different – your background is different.”
“I know. I greatly fear whatever mechanism it is that brought you here, because I do not know what triggered it, or whether I could fuck it up somehow, inadvertently, and... and...” I shake my head. “I am just filled with irrational fears. You should ask me about mirrors sometime.”
His lips quirk. “If they bother you so much, we can remove them, and I shall apply your paints for you, and do your hair so that you needn't worry over looking in them.”
I can tell he's trying to make me laugh, and purposefully ignoring the other things and I shudder, trying to go along with it. “You have no idea how tempting that offer really is.” I wonder if there will ever be anything I could do to fix this, or if what I've broken is gone now. I truly do not know how it is I rate high enough to deserve this good fortune, and I pray once more that the gods still find us humorous enough to let me keep trying to be worth it.
He bends his head, his mouth unexpectedly close enough that I can feel his breath across my cheek. He whispers, and his lips brush mine when he speaks. “Duly noted, cara.”
I never could have predicted that he would kiss me, after all that. Sudden forgiveness, sudden kindness; it is over, our fight, just like that, with a kiss and a soft word. I melt into him, clinging tightly, overwhelmed with relief. 'Man and wife', he said... 'Man and wife'. It echoes around and around in my head, and the more I think it, the more I feel it. Of course; of course we are. I do not understand how I failed to notice before. I was his, obviously, but the word... he says it like a title, and I intend to take it as such, to strive to be worthy of it.
After too little time he breaks away gently, and nuzzles at my cheek. “If there is one good lesson gained from the Crows, it is that we should not live in constant fear, but live bravely, and enjoy life when it is good.”
I smile, a little watery around the edges, I'm sure. “I'm trying to keep up; your strides are long.”
“Tch. When you cannot keep up, I shall carry you; it is what a husband does for his wife, while she gives him purpose.”
I trace the edge of his lip with my fingertip. “Can you forgive me?” I ask, though I know he already has; I wish to make the effort. “Can I make it up to you?”
He gives the tip of my finger a playful nip. “I would be willing to exchange forgiveness for a massage. Sensei Andre was uncommonly aggressive today.”
I giggle, sudden warmth thawing the frost of self-loathing. He called me 'wife' again. It's crazy how safe that one, simple word makes me feel. “Massage, now that is something I can do.” I flex my hands. I'll have to run them under some hot water, but I think I've got at least an hour in them. I look back up at him and smile. “So, what are the naming conventions in Antiva? Are they the same? Patrilineal?”
He frowns. “No. A woman keeps her name. Children take both parents', or they can choose to keep one as they grow older.” He thinks a moment. “Similar to Spain, I think. Antiva seems to be half Spain, half Italy.”
I nod, thinking, then rise, and walk with him back to the house. “Is that how you would prefer it to be?”
He wraps an arm around my waist, drawing me so tightly against him, we're half atop each other as we head inside. “Anything you desire would make me happy.”
I laugh. “What a pair we make, then. Here was I, thinking the same thing about you. We'll never make any proper decisions this way.” His hand is warm upon my waist, and I can smell his neck as I turn my face toward him. A sudden rush of an entirely different kind of warmth assails me, and I feel the colour rise in my cheeks. I wonder how long it will last, that I cannot think of anything but his hands on me when I get so close to him. I cannot be distracted now, though; he needs me to fix him, so I pull him with me into the bedroom. I give him everything I have, try to pour all my fear and doubt into the energy I need to unravel all the tension and anger his muscles are suffering under. I continue until my hands ache, until he no longer flinches from any spot that was in need, until the tendons no longer jump under my fingertips.
Once I'm finished, he groans, stretching and rolling his broad shoulders. He looks up at me, smiling lazily, his eyes half-lidded. “Umf... do you feel better Lily mia?”
I pause, surprised, and then smile, slowly. This was as much for me as it was for him; he knew it, I didn't. “You're too clever for me by half.”
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You know, reading this story with all it's darkness and realism and just that tiny part of magic and fiction - it's just great.
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Guh, this paragraph and then next couple, really got to me. And wise Zevran in the end..he's just that awesome. Lovely, moving chapter.
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my first playthrough, i really did go in completely blind, and played mahariel. and when i did go for the whole zev thing, i did go into that blind, as well. i hate spoilers. i really did just muddle through it properly by accident, only finding out much later how horribly wrong things can go. that really was me. >.> too much of this really is me, actually. >.< heh.
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I have tried all the endings though (for the achievements), and boy, some are just too terrible to do more than once, especially the ultimate sacrifice...ugh, Zevran is just the saddest during your funeral. Which kinda made me happy...I'm selfish that way, I guess. :D
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i'm glad i never actually did ultimate sacrifice. i don't think i could take him being so broken. :(
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Wise as well as sexy, Zevran.
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And I believe you may be trying to run before you can walk. Philippe hasn't let you into his bed at all, if you recall.
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And then, he's angry; she apologizes; and he forgives her because they're both grownups. That's the lovely thing about this whole fic.
I went in completely blind... Not like others, who look up the information, find out how to manipulate events to their own ends.
Heh. That would be me.
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i'm just lucky i did it right, i guess. i bumbled alistair, but did fine with zev. go figure. XD
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