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peopleofthedas2011-03-21 02:40 am
bellaknoti) wrote in peopleofthedas2011-03-21 02:40 am
fanfic: A Fish Out of Water
Title: Cold Truth (Chapter Two)
Rating: AO
Pairing: Zev/Lily
Summary: I'm still someplace other. Now it's time to face the realities of my new existence. I thought the life I left was hard? Ha. This is a whole new level of scary.
edit: AHAHAHA i left the summary blank. >.<
As the adrenaline rush of waking up in the strangest of places wears off, I become exhausted again almost immediately, and reluctantly have to crawl back into the bunk before I fall over. I suck down another cup of water, and practically collapse sideways on the bed. “Mmmh... Drowning is awful. I don’t recommend it,” I mumble, burying my face in the pillow, and am rewarded with a face-full of his scent.
His touch is light as his hand crosses my shoulder. “I do not mind the results, if they bring you to me, but, there has never been much to recommend drowning... unless it is in the arms of one you care for.”
Dreams are always so short. I’m already falling asleep in this one; it’ll be over soon. I sigh sadly and look up at him again, taking one last look of what my life could have held, a little something to clutch tight to my breast when I reawaken in the real world, in a hospital bed, if at all, staring up at the wrong face.
The darkness of a dreamless sleep steals over me - closing in from all sides, the way a picture fades down to a narrow point on those old tv sets, when you’d turn them off - whether I like it or not, reminding me of the few times I’ve had to undergo anaesthesia, which does not bode well...
Not a pleasant last thought. The next thing I am aware of, like the blinking of an eye, is a very close-up view of a tanned arm. The bed I’m in is rocking, and I can hear the sound of waves beating against the hull... and there is a deathgrip on my waist, keeping me immobile. Startled, I jerk away with a squeak, my back hitting an unforgiving wall. A hand on the back of my head stops me from crowning myself on the wood.
“Shh, cara, you need not be frightened.” It is an accented voice, with that hot whiskey burn – I know that voice.
Focusing my wild gaze on him, my impossible man, all the fight goes out of me in a rush. “Zev?! You– you’re real!” Before he can say anything I surge forward and lock my arms around him, burying my face in his neck, babbling incoherently. “Oh gods! Oh gods, I’m still here; I was so scared, so scared I would wake up,” I choke on it, my voice breaking, “...and... and find it was all just– just a dream.”
For a moment he tenses, then returns my desperate embrace. “That would be why I did not dare to sleep.” He says this as though it is completely logical, and I shake in his arms, knowing that if I could have stayed awake, I would have, too. “I could not bear awakening to it being nothing more than a figment.”
“Either we both are, or neither of us is, I think. I’m not sure which one means we’re not crazy. I’m not sure I much care, just so long as... you... don’t let go,” I finish in a whisper. Oh, gods, I’ve never felt safe before, but here, in this moment with him clutching me as though I were the only thing in his world, I couldn’t be anything else.
I bury my face in his neck; I know I’m trembling like a leaf. It is going to take me a very long time to get used to the idea of where I am, this new reality... this dream, this whatever-it-is that I hope doesn’t suddenly vanish. Something in the way his hands move across my back, the way his fingers tangle in my hair... something about the way his arms enfold me, pulling me tightly to his chest, it breaks me. I never cry in front of anyone, ever. I learned a long time ago that crying is another invitation to be hurt, because it made Tommy look more closely at his actions, which never failed to anger him further. But here, now, there’s no holding it back anymore. Eight years of terror and pain I thought I would never escape suddenly well up in me, and I sob all over Zevran’s neck in a sudden torrent, clinging to him.
The side of his chin presses to my temple. “I am here cara; I am real. Shh, it is all right, let it go.”
More sounds, the sorts of nonsensical things someone says to a frightened child, are whispered into my ear, his hold on me never slackening. I am beyond grateful for it, and cannot close the floodgate that has been thrown open. Everything narrows down to the burning in my face as I strain while the tears fall, gasping for air, and the myriad tiny things that make the man in my arms someone worth clinging to: the rough linen of his tunic balled in my fist, the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he murmurs to me, the smell of salt water and leather, his lips on my cheek, the strength in his arms – all of it. That’s all I can focus on. It’s more than I’ve ever had to focus on. I am a tiny storm in the circle of his safety, trying desperately to blow itself out.
At last, I cry myself exhausted, subsiding to shudders, my body still trying to release all the tension I have kept locked inside for so long. I am hot, and I want to wash my face; I want to pull my hair back and free it from my neck; the tunic sticks to me and I want to take it off, but all of these actions mean moving, mean him letting go of me, and I can’t do it. In this strange place, on this ship bound for gods-know-where, he is all I know, all I have to cling to, and I cannot let go. I drift, semi-conscious for a while, finding a centre of balance at last. I drag the sleeve of the tunic over my face, making the best of it, and finally relax.
After a time, Zev stirs. “Cara, it has been some time now since I last ate, and I think after all that, you will need some more water, yes?” He does not move to let go of me, but I know that we can’t stay like this forever. “Besides, I am certain that there is another who would wish to see you, as well, and I do not think he would be amused if I were to keep you from him, as he is the one who first saw you in the sea.”
I pull back just enough to look up at him. Oh gods. Who else? It suddenly occurs to me that everyone, everyone, is real. I’m probably going to meet them all, at some point. Oh no. Alistair. How badly has he torn himself up, after I told him he didn’t have to do it, and then left him at the gate? Oh... Oh no, what if he was the other man, the one who carried me in here? One thing at a time. “Uh... who?” In lieu of answer, Zev kisses my forehead, his thumb stroking over my cheekbone softly, and I close my eyes. A simple gesture, a tiny kindness, a gentle thing... entirely missing from my life until this moment, since I was a small child, and this has me lose a little breath with a surprised pang of bittersweet joy.
“I shall send him in shortly,” he says, opaque, but I see a little bit of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Do... Should I get dressed?”
“I doubt he will even notice your state, cara,” he replies, and slowly, reluctantly, he leans back. I can tell that he doesn’t want to leave the bed, that he has to force himself to rise. I push myself up to sitting, leaning against the wall, watching him. He moves like a cat, all smooth grace and silent footsteps. With a last glance over his shoulder for me, he slips out the door. I run my fingers through my tangled hair, looking around the tiny cabin again, still trying to wrap my head around what is happening.
A few minutes later, I am startled as the door opens without warning and a humongous dark brown and black shape comes barrelling through it and straight over to the bed. I shriek as I have the vague impression of a gigantic nose surrounded by a maw full of teeth, right before a tongue half the size of my face flops out and bathes it with slobber. I stare, shocked, at the giant dog dancing back and forth in front of the bunk, excited enough to almost knock over the chair, his butt wiggling every which way, so hard I’m surprised his little nub of a tail doesn’t just fall right off. “Ponka?”
For this, I am rewarded with a sharp, happy bark, and then the beast is laying across my lap, his huge head tucked up under my chin. I wrap my arms around his neck as he wriggles happily and rubs his face against mine. “Oh no, I’m sorry you missed me,” I croon, shocked and elated at the same time. If he recognizes me - an imprinted mabari! - all should be well, right? It’s strange and counter-intuitive, but I must still smell the same. That’s actually kind of reassuring, that my body isn’t so different that he wouldn’t recognize it. I discreetly wipe my face with a sleeve, while Ponka is busy sniffing my armpit. Dogs are weird.
“If it had not been for him, we would not have found you.” Zevran gives Ponka’s butt a gentle whap to get my beast to make enough room for him to sit down. “The squall that blew up from the east was strong, and everyone with any sailing skill was pressed into service reefing the sails and storm-tying everything down. Truly, I should have left him in the cabin, but he can be rather single-minded. I thought his barking would never stop, and only narrowly did I keep him from jumping into the water.”
I think about that for a moment before I ask, my voice low and nearly toneless, “Who jumped in?” Ah, but I know the answer.
He shrugs, as though it is nothing of note or consequence. “I did.”
And I think about that for a moment. A ship at sea, even one that runs on wind, moves pretty damned fast. In movies, sure, people jump off ships all the time, but that’s in movies. Physics are basically the same everywhere, though, and the speed of a ship on a storm wind with high-cresting waves, not to mention how hard the surface of the sea would be to impact from the height of the deck – this equals a highly dangerous situation. It doesn’t matter if someone is a strong swimmer, it is pretty damned crazy to jump off a deck into storm-whipped waters, and he wouldn’t have been able to use a safety line either, because it would have been too easy to keelhaul himself. I feel the blood drain from my face, and reach toward him with a shaking hand, knowing what it meant for his state of mind... Because he didn’t know it was me.
He only knew that Ponka would have jumped over, and he must have figured that Ponka’s life, and the life of whomever was out there, was worth more than his. Gods, he probably didn’t even care about the consequences. I know he’s not afraid of death, and tends to thrill-seek, but this is far more than that. He likes an adventure, but he’s not stupid. He knew there was a possibility he would have been throwing his life away, and he did it anyway.
“We... uh... shouldn’t play with your life either...” I say, hoping he doesn’t take it like I’m telling him what to do, but as a request.
The look he gives me is knowing. “Not anymore, no. However, there are some things I cannot change.” He fixes me with his eyes, and I have a sinking feeling I know what he's going to say next. My fingers curl, burying themselves in Ponka’s fur, and my beast goes still, lifting his head to give me a worried look. “We are bound for Antiva.”
I close my eyes, the dread piling into my stomach. “Oh no.” I swallow. I am not going to throw up. “Uh... That’s really, really bad.”
He smirks. “You don’t say. Ah, but I did hope to show you some of the lovely gardens. Besides, the Crows should not be so difficult to deal with, with you at my side.”
“I want to see them,” I say, in all honesty. “But... You don't understand. There’s... a really big problem. I am so little of what I was the last time you saw me. Everything has been... stripped from me.” There, that's about as accurate as it gets.
He blinks a few times, brow creasing. “Everything? Not just your vallaslin and your elvenness?”
My hand strays self-consciously to my rounded ear, and I wince. “I know. I’m a shemlen. It kinda feels like I got demoted.” I shake my head. I know, logically, I couldn't be here if Lily Mahariel were still alive – there would have been no reason for me to be out there in the storm, on the beach, like an idiot, if she had been. I couldn't come here as her, only as myself. Still, I regret that I haven't got more to offer him. I pull hard on the time I spent building up the language of the elves, hoping that this will cement my position in his mind as a shemlen version of Lily Mahariel. The idea that he’s lost someone so awesome because of my lame ass just chafes too much; I’d rather say that I’m a lesser incarnation. “Emma elvhen elgar suledin (1), but... that... el'dirthen (2)... is all I have left... well, and you two, apparently. I cannot fight. I am not entirely toothless, but I am...” I grope about for the right way to express it.
“Defenseless in all practical senses of the term,” he finishes, eyes closing in consternation. Ponka snorts, and I scratch his ear. I know he will defend me, but he shouldn’t have to, not like that. Zevran turns his face aside, shaking his head. There is a note of cold pragmatism in his voice when he continues. “Tch, well.” He pauses, and I can almost hear the gears clicking in his head. “It is another month until we make our first landfall, and one more from there to Antiva. We shall have to work hard to get you to some semblance of skill. Antiva City is lovely and beautiful, but the Crows – they are not so forgiving of the inexperienced.”
I hang my head. What he leaves unsaid is that I am a liability – one he can ill-afford. He was one man with a warhound against a guild of assassins, and now he is still one man with a warhound against a guild of assassins, but now with a big handicap: me. Not only that, but... even if he does get me up to some kind of ability to at least move, that doesn’t change the fact that I’ve never killed a man, and I don’t know how it’s going to go when, inevitably, I will have to. I’m a carpenter, no warrior.
“Fuck.” It is heartfelt, and only half under my breath, as I grind the heel of my hand into the suddenly aching point between my eyes.
My curse catches Zev off-guard, and he flinches. “Pardon?”
“Uh...” I rub my face with both hands. Lily Mahariel wouldn't have uttered such a thing, because it is crass, and there are so many other things that can be said, in any situation. However, when faced with this one, in particular, we would be in agreement: we're fucked. “Sorry. It’s... just hitting me really hard, the towering risk and disadvantage my presence is; right when you need me to stand strong at your side, I am a babe in the woods. I... I could hold my own in a brawl, but against the Crows?” I take a deep breath, shaking my head. “I’ve got no resistance to anything poisonous or magical anymore, I can’t wield anything bigger than a short sword, uh... and I can’t pick locks, make poison, or create poultices. Well, I might be able to fudge my way through those last two, but the rest?” I shake my head again. “I used up whatever grace we've been given, just getting here. I count myself fortunate that I have any memories at all.”
“Before I found you, cara mia, I had nothing to lose,” he says slowly, choosing his words with care. “When first I fished you from the sea, I thought I was mad to see a resemblance in you. I discounted it, even as I hoped for it to be true.” I bite my lip, my gaze sliding away and down to my hands, where they twist in the hem of the tunic. “Now I have much to lose, but that does not mean we should rush headlong. Now it is time for focusing on one thing at a time. One foot in front of the other. We look forward now, not backward. The first step that must be taken is for us to get you strong enough to use a dagger. From there, we work our way upwards. You may never regain all your lost skills, but we shall work towards ensuring you can survive without constant guarding.”
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. If I have to put my faith in one man, here he is. I can’t do this. There are so many things wrong with my body; it’s not going to stand up to armour and weapons training. I have to do this, though, there’s no choice. Not for my sake, but for his. “Okay. Where do I begin?”
“Food and water first, or perhaps second. While you look good in my tunic, you could do with some fresher clothes.” Ponka's ears perk, and he flops off the bed, rolling around on his back on the floor, before scooting away and taking up half the cabin on the other side of the room. Standing up, Zev holds his hand out to me.
I take another deep breath. He’s already seen me naked by now, right? Plus, uh, technically, I’ve already slept with him many, many times. Right. No reason to panic. Ah, but I feel myself turning ten shades of red anyway, and I can’t raise my eyes, even as I take his hand. I am not going to giggle like a schoolgirl. I bite my lip, trying to hold it in.
He chuckles. “So many colours you turn. Ah, most charming.”
I am not going to giggle like a schoolgi-- ah, man, too late. The laughter bursts forth anyway, embarrassing me, but he seems to take it in stride, humour lighting his eyes. It looks so good on him.
“Come now, if it will make it easier I could turn my back, or... perhaps help, while in the same state?” The rakish tilt of his smile takes my breath away.
I turn scarlet at the idea of this man being naked with me, plus bathing, and shiver. What falls out of my mouth is not quite what I intended, when I get trapped by his gaze, but my brain sort of hisses white noise all of a sudden, and I am entirely artless. “What, no kiss?”
His eyes darken, and the intensity in his gaze intimidates me; his grip is firm as he pulls me to him. “A kiss, yes,” he murmurs, his voice a low burr that makes me tremble inside. “Maybe two. One now, one after.” My heart just about stops, in this moment where I realize it's actually going to occur.
That is all the warning I have before his free hand cups my cheek and his face is suddenly very close to mine. My eyes widen even as his lids sink low, and then his mouth is on mine. His mouth is on mine. I wrap my arm around his neck, finding my fingers in his hair, and... oh gods... How many times have I imagined this, writing down what he would taste like, thinking of him doing this very simple thing as I ran my fingers across my own lips? None of it, none of it compares. All I can do is whimper.
There are tiny details, ones I had never really thought of, that take me entirely by surprise. Things like how sharp his teeth are when I run my tongue over them or how the tip of his nose presses into my cheek; the heat of his slow breathing falling down in little gushes over my skin, or how his eyelashes lay on his cheekbones, and how long they really are; the grain of his skin, or the fact that the underside of his tongue is like silk and the upper part is rough - almost like a cat’s tongue. Every single part of me stands at attention and the room spins; all that holds me up is his arm winding around my waist, pulling me flush against him.
As his fingers splay across my lower back, I slowly become aware of the fact that I can feel a whole lot more than I had paid attention to last night – or whenever it was – when I fell asleep. He is thick and hard, pressing against my hip, right at the top of my thigh, and oh... oh gods. Suddenly, all I can think about is getting closer to him, right now, and I arch forward, my breasts crushing against his chest. A guttural moan escapes him, a low growl under his breath, and I shudder at how hungry he sounds, how it perfectly echoes the sudden aching tug that yanks my soul forward by the hair.
It takes a visible effort of will for him to tear his mouth away from mine, and he abruptly sets me at arm's length. “Cara, Lily mia ... sarebbe una cattiva idea,” he mutters hoarsely, and my mind races as I try to remember the tiny amount of Italian I picked up while trying to write him. Something is very wrong if he can't remember how to speak Eng- Common. Is that... ‘Bad idea’? “No. No, we must stop.”
Breathless and dizzy, I stare at him, in shock and entirely confused. I can feel the want pouring off of him, and it mirrors mine. It takes me a moment to find the words, to remember how to speak at all. “W- What?”
“We must.” The torture in his eyes cuts me to the heart. “We must be careful. This may be real, you may be no demon, but... but there are tales that go thusly. We must... we must be careful. I could not bear for the bad endings they foretell to befall us.”
For a moment, it occurs to me to protest on the grounds of superstition, but then I realize... I’m beholden to some fairy tale rules, here, if magic is real, and of course, it must be, because I shouldn't even be here. Dream logic and fairy tale rules. Zevran is the only one who would know some of that... The game doesn’t really cover the mythology that children learn at their mother’s – or a bard’s – knee, so I listen. After all, Morrigan knew things that could’ve– I slam the door on that thought and take a deep breath, trying to force down the distracting clamour in my body, as well. “Tell me what we must do.”
He closes down and goes opaque on me. “Ah... later. Right now, we should... regather ourselves.” Almost nervously, he shifts away, and I pull my hands back, wrapping my arms around my waist, where they can’t get me in trouble. “I will go and gain us a bucket of fresh water to bathe you. Salt is no good for skin such as yours.”
Fresh water? I feel my mouth drop open. “Wait, but if we’ve got a month until landfall, isn’t that a luxury?” I can’t tell him I’ve lived by the ocean all my life; salt water doesn’t hurt me, but... there are too many other things going on right now for us to worry about where I’ve come from. He’s right, we have to keep running forward. Looking back is bad.
He shrugs. “I have not been touching my ration much. A half-pail is not so great a thing to lose. This ship is part of the Ferelden navy: it holds no merchandise, only things for delegates and important personages.” His lips twist. “Apparently I qualify as an important person, or important enough.”
If I hadn’t left him, maybe he wouldn’t be doubting himself so much now. I bite my lip. “You are to me.”
His smile is tight, and he reaches out, one finger crossing my lower lip. “And your opinion is the only one that matters to me. I shall return briefly; I must go and see if there is more in my belongings in the hold that may fit you.”
His gaze rakes me once from head to toe, like he wants to store this moment in his mind, before he leaves me alone with Ponka. It is a sick feeling in my stomach – there are more than simply ‘his’ things in the hold, if his mood and what I know of him are anything to go by. I wonder if he has the other copy of the diary, even. It’d be interesting to see the drawings. I bet she was a better artist, too.
Ohhh... Why couldn’t this be like a Rosenberg novel and I just get to inherit my character’s skills? I begin pacing. This is going to kill me. Oh, gods. I have got to figure out how to catch up, and quickly. I have to force my body to do what it is not supposed to, somehow, without breaking myself. There’s no way I can put him through that again. No way. So I have to catch up; there is no other option. I have to do it so I can protect him by protecting myself.
And I’ve only got two months to prepare.
Gods help us; that’s not even enough time for someone to go through boot camp.
1. My elven soul endures [back to top]
2. Our language [back to top]
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Oh geeze...nothing like the nearly impossible to bring two people together. I do wonder if magical healing might be able to accomplish what medicine can't. That should be interesting.
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