fanfic: Wings of the Storm Crow

[bellaknoti]

Series: Wings of the Storm Crow
Title: Family Reunion (Chapter Twenty)
Rating: AO
Pairing: Lily/Zevran
Summary: My sister is home! And... It occurs to me that I've never seen my husband truly upset before. Ahhhh... family.








Our little nursery is so adorable. I did a silver and blue clouds, moon, and stars theme, and got Jack to paint the ceiling midnight blue, so I could dot on some glow-in-the-dark paint for constellations. I got a star-map for the summer sky, since our baby is due at the beginning of June, used a pin to poke holes where the stars go, and then put it over a lamp so it would cast the constellations upward for painting. The carpet is a soft, light blue, and the walls have clouds around the bottom, and fade from light blue to dark, blending in with the ceiling. I found a lamp that has an image of the moon printed on it for the overhead light, and we’re looking into getting furniture and things next. Maybe in January. Jack and Zev finally knocked out the wall at the corner of the hallway, so it’s all open, and the house is a lot warmer now that the back of the fireplace isn’t closed off into just my sewing room. I’m pleased with how my home, and my family, are growing.

Two days before Thanksgiving, at about five o’clock in the morning, really, just as I’m leaning over the toilet again, I hear gravel crunching outside, and Zev calls from the front room, “Ah... Cara, there is a car... A strange girl is getting out of it. Your sister, no doubt, yes?”

I moan and retch again. Of course. She shows up right when I’m barfing. By the time I’ve got my face washed and gathered myself together enough to get my ass into the front room, I see Erin, through the window, hauling a giant suitcase out of the back of the car. My sister is about the same height as me, but that’s where the resemblance ends. I favour the Swedish side of the family, while she got all the French. Her hair is a dark blonde, and curly; she likes to wear it short, and it always reminds me of a 40’s glamour girl. She also got all the boobs in the family - enough for three women, poor thing - and none of the hips. Her pants are constantly falling down. I grin as I watch her - once again - do the ‘Erin dance’, shimmying as she pulls her pants back up one-handed.

Zev opens the door, pressing a cup of ginger tea into my hand as he heads outside to help her. “Here, allow me to lend you a hand,” he says, reaching out to take the suitcase from her.

She looks up, and the appreciative smile freezes in place on her face, going a little strange. She steps back a bit, staring up at him as the expression on her face flickers to confused, and then kind of freaked out. “Uh. Hi?”

“Auck, please, introductions shall keep until we are inside,” he says, giving her one of his winning smiles no doubt, prying her hand from the suitcase’s handle without seeming to, and taking her elbow with his other, guiding her up the steps. “Lily is inside, probably just regaining her bearings. The mornings of late have been somewhat rough.”

Erin moves past him into the house, but turns as she does so, unable to take her eyes off him. She is looking at him like he’s... impossible. Oh... crap. I bet she’s played the game too. It would be right up her alley, though she would, of course, have gone straight for Alistair over my Zev. A knight in shining armour with spiky hair; exactly her type. I set my mug aside, half empty now - chugging the first half seems to help more than dainty sips, otherwise it doesn’t get there fast enough to do any good - so that I can brace myself for the bear-hug that follows as Erin practically throws herself at me, squealing “Sissy!!” at the top of her lungs.

I take a step back, steadying myself, and gasp, “Not the belly! Squash! Squash!” and she lets go rather quickly, staring at me in shock.

“What?! That too?!” I giggle self-consciously as her gaze drops to my stomach, and she immediately puts her hands out, feeling for the curve there. She grins, and then cackles with barely-restrained glee. “Ohhhh... I’m gonna fill you full of sugar and caffeine, one day, little one. Oh yes; spread the madness!”

She hugs me again, squishing my shoulders this time, instead, and I cling to her, grateful that she’s here. It’s really been far too long. She’s the only member of my family I’m still in touch with on purpose. At last she steps back, and looks Zev up and down again. “So.”

“Uh... Yeah, uh... Erin... This is... This is Zev.”

“Zevran, Zevran Moreno,” he introduces himself, holding out his hand to her with a smile, and nary a trip over his false last name. “Zev to my friends,” he adds, his smile widening. “And to my family.”

Erin goes a little pale, taking his hand hesitantly. “You-- You--” She looks at me, shock written clear across her face. “What-- How-- Are you serious??”

I clear my throat. “Uh... About what?”

She stares at me. “Really? ‘Moreno’? That’s... that’s really... um his-- your--” She turns to look at him, saying with some conviction, “That’s not really your name.”

“It is what my license says,” he avers, shrugging and side-stepping nimbly. “Would you like to see it? I also have some other papers.... Is there something... amiss?”

She snorts. “Damn straight there is! You-- you...” She blinks, then shakes her head. “Okay, where’s Alistair?”

My Zev flicks a very brief glance at me. “In Antiva, I would assume, heading the Wardens there. That was the last I heard; I was on my way back home, but know nothing more than that, as I never arrived.”

Erin stares at him in silence for a very long moment, then turns to look at me, very, very slowly, and I can see the hair practically standing up on her head. “What.”

I reach out, grabbing Zev’s hand and squeezing it. “I trusted Riordan,” is all I say, softly.

Her head whips back to look at him; she takes in both of us, standing together, and then I see her notice his ears. She gives me a hard look. “Lemme see it then.”

I shift, confused, and look between my sister and my husband. “The earring, moglie mia, is what I assume she means; unless she wishes to see my other gear?”

Silently, I tuck my hair behind my ear, and she about jumps out of her skin. She knows I haven’t had my ears pierced since I was a teenager, and there’s clearly just the one. I step closer into the circle of Zev’s arm. “It’s... a long story. I try not to think about it too hard, actually.”

“Holy shit. I... you’re shitting me right? This is a joke.”

“No shitting here.” Zev shrugs. “Other than in designated areas. Shale isn’t here and no one ever paid me enough to risk that.” He heaves a sigh, waving a hand at the sewing room. “However, if you wish to see more, there are other items in there, excluding my belt, as I am wearing it.”

Erin looks at me, looks at him, then turns and heads straight for the sewing room. She goes around the end of the wall and then just stands there. I can tell by the direction of her gaze that she sees it: the Felon’s Coat is a pretty unique item; there really isn’t any mistaking it. She leans heavily against the wall, and doesn’t move or say anything for a long time. I pick up my tea, not wanting to leave Zev’s side, and rest my head against his shoulder as I wait for her to do something else.

I can feel the tension running through him; I hate it when someone brings up what happened to bring him here. I should’ve known Erin would have played the game. I run my hand up and down his back, my fingers stroking along the hard lines of muscle where he is holding himself far too still for my liking. “Hamin, emma sa’lath,” (1) I murmur, nuzzling my mouth at the side of his neck, my voice pitched for him alone. I use the Elvish anyway; it’s become almost second nature, giving us a private language that’s quite useful in public situations.

None of the tension leaves him, and I can feel Zev resisting the urge to stand in front of me, which is a habit he’s always had when agitated. There isn’t any danger, and it’s been a long time since there was, but it’s something he’s never stopped doing. Whenever there’s a hint of negativity in the air, he always tries to stand before me - either to face me or act as a shield and buffer. Truly, I love this about him, but sometimes it hurts me, because he won’t let me help him chill out when he gets like that. I just have to wait it out. Erin will come around eventually.

I clear my throat. “Erin, have you had breakfast?” The change in subject catches her off-guard, and she turns to me again, still looking dazed and lost.

“This is real, right? I mean, I did just drive down here from SeaTac, and I’m not still asleep on the plane, right?”

I shake my head. “Yeah. I wasn’t exactly sure what was going on the first few days, either. Just... Let’s have something to eat, okay?”

Zev does his protective thing, going with the change. “Amora, what do you think you could eat this morning? Erin, I plan on making myself an omelet, would you care to have one?”

At this, she perks. “You can cook?”

“I have some skills in that department, yes,” he says, waving it off as though his abilities in the kitchen are no big deal. I’ve never seen him use a recipe for anything more than once. He tends to memorize the methods and combinations for whatever cuisine he’s making and never needs a reminder. Zev just goes into the kitchen, decides on a theme, and goes with it.

“Then, yes! Lily’s omelets are like rubber.”

“Psh. That’s ‘cause I can’t eat ‘em, nerr,” I say, rolling my eyes. Looking up at Zev, I say, “I think I’m just gonna stick with toast. Everything’s all... sloshy.” I scowl, pressing a hand to my stomach.

“Mm, I should make some ginger and almond biscotti today then,” he says. He mutters to himself as he goes to putter around the kitchen. “Though we are almost out of oranges, and they would do well with some orange peel, hmmh.... now where is that grocery list...?”

Mouth watering at the prospect of fresh biscotti, I grin. “On top of the fridge,” I supply. I sit down in ‘his’ chair and throw another log on the fire. “Siddown, sissy,” I tell her, pointing to the overstuffed chair on the other side of the hearth, the one that used to be Papa’s. We are quiet a moment as I push the kettle over the fire and open the tea-tin, and Erin just stares at me. Finally, she leans forward.

“What the fuck?” she whispers, and I just shake my head.

“Leave it. Just... I don’t like to talk about it, okay? Another time. For now, we should decide what we intend to do for Thanksgiving dinner, because I really don’t feel like making a turkey,” I tell her, steering the conversation firmly into here-and-now territory.

Zev comes in carrying a little plate with a piece of toast on it, and looks at me as I take it from his hand. “Actually, I have been speaking with Sofia about this holiday you have, and we agreed that it would be best if you did not have to cook such a large meal on your own. Your sister is here, and so we shall do it. She tells me that squash is a very important feature to this meal, so... I have been considering this cake that you like, the cheesecake, yes? I will make one with squash in it. Pumpkin, I believe.” I giggle like a schoolgirl.

“Mmmm... pumpkin cheesecake. Raptures! Careful, keep talking like that and I may just have to marry you.”

He smirks. “I do believe that that particular ship has sailed.” Squatting beside the chair for a moment, he lays his hand over mine. “She also says that fowl is important as well. So, no ‘roast beast’ as you call it. I am inexperienced with turkey, so I shall use what I do know that is available. I was thinking about duck, and if I remember correctly there is the butcher in town who might have pheasant and some quail. Will this do?”

I have to restrain myself from clapping my hands in glee like a little girl. I confine myself to covering my mouth with my fingers and looking at him wide-eyed. “Oh my gods. I’ve never eaten it; I have no idea. I’ve only had duck. But, well, you have yet to make anything I thought was gross, so I have faith that whatever it is you’re planning, it’ll be awesome.”

He dips his head quickly to kiss my fingers before rising, trailing his thumb over my knuckles. “Ah, and some other things as well - stuffing, and squash soup... I would also like to try my hand at some cranberry sauce.”

At this, Erin holds up a hand. “I’ll do the cranberry sauce, then. We have our own recipe; I’ll show you how to do it. I’m gonna make lefsa, too.” Ah, and just like that, I know she’s accepted him. She never offers to share a kitchen unless she has decided that whoever it is, they’re okay. He nods, and looks at me once more before heading back to the kitchen. Holidays at Grandma’s house, before we lost her, there were always at least three women in the kitchen cooking at any given time. We had to learn how to move and work around each other, a whole non-verbal language. For her to say that she will be in the kitchen with him, that shows faith in my assessment, and gives me hope that she’ll relax and let things roll. I really, really don’t want to rehash what I did - even though I know I have to - but especially not where Zev will have to listen to it.

I finish my tea as the kettle begins to whistle, and Erin pulls it off the fire, refilling my cup and making one of her own. “Hey, you want tea?” she calls toward the kitchen. I can hear Zev cracking eggs and whisking, and smile at my toast. I wish I could eat omelets; they smell so good, but egg yolks do terrible things to my belly, and really, I think I've done enough barfing lately.

“Thank you, but no, I have a cup of coffee here,” he replies, his voice carrying easily. “Perhaps after I have finished my run, later.”

Erin looks at me sharply, stirring a spoonful of honey into her tea. “He goes for a run?” she mouths, and I giggle again.

“You should watch,” I mouth back and gesture toward the window that faces the beach, nodding. She shakes her head, still disbelieving, but trying to wrap her head around it.

He enters, a plate balanced on a forearm, the other in his hand while sipping from his mug of coffee. “Ah, ladies, talking about me?” Zev’s expression is amused. “No doubt pointing and gesturing so I would not hear. Tch, cara, are you bragging?”

I laugh and blush, caught. “Heyyy, it’s girltalk. No boys allowed.”

“Hmm...” He passes a plate to Erin, then sits on the floor at my feet, using my legs as a backrest. “Shall I borrow one of your dresses then? To be sure, there is not much women talk about that I have not heard before in some form or another. Tch, even those women on about-- what was it? Boo-tux? Bo-taz? Bo-tox? We had similar things. Or their lovers, or their children, or the fact that they have a bunion or a yeast infection. Nothing new, but at least more interesting than men...”

Erin chokes on her tea a little, but recovers quickly, and I laugh. “Nooo... Don’t put on one of my dresses. You might look better in it than I do, and then I couldn’t bear to look at it again,” I tease, running my fingers through his hair to braid it back for him, noting how much longer it has gotten in the last year. No more little braids, just a thick one to pull back so it will stay out of his face for his workout.

Tucking in to her breakfast, Erin makes an appreciative mumble, finally coming up for air a few minutes later. “Oh my god, this is great, I haven’t had a good omelet in years. Germans do really bad things to eggs. Really bad.”

“Hmm, why not make your own?” Zev asks, neatly eating his breakfast. “I could show you how I make mine; fresh herbs and vegetables are the most important thing to have on hand, and milk; if you forget the milk it will surely turn into a gob of... something... that only Alistair would be able to eat. Not even Ponka would, so it is good that he went with Sten rather than our good Chantry boy, otherwise the poor beast would starve in no time. At least Seheron has good food.”

Erin laughs. “Awww... Seriously? He was that bad?” She shakes her head.

I snort. “That beast wouldn’t starve. Too many rabbits about.”

Zev casts a glance up at me. “Perhaps, but it was not your cooking that he was always begging for. It was Sten’s or mine, as he danced around, or laid his head on his paws, whining piteously as though he had not had a single scrap in weeks.”

Wow, here’s another one of those things I didn’t think about or write. All I can do is smile and shake my head, bemused.

Erin pokes at the last of her eggs, returning to her earlier theme. “I wish I had had time to cook. I work 18 hour shifts a lot. My apartment was someplace I went to sleep, and that was about it.”

“Ah.” Nodding once, Zev stretches a leg out as he sets his plate down, tipping his head back, eyes closed. I continue to run my hands over his forehead and now-braided hair, wishing I could smooth away some of the deep-carved stress-lines around his eyes, the ones that don’t crinkle when he smiles. “Still, you should not neglect yourself like that. We each have only one body; it is a resource to be husbanded.”

I laugh at the irony, dropping a kiss on his forehead, my fingers trailing down his cheeks. “Mmm... Then I guess it’s a good thing you decided we should be married,” I say, rubbing my cheek against the top of his head. I sit back, releasing him if he chooses to rise.

“Not the particular meaning I intended for the word, cara,” he says, snorting at me. He stands up smoothly and gathers the dishes. “However, I think I prefer the sweetness of your definition, though I’ve no wish to have a husband of my own. Men smell funny.”

Haha, he just quoted Captain Lydia; she said that to us at Halloween, by way of explaining why she can never settle down. “Yeah, I know. I can never get it out of the sheets,” I agree with him glibly, and he shoots me an eyeroll that makes me snort as he leaves to get ready for his morning exercises. I sip my tea, looking at Erin over the rim of my cup, and she looks thoroughly disgusted, but with good humour.

Muttering, he disappears into our bedroom. “I do not believe it is me who makes the bedding such a way...”

Knowing he will hear me, and also knowing that Erin will not realize he can, I say, in a normal tone, “Ah, but even then, entirely your fault.” Erin mock-gags.

I don’t know how he does it, I still don’t, but he’s changed so fast that he has time to quip, “I claim the fifth, or whatever it is your people say. Something about not giving self-incriminating evidence...?” Before I can retort, he is already out the back door and jogging away.

Erin is on her feet in a hot second, and follows him with her eyes, watching out the window. I know how fast he is, I know he looks like a cat on the leg when he runs like that, and I smile into my cup, finishing it off. “Oh my god!” she exclaims, finally turning back to me. “What the fuck??”

“Yeah, that’s what I said when I woke up in the morning. Fortunately, I didn’t say it out loud.” I may as well get it over with, while I know he’s not in the house. It doesn’t take too long to explain the circumstances of my strange life, since she’s already played the game through, herself, and she sits back, after all is said, staring at me, dazed.

“So, that’s it. You just... got obsessive and he showed up.” I can feel myself blushing, and bow my head.

“Well, when you put it that way, it sounds really pathetic, but... well, something happened, wouldn’t you say? Something quite real, actually.”

She shakes her head, unable to argue. “And you’re already havin’ a baby?”

“Heh. Let’s put it this way: if you were in my shoes, and it was Alipants who washed up out there, how long would it take you to get knocked up?”

Ah, and her blush says it all. “Fine. And don’t call him that!” She scowls at me, but can’t hold it. “So, then, why you, and not someone else?”

I shrug. “Ask the gods?”

She snorts. “Since when has that ever gotten anyone a direct answer?”

To this, I actually have a response. “Uh... November 11th, last year.” She arches an eyebrow, and I smile. “That’s our anniversary.”

Erin shakes her head again. “He’s not... what I was expecting.”

I cock my head. “How so?”

She waves her hands, gesturing vaguely, trying to come up with the right words. “He’s not very... assassin-y.”

I laugh. “What, he’s not like himself from the game, is that what you mean?” She nods, and I shake my head, looking down at my hands. “Of course he isn’t. This isn’t the Blight and there aren’t any Crows. He no longer has anything to run from, nor anything to fight. He spends the bulk of his time studying, and then he also likes sparring at the dojo or with the Barbarian Horde, hanging out with Jack, going to the park to play with the ‘childrens’, or doing stuff around here. He cooks, cleans, helps with hauling around my furniture and stuff, and takes care of me when I get sick or whatever. It’s a pretty quiet life.”

“‘Playing with the childrens’?”

I laugh, and tell her about the day he stopped that little boy from getting kidnapped. I fish out the newspaper clipping from between the pages of one of my Neil Gaiman books and hand it over. He doesn’t like fantasy, so I know he’ll never find it there. “They make him sound like a hero, but if you ask him about it, he says he just gave the kid back to his mother and called Jack to pick the guy up - no big deal. To a man who slew dragons, I suspect it really isn’t much of one.”

“He what?” She blinks at me.

“Well, that’s the thing, he’s definitely my Zev. Everything that happened in my game is what happened to him. So, though we’ve never talked about it, that means he killed both Flemeth and the Andraste dragon. Really, he was often my last man standing. I had Alistair and Wynne set to heal themselves and stuff, but I’d forget to heal myself, and fall. If I could keep Zev on his feet long enough, we always survived. He only got taken down a handful of times through the whole Blight - so few, that I remember them, actually.”

I tick them off on my fingers. “The first time, of course, when we met him, and then Orzammar was awful: there was the mage in that big room at the end of Jarvia’s thing - the only one to survive that was Alistair. Zev jumped in front of me and took a ballista bolt at Caridin’s Cross, protecting me from falling... that one was bad. He got crushed when we were swarmed by golems at Ortan Thaig... that one was much, much worse. What really breaks my heart sometimes is that I know this is where some of his scars come from. There was the revenant outside the Old Hermit’s camp in the Brecilian Forest - worst of all, that one was my fault, because I didn’t know what it was and we were low on poultices at the time. The ash wraith at Andraste’s temple handed us our asses, and... I’m forgetting one...”

“Our lovely mage with the impressive bosom had to revive me at that campsite.” Zev is leaning against the wall by the bookshelf. I jump half out of my skin, as he practically detaches from the wall, sauntering to rest his forearms on the back of ‘his’ chair, behind me. “One of the few times I have ever succumbed to something foul attempting to put me to sleep. Tch, sloppy. Rookie tricks.” He flicks his fingers dismissively. “For me to fall to something so amateur really and truly disgusts me. However, I was not down long; as I said, Wynne does have a magical bosom, and I had to rise to its call.”

I cover my face with both hands, embarrassed... no, mortified, really, that he heard me talking with my sister, that it had to be this of all things, and gods, Wynne and her boobs, I’ll never hear the end of them. At least this, if nothing else, will ‘sound like him’ enough that Erin may be convinced by now. Peering between my spread fingers at her, I see how pale she’s gone... maybe him just appearing out of the shadows and the paint is more eloquent than anything we might’ve said.

“I’m sorry, love, I try not to talk about it,” I mumble, looking back at him over my shoulder.

He snorts, leaning down to drop a kiss at my temple. “Think nothing of it, amora; it is nothing, but I do admit I am rather enamored of the idea that I may add ‘Dragonslaying Professional’ to my resume.” My Zev gives me another kiss, and slips an arm over the back of the chair to my stomach, touching my belly. “What do you think of your papi being a dragonslayer, my little Legume? Hmm? Has a nice ring to it, does it not? Perhaps we shall refer to me as ‘Draga’ instead of ‘dada’? Hmm? Would you like that? Sounds splendid to me...”

I laugh, pressing my face to the side of his neck as he leans down, and I hear Erin snort. “You guys are disgusting,” she says again, but I can hear the smile in her voice as she rises from the chair. Her footsteps head toward the kitchen.

Zev calls out, “You may wish to make use of some form of sound blocking device! I believe there may be a symphony tonight!”

Erin’s fake gagging is clearly audible from where we sit, and I laugh again. “Yeah, we’ve lived in the same house before - when she was a teenager. Ugh. I know,” she says. I blush and wince.

“Oh?” The arched eyebrow matches the wicked gleam in his eyes. He raises his voice again. “You may wish to make use of something in ten minutes! I give you fair warning! There are apparently past crimes I must seek restitution for!”

I look up to see Erin standing in the doorway to the kitchen with her hands on her hips. “Yeah. She was a slut.” She grins wickedly, turning away to grab her things. “And, uh, I think I suddenly remember I need to... go to the... library.” She beats a hasty retreat, her coat barely over her shoulders as the door swings shut behind her.

The sudden tension in Zev goes through the roof, and the temperature in the room plummets. I freeze in place, not sure which way he’s going to jump next. The back of the chair creaks in his grip before he sighs gustily.

“I do not like her calling you thus, cara mia.” His voice is suddenly low and gritty, and I can hear the menace he is struggling with.

I try to explain. “That’s just what she says... She always has. In our society, you know, a girl having more than one or two partners is really, really frowned on. She doesn’t mean anything by it...”

“And I have always been called ‘whoreson’,” he counters, his tone a frozen wasteland. “I do not care if she is family or not, you are the mother of my child, my wife; I will not tolerate such... crude disrespect to be shown, particularly not by a guest. For her to call you something that implies that you are dirty in any way, shape, or form, will be met with swift action.” The muscles tick in his jaw as he grinds out, “And if she calls you that again anywhere within my hearing, cara, or where our child may hear it, I will not be held accountable. Deal with it, or I will.”

I am shocked speechless for a moment. “I’m so used to this particular epithet, I never even thought about it. I’ve had enough partners to number in the double-digits - surely enough for most to say it warrants--”

His hand goes to my mouth, pushing my jaw closed, firmly, without being forceful, and I quail at the steel in his eyes. “And then what am I, Lily? Hmm? Filth? I have been with hundreds, perhaps even thousands. I cannot even remember when I stopped counting. I was maybe seventeen when I gave up, and that was decades ago.”

“But--,” I protest, mumbling into his hand, “That’s different... you’re a man. Women aren’t supposed to--”

Zev’s mouth sets into a hard line. “I have been with sixty partners in a single night. The only reason I remember that number exactly is because that was the first time it happened, and was rather novel - at the time, at least - and yes I ‘fucked’, ‘rutted’, ‘screwed’, ‘pounded’, or any other word you choose to put to it, like an animal. Every. Single. One. Of. Them. In a single night.” I can practically hear his teeth grinding. Gods, how is that even possible? Sixty? And he said, ‘the first time’, too. “But it is acceptable because I have a penis? I say that this is the biggest pile of bullshit, complete with flies and steam, that I have ever heard. You will not sit there and say such...” I shiver as I watch him struggle, searching, and then he simply curses, shocking me again. “Fucking filth about yourself, ever again, and if you continue to buy into it, I shall be sleeping outside until you figure out how to be an adult and a person rather than feel like a whore, because, my dear, you are not one.”

Oh my gods. All I can do is stare at him, even as I realize that Erin has heard most of this from the doorway; I can see her from the corner of my eye, caught in the act of trying to pull her purse down off the hall-tree, both of us equally stunned and pinned to the spot. Had I thought we’d had a fight before? Nooo... Apparently, I’ve only seen him mildly irritated. Annoyed, maybe. I never, ever, want to see this look in his eye again.

My silence is met with that flat look and since I’ve yet to speak he breaks my gaze, doesn’t even spare Erin a glance, and leaves the house through the back door.

“Hey, uh, I didn’t mean--”

I have to swallow twice before I can speak, but I cut her off. “Erin,” I rasp, “You probably want to wait until after dinner to come back.” Before I can really turn to look, she has gone, as well. With no one left as witness, I put my head down on my knees and cry.


1. Hamin, emma sa'lath - Relax, my one love [back to top]

huh... thought i had more elvish in this one. *shrugs* must be the next chapter. :p

Comments

[jannifer]

Poor Lily! I can understand Zev's point of view, though. Even though Sis may not mean anything by it, it's still not the kind of thing you call a woman in front of her husband/significant other. And that double standard thing? That can take a long walk off a short pier.

I can see that Lily and Zevran aren't out of the woods yet in terms of bumps in their relationship, even though I know it's solid. Can I tie Sis up in a bag and drown her? *evil grin*