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peopleofthedas2011-05-01 01:06 pm
1smut_princess) wrote in peopleofthedas2011-05-01 01:06 pm
Ficlet: Restless Confusion and Silent Vows 1/1 K
Title: Restless Confusion and Silent Vows
Author: Rhion
Rating: K
Disclaimer: Me no own, you no sue
AN: Filled for kmeme prompt,
F!Warden is stressed out and tired and ends up falling asleep on Zevran.
Cue Zevran dealing with impossible feelings of tenderness and freaking out about them. Didn’t mean to do it, but saw it and instantly felted compelled to fill it. Blah.
Warnings: Sugar, sugar, sugar. But they are alone, and there’s no one to see.
XXX
They were alone on watch, but for Ser Prize who had provided his heavily muscled flank as a backrest. Though the mabari was asleep, he was no less alert. It was something the assassin could appreciate, because he himself was failing in his post this evening, for his attention was focused elsewhere. Namely on Tylah Tabris, who normally would be the first up, and the last asleep. Cinnamon brown hair was drawn back into two small tails at the nape of her neck, raggedly cut with a dull knife it seemed. Sometimes he wondered what it had been like, what she had been like before becoming a Warden. There was a story there, one he hoped she might share with him, one that might explain the reason why she was always so aloof. Perhaps at one point those short, stubby tails of hair had been long, framing her face and softening its edges.
Under most circumstances he had to be more roundabout in his appraisal of their erstwhile leader. This night though, this night, when she had sat by him, probing questions, listening intently - she had fallen asleep. Sleep was a rare commodity for Wardens, this he knew from watching both Alistair and Tylah, and sleep was a rare commodity for Tylah herself. So when he had caught her eyes blinking sleepily, he had turned his voice softer, soothing, speaking of the water gardens, and the songs the fountains sang, tinkling and burbling in the gardens of Antiva City. He had spoken of the carved stone butterflies and birds that were placed ingeniously over and around flowerbeds and bushes so that they looked like real creatures, rather than stone. Of figs and dates and citrus on the warm breezes, dancing as they did. To those images and his voice she had slipped into slumber, her head sliding onto his shoulder.
Gently, Zevran scooted, lowering her so that she could lay her cheek on his thigh, and adjusted her cloak into a blanket as she curled up beside him in a kittenish ball. It was funny, the wary young woman fell asleep with one of the people who was most dangerous in their camp, as though it were nothing. He wasn't entirely sure when it had happened, when his thoughts on getting her alone had gone from ideas of how to carry out his contract, to lust, to this.
Whatever this was.
Stroking her cheek with a calloused thumb, Zevran stared, unabashedly, without heat, at the way her face relaxed and crinkled as dreams flittered behind those closed lids. Careful to not disturb her, the assassin unwound the leather thongs that held her hair back, smoothing the chopped locks around her face. When he was finished, he saw a glimpse of the girl, the woman, and all absence of the Warden. There was something about this moment that made his insides lurch, a pain that was sweet. If he were a more poetic sort, he would think that it could be love. But he was born in a brothel, raised on blood and death, a killer from the very moment of birth - what would he know, let alone understand, about love?
And yet....
And yet, no matter that in battle she assigned him tasks, and tactics to use, more often than not he broke them. He didn't care that the others always listened, always did as she commanded. He couldn't. Not when ogres bore down on her, not when Flemeth had reared her ugly head, ready to spit flame. Each time he would shove her aside, or dance into the path of danger, taunting or taking the brunt, no matter his thin leathers. He would run into the damage, instead of rolling away from the blows. How many times had Wynne had to heal huge rents in his flesh? How many sets of armor had he gone through or had to repair time and again? Zevran couldn't stop himself, and wasn't sure he even wanted to.
Sighing, he traced a scar that was on her brow, wishing he could smooth it away. Wishing he had been there to stop whatever had caused it. The bards and poets claimed love was some huge thing that made it impossible to breathe and filled one with joy. That couldn't be what he was feeling, for it was terror he felt, terror at every grunt or growl of darkspawn, at the mere thought of anything seeking to lay a mark on her. Tylah was to be protected, and yet she was a more than capable fighter herself. There was no reason, at least not logically, for him to do what he did in his crazed attempts to guard her. She wore heavy chain, she wielded axes and huge swords that even made Sten look small in comparison.
It didn't change the fact that he would do anything to keep her from harm. Just to have a chance to see her sleep peacefully like this. Zevran was confused, and had been since she spared his life, as from day one she had merely accepted his word and presence, putting few restrictions on him. This was the freest he had ever been in his whole life, and at the same time he was chained. Chained to the sleeping body that slept so trustingly beside him.
Licking his lips, Zevran leaned down awkwardly, and lay a kiss on the corner of Tylah's jaw. In her sleep, she let out a soft sigh, rubbing her face over his thigh, hand wrapping over his knee. Perhaps he would find the courage to ask her what it was he was feeling. But last time he had felt even a shadow of the riot that was currently going on inside him, someone had died. Zevran vowed that he would take his own life before he'd allow that to happen again. That much he could do, that much he could understand.
He had made too much noise, crowded her too much he realized, as Tylah yawned, snuffling as she twisted, rubbing her nose into his leg. "Mmmn?"
"Shh, rest my Warden," whispering near her ear.
"Zev...?" mumbling as she rolled over, blinking large, soft gray eyes up at him. "I fell asleep?" Tylah asked him, beginning to sit up.
"Shh, it is alright." Zevran tried to push her shoulder down, urging her to return to her slumber.
Tylah frowned up at him, and he knew his thoughts were plain to see on his face. "What's wrong?"
Forcing himself to smile, he shook his head. "It is nothing my fair Warden."
Calloused fingers, rough pads moved to his cheek, touching him lightly. "No, tell me what's wrong."
Grabbing her hand, he pressed a quick, daring kiss to her palm. "As I said, it is nothing. I have merely been thinking, as you rested."
"Dark thoughts - I'm sorry I left you alone with them." He allowed her to finish sitting up, and he was grateful she ignored his presumption of helping her rise more easily. "You were telling me about Antiva, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to stir up bad memories."
Snorting faintly at the idea that talking about Antiva had stirred him up, Zevran shook his head, letting his hand linger on the small of her back. "Again, I say it was nothing. Please, cease worrying over such trivial matters as a few memories."
Her lips pursed in a fashion that Zevran had found most endearing, and enticing. Each time she did it, all he wanted to do was taste them, to see if they were flavored like the raspberries they so resembled. And as alone as they were, with her looking at him like that, a worried little knot crinkling her brow - it took a monumental effort to resist the urge.
"But I do worry." Tylah's hand was warm as she pressed her palm to his cheek. "You've had so many bad things...." she stopped, blushing, as she probably realized what she had just said, what she had just done.
"Ah, it's not so bad, life isn't all about doom and gloom my dear, there are good moments and bad ones," demurring as he sought to quash her obvious discomfort. "Especially right now - I am beholden to a kind, compassionate as well as lovely sex goddess."
Tylah rolled her eyes at him and leaned away, breaking the spell. "Lovely is it now? Really?"
Grabbing her hand again, Zevran felt an upwelling of panic, not wishing to push her away, not willing to give up. "Lovely yes, beautiful, you glow. Surely you are aware that when you smile everything lights up?"
She gave him an odd look, uncertainty written over her face. "Now you're mocking me."
"No, no I do not mock, I do not jest, not in this, dear Tylah," licking his lips nervously as he spouted off such nonsense.
The Warden's eyes snapped onto his face at the use of her name. "You think so?"
"Yes, I think so, I know so." He squeezed her strong hand between his, feeling every inch the fool, but wanting her to not discount her effect on him.
"Do you stare at everyone like this?"
"No," answering simply, any flippant reply fleeing under the intensity of her gaze. "Just you."
"Why?" Confusion, earnestness, that flash of pain that was sometimes in her expression, well hidden, but he always saw it.
Swallowing, he forced a smile. "Because you are worth looking at. Is that so strange? I can stop if you wish, though it would be most difficult."
"No, no it's-it's nice, I kind of like it," the brash Warden was long gone, and all that was beside him was Tylah. A 'simple' Alienage girl.
Zevran liked that, and wanted more. Hoped he had a chance to have more. To earn more, no matter the riot of confusion. But whatever it took, Zevran would do anything to have more moments like this, to be allowed to see Tylah, and not just the Warden Tylah. However he would have to ease off, not chase her away. Releasing her hand with great reluctance, Zevran spun a yarn, telling stories of Antiva. They may not have all the time in the world, but they had enough time for him to go slowly. And maybe the bands that were crushing his chest would ease up at some point. For now, he would do his best to give her a person to just be Tylah with.
And he could try to be just Zevran for once.
Author: Rhion
Rating: K
Disclaimer: Me no own, you no sue
AN: Filled for kmeme prompt,
F!Warden is stressed out and tired and ends up falling asleep on Zevran.
Cue Zevran dealing with impossible feelings of tenderness and freaking out about them. Didn’t mean to do it, but saw it and instantly felted compelled to fill it. Blah.
Warnings: Sugar, sugar, sugar. But they are alone, and there’s no one to see.
XXX
They were alone on watch, but for Ser Prize who had provided his heavily muscled flank as a backrest. Though the mabari was asleep, he was no less alert. It was something the assassin could appreciate, because he himself was failing in his post this evening, for his attention was focused elsewhere. Namely on Tylah Tabris, who normally would be the first up, and the last asleep. Cinnamon brown hair was drawn back into two small tails at the nape of her neck, raggedly cut with a dull knife it seemed. Sometimes he wondered what it had been like, what she had been like before becoming a Warden. There was a story there, one he hoped she might share with him, one that might explain the reason why she was always so aloof. Perhaps at one point those short, stubby tails of hair had been long, framing her face and softening its edges.
Under most circumstances he had to be more roundabout in his appraisal of their erstwhile leader. This night though, this night, when she had sat by him, probing questions, listening intently - she had fallen asleep. Sleep was a rare commodity for Wardens, this he knew from watching both Alistair and Tylah, and sleep was a rare commodity for Tylah herself. So when he had caught her eyes blinking sleepily, he had turned his voice softer, soothing, speaking of the water gardens, and the songs the fountains sang, tinkling and burbling in the gardens of Antiva City. He had spoken of the carved stone butterflies and birds that were placed ingeniously over and around flowerbeds and bushes so that they looked like real creatures, rather than stone. Of figs and dates and citrus on the warm breezes, dancing as they did. To those images and his voice she had slipped into slumber, her head sliding onto his shoulder.
Gently, Zevran scooted, lowering her so that she could lay her cheek on his thigh, and adjusted her cloak into a blanket as she curled up beside him in a kittenish ball. It was funny, the wary young woman fell asleep with one of the people who was most dangerous in their camp, as though it were nothing. He wasn't entirely sure when it had happened, when his thoughts on getting her alone had gone from ideas of how to carry out his contract, to lust, to this.
Whatever this was.
Stroking her cheek with a calloused thumb, Zevran stared, unabashedly, without heat, at the way her face relaxed and crinkled as dreams flittered behind those closed lids. Careful to not disturb her, the assassin unwound the leather thongs that held her hair back, smoothing the chopped locks around her face. When he was finished, he saw a glimpse of the girl, the woman, and all absence of the Warden. There was something about this moment that made his insides lurch, a pain that was sweet. If he were a more poetic sort, he would think that it could be love. But he was born in a brothel, raised on blood and death, a killer from the very moment of birth - what would he know, let alone understand, about love?
And yet....
And yet, no matter that in battle she assigned him tasks, and tactics to use, more often than not he broke them. He didn't care that the others always listened, always did as she commanded. He couldn't. Not when ogres bore down on her, not when Flemeth had reared her ugly head, ready to spit flame. Each time he would shove her aside, or dance into the path of danger, taunting or taking the brunt, no matter his thin leathers. He would run into the damage, instead of rolling away from the blows. How many times had Wynne had to heal huge rents in his flesh? How many sets of armor had he gone through or had to repair time and again? Zevran couldn't stop himself, and wasn't sure he even wanted to.
Sighing, he traced a scar that was on her brow, wishing he could smooth it away. Wishing he had been there to stop whatever had caused it. The bards and poets claimed love was some huge thing that made it impossible to breathe and filled one with joy. That couldn't be what he was feeling, for it was terror he felt, terror at every grunt or growl of darkspawn, at the mere thought of anything seeking to lay a mark on her. Tylah was to be protected, and yet she was a more than capable fighter herself. There was no reason, at least not logically, for him to do what he did in his crazed attempts to guard her. She wore heavy chain, she wielded axes and huge swords that even made Sten look small in comparison.
It didn't change the fact that he would do anything to keep her from harm. Just to have a chance to see her sleep peacefully like this. Zevran was confused, and had been since she spared his life, as from day one she had merely accepted his word and presence, putting few restrictions on him. This was the freest he had ever been in his whole life, and at the same time he was chained. Chained to the sleeping body that slept so trustingly beside him.
Licking his lips, Zevran leaned down awkwardly, and lay a kiss on the corner of Tylah's jaw. In her sleep, she let out a soft sigh, rubbing her face over his thigh, hand wrapping over his knee. Perhaps he would find the courage to ask her what it was he was feeling. But last time he had felt even a shadow of the riot that was currently going on inside him, someone had died. Zevran vowed that he would take his own life before he'd allow that to happen again. That much he could do, that much he could understand.
He had made too much noise, crowded her too much he realized, as Tylah yawned, snuffling as she twisted, rubbing her nose into his leg. "Mmmn?"
"Shh, rest my Warden," whispering near her ear.
"Zev...?" mumbling as she rolled over, blinking large, soft gray eyes up at him. "I fell asleep?" Tylah asked him, beginning to sit up.
"Shh, it is alright." Zevran tried to push her shoulder down, urging her to return to her slumber.
Tylah frowned up at him, and he knew his thoughts were plain to see on his face. "What's wrong?"
Forcing himself to smile, he shook his head. "It is nothing my fair Warden."
Calloused fingers, rough pads moved to his cheek, touching him lightly. "No, tell me what's wrong."
Grabbing her hand, he pressed a quick, daring kiss to her palm. "As I said, it is nothing. I have merely been thinking, as you rested."
"Dark thoughts - I'm sorry I left you alone with them." He allowed her to finish sitting up, and he was grateful she ignored his presumption of helping her rise more easily. "You were telling me about Antiva, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to stir up bad memories."
Snorting faintly at the idea that talking about Antiva had stirred him up, Zevran shook his head, letting his hand linger on the small of her back. "Again, I say it was nothing. Please, cease worrying over such trivial matters as a few memories."
Her lips pursed in a fashion that Zevran had found most endearing, and enticing. Each time she did it, all he wanted to do was taste them, to see if they were flavored like the raspberries they so resembled. And as alone as they were, with her looking at him like that, a worried little knot crinkling her brow - it took a monumental effort to resist the urge.
"But I do worry." Tylah's hand was warm as she pressed her palm to his cheek. "You've had so many bad things...." she stopped, blushing, as she probably realized what she had just said, what she had just done.
"Ah, it's not so bad, life isn't all about doom and gloom my dear, there are good moments and bad ones," demurring as he sought to quash her obvious discomfort. "Especially right now - I am beholden to a kind, compassionate as well as lovely sex goddess."
Tylah rolled her eyes at him and leaned away, breaking the spell. "Lovely is it now? Really?"
Grabbing her hand again, Zevran felt an upwelling of panic, not wishing to push her away, not willing to give up. "Lovely yes, beautiful, you glow. Surely you are aware that when you smile everything lights up?"
She gave him an odd look, uncertainty written over her face. "Now you're mocking me."
"No, no I do not mock, I do not jest, not in this, dear Tylah," licking his lips nervously as he spouted off such nonsense.
The Warden's eyes snapped onto his face at the use of her name. "You think so?"
"Yes, I think so, I know so." He squeezed her strong hand between his, feeling every inch the fool, but wanting her to not discount her effect on him.
"Do you stare at everyone like this?"
"No," answering simply, any flippant reply fleeing under the intensity of her gaze. "Just you."
"Why?" Confusion, earnestness, that flash of pain that was sometimes in her expression, well hidden, but he always saw it.
Swallowing, he forced a smile. "Because you are worth looking at. Is that so strange? I can stop if you wish, though it would be most difficult."
"No, no it's-it's nice, I kind of like it," the brash Warden was long gone, and all that was beside him was Tylah. A 'simple' Alienage girl.
Zevran liked that, and wanted more. Hoped he had a chance to have more. To earn more, no matter the riot of confusion. But whatever it took, Zevran would do anything to have more moments like this, to be allowed to see Tylah, and not just the Warden Tylah. However he would have to ease off, not chase her away. Releasing her hand with great reluctance, Zevran spun a yarn, telling stories of Antiva. They may not have all the time in the world, but they had enough time for him to go slowly. And maybe the bands that were crushing his chest would ease up at some point. For now, he would do his best to give her a person to just be Tylah with.
And he could try to be just Zevran for once.