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peopleofthedas2011-08-19 10:52 am
msbarrows) wrote in peopleofthedas2011-08-19 10:52 am
Bonds of Brotherhood - Chapter 6
The closest there'll ever likely be to a tender scene between the two Crows.
Title: Bonds of Brotherhood - Chapter 6 (Weapon Care)
Characters: Zevran/Taliesen
Rating: M (T this chapter)
Word Count: 940
Summary: Taliesen caring for a wounded Zevran.
"Other wrist," Taliesen said.
Zevran silently changed hands, letting his left hand drop into his lap, holding the right one out and resting it on the corner of the table. Taliesen scooped up a little more salve on his fingertips, and gently rubbed it into the abraded flesh of Zevran's wrist, then wrapped a strip of bandage around to protect the raw skin.
The elf, he noted, was actually being quiet for once; normally it seemed as if you couldn't shut him up short of a direct order or clubbing him over the head, except for when he was working. His adventure of the night before seemed to have left him unusually subdued. Perhaps it was because he'd come so close to being killed; perhaps it was just exhaustion.
It had taken them a while to clean up the carriage well enough that Taliesen was satisfied there was no evidence left as to just what the mage bitch had been up to in there, or at least with who. And then he'd done his best to make it took as if the guard and the driver had fled in a panic after she'd died, and he and Zevran had carted the bodies on horseback well away from the camp, hiding the trail as best they could in running water and over trackless rock before pitching them down a cliff into the bay. With luck they'd never be found, or if found, never identified.
The elf was in pretty rough shape by then; but mere pain and non-debilitating injury wouldn't impede someone who'd been through Edelbach's training, as Taliesen well knew. They'd ridden on, until they'd stumbled across this remote shepherd's hut. He'd had to help the elf down from the horse and half-carry him inside, much to his annoyance. It was almost enough to make him wish he hadn't indulged himself before freeing him. Almost.
"Foot," he said brusquely.
Zevran tried to raise his left foot as far as the table top, but couldn't quite make it, leg wavering to a stop half-way up. Taliesen caught him by the shin, then stripped off his boot, feeling the elf tense in discomfort as he drew it off. He frowned over the torn flesh; the friction of the boot while riding had prevented it from scabbing over, and Zevran's ankle and foot was liberally streaked and smeared with blood. He muttered a curse. "That will need washing," he declared, and rose to his feet, letting the foot drop back to the floor. He poked around, but couldn't find anything to carry water in, and had to settle for carrying several clothes outside and dipping them in a stream that passed near the hut, then hurrying back.
Zevran was sitting slumped in the chair, head back and eyes closed, though they opened and he looked around to see who it was as soon as Taliesen entered. Taliesen dropped the sopping clothes on the table, then sat down again, holding out his hand. Zevran lifted his foot again, and Taliesen cleaned it off, before salving and bandaging it as well.
"Bites next," he said. "Don't want those going septic."
Zevran nodded tiredly, and sat forward in the chair, reaching up and beginning to unfasten his armour. He got it undone, then had difficulty stripping it off, arms stiff and sore from being restrained for so long. Taliesen sighed and rose to his feet, roughly yanking the top free and tossing it aside, frowning at the marks all over Zevran's shoulders and torso. Bruises, scratches, bites... neither the mage nor he had been particularly gentle with the elf. He picked up another cloth and gently cleaned Zevran's skin, frown deepening as he saw that several of the bites were already looking reddened and inflamed. He wished he'd packed more in the way of healing supplies; he had just enough salve left to treat the worst of the bites, then he'd be out until they got back to Antiva City. He'd just have to hope the elf was up to riding again once he'd rested, that he wouldn't sicken. It would be both inconvenient and dangerous to have to go looking for a healer so close to where a mage had 'accidentally' died; the less reason the Circle had to question her death, the better for everyone. Not that he thought they'd put too much effort into investigating her death - the leaders of the Circle were pragmatic enough about these things that they'd likely be just as happy to ignore any but the most blatant of evidence that the Crows had been involved. But there was still no sense in leaving any particular evidence around that they'd ever even been in the area.
Besides, the nature of Zevran's injuries were... personally embarrassing. To the elf, and to him. Better if no one but they knew of what had really occurred in that carriage. He'd just have to continue looking after the elf himself, as needed. Really, it was no different then maintaining a weapon. And that's what Zevran was, after all – a weapon, one he controlled. With that thought in mind, he found it easier to maintain his own disinterest as he finished stripping and tending the elf, and saw him to bed, wrapped in the one dusty blanket the hut had yielded, his clothing bundled under his head for a pillow.
He still didn't like the creature, but at least there were benefits to himself from their partnership.
Title: Bonds of Brotherhood - Chapter 6 (Weapon Care)
Characters: Zevran/Taliesen
Rating: M (T this chapter)
Word Count: 940
Summary: Taliesen caring for a wounded Zevran.
"Other wrist," Taliesen said.
Zevran silently changed hands, letting his left hand drop into his lap, holding the right one out and resting it on the corner of the table. Taliesen scooped up a little more salve on his fingertips, and gently rubbed it into the abraded flesh of Zevran's wrist, then wrapped a strip of bandage around to protect the raw skin.
The elf, he noted, was actually being quiet for once; normally it seemed as if you couldn't shut him up short of a direct order or clubbing him over the head, except for when he was working. His adventure of the night before seemed to have left him unusually subdued. Perhaps it was because he'd come so close to being killed; perhaps it was just exhaustion.
It had taken them a while to clean up the carriage well enough that Taliesen was satisfied there was no evidence left as to just what the mage bitch had been up to in there, or at least with who. And then he'd done his best to make it took as if the guard and the driver had fled in a panic after she'd died, and he and Zevran had carted the bodies on horseback well away from the camp, hiding the trail as best they could in running water and over trackless rock before pitching them down a cliff into the bay. With luck they'd never be found, or if found, never identified.
The elf was in pretty rough shape by then; but mere pain and non-debilitating injury wouldn't impede someone who'd been through Edelbach's training, as Taliesen well knew. They'd ridden on, until they'd stumbled across this remote shepherd's hut. He'd had to help the elf down from the horse and half-carry him inside, much to his annoyance. It was almost enough to make him wish he hadn't indulged himself before freeing him. Almost.
"Foot," he said brusquely.
Zevran tried to raise his left foot as far as the table top, but couldn't quite make it, leg wavering to a stop half-way up. Taliesen caught him by the shin, then stripped off his boot, feeling the elf tense in discomfort as he drew it off. He frowned over the torn flesh; the friction of the boot while riding had prevented it from scabbing over, and Zevran's ankle and foot was liberally streaked and smeared with blood. He muttered a curse. "That will need washing," he declared, and rose to his feet, letting the foot drop back to the floor. He poked around, but couldn't find anything to carry water in, and had to settle for carrying several clothes outside and dipping them in a stream that passed near the hut, then hurrying back.
Zevran was sitting slumped in the chair, head back and eyes closed, though they opened and he looked around to see who it was as soon as Taliesen entered. Taliesen dropped the sopping clothes on the table, then sat down again, holding out his hand. Zevran lifted his foot again, and Taliesen cleaned it off, before salving and bandaging it as well.
"Bites next," he said. "Don't want those going septic."
Zevran nodded tiredly, and sat forward in the chair, reaching up and beginning to unfasten his armour. He got it undone, then had difficulty stripping it off, arms stiff and sore from being restrained for so long. Taliesen sighed and rose to his feet, roughly yanking the top free and tossing it aside, frowning at the marks all over Zevran's shoulders and torso. Bruises, scratches, bites... neither the mage nor he had been particularly gentle with the elf. He picked up another cloth and gently cleaned Zevran's skin, frown deepening as he saw that several of the bites were already looking reddened and inflamed. He wished he'd packed more in the way of healing supplies; he had just enough salve left to treat the worst of the bites, then he'd be out until they got back to Antiva City. He'd just have to hope the elf was up to riding again once he'd rested, that he wouldn't sicken. It would be both inconvenient and dangerous to have to go looking for a healer so close to where a mage had 'accidentally' died; the less reason the Circle had to question her death, the better for everyone. Not that he thought they'd put too much effort into investigating her death - the leaders of the Circle were pragmatic enough about these things that they'd likely be just as happy to ignore any but the most blatant of evidence that the Crows had been involved. But there was still no sense in leaving any particular evidence around that they'd ever even been in the area.
Besides, the nature of Zevran's injuries were... personally embarrassing. To the elf, and to him. Better if no one but they knew of what had really occurred in that carriage. He'd just have to continue looking after the elf himself, as needed. Really, it was no different then maintaining a weapon. And that's what Zevran was, after all – a weapon, one he controlled. With that thought in mind, he found it easier to maintain his own disinterest as he finished stripping and tending the elf, and saw him to bed, wrapped in the one dusty blanket the hut had yielded, his clothing bundled under his head for a pillow.
He still didn't like the creature, but at least there were benefits to himself from their partnership.