if anyone is reading strength of the wolf, this is in the same world, just earlier. reviews if anyone wants me to continue this.
She lay sprawled under him, midnight black hair fanned out behind her like a raven's wing against the emerald of meadow grass. Those ocean eyes, green and blue with traces of grey, stared up at him, not with the fiery fury of justice he deserved, but with trust and genuine affection. Slim, gentle fingers caressed his cheek, traced the curved tattoos that lay from his brow to his jaw. "Troubled, Zev mio?" She asked quietly, turning her head to brush a kiss across the pulse in his wrist where his arms braced his torso above hers. He hesitated, and she blinked up at him in that long lashed, almost demure manner that had never failed to get his heart racing.
He leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers, closing his amber eyes against the concern in her tone, her gaze, somehow more painful than any of the fury he deserved from her would have been. "I miss you," he whispered, his usual sultry tones near cracking with remorse and grief. Fingers ran through his golden hair, untangling his braids by practiced feel alone, the way she always had given the chance. He sighed, settling his weight back to his knees in the soft grass as he ran experienced hands down her smooth skin, tracing the lines of tattoos and curves by memory alone.
She arched under his hands, curling a palm over his muscled shoulder to pull herself up, pressing her lips against his. The kiss lingered, until he opened his eyes, saw the sudden mischief dance into her gaze before she flipped them. He let her roll him onto the soft grass, pinning him lightly while she nibbled her way down honey tanned skin. "I'm here now," was her reply, and he let himself return the slightly wicked smile she gave him.
She moved lower, and he tipped his head back under the onslaught of sensations. "Rinna, amore..." He buried his fingers into the thick, silken wealth of her dark hair, and she grinned up at him, nuzzling against his skin. And, oh that smile, and that wicked mouth of hers…
A boot thudded into his ribs hard enough to make him wheeze, and the meadow vanished, his lover with it. He woke in a thin bedroll near a dying fire, the cold Ferelden wind blowing straight through the leathers he hadn't bothered to remove last night. The wind brought with it the unmistakable scents of damp muddy dog and Alistair's attempt at porridge. "Another dream," he muttered to himself as he rose to salvage what was left of breakfast, "just another dream."
Every night since they had left that cursed tower, he had dreamed of her. She had found him after the warden had broken the fade dream of his training days, when he lay sprawled in emptiness. He had expected anger, insults, reproach, any of the things avenging spirits are supposed to bring. Instead she had merely seated herself next to him, wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held him close, whispering sweet, soothing Antivan nothings against his neck. She had stayed until the emptiness had shimmered around them, then vanished with a last kiss to his cheek before the fade had dropped him into the battle with the demon.
And every night since, he had dreamed of her. Always Rinna as she had been, alive, affectionate, full of the wicked mischief he was delighted to encourage. He could almost imagine how it might have been if she had lived, if she had somehow come with him to this dog scented wasteland. His Rinna, gossiping about fashion with the bard and teasing poor Alistair into a fit while being scolded by Wynne. He missed her, he thought, more than he could ever have thought possible. Every now and then, he saw something, heard some humorous tale or argument, and wished he could tell it to her. No one here ever listened to his stories, however ridiculous, or laughed at his wit and jokes. Not like she had. The novelty of traveling, of fighting the blight and doing great things, paled without a like mind to share all of it with.
He dragged the pot of burnt sludge that the chantry boy had attempted to pass off as breakfast to the river, dumping the contents out for whatever wild creatures could stomach it. Considering that even the dog had sniffed at his bowl once and walked away in disgust, he wondered briefly what sort of desperate scavenger would try it. Rinna would have joked about crows being scavengers normally, he thought, and leaned against a large stone wolf statue amid the stony river bank. For a moment, the assassin wished desperately that she was here with him, wished he had a second chance. He set to scrubbing the scorched iron pot a moment later, already cursing himself for that level of weakness. She was dead. Dead at Taliesen's hands, corpse dumped still bleeding into a shallow ditch. And nothing he could do would ever bring her back.
Heavy footsteps sounded behind him, and he restrained himself from flinching as an armored hand settled on his hip, the other scruffing at his hair in a gesture probably intended as a form of rough affection. "It's just adorable when you're being domestic," came the drawling comment.
"Ah, my warden. Come to help me deal with your warden brother's culinary disaster?" Zevran asked, forcing his tone into cheery nonchalance.
"It seems you have that well under hand. But if you'd care to take a break…" The tall human asked, eying the elf hungrily.
"I should likely get this done before it finishes congealing into an immovable mass." Zevran deflected, pulling out of reach, unconsciously holding the pot between them like a shield. "And is not the charming Leliana awaiting you back in camp?"
"She always wants to complicate things. Besides, what she doesn't know won't hurt her." Aedan Cousland smiled predatorily at the assassin before him. "I'll be fast about it so you can get back to pot scubbing, Zev."
The warden's tone said order, not request, so Zevran reluctantly allowed himself to be led farther out into the woods, and fell to his knees as a hand worked impatiently at his belt. "I don't suppose you brought any form of oil with you?" he asked diffidently, hoping for some sort of lubrication beyond the usual saliva.
As expected, the warden's only response was a derisive snort. Zevran braced himself, head on his forearms, and focused on relaxing himself enough to prevent actual damage. He hissed a little under his breath at the burn as Aedan entered, at the harsh grip on hips that still wore fingertip bruises from the last session. It was, as the man had promised, fast, at least. He left him there in the dirt with one last thrust and a pat on the head.
Zevran stayed crouched in the dirt, waiting to haul himself painfully back up to his feet until the warden was out of sight. No sense letting him see exactly how much damage had been done. He walked back, most of the visible limp gone by the time reached the river. When he had rinsed as much of the evidence off as he could, he returned to scrubbing. Perhaps it was better he was alone here, he thought with a wince. Given Aedan's proclivities regarding those in vulnerable positions, especially elves, the idea of what the warden would do if Rinna was within his reach as well was disturbing.
"I didn't think it had gotten that burnt," Alistair asked from the edge of camp. "Would you like some help?"
"I've mostly got it now but thank you for the offer." Ah, Alistair. Always the helpful and sweet soul. "I believe I have offered to take on the entirety of the cooking, no?"
"I'm not always that bad at it!" he protested. Zev merely arched one eyebrow at the claim, and Alistair blushed. "I.. Well, um," he searched for a way to change the subject. "Leliana was looking for Aedan earlier, have you seen him?" Zev flinched at the name before carefully schooling himself back to nonchalance.
"He came by to… speak with me not long ago, but I assumed he had returned to camp." Zevran sighed as a thought occurred to him. "Has she checked by Morrigan's little den of solitude?"
"Huh. Why would he be out there with…" Alistair saw the familiar weary must –I- explain- this- look on the assassin's face and blinked. "Oh. Oohhhh. Um, well, I'll go tell her I couldn't find him."
The chantry boy had vanished quickly after that, leaving Zevran to drag the scrubbed pot back to camp and set about a suitable lunch. Aedan had wandered back into camp some time later, unsurprisingly indeed from the direction of the apostate's tent, and announced that they would head further into the forest the next day to search for the Dalish.
Zevran spent the rest of the day trying to subtly keep out of the warden's sight, easy enough as the noble decided to spend his day wrapping the bard around his fingers. The rumors of grey warden stamina fell far short of the real thing, if Aedan's appetites were anything to go by. But then, if he was amusing himself with the ladies, Zevran could actually get something accomplished today without begging a poultice off Wynne.
He had managed to get his armor patched and oiled and was settled next to the fire patiently polishing out the nicks in his daggers when Alistair sat on the log next to him. "Something wrong, my friend?"
"Oh, nothing really. It's just, you know…" Alistair sighed. "How can he do that?"
"I assume by that you mean Aedan and his dalliance with both our charming young female companions." Zevran responded, not bothering to look up from his blades. He caught the reflection of the ex-templar's shy nod in the polish of his newest dagger anyway, and shrugged, wiping the blade down carefully with an oiled cloth. "Short answer? Because he can. Our large noble friend believes he is entiltled to anything he desires. I have dealt with many of his temperament in Antiva. Add warden stamina to his appetites…."
Alistair had gone bright red listening to the explanation. "What can I do about it? I mean… he killed lady Isolde for blood magic, he nearly had the circle annulled after we went through to save everyone, he threatened the reverend mother back in lothering… He's out of control! There has to be something…" Zevran was watching him with a look that hovered somewhere between pain and amusement.
"There are only two ways to deal with charmers like our Aedan. Become scarier or more powerful than they, and force them to listen, or stay out of their way and hope you don't become either an annoyance or a desire to them." Zevran rose, tucking his weapons back into their usual places as he stalked off.
Aedan seated himself next to the assassin at dinner, a giggling bard sprawled over his lap. "Care to join us, Zev?" He asked, his eyes flickering over the elf's polished armor. Leliana protested this idea loudly in a flustered voice, swatting at the warden's shoulder, making him laugh.
Zevran forced an amused smile. "Perhaps another time, my dear warden. I believe I will take myself off to bed early enough to claim one of the tents tonight. The wind is growing chill this time of year." He rose to leave, only to have a large glass bottle pressed into his fingers. "What is this?"
"Bodahn said it was Antivan brandy. Figured you might like it. Consider it a belated feast day present. Or a reward for being a good… companion." Aedan returned his attention to the woman on his lap, the elf forgotten in temporary favor of softer things.
Zevran sighed at the warden's lack of subtlety, but uncorked the bottle enough to sniff the contents. Ahhh. Good antivan brandy, at that. He took a careful sip, letting the flavors play over his tongue. "Good night then, my friends, and may you have as good of dreams as I intend to." He took a larger swallow, and retired to his tent, sipping at the brandy musingly as he waited for sleep.
He dreamed of Antiva, and the tiny apartment Rinna and he had shared before her death. She was curled, seemingly asleep under a thin blanket on their bed, the light through the curtained window playing over the tattoos on her face. He carefully shed his armor and arranged himself next to her, tracing the inked butterfly shaped mask across her cheekbones and eyes with feather light touches.
"mmmm? Back already, Zev mio?" she slid out of sleep with deliberate slowness, leaning back into him.
"Si, amore." He kissed along her neck, pushing the long silken mass of her hair out of the way. "I have missed you, my pretty minx."
"Good," she laughed, then turned back to him, running her fingers through his hair as she kissed him. "I've missed you too, Zev." She admitted quietly, when they paused for air.
He kissed her again, then settled his weight above her. "Ahh, Bella, but let me show you just how much I have missed you."
An Antivan night passed far too swiftly, remembering and relearning the joys found with his lover. The golden light of early morning slitted through the windows, finding them curled happily together, Rinna's head pillowed on his shoulder. "Zev mio?" she asked sleepily, snuggling even closer.
"Yes? What is it, minx?"
"Even if you don't care, it was still true. You know that, right?"
Before he could think of an answer, he woke, to a barking mabari and a cold Ferelden dawn.