The door to Alistair's suite within Redcliffe's castle shut curtly behind her, and as it did, she covered her pale lips with trembling fingers to repress the bile which threatened to spew from her to withstand the weight of her body, her trembling knees buckled and she topped into a sloppy mess against the mahogany door. In order to avoid spewing the contents of her dinner on to the lush carpet, she tucked her head between her knees and took deep, even breaths. Her wispy blonde hair fell strand by strand from the messy bun and onto her cheeks.
Death to a Grey Warden such as herself should not cause her hands to tremble so. She was a shame to the order. By drinking the contents of the blighted blood at Ostagar, she committed herself fully to the destruction of the Archdemon and thus, effectively signing her death warrant. After traveling into the bowels of the Deep Roads; concluding the feud between the elves and wolves; purging the Circle of Magi of abominations; and finding the Urn of Sacred Ashes, one would think that she would have made peace with death in that time. Though, no matter the preparation or how many near misses she experienced during her travels, it apparently was not enough. If that was not enough, she assumed that nothing would be able to prepare her for what she was to expect when they arrived to Denerim.
Sure, Riordan claimed that he would be the first to throw himself at the dragon and have the first go… but, something deep within her simply knew. She just instinctively knew that in the end, the final battle between Grey Warden and the Old God, Urthemiel would end with her demise. This Blight, she and Alistair have been fighting it since Ostagar nearly a year ago. Which is more than any other denizen of Ferelden could claim. However, the choice for them to both come out of this alive was ultimately up to him… and apparently to the templar, the costs outweighed the benefits.
She knew that her outburst at Alistair was selfish. He was right, there was no assurance that the babe would not end up blighted. What if the Archdemon was reincarnated in her womb? Despite the risks, she had no desire to die, especially since she toiled so adamantly to better Ferelden's future. She would have to inform Morrigan soon, however, in her current frazzled state she could not bear to face her comrade. There was only one person she could turn to at this hour.
She shook her head and leaned backwards. Using the heel of her hands to scrub at her face, she attempted to wash away the feelings of guilt and impending doom. She sucked in a deep breath and composed herself so that no one could see the shamble of a woman that this night molded her to be. She could not allow the common rabble to see their idol falling to bits on the eve of their march, now could she? Zombified, she shuffled down the stairs to the left of Alistair's room and down the Main Hall where the straggling warriors and fighters who refused to tuck in for the night remained.
Her eyes scanned the room, only to stop once they spotted the braided blonde hair of her lover. Upon seeing her bronzed elf, she flashed a grim look and raised a limp hand in a mockery of a wave. Zevran's smile widened as he registered his Warden and immediately leapt to his feet to greet her, having to jump over a few drunken dwarves in the process. He made his way gracefully towards her and once he was before her, he greeted her with a histrionic bow and kiss bestowed upon the back of her hand.
"My lovely Warden, such a grimace does not befit a face as lovely a yours." He admonished with a gentle tsk. Normally, his adoration would send her shy cheeks aflame, however, today the fire was doused and she could only answer the compliment with a weak smile.
"Can we go somewhere private?" She asked softly. Her attention was diverted momentarily to a Dalish archer who waved her down. She indulged him with a jerk of her chin and the best fake smile she could muster before returning her attention to the only elf she cared about. A devilish smile wormed its way onto his lips.
"My, do I love to hear those words." He purred, eyes glinting mischievously.
"We need to talk."
"Those words? Not so much. But, come, my dear, let us go find a private place so that we may have this… talk." He answered, his playful facade vanishing. His hand found its way to the small of her back and he guided her away from the assembly within the Main Hall. They ambled past the hall lined with stoic suits of armor that her party had once fought against during Connor's possession and into Arl Eamon's study located at the end of the hall. Once situated within the room, Zevran shut the door and perched himself on the wooden desk that held Alistair's mother's amulet many moons ago. She winced. Alistair.
Unsure of what to say, all that tumbled out was a hoarse, "Zev,"
Which was met with cocked eyebrows and tilted head, "Neria," He teased. She knew that the joking was meant to alleviate the pressure she felt, but nothing could undo the anxiety that accumulated in the pit of her gut. Unsure of what to do with the pent up anxious energy, she began to pace the length of the room in front of him.
"Alright, so, you know how I am a Grey Warden?" Her question was met with a hearty laugh.
"I think I might have run passed this information once or twice," he teased. She giggled nervously. After she paced one too many times, he sprung on her, latching on to her petite wrist to use as leverage to reel her in. Once caged, his knees trapped her waist making it impossible for her to squirm away from his grasp. He tucked a strand of her snowy hair behind her pointed elven ear, revealing the earring he had presented her with shortly after their encounter with Taliesin. His hand then slid to cup her cheek so that she may nuzzle the warmth and draw comfort from the contact. He leaned forward to press a kiss against her forehead.
It was silly, but the contact did ease the raging tides that roared within her. He cooed soft words in Antiva and she found herself slowly easing in his embrace.
"Zevran, I don't know how to say this, so I am just going to say this. Riordan- he called me and Alistair upstairs to tell us just exactly how to end a Blight. I don't want to go into the details, but for the Archdemon to truly be dead, a Warden must be sacrifice. Riordan said that since he is the oldest that he will attempt to take the blow himself, but if he falls…" She let her sentence drift into oblivion. It took a moment, but when she finally glanced guiltily into her lover's eyes, she knew that she did not need to finish her sentence for Zevran to understand. His hand against her cheek stiffened, fingers curling tight around the hair on her head.
A pregnant pause ensued where the two simply permitted what she said to hover above them like an ominous cloud. Like a dead bird, his hand fell from her cheek and plopped aimlessly on top of her own. She knew that this news could not be easy for a man that just proposed his love to a woman he had once been sent to assassinate. The woman that had erased the pain from his previous dead lover.
When he eventually spoke, his words were cold, calculated as though they were a tiger pacing behind a cage, prepared to strike, "And, what of our dear friend Alistair?" She chose not to answer, knowing full well that he would understand the implications. He just won the throne, his death was to be avoided unless absolutely necessary.
Zevran's lip curled and he urged her backwards so that he could hop off of the desk. He turned his back to her and hunched over the desk. She watched him silently as his chest heaved violently and his hands curled and flexed his hands rapidly. When this did not soothe his temper, he nabbed a nearby bottle of some exotic wine that sat abandoned on the desk. With all his might, he hurled the glass bottle against the stone wall with a startling crash that caused her to instinctively jump as it painting the wall with a bloody red. As though she needed a reminder of what was to come. A slew of vehement curses were spat and he combed through his hair viciously. Biting her lip, she rested her quivering hand on his shoulder. The tense muscles shuddered before relaxing beneath her touch.
"There's more," She whispered. Zevran spun around and pinched the bridge of his nose while his eyes squeezed tight.
"For the love of… What else is there?" His voice quivered, as though it were a plea.
"There is a way to kill the archdemon without anyone sacrificing themselves. It involves Blood Magic… As well as Morrigan and Alistair having sex so that she can conceive a baby that the Archdemon's soul will possess." She blurted. He screwed his eyebrows together and raised his hand in a "what?" manner.
"Oh, Maker above. Please, do not toy with me like this, I do not have the strength," He moaned.
"No, Morrigan. She knew. She knew all along that a Warden would have to die for a Blight to end. Flemeth cooked up some sort of spell so that Morrigan's baby would bear the Grey Warden taint. Supposedly it will leave the Warden that sacrificed himself unharmed." For a moment, Zevran allowed the information to settle before a wide smile broke out across his face. He reached out to grab her face within his hands before gracing her with several relieved kisses.
"You scared me! Why did you not just tell me that in the first place? You truly are a saucy little minx, stirring up all this trouble for nothing." He paused for a moment before he laughed, "Ah, and about our dear chaste Alistair, he must be quite happy with the arrangements!" Zevran laughed, relieved. She bit her lip. Apparently, her face revealed more than she intended, as his smile quickly turned to steel.
"Alistair- he-he... " She felt tears well in her eyes, knowing that she could no longer hold back the tumultuous emotions she attempted to disguise, "he said no." Zevran shuddered as though she had slapped him. He grabbed her shoulders and pushed aside, making a beeline for the door. Knowing what he intended to do, she nabbed his bicep and tugged, despite him putting up a fight and attempting to shake her loose.
"Are you so foolish as to let this happen?" He roared at her, waving a hand at the door. He placed his forefinger beneath her chin so that she was forced to look into his amber eyes, "Neria, listen to me. If you so desired, I would storm the Black City if it meant a chance to be by your side, but I will not… standby and let you perish because your fellow Grey Warden is a selfish bastard. All it will take is a little coercion." He added the last bit as an afterthought under his breath.
"We do not know if it will actually end the Blight. Who is to say that Flemeth did not just trick Morrigan? Alistair is just… afraid that this will not really kill the Archdemon." When Zevran did not look convinced, she continued, "Please. Zev, this is the last night that we can spend together before we march to Denerim. There will be time for anger, but for tonight can you make me forget? Just make me feel like it's only us.." He seemed reluctant to indulge her request…. that is until the first tear managed to wiggle its way free from her blue eyes and roll over the pinkish scar tissue that marred her pale skin from her hairline to her lips. He relaxed once more and pressed his forehead against hers, a sigh of defeat escaping his lips.
"Such a lovely set of eyes, you know I cannot resist you." He murmured. It was here that his lips pressed against her own, coaxing her lips to yield to his advances, while his hands massaged their way up her abdomen towards her breasts.
"Shall I make you forget here or in your room, my dear?" He asked with a devilish grin, "Personally, I do not have any preferences."