This fic takes place one year after the canon end of Dragon Age: Origins
If you don't want an absolutely MASSIVE spoiler, please do not read.
That is all.
Thank-you!
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Highever 1 year after the death of Alistair and the destruction of the archdemon.
"Faster...faster Nim..." Marissa Cousland whispered, digging her heels in and urging her mount forward. The black mare strained, tearing the lush green earth apart in stacatto, hoof-shaped patterns. Cresting the hill,
Lady Cousland flattened herself to the saddle, eyelids fluttering and senses reeling as they tore across the broad,
open meadow. The wind whipped through her long, dark hair and her crimson skirts snapped sharply in the breeze.
The ride had become as close to a daily occurence as she could manage. Often she packed enough gear to camp if her travels brought her far enough away from Castle Cousland, but to date she had not. It was deliberate. A camp was the strongest reminder of what had been to Marissa. Many times she had considered staying out, sometimes even setting up, but dusk always brought ghostly echoes of Alistair and her companions, forcing her to break camp and driving her towards home.
It had been a year since the final stand at Denerim and the liberation of Ferelden. As far as the citizens were concerned, she was a hero but her status made her little better than a prisoner. Things spiraled the moment that Onora was re-instated as queen. Masking her rage over the death of her beloved father, the Queen mentioned Alistair briefly, vowing that he would never be forgotten. In the time since, she'd arranged everything to ensure just the opposite. There were no statues, no stories, no songs sung about the true savior of Fereldan. Onora even denied the right to bury Alistair at Highever. She insisted instead that he rest in the royal vault next to his father and half-brother as befit his royal blood.
When he'd taken the throne and beheaded the Queen's adored father, Alistair had had sealed their fate. Logain's had been the only statue erected and it stood, audaciously overlooking the Orlesian Embassy. It was of only the smallest comfort that it went largely ignored. As a "reward" for her heroic efforts, Lady Cousland had been relieved of service with the Grey Wardens and "gifted" with the opportunity to return to Highever and rebuild with her brother, Fergus. The Queen had ensured that she was closely attended in Denerim by servants and soldiers alike, ostensibly to ensure that her every comfort was well attended. In reality, they were present to keep her alive and suffering with the magnitude of her loss. So deep was the Queen's pleasure that she permanently gifted the Couslands with these spies and they now resided in Highever with the rest of the castle staff.
Marissa hated Onora with all her soul. Stripped of her ability to hunt the darkspawn and watched by the crown, her hands were essentially tied.
In the early months, she poured all her efforts into the only public tribute she could make. One that she knew would have pleased Alistair immensely. She organized and held a state funeral for Duncan, erecting a monument in his home of Highever to mark his early sacrifice. He was remembered with a solid, black obelisk engraved with the motto of the Wardens, "In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice."
When it was over, the rush of having done something purely for Alistair turned her mind to the Grey Wardens. For days the urge return to them harangued her incessently, regardless of the fact that it would be a deliberate and public spite to the Queen. She knew it was impossible. The re-forming of the relationship between the palace and the Wardens was so tenuous that her disregard of such a magnamious royal gift carried a real threat of destroying things once more. It also occurred to her that such a move would certainly endanger Fergus. Onora was cruel at her core. There was no doubt that the Queen would find a creative agony to inflict on her dear brother.
As the Lady Cousland continued her ride, she slowed the pace to a canter, heading into a well-worn path overhung with the leafy, green bows of apple trees. The silent innocence of the place reminded her of how deeply Fergus suffered with his own, losses. Marissa may have lost her greatest love,
but unlike poor Fergus, her loss didn't include a first-born child. In spite of it all, her brother had been nothing short of wonderful over the course of the past year. He never reproached her for riding and often encouraged her to stay away for a day or two if she could. He'd also wisely disposed of any and all offers of marriage for his sister's hand. He did his best to shield her from the knowledge that such opportunists had even dared to come calling in the first place, believing that any decision would be hers alone when the time came.
In the latter six months, Marissa had found that her connection to Fergus, her people and her homeland had strengthened significantly. Silent observation of the beauty and resiliency of Highever in the face of the blight was inspiring. Pulling up the reins, she slowed Nim to a walk, bending low under the branches and exiting to a small clearing on the edge of a cliff that overlooked the Waking Sea. Stopping, she tethered her animal and took a seat a few feet away, facing the striking panorama of the ocean below. Tugging at her neck, she removed the sheer, ivory scarf that tucked down into her bodice, exposing her neck and collarbones to the afternoon sun and the salty breeze that flowed up from the water. The place was a favorite of hers from childhood. It was easy to hide there without being seen, to sit in silence listening to the birds in the trees behind and watching the water as it shimmered and moved in a brilliant sapphire.
Pushing her hair back behind her left ear, she smiled as her fingers brushed a small, gold hoop. It had been a gift from Zevran.
Momentarily she wondered how things might have gone if she'd chosen another path. She'd been surprisingly close to Zev. Their backgrounds couldn't have been more different when they travelled together, but he always seemed to be there when she needed him. He could always discern when the tension got too much for her and could smoothly diffuse it with a joke or a risky story. Sometimes both, but later on he surprised her with solid and thoughtful counsel. It would be a lie to say that she hadn't cared about him but he'd been so wild, so...unsettled with his attentions. He'd never been truly free in his life and it had been obvious that he was straining at the bit. When he'd gifted her with the earring, he couldn't even admit that he cared. His desire for freedom was paramount. Allowing herself to love him would have been a mistake of epic proportions. It would have been a set up for spectacular pain. It was something she'd barely considered at the time, but she had considered it. Of course, that all changed shortly afterwards on the night when Alistair first approached her. He'd been so endearingly awkward and vulnerable at first...she smiled.
Now...
She frowned slightly. Her companions had scattered all over Ferelden and beyond. They were the only ones who could truly understand, who really knew her and she missed them. Especially Wynne for her mothering and oddly enough, Sten. It had taken time and a lot of effort to know him, but he'd challenged her continually and pushed her to be a stronger leader. Stroking the earring slightly, she frowned. It occured to her for the first time that with Alistair truly gone, she missed the fair-haired elf most of all. Worst of all, she was certain that he was the one she was least likely to see again. Her stomach clenched with loneliness.
"What a frown on such a lovely face. Truly it is tragic..." came a softly accented voice from behind.
Marissa froze, slowly turning her head over her right shoulder. It wasn't a dream. Zevran Arainai stood, casually leaning against the base of a tree, eyeing her warmly.
Rolling sideways on to her knees, she stood, ignoring the scarf as it slithered to the ground. "Zev?" she croaked, almost disbelieving.
Pushing away from the trunk he grinned cockily, "Yes, it is I," he replied in a bemused, casual tone as he moved towards her.
Without another word, Marissa Cousland moved quickly, sliding her arms around his shoulders and pulling him close. She buried her face near his neck, breathing in the soft, spicy scent of his hair and whispered, "Where did you come from?"
For his part, the elf seemed surprised, stiffening at first. In their time together, Marissa Cousland had never shown him any physical attention. It would seem that the last year had brought on many changes indeed. Her hair had been removed from the tight braiding on the back of her head and hung down to her waist in soft waves. Her armour had been replaced by a thick, red velvet riding gown. The woman had finally emerged from the thick, steel plated shell of the warrior.
Resting his hands on her waist, he replied coolly, "Most recently, I came from that tree just over there. But, before that it was Gwaren. Far enough from Antiva to suit my purpose for quite a while."
Marissa raised her head, her features knotted with curiosity, "Forgive me for asking, but...you're free. Why...are you here...exactly?"
Zevran released her, moving towards the cliff with his back to her. "Perhaps because I choose to be? In truth, I do not know. I spent many months travelling at first but it was not freedom. Not truly. I had to make sure that the Crows believed I was dead, so my steps were cautious.
Also, as an elf travelling alone it became obvious quite early that many humans do not hold the same ideals as you, my dear Cousland."
"I...I know Zev..." she muttered, frowning.
"In twelve months I have been attacked by slavers eight times. Of course, they are now dead." he began, "I also discovered that the only way to make an honest living in cities was either as servant or whore. Naturally the latter appealed to me at first. One could say that I have natural talent..."
"But...?"
"But...I...could not." he replied, "By which I mean, I COULD but I have grown tired of illusions. An illusion has become just another form of imprisonment and I desire something real. About a month ago I realized that the only time I have ever been truly free was when I travelled with you."
Zevran fell silent, gripping his elbows and peering out across the water.
Marissa moved to where he stood, standing just behind his left, afraid to raise her hand to his shoulder, "But, I held your oath?" she asked.
He turned, his deep amber eyes meeting her own, "No bellisimo, I gave you my oath and you gave me freedom. You let me know from the beginning that I could leave if I so chose. That is not a liberty I have had before or since. You are also the first and only person to have given me a gift with nothing expected in return. I was so ignorant at first that I did not even know what you were doing...I..."
For a moment, he paused, reaching into his breastplate and removing a small, leather bundle from his left side. The dalish gloves. It was obvious that they had been carried, folded in a small square over his heart for some time.
"As you can see, that which I did not understand has grown to mean a great deal..." he said quietly.
Marissa Cousland paused, taking a moment to study his face. His hair still hung in soft, small tendrils at his cheekbones, accented by the marking on his left cheek. Her eyes scanned the fine lines on his forehead and around his eyes. Zevran was one of the few elves she'd ever seen with any visible sign of age. He was the youngest by far. Most likely it was due to the harshness of his upbringing and enslavement by the Crows. No matter how casually he spoke to her, no matter how horrible the subject, those lines and his eyes gave away what lay beneath the surface.
His eyes flickered and he looked away, "Forgive me," he said cheerily, "I have said too much. I have overstepped myself and thoughtlessly pushed this conversation too far...I should go..."
He turned to move away but she shot out her right hand, grabbing his wrist lightly. "Wait!" she called.
The assassin turned back, his features a mix of confusion and amusement that she'd actually been able to grab him.
Without saying a word, Marissa raised her hand and tucked her hair behind her ear, revealing the small, gold hoop.
"You...kept it?" he asked incredulously, "I thought you had thrown it away or sold it at best. I know you were not very happy with how I obtained it..."
"I wasn't, Zev," she replied, "But then it occurred to me that taking this was perhaps the first independent decision that you'd made in your life. You chose to give your first taste of liberty to me..."
Lady Cousland paused, sliding her hand down from his wrist and gripping his fingertips loosely. "Look...I know you said it didn't mean much to you, but it meant a lot to me. I've worn it ever since, though I doubt you saw it beneath my helm. I wear it still because it reminds me of you. I've missed you Zev.
Once I stopped tearing my heart out over and over because of Alistair, well...I...missed you..."
Zevran's brow furrowed slightly as he ran his fingertips along her temple and behind her ear, down to the lobe. His thumb caressed her cheek and he moved closer, gazing warmly into her dark eyes, "I must tell you that I was never wholly honest when we travelled," he said, "For an assassin, feelings are a death sentence and I spent much time denying mine."
Marissa nodded slightly, sliding a hand up his lightly armoured chest.
"I also respected your choice of Alistair and I still do," he continued, "But in the end, I have discovered that...I could not stay away..."
His amber eyes clouded with uncertainty and he looked away, "I will not intrude upon your grief, if you wish me to leave, please say so..."
The Warden paused, taking a deep breath and moving backwards, turning her face to the sky and gathering her thoughts. When she lowered her head once more she noticed that he was still looking away. For the first time, his attempts to mask his vulnerabilites were failing and her heart ached.
"It's been a long year, Zev," she began, "And grief is a very funny thing. It never truly goes away, but eventually you cope. At first it was my personal mission to kill every darkspawn I could get my hands on until they killed me. If you, Sten and Wynne hadn't held me back, that's precisely what I would have done."
Moving forward, as close to the edge as she dared, Marissa continued, "After that I grieved. I prayed for death and then prayed for forgiveness for wanting it so badly. I hated myself for disregarding the heavy sacrifice that Alistair and my parents made just to keep me safe. I thought I would go mad, so, to distract myself, I immersed myself in Duncan's funeral and tribute. A purpose is a wonderful thing, Zev. When the final stone was laid, I came to realize how much time I'd wasted trying to change that which is irreversible. Alistair is gone. He's not coming back. I loved him dearly, but I also know that he would hate for me to waste this life in misery. In time, I managed to think of him with a smile and slowly the has pain faded to a soft noise in the background. It has been replaced with the here and now - Fergus, Highever, the citizens, our companions and you...I was so worried that I'd never see you again..."
Warm hands gripped her upper arms firmly, guiding her back from the edge and turning her around. "So...you wish me to stay?" he asked cautiously trying to discern anything he could in the depths of her eyes.
"Of course I do, Zev," she said quietly, "But I'd like to know what really pushed you to come here?"
He paused, gritting his jaw momentarily and colouring slightly as he strengthened his resolve, "I am here..." he began, "Because I felt such confusion when we travelled together. I did not know what it was. It was unlike anything I had ever experienced before and it hounded me every day. When I seperated from you and continued on my way, this confusion sharpened and turned to pain. In my solitude, it...was...unsettling. It took me months to gather the courage to admit to myself what it truly was..."
Sliding his honey brown hands along her cheeks, he knotted his lithe fingers gently in her hair, "I could not stay away because I care...deeply. From the moment you decided to spare my life..."
Marissa Cousland smiled warmly, slightly intoxicated by his proximety, "Zevran Arainai...are you saying that you're in love with me?"
His thumbs caressed her cheeks gently as he moved closer, rocking side to side slightly as he positioned his nose a fraction away from her own, "My dear lady, I have only ever known the illusion of love." he whispered, "This is so utterly unlike anything I have ever known...so honest...so pure...I am unsure as to what I should call it. Seperation has been agonizing. I wish to be near you, I crave the sound of your voice, the peculiar noise of your footfalls, the way the sunlight hits your hair at dawn, the soft look on your face when you are tired, how your lips swell when you drink too much wine, the way you sing when you think no one is listening and how that changes when someone is, the way your eyes burn when you are thinking...everything..."
It was too much, he pulled her lips to his, kissing her tenderly, once, twice, three times..."Tell me to stop..." he whispered, kissing along her jawline and down to her pale neck, "Tell me to leave..." he urged, "Now before it is too late..."
Lady Cousland gasped, her back arching involuntarily as he bit her neck gently, pausing to breathe in her warm, slightly floral scent. Snaking her arms around his neck, she ran her fingers over the fine, blonde strands of his hair and gently guided his head upwards until his eyes met hers once more.
"I don't want you to leave..." she murmured.
His eyes flamed hot amber as he guided her mouth back to his. Her eyes fluttered closed. It had been so long...she was starving. Her left arm moved reflexively, pulling him closer to her as her hand slid into the silky strands of his blonde hair. His right arm slid around her waist, his fingertips running along her spine and down to the small of her back. He was achingly tender with her, kissing her softly twice. The third time he lingered, gently coaxing her until her mouth opened reflexively. The tip of his tongue touched hers gently, darting out again. She mimicked this, lingering slightly and noting that although he smelled of warm spice, he tasted of oranges. He returned her curiosity with a burning, slow vigor, rolling his tongue in a soft rhythm with her own, grinding the heat of his hips into her until she moaned audibly.
He inhaled sharply, pushing back gently until he'd caught her eye once more. "A moment, mi amore..."
"What is it?" she asked.
"Do not misunderstand me, I am very glad to see you again but do you not feel that perhaps it would be wise for us to take some time to reaquaint with one another? I do not wish to irritate old scars by moving too quickly..." he said.
Marissa smiled, moving into his arms once more and nuzzling his cheek, "I would never have expected that sort of suggestion from you, Zev," she said,
"But you're absolutely right and I appriciate it. You really have changed, you know..."
"Not really," he replied gently, "However, I am willing to sacrifice one night for the chance of many."
She smiled, burying her face close to his neck.
"Zev?" she whispered, "You called me something... mi amore, was it?"
"Indeed I did," he replied, stroking her cheek gently, "It is Antivan for my love..."
Lady Cousland smiled, lifting her head once more and kissing his soft, bottom lip gently. "I thought that's what it meant..."
Holding her closely, he kissed the tip of her nose, "So, tell me, mi amore, what happens now?"
Marissa thought for a moment, "Now?" she queried, "Right now I'd like to know your wishes. What would you like to happen?"
She waited patiently while he pondered. Choice was not something he was at all familiar with and she knew that it would take a little longer for him to consider his options.
After a moment, he took a breath, "I realize that this may be sudden, but...Would you...consider me? Is it possible that there might be some future for us if I...were...to stay...that is if you so desire my presence?" he asked tenuously.
She raised her head slightly, moving back to bring his eyes into focus. He was sincere. Perhaps more serious than she'd ever witnessed.
"I think I'd like that, Zev," she murmured, "Very much, in fact."
The assassin smiled broadly, knotting his fingers in her hair gently, "Maravilla," he murmured, leaning close and touching his nose to hers, his eyes closing slowly.
"Zev?" she asked, her voice jerking his eyes open again.
"Si, amore?"
"Te amo..." she whispered, kissing him softly and gently.
He smiled softly at her accent, pulling her close until his mouth hovered above her ear, "Te amo, Marissa...I am yours."