Disclaimer: Don't own Dragon Age.
This is a one-shot btw, didn't have the word space to mention that in the summary.
Enjoy.
"So, what did one drooping breast say to the other?" the elf paused, waiting with bated breath as his audience gave a collective shrug. "Oh, come on, nothing?" he tsked, shaking his head dramatically when all he received in response was addled silence.
He smiled in spite of himself, barely suppressing his bubbling laughter as he spoke. " 'We'd better get some support before someone thinks we're nuts!' " Zevran could hold in his laughter no longer, and his infectious mirth had quickly spread amongst the gathering crowd. Masked partygoers clapped and chuckled, glasses of their chosen beverage tipped haphazardly between their fingers. They clapped Zevran on the back as he rose from his seat, the elf nodding and bowing in an overly gracious manner.
The sea of grotesquely designed masks grinned at him in unison, expressions of delight plastered onto the faces of the partygoers. Their masks were sharp and garishly coloured, each elaborately designed with the emblem of a respective royal family. Feathers were amassed, plucked from the wings of rare, expensively-priced birds. Golden beads lined the edges of their masks, the pearly gleam reflected against the tempered light of the court. With their lower faces visible, they grinned and chuckled with delight as the elf moved through the crowd, charmingly greeting each partygoer in turn.
Their smiles were not real, serving as much of a guise as the gaudy masks that hid their identities.
The elf's mask stood out in its relative simplicity. The fabric was that of dark velvet, understated in its lack of feathers and beading. The velvet looked soft to the touch, contrasting with the muted golden of his hair. A dark maroon tint flared on the mask, when the light was granted a favorable angle.
The golden tone that washed over the court flattered his features, his blonde hair shining honey coloured, and his skin burnished gold. His garb was a glittering mix of deep greens and rich burgundy, highlighted amongst the sea of black and midnight blues of other party goers. His merriment overcame any who neared him, their faces instantly alight with amusement and laughter. He laughed along with them, the skin near his eyes crinkling with mirth, though the joke had been long since finished. The charming elf seemed to be the life of the party.
The hem of her gown lifted and flowed over her feet as she moved, the silk fabric cool on her bare skin.
There was something quite peculiar, almost alluring, about the sharp-eared fellow. His eyes seemed focused, and his smile bright enough, but occasionally she would witness him slip. Perhaps it was the too sharp edge that lingered at the corners of his grin, or the almost indiscernible clench of his jaw, or how his smile didn't really reach his eyes, not quite. He hid those rare mannerisms well enough for other party attendees not to take notice, but she took note. She just couldn't shake the feeling that he was hiding something.
But then, so was every attendee in this dark gathering. He intrigued her nonetheless.
Leaning against the far wall, she watched the elf languidly, her lips wrapped over the rim of her wine glass. Her gaze followed as he made his way over to a group of boisterous nobles, their bellies round and their faces red with cheer. They chattered at him endlessly, amidst the soothing rhythm of music that was continuously strung in the background. The elf kept up with the humans however, laughing and grinning along, and he even silenced them long enough to beguile with yet another long-winded tale, it seemed.
"That mask suits you, my lady. It represents our family well," said a familiar voice from beside her, its pitch slow and cracking. She turned to face the masked man, the lower portion of his face pockmarked and worn with age. His mask was proudly embellished with the same emblem as hers, the symbol of a panther bracing for the hunt: their family crest.
"Uncle, you must do away with such stiff formalities. This is your masquerade ball, for Maker's sake. Relax," she coaxed, gesturing to her wine glass for further persuasion.
Her uncle nodded half-heartedly, a weary smile pulling at the edge of his lips. "Of course, my dear. It's just... it is always a bit of a surprise to see you at these frivolous social gatherings. I still remember you just a few years ago, moping about how your father was, I quote, 'a sour old prat that never wanted you to have any fun.' "
She rolled her eyes in mock indignity, as if the mere memory was a painful nuisance. "And he rightfully was," she smiled fondly in spite of herself, sipping at her wine. "Now, I can't go a fortnight without attending one of these so-called 'frivolous' parties."
Her uncle exhaled deeply, the hint of a wheeze drawing under his breath. He cleared his throat. "Yes, your father in particular, would be most pleased at how well you are settling into this life," he stated, crossing his arms over his chest as he peered down at her.
She shook her head in defiance, her blunt fingernails tapping crossly against the wine glass. "Not this again. Uncle Bernard, I have chosen my path."
He looked at her intently, his gaze suddenly riddled with concern. "I am sorry, my dear, but I cannot help but worry. This noble business is cutthroat—and sometimes literally. You have too full of a life ahead of you to immerse yourself in Orlesian family politics and social manipulation," he sighed then, rubbing his fingers down the bridge of his masked nose. His wrinkled skin appeared heavy in the golden light, his exhaustion clear in the eyes hidden behind the mask. "I have known too many friends and family who have met an end before their time, due to the viciousness of these noble courts. Will you, at least consider, joining the Jader sector of the Chantry, dear child?"
Her gaze ran cold as her fingers lightly grazed the stem of the glass. "Why don't you leave the life, if it shames you so much, dear Uncle?" she said, her lips drawn tight.
He bowed his head as if the weight of the world was balanced upon his neck. The music cooed softly to them, its treble low, as if begging for a return to less tumultuous times. "I am afraid that I am caught too deeply in their web, to hope for any chance of escape," he murmured, exhaling shakily. "But you still have a chance."
The uproar of laughter sounded from across the room, and her attention turned to the elf who laughed cheerily, captivating his royal audience. His brown eyes met hers, a spark of playfulness surging in his gaze. The previous tightness in his smile had loosened seemingly as he watched her for several more moments, before turning away to laugh at another joke. She smiled, mutely aware of her uncle calling for her attention.
"No. This is too much fun to pass up," was all she said as she lowered the glass, setting it aside on a nondescript corner table. Bernard let her go, somberness clear in his gaze, before he turned to go about his own business with noble peers.
The cut of her gown shimmered mutely as she made her way over to the elf, and fellow party goers rushed past her, blabbering loudly about current politics. Their masks contrasted heavily, the light illuminating various colours that matched the spectrum of a rainbow. "I agree with the Empress; we must take over all the land in Thedas if the might of Orlais is to finally be respected!" she heard one of the party attendees shout, shaking his fist in earnest. His companions simply laughed in response, bruising the speaker's ego as they made their way across the court.
She wore an amused smile as the slight breeze kissed the skin of her chest, her bosom bare without a customary corset. Those who passed peered at her in thinly veiled hunger, gazing at the shining auburn strands of hair that brushed against her pale shoulders.
She moved with a slow purpose, her arms neatly resting at her sides. The beat of the music matched her steps, rich with honeyed chords as it poured into the room. Golden lights glimmered from high above, dotting the court in tiny flecks. She watched, curiosity clear in her gaze as the elven object of her attention burst into fresh laughter with the adjacent group. Closing with another punchline, she presumed.
His curved ears twitched as she approached, and she couldn't help but stare at the giveaway of his elven heritage. She was accustomed to seeing his kind bowed on the ground whenever she passed, or cleaning the spacious estate that her father owned. In the past, she had crossed the adorned halls, watching as they fervently attended to their work. When others in her family would disregard the elves in disgust, she approached them with only childish wonder at the forefront of her mind. They were meek creatures, not quite meeting her eyes when addressed.
"Your ears are most interesting looking," she would say to an elf that passed her in the halls frequently, as she crouched on all fours next to the boy. He couldn't have been much older than she was at the time, about eighteen. He had looked up at her in surprise, before quickly ducking his head as he returned to his work. She had simply inclined her head in confusion, not taking offense to his sudden dismissal of her. "I want my ears to look like that. Once, when I was really little, I tried carving them sharper. Like yours," she had covered her mouth with a small hand as she chuckled. "I didn't get very far though, because my dear, older sister tattled and Father burst into my room, just as I was pressing the knife to my ear."
The elf had given her an incredulous look, pausing his work briefly as she smiled in fond reverie. "Oh, Father was incredibly angry of course. I thought his face was going to explode, from how red it looked," and she had cringed suddenly, rubbing her thighs in an anxious gesture. "That was the only time he ever hit me. With the cane... you know the one, I'm sure. Right on my bottom, hurt like hell it did."
The elf had turned away, the wet rag folded neatly to one side. She had inched closer to him, a faint smile gracing her youthful features. He looked up at her from under his bangs, confusion clear in his gray eyes. "Is... there a reason for all of this?" he mumbled, chewing on his bottom lip as he spoke.
The smile didn't fade when she lightly touched his ears. "I 'spose not," she had admitted, thumbing the sharp curve of his outer ear. "But your ears are most interesting looking."
She smiled to herself now, as she neared the unusual elf. He apparently hailed from Antiva, as he was fond of bragging. He was so completely unlike the rest. The docile image of elven kind was burned into her mind, kneeling and submissive, so it was strange to see this bold, dauntless creature currently commanding the attention of everyone present. Including her own.
The elf's smile was sure as his gaze fell upon her, taking her in. The drunken nobles near him jostled his shoulder and clapped him on the back in good cheer, oblivious to the sudden target of his attention that was sauntering steadily toward the group.
"Oy, who knew that a blasted knife-ear could be so damn entertaining?" said a particularly red-faced noble as he barked out a laugh, his putrid green mask lop-sided across his face.
"Yes... who knew, indeed?" she said, smoothing out a crease in her gown as she stood before the group. A sudden silence fell over the group as the nobles took note of her presence, the sound of a throat clearing echoing quite loud amidst the quiet. The red-faced noble quickly adjusted the band of his trousers, half-heartedly attempting to shield her keen eyes from his bulbous belly.
"Apologies my lady, your presence was most unexpected!" the noble said sheepishly, his words slurring. His companions quickly offered their own apologies, though their words slurred just as well.
She held up a dismissive hand, shaking her head briefly. "Oh, do not worry yourselves with such trivialities. It appears that our elven guest has quite enraptured us all," she murmured as she turned to the elf. The velvet mask he wore only served to amplify the mysterious allure that had drawn her to him. A light smile played at the corners of his lips as he regarded her, intentions clear as his eyes roved over her form. His liquid brown gaze captured her own as he spoke.
"Oh, I wouldn't speak so soon," his heavy accent drawled, running his fingers nimbly down the stem of the glass he held. "I have yet to... enrapture you, my dear Lady."
The nobles traded glances with each other, only managing to chuckle feebly as the alcohol had dampened a proper reaction. The music rose in volume, sweeping in a crescendo for the song's climax as the small group waited, anticipant for her reply. Fellow nobles brushed past, their heavy cologne wafting into the nostrils of any sensitive noses who had the misfortune to be near. Party goers gathered around the small clearing of the room which held the orchestra, watching in rapt attention as the wooden instruments strung to a high close.
She could only take in those rich brown eyes, never wavering from her own inquiring gaze. She could easily see the maroon in the dark velvet of his mask, now that she stood mere inches in front of the elf. A strand of golden hair brushed against his glass as he took a sip of wine, fingers lightly clutching the stem. The nobles that had clustered around the elf were dispersing, joining the large gathering near the stage as the music washed over all in the large room, commanding the attention of everyone present as it braved its peak. All except the elf and the auburn-haired human, it seemed.
She stepped closer to him, the light smile never leaving her features as she pressed her pale fingers above his own golden ones that were wrapped around the glass. His scent was clear in their close proximity, and a small wrinkle appeared between her brows as she attempted to pinpoint the source. Leather, was what she immediately recognized, even though he mostly wore silk and velvet to this occasion. She had the distinct impression that she could close her eyes and rest her cheek upon his shoulder, and be convinced that he was draped head to toe in leather.
But there was something else, another scent that the leather had nearly overwhelmed. A faint tinge of smoke clung to him, oddly enough, as if he had been surrounded by pipe smokers his whole life. It was a peculiar combination; especially for one who was dressed so sharply.
And she found it all the more odd when she realized that she quite liked the scent, as his lips lifted in a crooked smile when she brushed her fingers against his own.
The music stopped, and the crowd clapped as the musicians bowed and waved respectfully. They readied their instruments for the next aria, the conductor thumbing through his play sheet for the evening as the crowd began to disperse. The elf paid no heed as various nobles rushed past, their chattering loud and their words slurred.
"A pleasure to meet you, my lady. My name is Zevran," he said, bowing to her in a great flourish. She wasn't certain that the gesture was purely done out of respect, or out of subtle mockery. She was amused nonetheless.
"Oh, the pleasure is all mine, noble elf," she responded just as respectfully, or mockingly, tipping low in a light-hearted curtsey.
Zevran grinned, taking a sip from his wine glass.
She inched her fingers beneath his, grasping hold of the glass's stem. His masked eyes never left hers, furtively observing as she tipped the glass before her parted lips, sipping demurely at the red wine. The cool liquid slid down her throat, and she gulped softly as she watched him over the glass rim.
It was strange.
There was the typical commotion around them, party goers laughing loudly as they passed or the sudden random screech of a dropped instrument from the stage, and the irritated cursing that followed. But she couldn't really hear them, or see them. The sights and sounds all seemed to merge together, melting into a continuous low hum as she lost herself in the glowing sea of his amber gaze.
She lowered her eyes as she returned the glass to him, her smile coy as she peered at the red stain of her lipstick neatly printed on the rim of the glass. "You are very funny, from what I hear," she said, looking up at him.
The elf chuckled softly, observing the lipstick stain as well. His lifted the glass, and placed his lips directly over the stain before he spoke. "Ah, is that so. And just what did you hear?" he said after lowering the glass, the crooked smile still playing at the corner of his full mouth.
Her eyes glittered with amusement at the sight of her lipstick lightly printed upon his own lips, and she bit her tongue to keep from snickering. She crossed her arms over her chest as she peered at him accusingly. "Just going by the fact that anyone who chats with you nearly ends up in stitches!"
Zevran chuckled, shrugging vainly. "Oho, my dear, they could end up with much worse than mere stitches. Trust me," he said, mirroring her posture as he drained the glass.
She arched a shapely eyebrow, her expression unimpressed. The golden hue of the room began to fade as the lights dimmed suddenly, and the commotion around them settled. Slow, stirring music filtered from the stage, draping the room in a satin melody. Masked partygoers no longer rushed past, instead ambling to the dimmed space that was the dancing hall.
Zevran watched her still, setting his glass to the side as he stepped closer to her. She inclined her head, pressing a slender finger against her chin in mimicked confusion. "Hm, was that supposed to be a joke? Is this the part where I burst out in raucous laughter?" she said.
Zevran clutched his chest in mock pain, rearing away from her as if he had just been struck. "You wound me, Madame! No..." he offered her his hand, palm facing upward, as he watched her intently. She looked up at him with curiosity in her gaze, searching for some hidden meaning behind the veil of his mask. This was a talent she prided herself on; figuring out deeper intentions and the true intent behind cloaked words and false smiles. It was a talent that had proved to be useful quite often, in this quaint noble setting.
Royal Orlesian parties, such as this one, had a tendency to bring out... suspicious competition between families. And this elf, for all his handsome features and otherworldly qualities, was a prime suspect in any act of espionage that could occur. Any spy that threatened the dignity of her family during her Uncle's ball was a fool. Her own uncle was a fool; she reveled in the thrill of this life, of manipulating and prying away the web of lies that lay hidden in royal courts. It fit her like a silk glove. The old saying that had compared eyes and windows proved true, in her case. So she searched the elf's eyes, hoping to see even a sliver of his true self.
Tucked far away in the depths of her mind, behind the wonder of this handsome elven man, it deeply disconcerted her to find that she couldn't peel away his intentions. His light brown eyes wore a shroud of mystery dark as the velvet that masked his face. And she realized that she liked the enigma. The quality was even admirable, as many around her seemingly wore their menacing intentions bare, thinking that she wouldn't have any notion of what truly transpired around her. But she knew, and she acted, flushing out the reckless stupidity of her enemies.
But the charade suited this elf, and it promised challenge. It pushed her even more, to pull away the curtains that smelled of leather and smoke and to delve into the unknown realm of this strange, sharp-eared creature. Was he a bard? A spy? She would find out soon enough, she assured herself.
"No, my dear," he murmured to her, dipping his lips near her ear. His breath smelled lightly of wine, brushing against her hair and prickling over the sensitive skin of her ear. "This is the part where we dance. And it may-it will, be quite raucous. I can promise you this."
She searched his eyes one last time, hoping to pry away a deeper emotion, a hint, anything. The light smile returned to his chiseled features as he straightened up; quiet in its surety, but the warmth didn't quite meet his gaze. He didn't touch her, but she could still feel his body heat licking against her form, feverishly warm... yet cool.
She could find nothing in his gaze.
"Well... what are you waiting for," she said, brushing past his outstretched hand as she headed to the dance hall where other couples had packed near the stage. He followed after her primly, his gaze focused on her own as she paused in an open spot. She laughed, suddenly feeling more amused than ever before. She could play his little game-as long as he agreed to play hers.
"What is so funny all of the sudden?" he murmured as he neared her, bowing deeply and offering her his hand.
She frowned, confused by the display as she gingerly grasped his hand. "What was that?"
The elf shrugged, wrapping his free hand around her waist. "It is customary in Antiva to bow before your dancing partner. Leads all the way back to the duels of Velabanchel," he shrugged dismissively, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
"Hm," she bowed her head, letting him guide the dance as the rich melody sifted throughout the room. "And is it also customary to be this close to your dancing partner?"
"It depends on the type of dance-with clothes on... or without?" With that, he waggled his eyebrows at her suggestively. She rolled her eyes, though her faint smile betrayed her mock indignance. Before she could respond however, Zevran inclined his head toward her, peering at her quizzically. "Why? Does my proximity make you uncomfortable, my lady?"
She didn't immediately respond. Instead she gazed at his lips, which were still gleaming a pale red from the residue of her lipstick. She reached up and rubbed away the stain that decorated his full lips, her fingers pressed against the tender flesh, brushing the velvet of his mask. "Actually, now that you mention it, maybe you could do with moving a little closer?" she replied playfully.
The elf's melodious laugh was deep and robust, resonating throughout the space, and striking close to her heart. It gave her a naive, girlish pleasure to note that she had caused his mirth. "Who am I to refuse the fine Lady? I must oblige her wily desires," he then dipped into another short bow, before grasping a loose hold of her waist. He touched his lips, feeling the residue of the lipstick. "And you know... maybe I wanted to dabble in a little cosmetic care, hm?" he muttered good-naturedly, chucking when she rolled her eyes in response.
The music was a warm murmur, flames of soft rhythm licking a path across the marbled floor. Couples swayed across the dancing hall, a sea of luridly coloured masks and fabric. With the golden light dimmed and the music providing a soothing backdrop, a mood of carnal desire was inspired among those whom danced.
The musical rhythm struck a balance with the pulse of her own beating heart, transfixed as she was at her dancing partner's warm touch. He held her close, the sharp corner of his ear nudged against her hair, drooping slightly. Her chin rested lightly upon the soft silk covering his shoulder. She could feel the sinewy muscle, taut beneath the fabric, and the sensation made her all the more eager to close even this small a distance.
She lightly breathed in his scent, unable to resist the urge as they slowly swayed to the music. At this proximity, she could recognize another scent, and it perplexed her. It was metallic, like steel, or iron... or blood.
She wasn't surprised, if anything the scent further confirmed her early suspicions.
"Your scent is... most complex," she commented, her fingers resting lightly upon his shoulder.
She felt his lips against her hair, forming a smile as he slowly guided them across the floor. Golden specks of light glittered from above, highlighting the deep red of his mask."I've been told that before. Usually it was directed as a compliment, and during another sort of dance," he chuckled, tapping against the bare skin of her lower back. "What is it that you think of my scent?"
Her gaze drifted across the hall, absently focusing on another couple as she inhaled sharply. The couple were entwined in a most carnal embrace, their legs wrapped around each other and moving at a pace more intense than the music's own rhythm. She exhaled. "Smoke. And leather. And..." she trailed off, frowning.
"And?"
His velvet mask brushed against her skin as she leaned back, far enough to look him in the eye. "Metal. Metallic, like-"
"A weapon?"
"Blood."
Zevran didn't immediately respond. The mask slightly hitched up as a sly grin overcame his features, and his eyes beheld a sharp gleam, as if he had just heard an inside joke. He spun her suddenly, his fingers grasping her palm. "Blood is a most interesting liquid, yes? It courses through the veins, singing a tune chimed by a beating heart. The very river of life, if we're feeling particularly dramatic."
He pulled her back against him, her hands pressed against his warm chest. His smile held an edge that she couldn't quite pin-point; it was cheeky, as it had been since she had first laid eyes on him, but now there was a certain deviousness that played at the corner of his lips.
"Blood also compliments my favourite colour: green! So, I may be a bit biased," he said, shrugging comically. The cunning edge of his smile didn't fade away completely as he guided them across the floor, his fingers splayed over the ivory expanse of her back. His other hand lingered upon her waist, although she occasionally felt his touch drift lower.
She did not tire of his games, yet. His deflections only intensified her thirst to uncover the curtain of mystery that lay hidden beneath the mask. She entwined her fingers behind his neck, inching closer to the enfolding heat of his form. She moved with him, swaying her hips in time with the music, and he, in turn, mirrored her motions.
"What did you do in Antiva?" she said, her voice low. She was surprised the second those words escaped her lips; genuinely inquiring about another person was unfamiliar to her. Of course, she participated in polite conversation often-that came with the terms of being a high-ranking nobleman's daughter. But it was never without purpose; manipulating and coercing information out of royal peers was standard practice amid the royalty. It came naturally to her, for she was used to receiving all the answers she needed, with just one look.
It was proving to be a challenge then, that this strange elf had yet to budge even an inch, his intentions deftly hidden away behind lewd flattery and crooked smiles.
It didn't matter. She would pry all the information she needed out of him; who was he, and what business did he have at her Uncle's court. And then for curiosity's sake, she would rip off that damn velvet mask.
She had no intention of giving in. If nothing else, this she was sure of.
The golden strands of hair fell away from his shoulders as he tossed his head back, laughing cheerily. "I think this question would be better phrased as, who didn't I do in Antiva," he grinned, absolutely pleased with himself.
She swatted his arm, smiling in spite of herself. The elf was a natural at deflecting questions, it seemed. "I meant... although you do have a very charming disposition, you are far too fit to be a simple court entertainer. You must have done more... rigorous work in the past."
Zevran's fingers were near her face, out-stretched toward her hair. He watched her, amusement clear in his brown eyes as he tucked a few errant strands of hair from her face. His lips formed a mock pout, the back of his hand ghosting across her cheek."Why, how would you possibly know? Maybe I have tried to make it as an entertainer, hm? And maybe, your court only rejected me because I wanted to be an entertainer of the ah-more sensual variety," he said, shrugging.
The easy smile he wore tightened almost indiscernibly as his hand fell back to her waist. "We all have a past that is better to remain unspoken of. Including you, my dear."
He buried it quickly, but she saw it. A gleam, a shadow of weariness that passed over his features. In that bare second, he had seemed so tired, so exhausted.
She supposed that she should have felt a satisfaction, pleasure, any kind of vindication for making finally progress on seeing a break behind the mask. But she was surprised to feel a genuine sliver of sympathy for the elf. His face had looked so worn, as if he had recently suffered a great deal of emotional trauma, but had stubbornly fought to bury the innermost wounds.
It gave her pause, a small question flaring in the depths of her mind. Is it worth it? she thought.
But when that easy smile returned to his features, albeit tighter than before, and lightness settled in his voice, her curiosity was only further stroked.
He was hidden behind a veil of mystery disguised by charm and flirtation, and yet, she couldn't deny the urge to peel back that shielding curtain.
The music had quickened, its rhythm pouring through the domed structure of the dancing hall. A frantic pace had been set around them, bodies moving in a much quicker succession to match the flow of the stirring melody. She felt it pulsing, instruments striking chords beneath her skin as she shifted in his arms.
A flicker of golden light caught her eye suddenly, and she looked up toward the upper beams of the court. Dozens of tiny lights glimmered from far above, almost muted in their luminescence. They glowed like twinkling stars highlighted against a black sky, bright and unwavering. She squinted, curious, and she could see that the tiny lights were made of fire, slowly burning inside wired cages. The fire dotted patterns in her vision, and she could only stare, transfixed by the golden lights.
She felt a sudden calm wash over her, surreal amongst the commotion of the dancing hall. She exhaled softly, only to feel the pad of Zevran's index finger pressed against her lips. She looked up at him, his masked face wearing an amused expression.
"Come. Enough chit-chat about such boring topics, let us focus on the dancing. We should not waste our lives standing about when such good music is being played, yes?" The light smile glinted sharply as he began to lead her in the dance.
She shook her head, pulling away to grasp at his trim forearms. "I will," was all she said, as she led him to a secluded spot away from the stage. They passed couples who had long since surpassed the pace of the music, flashes of naked skin bright in the darkness as their noises of pleasure and delight arched in volume. The shadows grew darker the farther away they moved from the center of the hall, flecks of golden light streaming in from overhead.
She looked up, the golden flames of light dancing upon her skin. The rhythm surged through her body, and she paused, her eyes pin-pointing a pinch of flame burning brightly overhead, filtered by a light barrier. It danced and swayed with the notes floating in the air, trembling in the music's magnetism. The flame seemed to beckon to her, calling out with the promise of igniting the embers resting inside her soul. The melody whined and shifted, pounding beneath her feet, and she closed her eyes at the sensation.
She felt a touch at her arm, and opened her eyes. She was confused to see a dark form near the tiny flame, straddling the upper decks. A cold shiver overcame her as the form hovered over the flame for a brief moment, before dousing it completely. Slack-jawed, she allowed herself to be moved further back by the masked elf, his hold on her arm loose. He stepped in front of her, eyes peering at her intently. "You were leading, yes?"
She nodded faintly, smiling at him as she wrapped her arms around his neck. The rhythm of the music was a continuous shift, its tempo growing more erratic by the second, the room draped in its molten touch. She balanced her movements in time, her hips swaying under Zevran's touch. He grasped her upper back, the pads of his fingers lightly brushing against her auburn strands of hair. Her face pressed against the side of his neck, she couldn't help but look up in the direction of the extinguished flame, unable to shake the feeling of the dark presence lingering about. Only now, she swore that she could feel the eyes of that presence upon her.
The elf switched positions, and she couldn't see the upper beams any longer. He pressed his lips against her hair, whispering words in a language she couldn't understand. Her skin tingled with electricity as the burning pace of the melody shifted, quickening once more. The pounding began to intensify, and she rocked her body harder against his. Zevran's own hips rolled into her form, as his hands began to roam over the curves of her body, her skin burning beneath his touch. Groans from others near them became louder, but she couldn't hear, so focused was she on her own dance partner. She pressed her lips against his neck, her fingers snaking their way under his silk top and gripping the bare skin of his shoulder. She could feel his smile against her hair, his own fingers circling dangerously low on her back.
She turned over in his arms, the warm expanse of his chest pressing into her back. His hand rose to grasp loosely about her neck, his fingers massaging the cool skin, as his other hand languidly trailed down the length of her waist. She pressed against him, intoxicated under his touch.
The honeyed music, or him, threatened to pull her under, but she fought still to stay afloat, breathing hard as the pads of his fingers pressed against her mouth. His leg bumped against hers, nudging her backwards as she gripped the flesh of his back, his shoulder, his chest. Anywhere she could seek ample purchase of his heated golden skin.
He chuckled, and returned the gesture. Fingers roamed across places unseen as the music pulsated throughout the hall, capturing hold of all present, in its sensuous embrace. The rhythmic throbbing of the music coursed through her form as the elf pulled her back, her skin burning with the traces of his touch. The darkest shadows fell upon them as they moved completely away from the packed hall, though the music did not release her from its thrumming grip.
His fingers stroked through the silky strands of her hair, his knee between her writhing legs as she bucked against him. She felt the warmth of his fingers against the skin of her jaw, and she released an unbidden soft moan, her eyes clamping closed. The music jack-knifed in cadence, and he cupped her cheek, turning her face to meet his. She watched the intensity of his amber eyes begin to fade, their fire cooling, calculating, but she didn't have the heart to question it when his mouth suddenly covered her own.
She opened her eyes, and she finally saw him.
It all seemed so simple now.
Held securely in his grasp, the only thing she could do was watch as the golden lights dimmed, melting in wisps of smoke as the shadows extinguished their fire. She watched the shadowed forms melt into human figures, descending agilely from the beams overhead. She watched him, his lips gleaming with the residue of poison.
For the first time, she saw him.
I was wrong, she thought, gazing into the sepia depths of his eyes. "I can see now," she whispered, feebly lifting a finger to brush against his jaw. He caught her hand in his own, and allowed her to press the cool pad of her thumb against his bottom lip. "You... you are so tired. I pray that... peace finds you."
He watched as the light in her emerald eyes clouded over, and her lips became slack. The hand he held was limp, and her temperature had already chilled. To those that slinked through the shadows, their lithe forms already at work cleaning up the scene, his expression was indiscernible.
The elven assassin wouldn't let them see the lines of desolation that were etched into his face, the shadows clinging beneath his eyes, and he turned on his heel and silently made his way out of the court, tearing the velvet mask from his face. As he faded away into the cool night air, the golden lights that dusted the court were doused quickly.
The music shifted to a down tempo rhythm, somber and earnest in the aftermath of its climax. Strings echoed of desolate memory, and the melody fell flat.
"Clean work, Zevran," the contract giver stated, all business. "The nobleman should no longer be a nuisance to our employers. His daughter , Marion Du Pont, was apparently turning out the same way, so it was a... how do they say... hit two pigeons with one stone."
Zevran nodded absently, leaning back against the far wall in the darkly lit room. Rain pitter-pattered against the window, the sound providing a soothing backdrop against the typical drowning silence of the enclosed space. His gaze was aimed toward the window, absently tracking each raindrop sliding down the misted glass. "That is what I'm here for-they don't call me the best Crow in business without reason," he said, crossing his arms over his chest.
The contract giver nodded, peering at Zevran intently. "Indeed. That is why you will be heading to Fereldan's capital."
Zevran inclined his head toward the contract giver, not really meeting the weathered man's eyes. "I am aware," he turned back to the window, his lips tightening. "What is the rundown?"
"You will be meeting with the Regent of Ferelden... Loghain is his name, if I remember correctly. Which I usually do," the contract giver intoned, his fingers tapping a flat rhythm upon the wooden desk.
Rinna's wild, tearful eyes pleaded with him as Taliesin's fingers tapped against the metal chains that held her bound, revealing the utter heartbreak that she was too proud to show, even at this moment.
Flashes of a night drenched in blood threatened to flood his mind, and Zevran had to suppress the urge to shake his head, to vainly rid his psyche of the thoughts. The contract giver withdrew a moth-eaten poster from an open chest, unraveling the withered parchment carefully. He laid the poster flat out on the desk for Zevran to see, the corners of the poster curling crisply.
Her cries of agony reverberated throughout the enclosed space as Taliesin pressed the brand into her skin, wisps of smoke emanating from the contact. He hurled accusations at the chained woman. She frantically repeated denial, as well as professions of love. Zevran felt his lips moving, mouthing words he couldn't recall ever wanting to give voice to. 'I never cared about you,' he said, his lips frozen in a baleful sneer.
"Meet with this Loghain and you'll get all the information you need," said the contract giver, seemingly unaware of the dark reverie that preyed upon the elf's mind. Zevran suddenly felt the urge to retch, his stomach clenching almost painfully.
Denial after denial trembled through her bloodied lips, strained and panting. Taliesin shook his head, and nodded to Zevran, though the elf couldn't seem to fully comprehend the gesture, his mind wiped blank of all other awareness.
"He should go over the location and the matter of our payment, and everything else. The only thing I know for certain is that you'll need to take care of this woman," the contract giver said, tapping the poster with the tip of a quill.
He could hear the trembling rasp of her breath as she inhaled, the sound ringing in his ears. His eyes locked with her own tearful gaze then, and her frantic panting had slowed down to shaky breaths. He couldn't hear the screech of Taliesin's blade as it was withdrawn from its sheath, nor could he see the familiar gleam of steel. Zevran was sure only of his heartbeat, its thunderous pounding seemingly locked in his throat, blood rushing in his ears.
The contract giver watched for the elf's reaction, his steely gaze narrowed. "She's a Grey Warden, Zevran."
Time itself slowed to a crawl in those few moments. Zevran's mouth opened, but no sensible words were brave enough to emerge as Taliesin's blade cleaved through the dense air, his face twisted into cold rage. She watched him, unblinking, as those laborious seconds dragged on. He wasn't aware of his surroundings, nor was he fully conscious of what exactly was happening, unable to process anything else beside the thrashing amber ocean of her eyes that threatened to pull him under.
Zevran stepped toward the desk mechanically, his arms tight as his sides as he stared down at the poster, emptiness in his eyes.
There was a wrenching pain in her eyes suddenly, a different sort than the agony of physical torture. Grief, Sympathy? He couldn't understand.
Zevran's fingers crept down the length of the poster, tracing the lines that marked the target's face. Staring down at the parchment, the utter fatigue that laced his gaze was concealed from the contract giver.
Only when Taliesin's blade fell upon her neck, and when their superiors later informed Zevran of her innocence, did he finally comprehend.
He noted each detail, each curve of her face, the distinctive tattoos that decorated her skin.
She had grieved for him.
The sharp edge of his dagger pierced the ruined poster suddenly, his fingers tapping an unsteady rhythm against the hilt. "I can't wait," he said, forcing that once easy confidence into his voice, although his expression held a tinge of hollowness.
The warden's dwarven face stared up at him from the ruined parchment, and in that moment, he saw his death, his release, in her resolute gaze.
Thanks goes to my beta darkshine07