His daggers flash in the firelight, and he twists, turns with maddening speed. Zevran was never much one for open combat - that goes against every training he's received with the Crows - but during the past year he spent traveling with the Wardens, he's adapted to it well.
His daggers rise and fall with rhythm, ending a life of miserable darkspawn with every slice, with every cut. Poisonous blood splatters across his armor, drips down the pommels, covers his gloves. Blood roars in his ears, blocking out all distractions. He is a whirlwind of daggers, cutting and killing, maelstrom of death. Knows nothing beyond the darkness he grants his targets.
And yet he is not doing this for the Crows, or even for himself. No, every death he brings to these miserable creatures are for her, and it makes this hopeless battle bearable. There are too many – there's no end to darkspawn, but for her, Zevran would gladly fight until his limbs are torn apart.
Zevran briefly looks to his Warden, casting spells after spells at the dreadful archdemon squatting down in the center of the Fort Drakon's roof. Zevran would protect her from harm – he would. Even if it's the last thing he does in this accursed lifetime.
The roar of battle engulfs him, and he loses himself in the familiar mindless battle rage that consumes him, burning away all thoughts, adrenaline licking through his blood. Zevran would kill – it is what he does best. And Solona Amell needs him to kill. So he kills with a happy heart in this madness.
A hurlock alpha nearly gets past his guard – the jagged sword whispers against his leather armor. Zevran twists, avoiding getting skewered - and with a turn, decapitates the ugly thing. But an ogre steps in its place. There is no end to darkspawn.
Zevran throws a desperate glance at Sten, wondering if the warrior would get him out of this particular tight spot – but no, Sten has troubles of his own. They're all in heaps of trouble – with no one to get them out. This time, no one would come to their aid. Resigned, Zevran screams his last battle cry, and hurtles towards the giant purple ugly horned monster. Using its towering body as the stepping stone, he jumps high up in the air.
The ogre just barely misses him, its huge hands grasping at thin air where he was moments before. He lets the gravity pull him down, his daggers poised for the weak spots in its neck. He screams through the entire descent. His blades sink deep into the monster, and it howls, body convulsing in death throes. Zevran twists his blades, hoping it would die quickly before it knocks him away. He sees the monstrous hand reaching for him, ready to crush him. Zevran knows that he's made his last kill. The ogre will take him to the beyond.
Golden light explodes somewhere next to him, and throws him clear off of the monster. He falls hard against the floor, and grunts as the breath is knocked out of him. But the explosion doesn't end – how is that possible? – the golden light grows and grows, blinding his sensitive eyes. The light is coming from where his Warden was.
Shielding his eyes, Zevran squints at the archdemon, and sees his Warden standing over a dead dragon. She stands tall, her hand gripping a huge sword stabbed into the head. Smiling, he stands up. His Warden's done it, ended the Blight. Against all odds, she's killed the archdemon.
But something's wrong. She's not moving right. She doesn't hoot and cheer in victory, nor does she run forward to embrace her friends. His step falters, as he squints harder in the light pouring out of the archdemon. She's… she's convulsing. His ears finally pick up the loud screeching noise pitched high and clear, ringing across the air. His Warden's scream.
Solona twists and shudders, her face contorted in pain. Zevran takes a step, and another. His limbs are numb, his hands cold. Her scream is continuous, grinding screech blistering against his nerves. His feet slowly carry him towards the core of the explosion. His armor burns in the scorching heat, his skin raw. But he doesn't care, he doesn't feel it. His entire world is narrowed down to the woman holding the sword buried deep in archdemon's head.
She falls, her fingers loosening around the hilt, her knees buckling. Her eyes roll up into her head, and her mouth is still open in a scream. His feet finally moves faster, and Zevran is running, running faster than he's ever run, toward his master, toward his Warden, toward his love.
"No! No, nonononono. No!" His denial tumbles out of his mouth, but he doesn't hear them. Why? She won! She killed the archdemon! She was victorious. Was this the reward she got for saving them all? Fucking hell! She didn't deserve this!
The golden light finally dissipates, and Zevran is by her side, desperate fingers grasping her body, holding her in his arms. He hugs her prone form tightly, blood smearing into her loose hair. He cries, long forgotten tears running freely down his face. His breath comes in short gasps, and his chest is constricted. Zevran can't get enough air down into his lungs. His heart feels icy, and there is an unknown force gripping it tight, and it's so painful, so painful. He's never hurt so badly in his life. He would rather be tortured again, than to sit here cradling her still body against his.
"My Warden. My dear Warden. No, this can't be true. This cannot be happening!" His strangled words barely get past his lips, salty wet as he weeps and weeps. Somewhere behind him, there's scuffling noise as her companions gathered around. They are silent with shock – nobody knows what to say. Except him. He says things on everyone's minds. The denial.
"Why? Did you know you would die?" Zevran screams, hurtling the words with enough force for them to reach her in the Beyond. "Did you know you would leave me?"
Her cold lips does not flutter, there's no musical voice answering his accusations. Zevran buries his head against the nape of her neck, and continues to cry. The dead are always silent.
"Zev…" fingers tug at his shoulder, and he hears Leliana's worried voice. But he can't move, he can't release her. He can't let her go. He weeps harder, for there's no shame in his grief.
They stay there for a long while, each of them crying in their own way, some silently, others howling.
Zevran feels light brushes of fingertips against his back, and he wishes Leliana would go away, to leave him alone with her. He wishes to weep and wail, away from the comforting touches of his friends, for there is no comfort to be had in a world without his Warden.
But the ghosting touch on his back grows to an insistent tapping, and to eventual pounding. With a snarl, Zevran lifts his head, to tell whoever it was to get lost, to leave him alone. His wet eyes glitter with malice, and he knows his friend does not deserve it, but Zevran doesn't care.
Except there is no friend pounding on his back. They're all crying in their own bubbles. Instead, he hears a loud gasp for breath in his arms, and then coughs.
"Zev… were you planning to choke me to death?" He hears the musical voice, thin and cracking, strained and hoarse. It is the most beautiful sound he's ever heard.
His head turns to look down at the woman he was holding in his arms, and she's filthy. She's covered in darkspawn blood, sweat, and filth that Zevran can't even begin to guess. And she's the most exquisite thing he's ever seen, most alluring creature ever to grace this world. She's gasping for breath, and coughing. "Maker, Zevran, let me breathe." Her hands tap against his back.
Zevran just holds her tighter, and laughs, startling the grieving friends out of their misery. He laughs and cries, and then kisses his Warden warm on the lips. And this time, her lips flutter in response.