Disclaimer: Bioware owns all, I earn nothing.
WARNING: This story has TWO MEN FALLING IN LOVE WITH EACH OTHER AND EXPRESSING SEMI-HEALTHY DESIRE FOR EACH OTHER'S BODIES. If you don't like homoerotic romance PLEASE BACK OFF! If that kind of thing makes you go start praying at the porcelain gods in a hurry, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. Please exit quietly using the "Back" button, thank you. Please note that if you decide to continue, we do not supply brain bleach, so bring your bleach brand of choice before your eyes start drifting further. Thank you for your cooperation, and have a nice day.
Of Whoresons and Nobles
Chapter 25
Zevran went to crouch down by the suspicious blanket-covered lump, before he lifted the stiff fabric, looked beneath it…and very carefully dropped it back down, his face blank.
"Bad?" the Warden called out from the doorway.
"Let's just say that he did not die an easy death," Zevran murmured, grimacing as he noticed the flakes of dried blood stuck to his gloves.
He heard the Warden mutter a few choice oaths as the human stepped through the doorway and went to stand beside Zevran, staring down at the blanket-covered corpse. "Poor Weylon," the Warden finally said. "Died protecting his master's research."
Poor Weylon indeed. Zevran had seen some harsh deaths (Maker knows he caused more than his fair share of them), but what the cultists did to this boy…it simply made Zevran decide that the world is better off without their existence.
"So…we have a dead body, and one still-missing Brother." The Warden looked around, frowning. "And no idea where to find said missing Brother."
"Nothing is easy," Zevran murmured, his eyes casting about the room as well. "…well, except for certain types of people, and even they have their own price."
"…that's an awful joke."
"I know," Zevran said gaily. "Not quite as bad as some of the things Alistair says, but I do try my best."
"I heard that," Alistair's voice echoed from beyond the doorway. The blond Warden's head poked into the room, and after a brief glare at Zevran, he glanced up and shook his head at the Warden. "Found a lot of books in the study. A lot of things on dragon cults and the like, but nothing that could help us find Brother Genitivi."
"Blast and damnation. I was afraid of this," the Warden muttered. "Of course the cultists wouldn't leave any obvious trails to themselves…What about Wynne? Has she found anything?"
"Poking through the books right now. We might find some clues to the cult's whereabouts—a long shot, but better than nothing."
"So why are you over here and not over there?" the Warden asked pointedly.
Alistair shrugged. "She can read a lot faster than I can," he said by way of explaination.
"Small print too difficult for you?" Zevran murmured softly, not loud enough for Alistair to hear.
A swift kick not-so-gently slammed into his side, making him yelp. The Warden did not even glance down at him—although judging from the quirked lips, the human found his little remark amusing, warning kick notwithstanding. "What about that imposter's body?" the Warden asked Alistair. "Is he carrying a map or anything of that sort?"
"Not a single useful thing—I mean, Genitivi-hunting wise, that is. Some coins and a few poultices but that's about it, really."
"I see." The Warden let out a rueful sigh. "I suppose it was too much to hope for. Oh well…" He shrugged. "Zevran and I will search this room. You go help Wynne."
"Right." Alistair nodded. "Good luck with the searching." With that, the blond ducked out of the doorway and vanished from view.
The Warden sighed and, frowning, closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Maker's breath," he muttered. "Why are things always so damned complicated?"
"Because if they aren't, then we wouldn't be needed to stop the Blight, yes?" Zevran quipped lightly...even as he watched the Warden closely.
"Oh, sure, because Ferelden needs heroes and all that." The Warden laughed slightly. "And to think I once yearned for adventure."
Zevran felt himself smiling at the Warden's woeful tone. "Life doesn't always go according to plan." The smile faded into a frown as the Warden continued to hold the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb. "Are you all right?" he asked, keeping his voice low.
"Just a bit of a headache," the Warden murmured, equally quiet, his eyes squeezing tightly.
From the look on your face, I'd say it's more than 'a bit'. Zevran bit back the caustic reply. It was worrying, but not as bad as, say, being close to dying from sleep deprivation; in fact, he thought that it was very likely the headache was from the lack of proper sleep itself.
He mentally sighed. It has been a week since that little confrontation about the soldier's bane, and as far as Zevran knew, the Warden had (wisely) chosen to stop taking that…which for some inexplicable reason his body took as a hint to sleep even more deeply. The Warden often ended up stumbling into his tent and collapsing into the pelts, falling asleep as soon as his head hit the furs—and sometimes he dozed off during dinner itself.
A fortunate thing, in a way (a living Warden was important to Zevran for rather obvious reasons, Crows and sex being two of them) but it was counter-productive to Zevran's plans for the slow seduction of his Warden. There was not a lot a man could do when his soon-to-be lover fell into a near-coma every night…and only waking up long after the sun had rose, and the rest of their little party were already preparing to continue on their journey. Not much opportunities for seduction there, and much less on their hasty journey back to Denerim to look for the still-missing Genitivi.
Privately Zevran wondered if it was all just circumstance, or if there really was some sadistic god or goddess out there who was deliberately throwing obstacle after obstacle in his path of seduction.
Well, it was true that he had not been able to initiate sex, but he'd continued to sleep in the Warden's tent—largely at the Warden's insistence. He'd returned from scouting after that memorably uncomfortable talk with Leliana, only to find a scowling, prowling Warden who'd immediately pounced on him and rather tersely explained that he'd been "sorely put out" when he'd woken up and found that Zevran had disappeared from his bed. That was followed by a very impervious demand that Zevran was to spend the nights thereafter in the Warden's tent.
It had amused Zevran, and he'd playfully asked why. To which the Warden replied: "Because I want you there, naked in my bed, every night from now on. And I always get what I want."
Zevran smiled to himself as he remembered that. The low, growled words—and the purely hungry look in the Warden's eyes—had sent a pleasant little shiver down his spine. Still sent that shiver each time he thought of it. Demanding, his Warden, but oh-so-very-sexy when he behaved like that.
"Zevran?"
He blinked, found the Warden staring at him. "Hmm?"
"Stop thinking whatever it is that you're thinking. You're getting that glazed-eyed looked again." The Warden raised an eyebrow at him, the corners of the human's mouth quirking up. "We are on a quest here, you realize…try to focus a little more on the task at hand."
"Mm…" Zevran felt his mouth curve in a wicked grin. "There are better things I'd rather focus on…" His voice lowering into a purr, he let his gaze drop from the Warden's face to rove over the heavy-armored body. "…like having you beneath my hands right now."
He felt the gaze on him grow heated—wasn't surprised when, looking up at the Warden's eyes, he found himself caught in a gaze full of dark lust.
The Warden smiled, a little sharply. "Later," he said, his voice already half-growling. "After we find some clue to Genitivi's whereabouts."
Zevran let out a melodramatic little sigh. "And I am rejected once again," he lamented, turning and heading to a little storage chest he'd spotted at the foot of the lone cot in the room. "Truly, my dear, you are maddeningly hard to please." He knelt down, opened the chest and glanced in it. Clothes, made of rough linen, crudely made and worn with age, far too wide for someone of Weylon's build—Genitivi's clothes, most likely. The brother must be a rather portly man.
He heard the Warden softly chuckle at his words, but there wasn't any reply—from the sounds behind him, the human was already rooting through the chest of drawers.
Pity. A little bit of flirting would've been more playtime than the sum of what he'd had with the Warden for the past week.
Rolling his eyes, he sorted through the clothes, somewhat carelessly tossing them over his shoulder after he had checked their pockets. There was a stale scent in the clothing—not the sour stench of unwashed sweat, but the dusty musk of clothes that had kept in a closed wooden chest from some time.
Genitivi, he remembered, had been missing for months—these clothes seem to have been stored away for much longer. Not very promising, all things considered. Perhaps he should help Wynne in the libr—
His fingers brushed against something stiff and decidedly un-clothing-like. Frowning, he closed his hand about it, felt the distinct blocky shape of a book.
Oh-ho! And what have we here? He pulled it out—it was indeed a book, thick and heavy, its covers leather bound and showing no distinct mark or words. Intrigued, he flipped it open, and found himself staring at pages upon pages of inked words—not the orderly script of a book meant for public reading, but the absent-minded scribbling of a mind jotting down private notes. Dates, diagrams, rough-drawn maps…a very promising find indeed. "Warden," he called out, flipping through more of the yellowed, worn pages. "I think I found something."
He heard the Warden push a drawer shut, and then the heavy thread of boots against the wooden floor, the clatter of armor. Sensed rather than saw the Warden lean over his shoulder to peer at the pages. "Is that a journal?"
Wordlessly, Zevran passed the book to the Warden, who immediately started flipping the pages, frowning in studious concentration as his eyes darted over the scrawlings.
"I hope there's something in there," Zevran said, gracefully rising to stand on his feet, dusting his hands as he did so. "Considering I dug through an old man's underthings to get that."
"Well, looks like your hard work paid off. This is a research journal. Specifically, research regarding the Urn of Sacred Ashes." The Warden's eyebrow rose as he continued flicking through pages. "This Genitivi is one rather long-winded fellow, that's for sure…but this looks interesting. 'The village of Haven in the Frostbacks seems a good place to start. Pity it's not on any maps.'" He snorted as he snapped the book shut. "Looks like we're heading to the Frostback Mountains."
Zevran thought back about those tall, imposing, impossibly cold mountains…and didn't quite manage to suppress the horrified shudder that went through him. "Again?" he asked, not bothering to keep the plaintive tone out of his voice. "In the heart of winter?"
The Warden smirked. "Unfortunately so, yes. Looks like you're going to have to grin and bear it."
Zevran groaned.
Chuckling, the Warden tucked the book under one arm, smiling broadly. "Really, Zevran, you've been here…what, almost a year now? Surely you'd be used to the weather by now."
Zevran glared at the Warden. "A year in Ferelden is nothing compared to decades in Antiva."
"Mmm…point taken." Still grinning, the Warden shrugged slightly and turned towards the doorway. "We best head out then, and get to the mountains soonest, before the cold really sets in and freezes your balls off."
"You, my dear Warden," Zevran spat, "are a cold, cruel man."
The grin that the Warden shot at him was all sharp teeth. "But you like that about me, don't you?" the human said with a wink, before going through the doorway and vanishing into the main hall.
Leaving Zevran staring at the doorway, only half-listening to the Warden's voice calling for Alistair and Wynne.
Zevran sighed, and then smiled ruefully. Ah, well…what the Warden said was true. He liked the human's cold, ruthless side…even as he enjoyed the warm, friendly side. He especially liked the hot, awesomely sexy side.
He thought about the next stop of their journey, and recalled the remark about balls freezing off...
His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. There was some wisdom there…although the Warden didn't know it. As they moved to higher ground, it'll eventually get colder…and he had no doubt that the mountains were swarming with darkspawn by now.
Which meant that there was precious little time left for the both of them to indulge in sex—especially the hours-long bout of seduction that Zevran had in mind.
It was especially important that he did this properly. The Warden was not completely open to the idea yet, Zevran could tell—even if the Warden himself didn't know it.
Soon. He mentally nodded to himself as he decided that. It had to be done soon, when they'd moved far enough away from Denerim to avoid Loghain's men, but close enough to civilization that they wouldn't be ambushed in the dead of the night by darkspawn.
Now the problem was how to set the scene…
~to be continued~
Author's note: Late, late, late, so very LATE. Sincere apologies for this, I did not expect my workload to suddenly explode in my face—free time seems to come at a premium now, sheesh.
Short chapter, but another would be uploaded very soon—it should have been the second half to this chapter, but it would have made this too long.
Side note on reviews: Oh Maker, I'm already approaching the 200 reviews mark and I didn't realize it!
THANK YOU, all of my readers—both the long-time followers and the newcomers. I am so glad that this story had proved entertaining to most of you.
I'm very pleased that you've enjoyed my characterization—specifically that of the party members. It's always a difficult thing to stay as close as possible to the original personalities of the Warden's little band of companions, particularly when the talented writers at BioWare had infused them with such distinctly quirky personalities.
What I'm REALLY surprised about is that many of you seem to actually LIKE my Warden. That was a bit of a shock to me, really—I'd always tried to keep the focus on Zevran's thoughts and emotions, with the Warden relegated from main character to supporting role. 'Wolf' came out a lot quirkier than I intended when I started this story, and simply grew his own weird little personality as I write more and more about him. It was a very strange thing, but I'm glad it seems to have worked out so far.
Once again, thanks for all the reviews, and KEEP 'EM COMING. They make my day, really; each time reading them just perks me up. Share your thoughts, please, and if you have anything to criticize, go ahead, I won't bite!