Zevran was there when he woke the next morning, already awake and busy dressing. "I was going to let you sleep in," Zevran said, walking over and leaning down to brush a kiss against his cheek. "I will be in meetings much of the day, and then I have another party to attend tonight. Do you mind?"
"No, it's fine," Fenris said, managing somehow to keep his voice calm and even, and watched as the elf hastily finished dressing and hurried off. He'd known about the meetings, of course; Zevran would be spending the day with Alistair and Mairead, while they brought a carefully selected group of the nobles of Ferelden up to speed on developments abroad, especially the word of impending invasion that Zevran and Fenris had brought evidence of. As a Bann of Ferelden, Zevran had a place in such meetings. Fenris, as a foreigner, did not.
He had to admit he was relieved. He was still feeling deeply unhappy over events of the night before, and was just as glad to have a day away from Zevran's company in order to think things through, now that his initial storm of emotion had subsided somewhat. He tossed and turned in the bed, briefly napping again once or twice, but mostly replaying the scene from last night over and over again in his head; the innuendo in the words Zevran and the unseen stranger had said to each other. Zevran's agreement to meet the stranger somewhere tonight, evidently for sex. The needy sounds Zevran had made.
The biggest part of his unhappiness, Fenris eventually decided, wasn't that Zevran was sleeping with someone else. The part that hurt the most was the fear that he meant much less to the other elf than Zevran meant to him. The fear that he might lose him, after all that the slight blond elf had come to represent to him.
They had spoken very little about their relationship, in their time together. And yet... he remembered how tightly they'd clung to each other, after the Crows had narrowly missed killing Zevran in Starkhaven, the feeling of Zevran trembling in his arms, head pressed into the curve of his neck. How the assassin had said that he'd been terrified of seeing Fenris killed before his eyes. Surely that meant that he truly cared about Fenris.
That thought brought back another memory; of their discussion after Zevran's old master had surprised them, on a hilltop near Starkhaven. Zevran had spoke of having had many lovers before; how many had just been good friends, some of them enemies or targets, with only a few being people that he cared for.
And that Fenris was one he cared for.
A knot in his chest eased a little at the memory. He had to believe that it had not just been empty words the other elf had said; that it was not merely something said to reassure him, but something that was said because it was meant.
With that thought he was finally able to get himself out of bed, to wash and dress and send off for food, shocked to see by the angle of light through the windows that is was already early afternoon, the morning having disappeared while he wrestled with his thoughts. As he sat down and ate he found himself missing the early-morning rides that had become such a part of his usual routine back in Starkhaven. He found himself yearning to be back there, and was startled to realize that there was a name for the feeling he had; homesickness. Something he couldn't ever remember experiencing before. But then he hadn't had a real home before either, not in any real sense of the word; just places he lived.
He couldn't go riding, or at least he didn't feel confident enough in this strange place to attempt doing so on his own, but he could find his way to the stables, and visit for a while with his and Zevran's horses. They were all clearly being very well cared for, though all of them were starting to look rather rough-coated; with Zevran and Fenris planning to travel in winter, their coats were being allowed to grow out rather than being kept clipped short, to help keep them warm while travelling.
Fenris found himself wishing he'd brought a treat for the horses – some apples or carrots – but unlike Starkhaven, this was not a place where he could just show up at the kitchen door and ask for such. Another thing to miss about the north; feeling like he was more than just a guest in someone else's home. King Alistair was certainly a friendly enough fellow, and the servants were unfailing polite, and yet there was none of the feeling of belonging, none of the acceptance, that he'd come to find in Starkhaven. Mind you he'd had to earn such acceptance there, though the fact that he'd started out in the city by saving Sebastian's life had certainly eased his way with the guards and servants. Here... here he was just some foreign elf, accepted – provisionally – because of Zevran, not for anything he himself had done.
He was feeling rather dejected again when he finally returned to Zevran's rooms, a feeling that only increased when he discovered that he'd just missed seeing Zevran; the guard at the door informed him that Zevran had already been back, and had left word that he didn't expect to be back again before some time the next day.
He wandered through the silent rooms for a while, wishing Zevran was here, then summoned a servant and had a simple supper brought to him; meat, roasted vegetables, and a bottle of wine. He ate slowly, chewing each bite thoroughly before swallowing, to try and make the meal last, but even so it was over all too soon. He sighed, and rose to summon the servant back to remove the dishes, and bring him a second bottle of wine.
After that he curled up in a chair near the fire, with his wine close at hand, and one of the books he'd fetched from the library the other day. He found himself unable to really concentrate on it; he'd read a paragraph or two, then find his thoughts straying back to Zevran and their relationship. Then he'd try reading again, and find himself re-reading parts he'd belatedly realize he'd already read before. Finally he grew too frustrated, put the book aside, and just curled up tight in the chair, and drank his wine, ignoring the glass now in favour of drinking directly from the bottle. That, at least, eventually slowed the whirl of his thoughts, and a while later, they stopped entirely as he dropped into an uneasy sleep.
Zevran could smell wine as soon as he passed from the foyer into the main room. He came to an abrupt stop as he spotted the shape huddled in the chair near the fireplace, barely lit by the faint glow of the handful of embers that were all that remained of an earlier fire, a book and a wine bottle standing on a small table nearby. He moved slowly forward when the faint sound of even breathing showed that Fenris was sleeping, not sitting up in the darkness. It wasn't until he was quite close that he spotted the second bottle, still held loosely in Fenris' hand, the elf curled up around it like it was some treasured possession. He sighed, and came to a stop, still a step or two away from the chair.
"Fenris," he called quietly, wanting to wake the other elf without startling him. "Fenris?"
The elf shifted and groaned, eyes still shut, hand twitching slightly on the bottle.
"Fenris," Zevran called again, a little louder, and moved closer as the elf stirred and looked around, blinking sleepily, finally at least partially conscious of his surroundings. "You should be in bed," he scolded gently.
"Zevran? Wha... why are you back?"
"I live here," Zevran pointed out dryly.
"I know, but..." Fenris looked around, frowning. "It's night."
"I know," Zevran said quietly, and moved to sit on the arm of the chair. "I came back early." He reached out, pushing some of Fenris' hair out of his eyes, studying what he could see of his face in the poor light. "It didn't feel right, leaving you here alone."
Fenris went very still, studying Zevran's face in turn. Then looked away. "Before or after you met with your friend?" he asked bleakly, voice barely above a whisper.
Zevran froze, feeling the blood drain from his face, then regretfully withdrew his hand. "After. You knew?"
Fenris turned back to look up at him again. "I was in the hallway last night." His voice sounded calm, if slightly hoarse, but even in the dark the assassin could see the way Fenris trembled.
Zevran closed his eyes. "I have hurt you," he said huskily, hating himself. "Fenris..." He stopped, not knowing what to say. A silence stretched out between them.
Fenris shifted, putting aside the empty bottle, then reached out and set his hand on Zevran's knee. "I do not know what to do," he said quietly. "I..." He stopped, then sighed, and leaned his head against the back of the chair, eyes glinting with reflected light as he looked searchingly up at Zevran's face. "I am frightened," he admitted, in a very small voice.
It made Zevran feel as if his heart would break in two, that voice. He trembled himself, torn before the urge to gather Fenris up in his arms and comfort him, and the fear that it would not be welcome. Then Fenris drew a ragged breath, broken by a sob, and he stopped worrying about rejection and slid down into the chair with Fenris, aware only of how the other elf reached out for him even as he reached for Fenris, both of them wrapping themselves around as much of each other as they could reach, the two of them clinging tightly together for some minutes. He was only barely aware of the stream of endearments in Antivan that left his lips as he sought to comfort Fenris, far more aware of how distressed the other elf was, of how shaken he himself felt. Shaken, and full of regrets, that he had come so close to shattering this fragile thing that had formed between them. That there new seemed some small chance that he had not... a blessing unearned.
Fenris calmed, after a while, at least enough to loosen his bruising grip on Zevran and lean back enough that they could look in each other's face. Not the most comfortable of positions for either of them, both of them squeezed together in the chair as they were. Zevran was more-or-less straddling Fenris' legs, though the way Fenris had twisted to the side as they reached for each other meant one of his legs was trapped under the other elf and going numb. Zevran sighed, and forced himself to speak as well. "I am frightened too," he confessed. "I have... you know I have loved only rarely. Had sex many times, yes, have at least a handful of people I truly care for, yes, but love..." He stopped, and swallowed. "It is not words we have said to each other. But I love you, and that frightens me."
Fenris sighed softly, his arms momentarily tightening around Zevran again. "The fear of loss," he said, unsteadily.
"Yes," Zevran agreed, and swallowed thickly. "I have never told you. There was a girl..." He stopped, blinking back tears.
"Anders told me, once," Fenris said quietly. "When I had asked him about your past, before we... when I was still confused about what you wanted of me. He had the story from someone else, he said... a girl named Rinna?"
"Yes. A girl named Rinna. I loved her, and she died, and it was my fault that she died; I could have saved her, and didn't." It seemed so strange to say the words; to say them aloud, which before he'd only ever said in his thoughts. He forced himself to continue, forcing out the words between sharp intakes of breath. "Rinna was killed. By our partner. Whom I trusted, until then. I did not stop him. I laughed, and spat on her as she died." The words were bitter; the memories a nightmare. He froze, caught in those memories, remembering. The disbelief and hatred he'd felt at first, when he thought she'd betrayed them. Only later realizing that the depth of his hatred and bile as Taliesin killed her was because he had loved her. She had told him in her dying moments that she loved him, and he had spat on her, and laughed. And only later regretted, as he began to realize what he had lost; as if some vital part of him had been hacked off, leaving him crippled and bleeding. And then, later, to learn that her treachery had been a lie... not just a mistake, but a lie! He had left Antiva, wanting only to die.
He became aware that he was trembling and wordless with the painful force of the stream of memories. He could feel Fenris' arms around him, hands stroking soothingly up and down his back. He wanted to just stay like that, but he knew the moment could not last. "If you knew where I was going, what I meant to do... then why did you stay?" he forced himself to ask, speaking the words against Fenris' chest because he could not bring himself to lift his head and meet the other man's eyes.
It took Fenris a couple of tries before he managed to speak. "Because I don't want to leave you," he finally rasped out. "I don't want you to leave me, either." Fenris drew a breath, his hands moving to push them a little apart again, so he could cup Zevran's face, and look searchingly into his eyes. "I was frightened that I was losing you. That you... that you didn't..." He stopped, and swallowed, then whispered. "That you didn't feel the same about things. But you..." Another stop, a deeper breath. "I love you."
Zevran felt the knot in his own chest loosening a little further, his eyes overflowing with tears. He could not speak. Then Fenris leaned forward, toward him, and lips were touching his, a tongue seeking entrance, hands moving away from his face to touch him elsewhere, gently, carefully, arms gathering him in and holding him as if he was something, someone, worth treasuring. He moaned, feeling himself respond to the touches, feeling Fenris responding as well.
For a little while at least, they both put aside all fear and questions, and just loved.
Fenris lay on his side, watching Zevran's sleeping face, lit by the morning sun. He ignored the slight ache of his head, the deeper soreness elsewhere from having slept on a floor cushioned only by a carpet that, while it felt deep and lush underfoot, proved overly thin and hard to one now more used to sleeping on thick mattress than on hard floors. They had at some point built up the fire, which at least meant it was not a cold hard floor, but he was certain they were both going to be feeling the aftereffects all day. Though not entirely from the hardness of the floor, he found himself thinking, remembering some of what had passed between them in their desperate love-making the night before, and flushed.
It was, of course, while he was thinking thus that Zevran finally woke as well, eyes slitting open. A smile crossed Zevran's face for a moment, then faded even more quickly that it had appeared, an even more sober expression replacing it. The assassin sighed, then pushed himself partially upright, leaning on one hand. "We have to talk," he said.
"Yes," Fenris agreed, and moved as well, wincing as he rolled over and sat up.
And heard a muttered oath from Zevran as the other elf stood up with none of his usual grace or speed. "I think we would both benefit from a very hot bath," Zevran pointed out.
Fenris rose to his feet as well, moving every bit as stiffly as Zevran had. "I believe you are right," he said.
Zevran nodded tiredly. "And hot tea. And after that, a good breakfast."
"I'll go start the bath running," Fenris said, faintly amused, and turned and walked away, leaving Zevran to deal with their scattered clothing and any possible interactions with servants.
The tub was full of gently steaming spice-scented water by the time Zevran joined him, carrying a tray with a large, cozy-wrapped teapot, mugs, honey, and the small jug of cream that seemed to often accompany tea here in Ferelden. Zevran kicked a small footstool over near the tub, then set the tray on it, pouring for both of them before joining Fenris in the tub, and sighing with relief as he settled down into the hot water.
They did not, as they usually did, sit back-to-front with Zevran in front of Fenris; they sat instead at opposite ends so they could see each other, turned a bit to each side to make room for each other hip-to-feet. Fenris sipped his tea, studying the other elf, while Zevran toyed with his own mug but did not drink, looking ill at ease. Fenris frowned, after several minutes of silence had passed, and set aside his own cup, then leaned forward and plucked the untouched mug from Zevran's hands and putt it aside as well, before taking Zevran's hands in his own.
"Talk," he said.
Zevran drew a deep breath, sighed. "Even if we both love each other," he started out, and then paused, a slight smile flitting across his face, both rueful and amused. "Which seems to be the case. We love each other," he said, his hands tightening briefly on Fenris', voice sounding almost awed for a moment. He paused again, took another deep breath. "I have responsibilities here in Ferelden; you have like ones in Starkhaven. I am... broken, in many ways. You, in different ones. It is hard for me to trust anyone... though I have learned to trust a few, and you are certainly one of them. Trust is no easy thing for you either."
Fenris nodded. And watched silently, as Zevran looked down and away, flushing with more than just the heat of the water.
"I do not deserve your trust," Zevran said raggedly, then looked up again, meeting Fenris' eyes. "Do not tell that I do. I know that I have broken it already, in recent days. I... there are things I do, friends I see, acts I am used to, on and around Satinalia. I tried to convince myself that this year was really no different than any other; that you were the same as any other lover I have taken since leaving Antiva, just someone who I share pleasures of the body with, who would not be hurt by my... straying. And yet even as I tried to convince myself, I knew I was lying. Otherwise why was I doing my best to keep such activities a secret from you? It was myself I was lying to," he said bitterly. "I knew how much I have come to care for you, since we first met," he said almost angrily, then paused, and spoke much more softly when he resumed. "I knew I loved you, even if I had not said the words to you. And that frightened me almost as much as the thought that you might leave me."
Fenris swallowed, and tightened his grip on Zevran's hands again. "And some part of you thought, 'this cannot last anyway', and so you allowed yourself to try and ruin it, rather than waiting. Better to destroy it yourself, now, than to wait for the pain to come at another time while hoping it didn't."
Zevran paled, and stared at him for a long moment. "Yes," he whispered. "How do you know?"
Fenris smiled crookedly. "You are far from the only person I've seen undergo such self-destructive impulses," he said. "And I have felt them myself. Especially during the long years in Kirkwall, waiting for Danarius to come and recover me... sometimes certain that he would, in time. There were times when that feeling of... of just getting it over with overcame me as well. Times when I came so close to just dropping my guard, walking out, and letting the slavers take me, just to end the waiting and the fear. Friends I lashed out at, overtures of friendship I ignored, in my need to try and drive them away from me, terrified that once again Danarius might force me to kill those I had come to care for. More frightened of what might be than of what already was."
"I am ashamed by my own weakness," Zevran whispered.
Fenris released Zevran's hands, but only so that he could change his grip to the other elf's wrists and pull him forward. A wry smile twisted Zevran's lips, and he allowed himself to be pulled and turned so that he was in Fenris' lap. "Why are you the one comforting me when it is I that have erred?" he asked, his voice cracking on the words.
Fenris shrugged, and wrapped his arms around the smaller elf. "Because you're the one that needs comforting right now, more than I do. I am..." He paused, and frowned in thought, trying to think how to phrase what he needed to say. "I am content just knowing that you love me, that you fear losing me, as I feared losing you. And I trust that we can work things through between us now, as we have worked through other issues of fear and trust before."
Zevran sighed, and turned to crane upwards and kiss Fenris' cheek. "You are so much better than I deserve," he said, then curled up as much as the confines of the tub would allow, lying cuddled against Fenris' chest with his head resting on Fenris' shoulder. "All right. Let us talk, first of all, of what we each want."
Fenris smiled. "That is easy for me to say. I want you in my life. I want to spend time with you, whenever and wherever we are able. I know..." He paused, and swallowed, then forced himself to continue. "I know that I am... lacking, in some ways, in what you look for in a companion for bedding. I think..." He paused again, drew a second, shuddering breath. Maker, but this was hard to say aloud. "I have no objections to you taking other lovers, especially since by necessity there will be many times when we must be apart, likely for months at a time, I in the north and you here in the south. Only do not lie to me; do not think you must hide such things from me. And do not leave me. Losing your love is the one thing I could not bear," he said, and blinked, knowing his lashes and cheeks were damp with more than just water.
Zevran turned, moving to straddle Fenris' legs and cup his hands around Fenris' head, murmuring reassuringly as he kissed away Fenris' tears.
Fenris smiled weakly when Zevran finally sat back. "You see? We're comforting each other in turn," he said huskily.
Zevran smiled again, a sweet smile this time. "So we are," he agreed, and settled himself more comfortably across Fenris' legs, keeping most of his weight on his own knees and feet, and then leaned over to retrieve their mugs of cooling tea. "Drink," he ordered, handing one back to Fenris.
They drank, eyeing each other as they did. Finally Fenris lowered his almost-empty mug. "Talk," he said. "Tell me what you are thinking."
Zevran smiled again, outer corners of his eyes crinkling. "I am thinking that you are so much more than I deserve. I am thinking I must strive to be deserving of the gift you have given me; your love, and your trust. I must not fail you again as I have these last few days," he said, then sighed, a more serious look crossing his face. "It will not be easy, making this work."
Fenris was the one who smiled now, reaching out to lightly touch his fingertips to the marks on Zevran's face. "I would rather try, and fail, than have us decide not to try at all because we might fail."
Zevran snorted. "True words," he said, and turned his head enough to kiss Fenris' palm. "Come. Let us bathe, and eat, and then we can talk more."
Fenris lifted one eyebrow. "Do you not have more meetings with Alistair and the other nobles today?"
Zevran bit off a curse. "Yes. I would say that this is more important, but that would be putting aside my responsibility to my adoptive country and my people in favour of more private necessity. Do you mind?"
"Go to your meetings. I will still be here when you return," Fenris said.
Zevran sighed. "All right. And if I am not to be shamefully late for them, then I had best bathe and change and eat quickly."
Fenris smiled, and reached for the soap.
