I could hear the shouting all the way from the quiet bed of pond I had found in the wilderness. Frogs and crickets were my accompanying witnesses to the aggressions just yards from where I perched, listening - waiting. An overreaction on both of their parts, though I suppose some things couldn't be avoided. I gritted my jaw as I watched her storm off in the opposite direction and closer to my haven.
By the time she stumbled upon my private lodgings, I had resumed myself to the ground and had needlessly sunk bare toes into the bank of the water, digging in my feet to the mud and rock so that I might stay there. I heard her previously rushed footsteps fall still when she caught sight of me, keeping my head turned and jaw tightened, and waited for my startled Warden to decide her best course of action.
"Zevran?" she questioned me as if she were contemplating an illusion. I glanced, offering a brief smile of condolence, though I strained to do so.
"The one and only, my Warden," I eased to her, my voice calm and demeanor affable, as always. She took my inviting words and posture and climbed down into the grass beside me, barely hesitating before placing her own bare toes into the water as well. She trembled from the cold, then relaxed.
"I suppose you heard all that from here?" she asked me in a thin, nervous voice. I could see her ears threatening to fall - her eyes were swarming with stormy thought. I glanced at her and chuckled.
"Enough to know it is not much important to remind you of again so soon," I offered. She was not seeking to atone for her words, but forget them for a while. I would not be the person to goad another fight from the fiery leader. I knew much better than to pick a fight with her in such a state; my leg could certainly attest for such. "I thought we might enjoy some solitude and company of the bugs and amphibious life," I added with more cheer to my voice, hoping to draw her from whatever dark corner she had sought out.
She smiled a bit, though sad, and loosened herself into an effortless posture. I almost regretted myself for how easy it was to disarm my usually ferocious Warden. I had hoped, at times, she might have a thicker hide for such charms - but she was weak and her soul hungry for a kind voice. To me, that was a dangerously easy target as well the same for any who still hunted her. I frowned.
"You shouldn't let such a petty argument affect you so easily," I added. Criticism was not my gift, though I sensed she would not hold my minor suggestion against me. Her reaction was a meek shrug and tilt of her head, exposing the tense muscle and tendon of her neck. If I had wanted to, I could easily slit her throat and return to Loghain for my reward. I would perhaps still be able to salvage my status amongst the Crows, even. Taliesen would have approved of my actions.
Rianna would not..
Isthalla must have sensed my change of mood, for she stiffened and looked at me then, her expression tightened.
"Are you all right?" she asked me. I looked at my pretty Warden - worry wrinkling her features, mouth small and sad, and dark eyes filled with motherly concern - and laughed. Such a sight I would have never considered for this fiery vixen of powerful and dark magic. Then again, many who I assumed were tough as the skin they wore often had weaker hearts than those who collapsed under the first sign of pressure. Her façade was unfortunately easy to interpret past the empty threats and abrasive nature. She was a broken heart searching for comfort, and it was my misfortune that she should fall under my guard.
That isn't to say I knew my dearest Warden wouldn't hesitate to rip me apart the moment I suggested betrayal. While she was a soft heart, her containing soul was as hard as stone for any that could not penetrate past such a barrier. Mercy and forgiveness were not something becoming of my leader, and that was perhaps her one saving grace in this pitiless world. Eventually, I knew it might be the difference between life or death. Whether for myself or my leader, I did not know… and that is what unnerved me the most.
"Perfectly so," I wiped the frown from my face with a wide, warm smile and half-lidded eyes. I feigned a sore muscle and rolled my shoulder around in the socket, wincing as I did so. "I suppose I'm a bit sore still after our small mishap with the, ah… werewolves in the forest." She looked surprised.
"Did Wynne not see to everyone's wounds?" she sounded verbally disappointed by the idea our former senior healer had not tended to the group equally. I quickly raised my hand to detest the accusation, laughing slightly.
"Of course Wynne does an excellent job," I assured her. "Perhaps I just hoped for more intimate care from a certain Warden's healing touch?" I raised a suggesting brow and smirked at her.
My troubled little elven leader finally unfurled from the cocoon of her body and climbed onto her knees, then gestured for me to turn my back to her. I obliged quite happily, pulling my hair from my neck as she undid the clasps to my leather vest and pulled away the layers to reveal tense, marred flesh on my shoulders. Truly, I was still a bit sore from the fight and had refused treatment from Wynne on many occasions in lieu of tending to them myself. I never trusted others' herbal remedies.
I would, however, make a small exception for the salve that my Warden liked to use. She had taken favor to mixing her own small balms ever since finding a book on the subject which Morrigan had procured from a local vendor in Redcliffe. It smelled of mint leaves and sweet grass, and left a cool yet soothing sensation on my flesh. I had once suggested she use it for more intimate purposes, though she warned that might be the last place I would want such a feeling. I attested, laughingly so, and relinquished to her insistence after a few concerning explanations.
She worked the cooling salve into my shoulder with expertise, her delicate fingers kneading into the sore flesh of my body and easing me into a state of calm. After a time, she had to start holding my body upright with her other hand. She chuckled.
"If you relax any more, you might just fall into the water," she chided me in a light voice. "I can't reach you if you keep leaning forward, Zevran." I listened to her voice in a lulled state, savoring the way she spoke my name - hungry to hear it again and envelop my senses in the presence of my dearest Warden. I drifted to the many nights I had wrapped her in a tender embrace witnessed only by the moon and stars. Twisting, turning - she sprawled under me as a lustrous beauty of night, her dark honey eyes aglow and mouth parted in earnest wanting.
As if sensing my shift of mood (or perhaps even reading my thoughts, which I would not mind) her hands began to drift further down the front of my bare chest until she reached my thighs. My thoughts abruptly shuttered as I caught her hands before she could reach any further, and pulled her around to me instead, opting to rest her across my lap. Her mouth had already begun to protest my rebuff when I touched a thumb to her chin and silenced my pretty elf.
Softness entered her gaze as she understood and rested fully against me, decidedly wrapping her arms loosely around my shoulders. I tucked her head under mine and ran rough fingers through her loose hair, and like a rising swan from winter she unfurled her tight body into my grasp and rested there, content to let me hold her. I sang quiet Antivan melodies to my Warden until her soft-brushing fingertips to my neck fell still and hands lax around my shoulders. I continued to run my own across her head, breathing into her ear songs to ease her worried mind. Though she may never understand the words, she could take comfort in their sounds nonetheless. And I in her presence, if only for a moment.
My Warden had dozed off only for a short while when her ears twitched in aggravation to a new sound. I caught onto it only shortly after - the sound of horses on the approach. She opened her listless eyes and looked at me, then to the direction of camp. We rose together, I allowing her lead so I might redress myself, and returned to the noise of our encampment.
Our own cart vendor and carrier Bodahn was hailing a traveling caravan passing by the nearby road. About three wagons followed, some drawn by horses and others by donkey. The inhabitants of the traveling group wore varied attire, though none bore the resemblance of sinister nature or the fighting type. They seemed nervous to stop, though I imagine the sight of our few members and a warm fire might have kept them from bolting.
Isthalla trotted ahead and fell in step beside Morrigan - upon which the women exchanged hushed conversation regarding the earlier dispute between herself and Alistair - then turned back to the new circumstance at hand. I drew beside her as she addressed the travelers, my eyes following to the supposed leader of the group. He was a weary fellow with an unkempt beard and a colorful, tattered cloak around his shoulders. I narrowed my gaze and surmised he wasn't a threat - at least not one that I recognized.
"Hail, travelers," Isthalla raised her right palm. He returned the gesture with a respectful nod and brief smile. His eyes kept returning to our camp, lingering over the fires and tempting smell of roasted wild hare Leliana and Morrigan had begun to cook.
"A mighty welcome to you," a small female popped out from behind the burly man, baring a bright demeanor. She looked skinny and tired, though still managed to smile at us all despite the obvious weariness that accompanied most of their group. The bearded man - perhaps her father - glanced to the child then back to my Warden and cleared his throat.
"Perhaps we could share your camp for the evening?" he offered. Isthalla calculated the many eyes peering from the other carts - some human, most of elven descent - and hesitated.
"What in exchange could you offer?" she asked. "Obviously not food, for you look starved yourselves," she noted with clear-minded observation. He looked a bit embarrassed at first, and rubbed a dirty palm on the back of his neck.
"True, we have no food to offer-" he gestured to the rest of his caravan. "We are traveling tradesmen of varied sorts-"
"What kind of trades do you perform?" Isthalla butted in. She was being overcautious, but necessarily so. I was pleased to see her continue to question the man. I would have done so myself had she not asked. He blinked, then perked a bit in surprise.
"Well, uh - musicians, mostly. We sell some goods we find on our travels, but the bulk of our trade comes in performance and entertainment," he explained. His daughter popped out from the other side of the cart again and waved her small hand.
"I play the flute!" she smiled. He hushed her and sat her back down, out of our sights. Leliana had since moved forward in the group, and offered a light chuckle at the girl's eagerness. She stood on the other side of Morrigan.
"How sweet!" she addressed the eager child. "I myself play the mandolin, would you like to hear?" she cooed to the girl. I saw Isthalla bristle in the slightest that Leliana would so thoughtlessly step over her authority, but Morrigan caught her by the arm before she could build her aggression enough and let loose on the unknowing woman.
"I don't think it should hurt anything…" Morrigan murmured to her. We exchanged glances, both knowing what an ill-tempered mood Isthalla had been in since leaving the tower. I wasn't certain how much information Morrigan had procured from Isthalla, but by the look on her face she knew enough. "We have more than enough provisions to share, after all," she added. I nodded silently to Morrigan, who knew best how to temper Isthalla when all else failed.
"Fine," she sighed in defeat. Her attention shifted back to the burly man in the cloak. "Perhaps some music might deafen this somber night for a while," she agreed. Oghren, our most inebriated and brash of companions, stumbled forward shaking an empty bottle of whatever liquid he had stolen from the tower. He glanced up in his stupor to the large group now climbing down from their seats to join the group, and eyeballed the bearded leader with staggering clarity.
"Hey, you got any ale?" he pointed a thick forefinger at the man, who looked a bit taken aback by the drunken dwarf at first, then shook his head.
"Well, no-" he started to say, then held up his hand when Oghren began to stumble away. "But we do have a case of imported wine from Denerim, should you like?" he called after him. Oghren lit up in his intoxicated stupor, clapping his hands.
"Well rip me a nug and call me a fart!" he slurred. "Now we've got'teerselves a party!" he waved his empty bottle and chunked it into the abyss. I chuckled as the stoutly man began climbing into the cart in his eagerness to help find the crate, and felt Isthalla bump my shoulder.
"I know I could use a drink," she sighed under her breath as the procession of travelers unloaded their carts and joined the others in camp. I smiled sympathetically, my hand reaching to brush her back. She breathed in heavy and rested her head on my shoulder when my fingertips reached the back of her neck, kneading it slightly.
A half-hour later and I found myself perched on a log in sheer interest to the scene unfolding. The burly man - named Chester, supposedly - was more than happy to share the bounty of poor decisions and happy conversation contained within the crate of wine. Isthalla had taken a bottle for herself, while the rest shared amongst our recently bustling campsite.
The wine smelled of cinnamon and warm spices and reminded me of home. It lulled me into a state of comfort as I watched the crescendo of dancing and music shift around the campfires. Many times I had watched the night-heavy dancing of exotic slaves and maids alike in my Antiva. The walls and floors of the tavern would shake with life, and feet moved in rhythm to the beating pulse of practiced song.
Though the rhythm remained the same, the song was a different one than my Antiva. Here, they moved in the dark to the rhythm of a primordial call, of prowling wolves winding in the smoke and fire of a hunt. Drums thundered through the sole of my boots and pulsed in my chest. It thrummed like a river through the dancers that had been on the caravan, guiding their movement around the fire as wind shifts with a storm. It was truly an awe-striking sight, and yet I could not take my eyes away from one object of my fascination.
There, in the center of the throng, my Warden raised pulsing fingertips to the heavens - a bottle in hand - and danced to the song of the wilds. Her bare feet moved across the dirt and grass as water over stone, sinking and twisting through the crowd in singular gestures of fluid fire. She shifted in tandem to the drums, and with the fire silhouetted behind her it appeared more to be a war dance than a celebration. Ribbons of red and gold fabric arched around her from the dancers as I watched my Warden rise from the flames themselves, letting go of every aggression in her body as she rose from the ashes alive and hungry. She began to spin, arms spread wide, and eyes shut as the sounds intoxicated her within a world I could only look at from afar.
It was then I saw how wild my beloved Isthalla truly was, and what a beautiful face was that of such a fire-driven soul.
