Spurned
CONTENT:
Rating: Mature
Flavor: Drama
Language: very bad
Violence: none
Nudity: none
Sex: implied
Other: none
Author's Note:
This was written a couple years after the rest, in the Bioware Forums Zevran fan thread. So yes, I decided to work it into canon. :) (it's title was 'the night before the archfewmets hit the windmill.' um... but that's a spoiler for the next chapter? :X)
Spurned
==#==
The air inside Castle Redcliffe was full of tension. Zevran drank with the rest of the Wardens' company and several ranking officers of the different armies. The ale seemed wetter, the banter and joking reached a new height. The assassin wasn't really paying attention. Wynne had to prod him twice before he realized she was trying to talk to him. "Eh?"
"I said, are you all right?"
"Si."
Her face pinched into a frown as if she didn't believe that. "Do you want to talk?"
Zevran waved that off. He snatched a bottle from the table and pushed his chair back. He waved Wynne off again. It was just too noisy in the dining hall. He slipped out the nearest door.
Just about every niche in the corridor was filled with some soldier embracing his or her lover. Grumbling, Zevran made his way towards the servants' entrance. The night air was refreshingly cool. His feet found a path that wound down the side of the cliff. It was wide enough that even a drunk could stumble along it in relative safety. Not that he was drunk. He was just thinking.
I only have a few days left to live! Why had Bannon said that? It was overly dramatized, for certain. The entire army would clash with the horde in a few days, the Archdemon would be faced and slain. Death? Death didn't even figure into it. ...And it's not fair to you. I'm sorry.
Zevran paused to take a pull from the bottle. What if Bannon did die? No, impossible. Bannon would not die; Zevran would be there to make sure of it. At least, Bannon would not die before Zevran himself did. In which case, there was nothing to worry about, si? The ground began to grow sandy under his feet. He slowed down.
And what about the rest of it? What about afterward? There was no sense worrying about that, as unlikely as any of them were to survive to get to afterward. If there were an afterward, then afterward is when he would worry about it. Yes, that made sense.
Zevran sighed and stopped for another drink. If only things were so simple. These... feelings, they had percolated up from the depths of his being. Feeling it in his balls was perfectly normal. Then he had a gut feeling about Bannon; a feeling of trust, of happiness, even. That's when the insidious poison started seeping into his heart. Oh yes, and his heart was perfectly happy with that, but when the whole thing got up to his brain... He realized his entire anatomy had betrayed him and gone against all good common sense! Love? Ludicrous! After last time? Hadn't he learned anything? What was driven into him time and time and time again? That is not for you. That is not for the assassin. That is not for the whore. That is not for the slave. That never was and never will be for him!
But what if it could work? Damnable hope. What if quashing these feelings were the worst mistake of his life? What if allowing them to exist were even worse? What if... he allowed himself to feel, really feel, and then Bannon died and left him bereft? Zevran's throat tightened. He wouldn't survive it.
He let the bottle hang loosely from his lowered hand as he walked out on the thin spit of sand to the edge of the moon-silvered lake. Such cold beauty soothed him. The lapping of the water calmed his turmoiled thoughts. A walk to clear his head would be good. He turned and started walking, not thinking, just focussing on the sand in front of his feet. He didn't get far before he almost tripped over a shadow in the dark.
"Oy!" grumbled a man's voice, over a woman's tinkling giggle.
"Sorry," Zevran murmured, abashed. If that had been a Crow, it would have killed him.
"Give us a break, mate. 'Tis the last night we have to be together."
The elf turned back. A moonlit night, a clear lake; it was indeed a romantic night. Not one to be wasted. He handed the fellow his bottle with another mumbled apology and retraced his steps up the path. What had his mother taught him? Take pleasure when and where you can get it. And if a few days of love are all you have, isn't that better than nothing at all? Just be with me. I won't ask anything else of you.
==#==
Zevran moved like a shadow through the halls. At last he entered the upper hall which was blessedly empty. Eamon and the Wardens wanted to get all the rest they could before the harrowing march. It would be gruelling, leaving the soldiers exhausted at the end of every long day. Zevran hurried his footsteps to Bannon's door, and placed his hand on the latch.
He opened his mouth to call to his lover, to make sure not to startle him into attacking, then he froze. He tipped his head, angling one sharp ear forward. Bannon was in there. Not alone. Clearly. The metal of the latch grew colder under Zevran's hand.
The elf backed away from the door slowly, not realizing he had moved. Oh. Of course. Zevran shut his mouth with a faint click of his teeth. That fucking liar! It was so clear, now! All those lies, all those cons, duping people left and right! Bannon didn't care about him, all he wanted was a bed warmer! And Zevran almost fell for it! How could he be so stupid? Didn't the damned thief say he didn't want anything but sex out of their 'relationship' from the start?
Zevran found himself returning downstairs, mind churning. A whorehouse - that's what he needed. There had to be at least one in this oversized fishing village. No, no, the town was full of soldiers, the whorehouses would be packed. Well, there had to be some loose women around! Hell, maybe he could hire himself out! But definitely to a woman. He'd had enough of pretty boys.
"Zevran, where are you going?" He'd passed Wynne in the hallway. He waved her off again. Foolish old shem woman, filling his head with nonsense about falling in love!
"Out," he snapped at her, not looking back.
He rammed his shoulder into the door to the main hall, knocking it open. Now, where could he find a tough woman soldier? His eyes alighted on a shock of fiery red hair, over where several dwarves were dicing. Ahh. He put on his predatory whore's smile.
==X==